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nsewell · 4 months

Text

the unspoken dialogue of borrowed books

ava du mortain/female detective ; 3.1k words ; rated G (on ao3)

The Detective finds a crafty way to send a message and Ava lies rather expertly to herself about what it does to her.

i had the absolute pleasure of writing for @dottiechan's detective persephone schulz as part of the @wayhavensecretsanta exchange! thank you so much for lending her to me ^^ i was super taken with your headcanon that posy pays attention to books that ava mentions so she can sneak them out of the library to read, and what that does to ava when she notices. where there are books involved, nate had to rear his head of course so i got to play with posy's romance option and bestie dynamics all in one. this was really such a joy to write, and i hope you enjoy reading it!!

The first time it happens, it’s the familiar, resonant scent that gives her away. Ava pauses a few steps into the inviting warmth of the Warehouse library with its crackling fire and array of antiques: polished rosewood and old ink and brocade rugs, and suspended above it all—a remnant of Persephone. Long brown hair and clear grey eyes; still Midwinter, imbued in the air after her leaving just like the mythos of her name. The smell of her blood is so pungent and enticing. Ava’s intention of asking Nate to cross reference a text on Gorgons by Agency request is lost to the furtive racing of her own pulse, the unneeded breath she expels from her lungs as it all washes over her; it’s entirely too human a reaction.

She folds her broad arms in front of her chest as though obscuring some unsavory part of herself from the light, and wets her lips, attempting to school her composure cool and impassive as she asks, though really more interrogates, “What did the Detective want? She was not on schedule to be here today.”

She can hear Nate stooped somewhere behind the towering shelves, singing to himself in Farsi. He emerges at her question with a stack of worn leather tomes propped carefully on one arm, and a warm smile all too knowing for Ava’s liking. She feels slightly unmade under a benign scrutiny that’s known her every tell for hundreds of years, and privately laments, not for the first time, the doing away with armor a few centuries back - chiefly helmets with visors. Her complexion is too pale for this, every flush of color smeared across her cheeks like a rowan berry, blooming and ripened. It is testament to the accord of their longstanding friendship that it goes unremarked upon. Or maybe just a testament to Nate’s infinite resource of kindness.

“She came to borrow a selection from the library,” he tells her, sounding very pleasant and good-natured as if to counter Ava’s stiff, broiling tension. Ever the contrast, ever the foil. “You’ve only just missed her, I’m afraid.”

It is a strange thing to feel all at once so mournful and triumphant, and to keep either expression from crossing her features.

“I’m surprised you let her walk out with it, unscathed. You can be rather territorial with your collection,” Ava says, and presses on glibly, before Nate can rise to the teasing glint in her eye, and not because of her urgent desire to know the purpose of Detective Schulz’s visit–-of course. She moves to take a faltering step forward. “Was it research related?”

“No, it was one of your books, actually. A, hm—curious choice really,” Nate says thoughtfully, teeth gliding over the bow of his full bottom lip. “That first edition of Dracula you picked up in Edinburgh years ago.”

Ava absorbs this information in like a vapor, nostrils flaring, chest expanding, her own lips pursed into a thin line. She is no avid reader in the way Nate is, scouring shelves in pursuit of knowledge and fictitious escapism, but she will indulge every now and again with the great adventure tales throughout time; stories of heroes overcoming trials in the face of impossible odds. Swords and action and expedition and the like—for strategic purposes and not the fanciful cling to human interest that Nate ascribes to. Dracula had fallen outside of this boundary, and had only been purchased out of vigilance for a novel that had brought their kind under public scrutiny. If the humans were writing fabrications about them, even on a fictitious pretense, it paid to know what was being spread. It had been full of the expected drivel, Stoker polluting the minds of impressionable Victorian age readers, enough to make Ava pause and recite passages scornfully aloud to Nate, who had long finished it all in one sitting. She’d shelved the copy to be lost amidst his ever expanding collection. Over a century later, when it had come up in conversation with Persephone (a throw away line, really) she had never expected…never could have anticipated-–

“Ava?” Concern twists a notch between Nate’s dark brows, and he shifts the slipping stack in his hands to sit upon his hip before closing the distance and wrapping a hand about her arm. “Forgive me, I really should have asked you first--only I didn’t think you would miss it. I’ve never known you to read a book more than once, and you’ve never looked on that one favorably. It does make sense, her interest, given what we are…” he trails off looking distracted, then clears his throat. “However embellished the telling. She did promise to take good care of it, and return it when she’s finished.”

“It’s alright,” Ava lies quickly before she comes across as too affected, squaring her shoulders and ordering her thoughts into strict line. “She is free to borrow whatever she likes. As a member of our team, this facility is for her use also.”

Nate pierces her with one of his russet looks of open sincerity. “Home, Ava. This is our home now. And one I hope Posy feels comfortable sharing.”

“You were always too prone to sentiment, my friend,” Ava chides, though it is said with an undercurrent of fondness and a returning smile.

“I suppose that’s why the Agency paired us together. One of us has to be.” Nate’s soft, resonant chuckle fills the room, and despite the unease welling in her throat, Ava joins him, uncrossing her arms to aid in his failing feat of book juggling.

—-

And so Ava pretends she doesn’t know. She goes about her usual routine, scheduled down to the minute, and the genius of its design is that it gives her little chance to dwell on the connotations of the borrowed book too keenly. Of course, it could mean nothing. Or anything, or everything. It disturbs her, if she’s being entirely honest.

When duty parses them together again, there isn’t more than the expected consequences of being in the same room, a rehearsed script by now–“Ava.” “Detective.”--followed by averted eyes and skittish movements and silent, glorious reveling when a touch is orchestrated between them just so. Persephone, collected and brazen as ever. Ava guarded, but sparing fleeting looks to the Detective’s bag like a wounded, arrow pierced hare, once, twice, more than a few times for a book shaped indentation or perhaps some vital organ carved from her belly because it feels like she’s taken a piece of her to study under a microscope. There is always the chastisement of herself afterwards for letting her eyes and hands and thoughts stray, this cycle as infinite as humanity’s death and rebirth. And that is all.

The one true lapse in judgment she will admit to, in a clinical sort of way, like a disease of the blood—and even then only to the dark of her Spartan quarters—is when she makes the rounds on guard rotation one evening and lingers below Persephone’s window, wrapped up in her coat to watch the glow of lamp light snuff out after a long interim of waiting, and wonders with an unquenchable ache, what words did your eyes linger upon and did they make you think of me.

Other than that, it has little effect on her. Ava considers the whole endeavor a great success.

Until Dracula manifests on the shelf again in a week’s time, without notice or fanfare, as though placed by some invisible spectral hand. She has not been looking for it, she tells herself, had made frequent returns to the library to maintain security--check locks, monitor layouts; as she keeps vigil over all the rooms in their residence. And then for another week after the book’s reappearance, Ava will avoid the room as though the entire wing had been roped off and placed under strict quarantine. She will glare down anyone who brings up the fallacy in this behavior (and has already pinned Farah with her most taciturn scowl over supper).

Ultimately, she is weak; at her age-it is foolish. She is old, far too old for such nonsense and repeats that notion to herself like a mantra when, during the guise of night while the three other vampires sleep in a rare feat of synchronization, muscle memory takes her through the Warehouse like she’s headed for the gallows, and all too soon, the book is clutched beneath her white-knuckled fingers. The library feels suddenly occupied by old ghosts. The Grandfather clock Nate had acquired in Bavaria cuts the air with accusatory ticks as she smooths a hand over the leather. If it chimes, she’ll smash it, and supplicate herself before Nate later.

The years have been kinder to the novel than she’d anticipated. The gold cover is faded, the binding tattered slightly with age, but the red embossed letters declare the title boldly. She is only checking for damages. Yes, it makes sense to assess the state of so old an object after someone else has had their hands on it. She splays the book open in her palm. The flyleaf still bears Ava’s initials in Nate’s neat, narrow scrawl. He had insisted on the distinction–no one would ever guess him so possessive of his belongings. Had Persephone noticed? Did she think it had been Ava’s hand that penned it? And why did it, unfathomably, matter to her at all? Her thumb skims the pages, biting down something coiling in her gut that feels like the mounting anticipation before blood's warm ichor coats her tongue, while a part of her also knows that she is fated for disappointment.

She considers abandoning this ridiculous inspection alltogether when her finger catches a crease in the corner of an off-white page, dog-eared, nearly imperceptible. Flipping it open, she finds only the expected script. But when she runs her finger over the paper, sensitive skin traces the raised line of graphite beneath a single line.

I am longing to be with you, and by the sea, where we can talk together freely and build our castles in the air.

Ava’s stomach drops out from under her, a rug pulled beneath her feet.

It is something that’s easily dismissable. A stray marking, an absent-minded pencil strike that can be explained away. Surely nothing deliberate, nothing meant to convey a message, and even if, she will not entertain such a game.

The book is shut and hastily reshelved.

She makes it as far as her hand gripping the doorknob before the antique clock pierces the masoleum-like silence with a tolling note. The sound cuts the rigid crest of Ava's shoulders and sends her reeling back to the shelf, and then hastening to her room with preternatural speed, where she leaves the offending page open on the bed and paces an indentation into her floorboards. In this brief, fleeting lapse of sanity, she allows excitement to tingle the sensitive nerve endings in her hands. I am longing to be with you. And then embarassment overcomes it when the golden threads of dawn encroach across the white duvet of her bed to shine light on this absurd, irrational thing that she's done.

She should set fire to it. She should put a stop to all of this. Instead, she spirits the book into her ancient lockbox and tucks the words away to nestle inside her ancient ribcage.

She will not ask Persephone what she thought of Stoker’s unflattering characterization of their kind. She will not bring this up ever again, any utterance or acknowledgement can only mean total defeat.

But Ava has always been a woman of stringent results. And so no one can hold it against her when she puts this dialogue of theirs to the test. It is merely a matter of deduction, she tells herself, curiosity at play, a possibility to eliminate and not to evoke any more ridiculous and certainly non-existent stirrings.

There is no easy way to broach the subject of books into a conversation without sounding obvious, or otherwise doing a crude impersonation of Nate, who recites literary quotes like a clergyman with scripture--she had debated roping him into this, but, true to form, had almost immediately decided against that display of weakness.

And so Ava doesn't speak of it. Instead, she texts--and it takes her a long period of concentrated effort bent over her phone to compose a vague enough message that satisfies her, and even longer still, to muster up the courage to press send.

'Detective.The Epic of Gilgamesh has insights into Sumerian mythology that might useful in your research of the supernatural.'

She immediately, of course, panics. Felled is her valor, not by ogres or demons or any manner of formidable creature, but by the simple technology that humans have developed to forgo the awkwardness of face-to-face communication. Thankfully, this dread is quickly put to rest by Persephone's almost instant reply.

'OK'

How anticlimatic.

And thus, the pattern repeats. After a day, the mentioned book undergoes a period of truancy from the library and Ava sets her jaw tight as the passing time peels her raw. In due course, it reappears and when there is the assurance of no one in site, she decends upon it hungrily, soft with age and stooping at the spine. In all honesty, she can recall little of the plot, had only remembered Nate gifting it to her one innumerable anniversary or birthday or celebration, and drawing similarities between herself and the titular warrior-king.

After a brief inspection, Ava finds the dog-earred page. A single line in the whole expanse of the epic poem is emphasized with the same faint pencil trace as before.

Hold my hands in yours, and we will not fear what hands like ours can do.

Something strange, and frightening shifts deep within Ava. She slams the book closed and with it under her arm, retreats.

—

“There are less complicated ways of going about this, you know.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Posy blowing steam off her frothing mug and Nate with his long fingers circled around a cup of tea as they indulge in their routine of early morning caffeine and commiseration at Haley’s. It’s all for her benefit, of course; this outpouring of longing and frustration with Ava at its contradictory core. Nate and his even-tempered assurances and three hundred year insight into the enigma of a vampire, interpreting her without insinuating, or otherwise offering a sympathetic ear to Posy's venting. He is a master of consolation, and always seems to know exactly what she needs to hear after an encounter with those shadowed green eyes hunting the set line of her collar or her spine or her neck.

And he has been an accomplice, these past few weeks, to Posy’s great interpersonal experiment.

She hadn’t entered into this with any more intention than what it’d originally began as—taking a cursory interest in a book that Ava had mentioned off-handedly. And while Wayhaven’s Public Library system was sure to carry the typical selection of classic literature, the thrumming of her heart in her ears had drawn Posy to the Warehouse and to the library carefully maintained by Nate, and to the shelf he’d more than amenably directed her to housing Ava’s century old copy of Dracula. To the pages touched by Ava's fingers and the binding that had spread upon Ava's lap and the same words that Ava's eyes had glazed over dispassionately, words that had resonated, words that Posy had singled out--perhaps a bit precociously--and maybe with an expectation that the thorough inspection Ava passes over everything that crosses in and out of her peripheral would be rewarded.

“I don’t think this is fun for her, but rather mildly tortuous,” Nate sighs like the weight of his three hundred years is finally catching up to him. “I’m worried you’ll underline a sentence that makes her break something in there. Or throw the book all together and do it damage.” The mere thought of that appears to cause him genuine distress, wrought all over his normally tempered features.

“I’m surprised you let me scribble in them at all,” Posy says, hiding the amused press of her lips behind the rim of her drink.

“Yes, well, annotating is an age-old literary practice. And I’ll always encourage reading. And affections of the heart. And–they’re not my books.” His mouth twitches, then curves, as though falling victim to his own train of persuasion. “Really, this is good for her.”

“I thought you said it was torture.”

The vampire pauses to take an indulgent sip of his tea, eyes fluttering shut briefly. “Sometimes the two pair rather nicely. Like gouda cheese and a Pinot noir.”

“Flavor analogies too? You’re in rare form today, Nate. So she has been finding them?”

“Oh, yes. The other day, I pretended not to notice her stakeout of the Mesopotamian section. Ava has many, many wonderful gifts, and subtlety is not one of them. That text she sent is evidence enough. Though I do worry you’re running out of usable material. Her tastes are…limited and narrowing.” From a leather messenger bag hanging on his seat-back, Nate procures a thick hardcover book and slides the text on castle rampart sieging across the table. “While I’m of the mind that all literature has merit, I doubt there’s any poetry in this one--I think she may be challenging you.”

Posy takes the book under palm, casting a scrutinizing gaze over it. In place of the medieval architechture that the cover depicts, she can see only Ava's wry hint of a pursed mouth smile, the shallow press of a dimple not quite formed. Your move, Detective. “There she goes underestimating me again," Posy says with resolve. "You'd think she would’ve learned better by now.”

“There is a saying about old habits. And Ava’s are as ancient and as difficult to kill as she is.”

“Yes. But my blood is very mysteriously and magically undoing, or haven’t you heard? Even on an ancient, unbreakable spell like Ava Du Mortain.”

Nate laughs richly like the brush of a low bell, and reaches across the table to offer her forearm an obliging pat, hands warmed from the Earl Grey. “Of that, there has never been any doubt. You truly are something special, Posy. To our little family, and that includes Ava. However long and…arduous that confession might come to be."

“Thank you, Nate," she responds with affectionate sincerity flitting about her throat, and then intontes, all business, "Now then. I have impenetrable fortresses to compare to Commanding Agents--which isn’t sounding all that difficult right about now.”

With that, Posy opens the book and delicately, fondly, traces the crisp signature of Ava’s initials with the wayward pad of her finger.

Nate doesn't have the heart to break the illusion and tell her he'd been the one to put them there--and really, he decides, no one is hurt by this omission.

#my writing #wayhavensecretsanta #twc

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maythewidowtakeusall · 5 years

Text

The New Widow (Natasha Romanoff x f!Reader)

Wordcount: 1399

Warnings: death, Endgame spoilers

Summary: Your wife promises to see you again in a minute before the time heist, only she doesn’t return afterwards when everyone else does.

There will be no grand funeral. No crying on each other's shoulders. No embellished gravestone to commemorate her life and heroism. Hell, there isn't even a body left of her to bury. There is nothing, just a sentence that keeps echoing in your ears, uttered by your late wife as she had hugged you encouragingly before the Time Heist.

"I'll see you in a minute."

But then you didn't. Natasha never came back. And thus the longest minute of your life began as you realized that you will have to live on without her.

You fought hard and well afterwards. You knew she would never have forgiven you for giving up, and you had no intention of letting the rest of the Avengers down. You sacrificed your every thought and surge of energy for the cause so you didn't have to think about your wife having to die without you. Or about how Nat had begun to plan your future together, your marriage giving her an edge of hopefulness she never had the luxury to possess before. You didn't sleep, didn't even go back to your shared room in the compound afterwards because you just couldn't. Nat was gone, and you sorely wished for your memories of her to die with her, but in more ways than one, she stayed almost vividly alive in your heart and mind. You could feel her arms around your bare form when you took a shower, shivering as you cried and wrapped yourself in layers of towels to kill the phantom touch of her skin on yours. You heard her voice and her laughter everywhere, and as if she lived on in your mind, you could almost know for certain what she'd say or think in different situations. She guided your hands every time you picked up a weapon and fired at an enemy as if she was trying to keep you alive even from beyond the grave. And surprisingly, you made it. You survived Thanos, you survived the deaths around you and you helped reinstate the world to how it was before. The only problem is that you never planned to survive yourself.

You wanted to die. Planned on dying. Imagined death to wear the face of your dead lover. Death seemed like an old friend, like a relief to a neverending ailment. But for some cruel reason, you were spared. Sentenced to life instead of death.

Clint is glued to your side as you attend Tony's funeral. You don't know whether it's because he feels guilty or because he feels sorry for you. Probably both. You down your champagne and call it lunch, feeling like your stomach is half the size it should be. You want to excuse yourself and get lost in the bucolic little forest and lie down in a ditch and be forgotten.

"I'll step outside for a moment. I need some air."

"(Y/n)," is all Clint says as he draws you in for a long, stiff hug. When he pulls back, an unfamiliar weight in the pocket of your black blazer demands your attention. "Go get some fresh air." The look he is giving you is very meaningful and demanding. You step outside. Manoeuvring the grieving people, you sit down on a bench by the lake where Tony's old heart had drowned not long ago and reach into your pocket. A cheap phone in a red case finds itself in your confused and hesitating fingers. Unlocking it is all too easy, and the phone has nothing on it except for a video. You almost don't want to open it because you know what you're going to find on it.

You play the video anyways.

She looks tired, but young - oh so young with her creamy skin and fiery hair. Her hair is straightened, parted down the middle neatly, and she's wearing that leather coat you always found so foxy. She proposed to you when SHIELD collapsed in on itself, and you almost end up laughing hysterically when you realize that you can tell the years apart by your late wife's hairstyles. This video is old - made probably in 2014. She's so real though that you want to cry, and she hasn't even started talking yet.

"Hey baby."

Now you're crying. Unashamed, fat tears fall from your eyes, blurring your vision up to a point where you only wipe your eyes so that you can continue seeing her. Natasha, trapped in that tiny rectangle of a screen you're clutching so desperately, sighs before smiling slightly.

"I've given this message to Clint for safekeeping in case... well, in case I ran out of all my nine lives. SHIELD is gone and compromised, and I'm helping Steve shut down Hydra, but I can't guarantee that I'll come home. I wish I could. If you're watching this, I'm gone and the mission probably went horribly wrong, which is of course not my fault. Remember how I couldn't promise you to always come back? Well, I want you to know that despite not having made it, I did everything in my power to do so. I just probably drew the short straw or something. But you don't have to, (Y/N). Wherever I am, and whatever might have happened, I want you to keep going on. I know you'd want the same, should our roles be reversed. I'm hoping you never have to see this..."

Her voice trails off as she tears up. You almost forget that it's a recording as you want to console her. But dead men need no consolation.

"... Even now, I'm hoping to delete this one day as you're making coffee for the both of us one morning when we're old. But luck runs out eventually, and we all have to go one day. If there is one thing I know, it's the inevitability of death. I always knew it would come for me too. And sometimes I wished it would because of all the terrible things I've done. ... But you changed that, you know? You made me want to live and you made me a better person. Clint turned my world upside down when he spared me, but it was you who crystallized that change in me, (Y/n). Your love saved me in more than one way and now I want to save you too. I know you. I know you want to be reckless now and you want to take risks, but I'm asking you not to. If you've ever loved me, baby, then you'll do one more thing for me, okay? The world needs good people like you, so do everything in your power to stay alive and continue protecting it. Save people, as you did me. And forget me. Keep going while you have to. Fight your battles. Love those you care about. I'll be waiting for you in the end. A lifetime is a small amount of time to pass if it means I'll get to see you again. Because I will. I know I will. It will all be over in the blink of an eye, in but a minute. I promise. Now get out of here and live. I have to put on my best set of afterlife lingerie before you get here, and you know how long it takes for me to get ready."

You watch the video one last time. It's been years since you last did, but you finally feel like you're ready to let go. Despite tearing up, you even laugh at Natasha's silly joke in the end. Deleting it feels good. It feels like she can finally rest. And you can finally breathe. Hallelujah.

"What's that?" your wife asks you, sinking down on the bed next to you as she glances at the old phone in your hand. "What, this old piece of junk? Just a memory, Wanda. One I'm willing to let go of now."

"Well, good. I need you in the present."

"That's uncharacteristically romantic of you, Mrs (Y/l/n)."

Wanda grins. Hearing you call her your last name always makes her giddy.

"Sam called. He's got a mission for us."

"And here I was, expecting a candlelit dinner or something."

"Maybe later. But we have a world to save first."

#dottiechan writes #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #black widow #endgame #endgame spoilers

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sky-scribbles · 4 years

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15 for the micro story meme :)

15: trembling hands

Theron Shan has been trained to never let his hands shake.

A Jedi is stillness and patience and potential. A Jedi’s hands are quiet hands, and Theron is no Jedi, but he grew up meditating with the dawn and letting his doubt and fear dissolve into purpose. There are some things that never leave your blood. And to put the seal on his hands’ stillness, the SIS trained him to shoot dead straight, hack terminals without pulling the wrong wire.

His hands did not shake on Umbara. It would have alerted Atrius, would have killed them all.

Theron breathes the mist and dust of Nathema deep into his lungs, and steps out from behind the rocks. Out to face Lana and the one he loved enough to betray.

His hands shake, and he lets them.

#welp this got angsty #swtor #the nathema conspiracy #theron shan #theron romance #otp: feels like light #(i mean it's not a specific outlander but in my heart it's zeth)#sky's writing #tysm for the prompt!#dottiechan

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loth-wolffe · 3 years

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“name told me you're in love with me. tell me it isn't true. tell me this is all just a huge misunderstanding. “ “i can't. “

And also

“you don't get it, do you? “ “get what? “ “that i don't want to spend even as much as a second without you by my side. “

With my Sergeant Hunter, please 😁😁

AHHHH baby anything for you (i AM working in that other hunter request you sent i just need to,,,,,,,,,,, get inspired)

BUT GOD THIS IS SO GOOD YES YES.

ILYSB

Pairing: Hunter x reader (no y/n)

Word count: 869. not proofread we die like men.

Warnings: a lil bit of good ol angstey babey.

ps. i changed the second prompt a tiny bit, hope you don't mind eheheheh. hope you like this bubs. mwah.

ps2. the song has nothing to do with the fic but i was listening to it while making the last arrangements and i have no idea what other title this should have. enJoy.

Hunter quickens his pace as his heart skips a beat, he's getting closer and closer to find you, because there's a chance that you might love him back.

He has never seen anything that indicates you could, or maybe it's because he's too caught up in trying you don't notice him loving you.

Trying to ease his beating heart when you rest your head on his shoulder, to suppress the butterflies from fluttering when you laugh, to seem like he wasn't already looking your way when your eyes meet.

Maybe he took too much time hiding his own hints that he never took a moment to see if you gave him any signals.

But how could you? When he's just... him.

He finds you in your office. You look stressed, tired eyes running through some words and you mumble something under your breath, sighing as you write your signature. When you look up, you look relieved, and as your lips ease with a smile and your eyes soften for him, he thinks you have never looked more beautiful.

"Hey Sarge, you're lost?" you joke, pushing the papers further into your desk before your hands go to rest on your stomach, leaning back on your chair and it's your way of telling him you're taking a break.

For him.

He sits on the chair in front, looking stiff, feeling stiff. Eyes scanning his surrounds like he has never been in your office before in hopes you don't find the nervousness they hide.

"Tech told me something."

You crook an eyebrow, snorting.

"Yeah? what was it?" You don't comment on his serious face, nor on how tense he seemed, it must've been something that pissed him off.

He meets your eyes, and there's something in them you can't quite pinpoint. Hunter waits before he says it, memorizing the way you look now, to compare it with your reaction later.

"He told me you were in love with me."

Hunter doesn't know what's worse, the way you stood unmoving, looking at him, he's sure you haven't even blinked once, mouth agape and he can hear your heart beat racing, or maybe the silence that follows, thick and heavy on his shoulders.

He can't stand it.

"Say something." He's never been one to plead but now he's begging, he's begging you, to do something, to say something, anything that pulls him out of his misery. "Tell me this isn't true," even if it hurts, but that's better than nothing. "Tell me this is just a big misunderstanding, and I'll go."

But it's not only an "and", there's a threat behind his words, it's a tell me or I'll leave, a softness that wraps an ugliness he's not sure he wants you to see just yet.

Hunter can be a patient man, but right now his patience is wearing thin. No answer means no, he supposes as he stands.

"I can't."

He stops.

"Can't what?"

Because there are too many answers to that, you can't love him, you can't admit it, you can't tell him that–

"He's right," you pause, "Tech. He–" you run a hand through your eye, exasperated, "I should've known better than to tell him."

You sound tired, defeated, and Hunter doesn't understand why.

"It's okay if you don't wanna– I mean..." You look at the ceiling for a second, searching for words, for strength. "I understand if you don't feel the same or–" you find him with teary eyes, already looking a bit red from how hard you're retaining the tears. "I get it if you don't want anything to do with me after this." Your voice is a whisper, eyes flickering from him to your hands.

Oh.

Hunter has never seen you looking so small, so sad, hanging on a thread he willingly put you on and ready to fall into a place so different from the one he had made for you.

He shakes his head, coming to your side of the desk, leaning down to cup your cheek and he's inches away, breath brushing your skin along with his thumb, holding you with such delicacy, afraid you might break, or disappear, or flinch away from his touch, but you don't.

If anything, you move closer, his whiskey eyes try to find your soul somewhere between yours, but he doesn't know he has seen it before, when you tend his wounds, when he holds you close, when you say goodbye.

He could laugh, at how ridiculous it all was, how ridiculous love was.

"You don't get it, do you?" he whispers, staring at every little detail of your face he has missed before.

He could spend his time like this, counting every mole, memorizing the way your eyelashes kiss your skin with every blink, trace the outline of your jaw and nose and cheeks, and all of you.

You frown slightly, confused, taking in a shaky breath before you asking,

"Get what?" in the same hushed voice, not wanting to speak any louder.

He smiles, lightly, tenderly, and right before he connects his lips with yours, he says,

"I'm in love with you too."

taglist: @foodandbooksplease @dottiechan @ladykatakuri @tacticalsparkles @lightning-wolffe @hellothere-generalangsty @beskarprincessjenny @badbatch-simp24 @milppa @obi-bae-kenobi @rowansparrow @queencousland101 @dagobahbound @huntersbandana @baroclinicinstability @murdertoothpick @ahsoka1 @kybacrystal @smoldjarin @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s @amaryllis23 @kavecika @paige6768 @incognito-lezbean

you can join or leave my taglist ✨ here ✨

#the bad batch #hunter x reader #sargeant hunter x reader #hunter x you #the bad batch x reader #ari writes #im gonna start adding the songs that match my fics bc ✨yes✨

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swtorpadawan · 2 years

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Do you have a trash pairing like fire and water but somehow they miraculously make it work?

To be honest, my trash pairing is Lana and Theron.

I know there are only a few backers to that ship (namely @pawsimses @the-nameless-legacy @swtorstuff @carterashsart @dottiechan @cinnabon-sith ) but honestly, as totally mis-matched they are, no one else could understand the other any better.

So when I don't ship either of them with my OC, I ship them with each other. The pragmatic Sith and the Spy who was a failed Jedi?

Lana gets to play the responsible one while Theron is the free-wheeling subordinate?

So I dig it.

But among my OCs / OCs ....

I doubt I'll ever write about them, but Husalla Nasan and Vusah Djek had quite the tumultuous beginning. Vusah (my Adas Legacy bounty hunter) was hired by Rogan the Butcher to capture Husalla (my smuggler in the same legacy).

What followed involved a series of vicious scraps, shootouts, narrow escapes, explosions and stun-cuffs. (Lots of stun-cuffs.)

And then they were a thing. They are very different people, but somehow, they click.

Thanks for the ask!

#swtorpadawan asks #lana beniko #theron shan #oc: husalla nasan #oc: vusah djek #voyagis-infinitum

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the-clone-anon-cupid · 3 years

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And we have now been running business for a week.

Just so everyone knows, tomorrow I am getting my Corona vaccine, so I might be out for a bit. Depending on what side-effects I experience, if any at all.

Also, apologies to those who weren't often on the lists-- I have now added you to the more permanent one. Let me know if you get your anon, so that I can take you off the list.

Now, here is today's list

@drabbles-n-doodles and @drabbles-after-dark (same person, just their second blog is the 18+ one)

@intergalactic-padawan

@fuckyeahbeskar

@colorfulloverbatturkey (hoping on Hunter, Crosshair, or Jesse)

@redandwhiteroses

@ortizshinkaroff (hoping for Tech)

@notreallybeccab (nothing 18+ but romance is fine)

@blxwjobsforclones

@voxmyriad

@justsimpingforjesse

@fandom-blackhole

@iscream4clones

@ahsokatano-thetogruta

@numberoneyouthcupcake

@jadetheaverage

@senator-nahberries (under 18)

@elsaanna007

@crc-the11tailedlovesclones

@thirsty-void

@aahsokaatano

@snippy-tano

@meshlamando

@feathersforclones

@starwarsworld

@ct7567329

@frecklelemonade

@bessinadress

@agent-catfish-kenobi

@the-mandalorian-clone-lover

@morganas-pendragons

@clonewarslover55

@clonewars-headcanons

@starwarsmylove

@a-mediocre-succulent

@writing-with-whiplash

@dottiechan

@starlightrows

@shadow-hyder (bad batch, go get Shadow! She lives you boys!)

@a-lil-perspective

Anyone on the list not interested, please let me know so that you can be taken off. Or if you know of someone who would love an anon, just drop their name by.

Have a beautiful day, and let's hope you get your anon!

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dottiechan · 4 months

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TWC Secret Santa @wayhavensecretsanta ❄ - Happy holidays, @ejunkiet!

It was an absolute pleasure to create for you, I love Lizzie and Ava so much!!! 🩵 I couldn't decide whether to draw or write, so enjoy a bit of both. (BTW I seriously recommend @ejunkiet's fics of their detective OC Lizzie Quail, they're so good.) Happy holidays again! xx P.s. If you saw me accidentally post a draft of my gift to you a few days before... Shhh no you didn't. 🥲

Summary: After Unit Bravo's holiday dinner with Detective Lizzie Quail, Felix realises all the photos he took with his polaroid camera are botched.

Wordcount: 835

Warnings: smoking, Fuzzy Holidays Feels™

Too blurry. Too crowded. Mason is holding up his middle finger. Not focused on the subject. Ava appears to be sneering?

The polaroids scatter on the floor as they’re being dropped, Felix’s frustration seemingly travelling through his fingertips and into the botched pictures as they skitter across the parquet. He had such high hopes for this holiday dinner they’ve panned - he even volunteered, much to Nat’s suspicion, to help decorate the warehouse to prepare the background for his perfect winter photos. There doesn’t seem to be a single wall or piece of furniture without strings of fairy lights or garlands hanging off them - and yet somehow, he managed to mess up all the pictures he took.

“I should have just used my phone, not this stupid polaroid Nat gave me,” he grumbles, as he sinks to the floor dramatically from the sofa. He turns his head to the left, expecting a response from Mason, but aside from the shrug of a shoulder, and a puff of smoke, he’s as disinterested as always. Felix allows his head to loll right now, and peeks through the open doors into the dining room, but his other team members are too far to share in his misery. Lizzie is in the middle of a story, which has Nat’s full attention, and Ava’s full, well, everything? Attention, adoration, respect, senses, everything. They’re cute, the way they hold hands over the table, how Ava squeezes Lizzie's hand encouragingly when she trails off or gets embarrassed by her own rambling. Felix hoped he would capture a moment between them, something candid, something like right now, but he’s missed his windows of opportunity - like for instance when Ava finally allowed herself to be dragged under the mistletoe with Lizzie, but their picture was ruined by the detective spilling her drink all over herself.

“Felix?”

“Leave me alone,” he replies, but he also cracks one eye open to make sure Nat, who’s just entered the room, doesn’t lose interest in his pity party on the floor. But she’s already retreating, so he starts flailing his limbs as if he were making a snow angel in the sea of polaroids. “Please don’t leave me alone. Mason won’t talk to me and I’m embarrassed. I messed up all the pictures. I tried taking them like you showed me but I messed up.”

“They’re not so bad,” Nat says kindly as she sits with her friend, plucking the odd semi-decent pictures from the ground. “See? This is lovely.”

“Yeah, but Lizard has hot chocolate spilt on her sweater in that one.”

“Don’t call her that,” Mason grumbles, as he sweeps some polaroids off his lap - the by-product of Felix’s snow angel performance - and flicks his cigarette into the flames of the fireplace. Nat pretends not to see, but the pain flashing across her features has already made Felix feel a little better. They spend the better of the next hour going through the pictures and sorting them out, while Mason sits close-by, smoking, lost in his thoughts. All that breaks their peace is Frank Sinatra’s drawling voice coming from the record player, and the occasional laughter from the lovebirds still camped in the dining room. By the end of it, they’re left with a handful of decent-ish photographs, and Felix wastes no time sticking them into the photo album he got from Lizzie for Christmas.

There was a moment today, a moment worth capturing, one that was befitting of the old silver screen movies Nat made him and Lizzie watch, between Ava and their beloved detective. Naturally, Felix - a rotten romantic at heart - is pissed that he wasn’t able to capture it. It was a moment far better than the forced kiss under the mistletoe, a moment of intimacy, when the pair thought they were away from prying eyes. A hand under Lizzie’s jaw, Ava’s eyes fixed on the prize, wanting to kiss but being unable to take their eyes off of each other… Obviously the shutter of the camera ruined it, causing the pair step away from each other, and Lizzie to hide her blushing cheeks behind the curtain of her frizzy hair, but that’s beside the point. They were happy. Maybe happier than he’s ever seen them. Things are often so fucked up, with the odds always stacked against them, that Felix sometimes lives in the comfort of these moments. He lives in his family’s happiness, in his friends’ laughter, in Lizzie’s tight hugs, in Ava’s pats on the shoulder… If he could, he’d capture all these moments in a jar and keep them very close always. Photographs are the next best thing - which is why he’s bummed out the picture he took of this moment must be so unrecognisable that it was swallowed by his sea of botched photographs.

He’s lost in thought when Mason nudges his shoulder, a polaroid of Lizzie and Ava in his hand stretched towards him.

“Found this under the sofa. Not too bad, if you’re into this lovey-dovey shit.”

#twc secret santa #ava du mortain #twc detective #twc fanart #twc fanfic #dottiechanart #dottiechan writes #digital art #other people's ocs

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lilyoffandoms · 3 years

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End of Year Favs 2020

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 8 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome work!

Okay after very little thought, here are mine in no particular order.

Fall (TWC) - EBK wrote a love letter I adored so I gave this a go. It is more prose than love letter but oh well. I really enjoyed writing it and it pushed me from my comfort zone which is how I like to write. (amazing graphics created by the lovely @evilbunnyking).

Willing Theft (TWC) - First attempt at writing anything Mason related and again, another love letter like thing. But this one took me forever (for.ev.ah!) because my brain wouldn’t let the word count idea go.

Shared Bed (Blades) - One of my favorite tropes and one of the earliest Maiele fics I shared. This is probably still my favorite pairing to write and I don’t know that I’ll ever get over writing them. It is my not so guilty pleasure.

Brave (ACOR) - One of my favorite Choices books (probably fifth favorite actually) but one of my favorite MCs and favorite LIs. I enjoyed exploring the idea of bravery and what makes one brave with this fic. Plus the art by @somewillwin is just gorgeous!

First Date (FHR) - This came about after an always wonderful chat with a truly lovely individual and I absolutely had to write it. This is my favorite route in Fallen Hero so far and I’m looking forward to writing these two (three, sometime four) more often!

Introductions (TWC) - Detective Jason Lin is forced to officially introduce his boyfriend to Unit Bravo. I do so enjoy making things deliciously awkward.

Even So You (TWC) - A quick little thing and one of my most recent drabbles between Ava and @dottiechan’s Persephone. I liked the repetition I found when writing this one and any chance to throw Latin back in Ava’s face is great in my book! The phrase is “Love conquers all. Even so you, Ava.”

Art Based Series (TWC) - Anything Felix x Lucas related really. That pairing tops my list of favorite fics probably. But these fics based on @liquidxsin’s art are some of my favs. That and the fic The Color of Home. Or the Nap prompt I got. Or the Winter drabble. They are just a fun dynamic to explore.

Thank you so much for the tag @nataliesewll and @evilbunnyking!!

I’m late to this tag game so I don’t know who’s all been tagged but I’m gonna tag some (ignore if you’ve been tagged or just don’t wanna do this) @kittykatchoices @veeteeshirt @javsarts @itslaniquelove @smalltowndetective @callmeroo @callmebeem @storyofmychoices @specialistagent-m @amillionmoonsred @specialistagent-morgan and anyone else that wants to share your beautiful creations with me!!

#tag game #end of year favs 2020

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corey-067 · 3 years

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Thanks for the tag, @keldae! Tagging.. hmmm. @storyknitter @dottiechan @andveryginger @greyias and anyone else who wants it!

Do you have more Imperial or Republic characters?

I’m not at home right now, so I can’t check for certain, but it’s a close balance between the two. I currently have 31 characters on Star Forge. It’s a solid mix of all of the character classes, though. I think the trooper is the one with the least.

Which class do you play as the most?

That’s an even toss up between the Smuggler or the Imperial Agent. I have five (Off the top of my head) different agent characters, plus alts, and four different smugglers (Maybe 5, but I’m drawing a blank) plus alts as well. Jedi Shadow and Bounty Hunter tie for third.

Which race to you play as the most?

Human. Very vanilla of me, I know, but my main, Corey (My PFP here) is a character I have for 6/8 classes, plus alts of him when I just want to play through story without having to worry about coming up with a new character. Plus a number of other characters. I have 2 Chiss, a Zabrak (Used to be two, but I apparently deleted one), A Miraluka (2 if we count the alt), a Togruta who I’ve barely played, and a Mirialan.

How many have completed KotFE/KotET?

At least one from each class. Particularly the case with the Imperial characters (My bounty hunter, for instance, who is Light V) because I don’t like the auto-dark options for the skip through. I’m running most of them through, but I tend to stall out on it for a bit, and have to come back later. I think 2 smugglers, my main BH, one Shadow, my Guardian, my main Jugg and Assassin, and at least one Agent. My OG agent hasn’t been through it yet. My trooper did, too. There are more, but I’m not counting the ones I skipped through the story straight to Ossus.

How many have completed up to Secrets of the Enclave?

Only two, so far. Corey and his Imperial alter ego A’den Koli’arr.

Who stayed loyal to their class romance? Who didn’t?

My original Smuggler stayed loyal to Risha (Though he did flirt with Senya), the ‘slinger Corey didn’t romance anyone so that he could romance Lana without complications, and my Guardian stayed loyal to Kira. My OG agent romanced Vector, but that felt very much like it was sprung on me. Don’t get me wrong, I love Vector, but it hadn’t been the plan. She’s been flirting with Theron on Rishi, as well. My Trooper stayed loyal to Elara (I worked my way all the way through to Iokath just to get her back), A’den left Mako for Lana and I immediately rolled up a new BH to romance her again because I felt so guilty because he’d been intrigued by her during their work together, and because Lana stopped at nothing to find him, while Mako gave up. In at least one ‘verse Lana and Corey were an item long before they met in canon. Nyka will stay loyal to Temple. Canon!verse Jakar stayed loyal to Nadia.

Who started a romance with Lana, Theron, or Koth?

The Coreys all tend to romance Lana. The only one who didn’t was from the AU I was writing where Corey was involved with Watcher Two, later Keeper, when he stayed loyal to the Empire.

Aminala is likely to keep going on her path with Theron, and I believe that my newest smuggler has given me hints of interest in Koth. Not sure on any others, yet. It’s one of those ones I’ve got to get to the right point of the story, and the character has to not be invested in a romance (Either with an existing character, or in an alt!verse RP/fic character). Because I don’t want any of them to be throwaway romances. I was gonna romance Koth on my TK Sage, Miko, but without thinking skipped her to Ossus, so missed that opportunity.

Who is your oldest (having played the longest)?

Jakar, my old man. I was told that the consular was the least appealing of the stories, so I thought I’d get it out of the way first. Actually thoroughly enjoyed it, all things considered. Followed closely by A’den, Corey’s imperial alias.

Who is your newest?

That’s gotta be my latest smuggler, Mora Wessiri. Created her to play through the smuggler story on stream, but she’s got a story of her own in there, too.

#SWTOR #Character meme #this would've been easier if I'd logged in more recently

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that-one-blind-writer · 4 years

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Reasons you should watch Killing Eve

1. It’s not queerbaiting if they’re actually gay

I’ve heard some people call it queerbaiting, and obviously they don’t know what that word means. Queerbaiting is when the writers hint at subtext/relationships but never make the characters openly gay. Killing Eve, on the other hand, has so much casual gayness and one of the main characters is openly lgbt. Also, she’s a psychopath, obviously it’s not gonna end with a happy normal relationship

2. The acting is amazing

Jodie Comer won an Emmy and she EARNED IT!!! Her acting is so amazing that several times you see Villanelle get emotional and you feel sorry for her, forgetting she’s a literal psychopath who doesn’t actually feel emotions normally

3. The plot is unique

A lot of the time a show has a mysterious organization that the characters learn more about and then usually fight in the finale. Killing Eve is on season three, and we hardly know anything about The Twelve. The plot itself is really unique, and there’s so many plot twists you never see coming

4. Every season has a new head writer

They’re all female writers, and you can see the differences in writing styles (season 2 focused on a much darker side of Eve, and I loved it)

5. It’s not sexualized

As a lesbian, I’m really tired of wlw film that is clearly designed for men because it’s just so...sexualized. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a ton of sexual tension (I never thought a door could cause so much sexual tension but boy was I wrong) however it’s between characters, not just designed for viewers

6. They did their research

Villanelle has antisocial personality disorder (more commonly known as she’s a psychopath). Females with this disorder tend to be motivated by money and attention (which Villanelle definitely is) more than the men with this disorder are. They don’t really romanticize it either. Villanelle isn’t conveniently able to have a normal relationship for the show. She THINKS she’s in love, but she’s manipulative and explosive when it doesn’t match her definition of love (*cough* season two finale *cough*)

7. The outfits are amazing and Villanelle makes me swoon

(Tagging mutuals even though I know some of you already watch the show😂)

@yelenarooskaya @42wallaby-way-sydney @doralupin01 @quietlyimplode @dottiechan @doomdoomz @hopelessly-me @marvel-af @avengingxarcher @bolshoiromanova

#killing eve #villanelle #eve polastri #villaneve

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fizzyxcustard · 5 years

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I Will Be Beside You.

Fandom: The Hobbit

Summary: From the recently posted imagine “Imagine you think Thorin detests you. In fact, he’s madly in love with you but has personal reasons for keeping away”. One night in Lake-town, you decide to confront Thorin about his behaviour towards you, but his response is FAR from what you imagined.

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader, Thorin Oakenshield x Human!Reader

Warnings: Angst (LOTS OF ANGST!), tooth-decaying fluff

Word count: 1121

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be added to my tag lists for a particular fandom, character, or even everything, please send me an ask or a private message and I will add you. As always, all imagines I post can be requested as fics. This one wasn’t requested, but I just had the urge to write it. I’m now also going to put in my descriptions the music I listened to whilst writing this.

Music inspiration/listened to for this piece: ‘Compass’ by Two Steps From Hell (from the album ‘Miracles’)

Masterlist of fan fiction here

After the celebrations in the town square with the Master of Lake-town, all of you retired to Bard’s house, clambering under blankets to keep yourselves warm. There was chatter in the air, excitement and apprehension about leaving Lake-town and getting to Erebor on time, before the last light of Durin’s Day.

You helped Tilda and Sigrid make warm drinks for yourselves, Bard and Bain. The Dwarves were enjoying more intoxicating beverages which would no doubt put them straight to sleep for the night. Thorin had ordered you be the one to wake everyone to make sure no one was late for the boat journey towards the Lonely Mountain.

All the time that the drinking went on and the laughter rose, you couldn’t help but remain distant, cut loose from the rest of the Company. Even Bilbo was enjoying himself, the first in quite some time since the beginning of the quest. Thorin, you noticed, as usual, had his arms crossed, inspecting everyone else. Then his eyes met yours; his expression remained stern, almost angry. Why was he like this? Why did he hate you? You felt the pain of hot tears and a lump rose in your throat.

Angrily, you stormed outside into the cold air. Flurries of snow were falling around you, and high above, stars were beginning to peep out from behind thick cloud.

No one came to look for you. No one had noticed you disappear. They had all been too caught up in their own merry-making to notice your sudden exit from the house.

You couldn’t understand why Thorin detested you the way he did. His answers were always short, snappy and whenever you stood in front of him, he scowled. Was it because you were a woman? A human? The rest of the Company treated you well enough and called you one of their own, but Thorin made you feel like an outcast and something that needed to be watched at all times and not trusted.

Time slipped by and you lost track of how long you sat on the bottom step leading out of Bard’s house and down to the walkways which made up the town built upon a lake. The cold was becoming painful now and you shivered, your arms clasped so tight to keep in any last ounce of warmth that you had somewhere inside you. But you knew you couldn’t stomach going back inside.

Footsteps came, banging hard down the steps and then a voice spoke. “What are you doing out here?”

Anger within you hit full tilt and you shot around, your entire upper body facing Thorin as he descended the steps. “Why do you talk to me like I’m nothing but excrement on your boot? Why do you hate me somuch?” Your shoulders shuddered in grief and frustration. “What have I done to deserve you detesting me?”

Thorin stopped in his tracks and felt nothing but shame, pain, guilt….and love. That was all he had ever felt for you: love. Nothing else could ever come close to what he felt for you. Even the red hot hatred that burned in his gut for Azog the Defiler was nothing in comparison for his love for you. The love was consuming him piece by piece and watching you cry made him clench his fists in disgust at himself.

You turned away from Thorin and continued to weep. “I’ve done nothing but support all of you, and even put my own life at risk…”

“Shhhh,” Thorin’s hushed tone came, and he picked up your hand.

Your head rose from its position against your chest and through teary eyes, you looked upon Thorin. His face was full of concern and sadness, grave sadness.

“Forgive me,” he whispered and kissed the back of your hand. “Hate is something I could neverfeel for you. Of everyone in my life, you are the last person I could hate.”

Your chest lurched and butterflies began to flutter in your gut. “Why? Why have you…”

His words cut you off. “I carry burdens on my shoulders and no one else should ever have to bear them, least of all the one who has my heart.”

You gripped Thorin’s hand tighter, your fingers lacing in his, and you turned in towards him. “Your burden is carried by all of us, Thorin, and you don’t see that. Every one of us: me, Bilbo, all of the Dwarves who heard your call to them; we carry that with you.”

For the first time since meeting him, you saw Thorin smile. His eyes sparkled with hope, love and absolute joy.

You leaned forward and placed a kiss on Thorin’s brow, lingering there for a few seconds. “You are so loved,” you whispered. “You have no idea how much.”

“Do you forgive me for acting in the way I have?” Thorin asked, his voice a whisper as you rested your head against his.

“There is nothing at all to forgive. I just want to ease your burdens and be beside you.”

Thorin lifted his head and looked upon you for a few seconds and then he swept you both into a kiss. It was so quick that you lost your breath, being completely caught off guard. Thorin’s calloused, yet gentle palms cupped your cheeks, and his fingers dried your tears. Both of you held each other tight and deepened the kiss, feeling warmth rise.

As your kiss ended, Thorin was still smiling. He took your hand again in his and looked upon both of them, joined. He chuckled, finally feeling his heart soar, rising from the pit of anguish and despair.

“I want to come with you tomorrow,” you told him, speaking against his previous demand that you stay in Lake-town.

“It is far too dangerous for you, my love,” Thorin told you, the smile slipping from his face. “We may all find ourselves cast into dragon fire come this time tomorrow, and that is not a fate I wish for you to endure. If I am to die, I want to die knowing that you are still able to live a life of happiness.”

“I’d rather die next to you than have to live the rest of my life without you,” you replied, feeling tears fall down your cheeks again.

“There is not only Smaug to consider, but my grandfather succumb….”

“I know what happened to your grandfather, and I’ll be there with you. I will be beside you.”

Thorin’s gaze left yours and he looked down at the wooden slats beneath his boots and then lifted his head back up, looking at you. “If we are to find ourselves victorious, would you do me the honour of being my Queen?”

Follow Forever tag list:

@himoverflowers @shikin83 @theincaprincess @deepestfirefun @nowiloveandwilllove @houseofrahl @mynameisnoneya1991 @blankdblank @captainrainbowpanda @cd1242 @c-s-stars @thorins-magnificent-ass @patanghill17 @trees-and-ink @inumorph @leah-halliwell92 @msjava1972 @bespectacled-bunny @ghostlyandee @raindancer2004 @dottiechan @captain-almighty @hobbitlover23 @catthefearless @epicallychrissy @nelswp @adaliamalfoy @spn-obsession @armitageadoration @peneigh-dzredfohl @here2have-fun @greendragonette @littlebird54 @thophil2941btw @princessoferebor94 @banlaochranda @wilhelmyna @gabrieleaquaman@rachel1959 @serpensortia06 @rcrispina @kategorically-challenged @tigereyesf @jumpingmanatee @alae-megallen @tschrist1 @inlovewithamantwicemyage @aspiringtranslator @princessofthefandomrealm @letsbeinspiredby @lilith15000 @lealina-scarsdale @scarsfanfictiontrash @mechromancing-cinnamon-roll @ra-of-light @jassy2101 @durinsqueen @hariclea @sherala007 @onewithleaf @legolaslovely @michelem703 @bthtallmadge2 @marieannetora @ladybugg1235 @valuedabovehoardedgold @tiredwritersworld @xxbyimm @miabee0706

Thorin Oakenshield tag list: @exhausted-human-being @samara-marty-art @theelvenvalkyrie

The Hobbit tag list: @fentah @hails270105 @online-imagines-reader @emrfangirl @fountainsofsilver

Richard Armitage tag list: @inkededucatednnerdy @crazytxgradstudent

#thorin Oakenshield #The Hobbit #Fanfiction #Imagine #Thorin Imagine #Thorin Oakenshield Imagine #The Hobbit Imagine #Thorin x You #Thorin x Fem!Reader #Thorin x Chubby!Reader #Thorin Oakenshield x You #Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader #Thorin Oakenshield x Reader #Fluff #Smut #Angst #Insecurity #Love #Requited Love

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queenofthieves · 5 years

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8 People I’d Like to Know Better

tagged by: @buffkreia thank you c’:

Name: Riley

Birthday: July 5th

Zodiac: Cancer

Height: 5′4″/165cm

Hobbies: gayming, writing (sometimes), hanging with my cats, figure skating (other exercise or stretching too), reading (love fanfics, history, mythology, biology, and most crime related things), watching shows, listening to podcasts

Favorite color: Green, specifically dark green and emerald green

Favorite book: idk about an overall fave, i do enjoy Agatha Christie books. Books I’ve read more recently and enjoyed: The Disaster Artist, Deathless, Sabriel, and the Monstress comics

Last song listened to: Nobody by Hozier

Last movie watched: Midsommar

Meaning behind your URL: i am the queen of thieves ~

tagging: @lesbianvisas @ghostlygal @dottiechan @etoilebinaire @jediisapphic @lordmalak @shimmersing @frozenabattoir (no pressure tho, and you can skip any questions that make you uncomfortable 💖)

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loth-wolffe · 3 years

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Pairing: Captain Rex x you.

Warnings: none just fluff. (also lots of reader being v nervous but that's just me self-projecting my undying anxiety over the simplest of things. hA) aLSO there's the word bullshit, once (1).

Word count: 1,2k

A/N: soOOo, instead of writing the next part for the cross series, I decided to do something about the fact that I just can't stop thinking a about this absolutely stunning art of rex.

so, extremely soft times with our beloved rex under the cut.

You could see him as the ship started landing, his arms crossed over his chest, unamused, and you hold back a giggle. You're late, you know that, but it'd be worth it once he sees what you got him, hopefully.

"You're late." You smile, not moving from your spot on the ground once you get over to him, holding back the need to hug him and pepper him with kisses all over his face.

"Good thing you know my code, then." He scoffs, eyes following your pilot and guard as they leave your building, nodding at them in silent, respectful, goodbyes.

Rex, always the gentleman.

"You know I don't like waiting." And you do, but still roll your eyes, yet your smile never leaves your lips. "You said you'd be here hours ago."

He was exaggerating, really, but you weren't one to call him out on his bullshit considering you had done the same to him when he had you waiting for more time than expected. You both are busy people, and the time shared between the two of you was rare and, sometimes, rushed.

"But I'm here now," you murmur softly, hand cupping his face before placing a small, gentle kiss on his lips, one that leaves him chasing after you, wanting more. "How long do we have?"

"Two days, that if the General doesn't call me to change plans, and if you don't have any more meetings somewhere else." You hum, nodding, deep in thought.

Should you just, give it to him now? or wait until you're inside or?

"You do?" The disappointment in his voice pulls you out of your thoughts, your eyes widen and try to remember what he had just said.

"No, no, I don't," you scratch the outline of your eyebrow, remembering your schedule for the next few days, "I only have one meeting tomorrow at noon with the Chancellor, but I think that'd be all." He nods once and slightly turns to your place, pointing at it over his shoulder with his thumb.

"Are we going to stay here the whole time? I made dinner, well, more like tried to, I had to ask senator Amidala about-"

"Wait!" You cut him off, loudly, watching how he was turning to go inside your place, he looks at you, eyebrow lifted and lips pursed together, you cough awkwardly.

I got this, you tell yourself, because you know that if you move from where you are, all the courage will leave with you, and you'll feel dumb and won't do it.

"I mean, just, you know. Wait." You pause only to curse at yourself, before saying a rushed "I need to tell you something."

You try to sound normal, you hope you sound normal, and not as if you're a bubble of nerves about to explode, cheeks heating up at how stupid you're feeling, taking a break to look to the floor before meeting his eyes again, them glinting with amusement as a smile makes its way to his lips.

"What is it?"

"I uh, I got something for you."

His eyes take a sweep to whatever's behind you, it's quick, evaluating, trying to find if he missed something. But he didn't, and you grin shyly, and he takes a small step to be right in front of you, expecting.

"So, uh, the reason I'm late, right, it's because I made a quick stop before leaving," and it sounds like you want to say more, but you don't, and he nods, prompting you to keep going, and you feel the tension building in your chest, the uncertainty of what he would think and the small part of you screaming to abort mission because he might think it's ridiculous and throw it back to your face, make you have second thoughts.

"To do what?" He must've seen the apprehension in your face, and he tried to ease it up with asking about it, he knows sometimes talking about something else calms you down.

It doesn't work.

"Well," you fidget with your robes, and he finally notices that you're hiding something behind your back, he tries to stand in his tiptoes to take a glance, jokingly, you push him slightly away with your free hand as you laugh, "no peeking!"

Rex chuckles, the sound sending a shot of adrenaline through your body, and you know you actually got this. You want to kiss him forever, you know, as a grateful way to thank him for always finding a way to let you know things aren't as bad as your mind makes you think. Sighing, you bite your lip trying to hide a smile.

"I was getting, you know, the thing for you." He snorts.

"You're being extremely suspicious about it. Is it another lothcat? Because you know how it went-"

It's not on purpose, really, cutting him off. In fact, he cut himself off when you showed him what you had been hiding, frozen in place, mouth slightly opened with whatever he was saying getting stuck in his throat.

"Flowers?" He asks after a while, and you beam, feeling a bit more confident now that it's all unpacked.

"They're called sunflowers," you begin explaining, poorly you must say, pushing the three flowers towards him, "for you."

He takes them, hesitating, eyes going from the flowers to you multiple times before asking again, dumbfounded,

"You got me... flowers?" He said slowly, skeptical, not believing someone could do something as simple yet tender for, well, a clone, much less for him. His fingers running through the yellow petals to feel their softness, holding them as if they might break under his touch, eyes scanning every bit of it, a little, timid smile makes it to his lips and you sigh in relief, all the emotions you could've felt before melting into soft, sweeter ones.

"Of course," his eyes went back to your own, and if you didn't know better, you could've swear his eyes were glistening with unshed tears, "thought I should get something for you, for a change. You always get me such pretty things from some of the planets you go," you shrug, "just thought I could do the same."

His cheeks tainted with a lovely shade of pink along with his ears, passing by almost unnoticed if you didn't stare at his face so often, you grin, your heart fluttering with the view in front of you, the shades of orange from the Coruscant sunset making the yellow from the flowers and the white from his armour look like glowing, along with the beautiful color of his skin.

You swear he looks like the most beautiful work of art your eyes ever landed on.

"I remembered these were in my home planet and my mom always used to bring them home after her trips to town, I thought you might like them."

"I- I don't... I-" He stammers, lost of words, before taking a breath and looking at you with soft eyes. "Thank you." His voice small, dripping with that gentleness only him could muster to make you feel weak.

You hold his hand, kissing his knuckles and hearing his breath hitch.

"Let's get in and put these in water, yeah? besides, you had said something about dinner?" He nods, eyes following the movement of your lips pecking again his hand, mesmerized, and when you find him looking, you kiss his lips, too.

He hopes you know how much he loves you.

You do.

taglist:

@dottiechan @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

#rex x reader #captain rex x you #captain rex x reader #captain rex #the clone wars #ct 7567 #clone trooper x reader

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