#i thought everyone would see me unkindly

[artistsfuneral]

Jaskier meets Death at a forked path. He has never seen them in person before, their face - although incredible kind looking - is not one he's familiar with and yet he instinctively knows who is in front of him.

It's quite the idyllic picture to be honest. The path Jaskier has been following for the past few hours is lined with rough stone walls, the ones that are keeping flocks of sheep from straying too far. The sun is out and shining through the tree's leaves, creating a kaleidoscope of dancing shadows on the fresh grass. Death sits under one such dancing shadow-patch, surrounded by napping sheep. Their left hand is idly petting the spotted fur of a guardian dog, with their right, they're waving Jaskier over to join them.

He silently wonders if he should be scared. Others certainly would be terrified upon seeing Death waiting for them, but Jaskier has always been easily intrigued. Besides, Death is hardly looming over him, it's more like they're waiting for him - like one may wait for an old friend. It could be a trick of course, he muses as he walks over to where Death is sitting, then again it feels like the two of them could have met many, many times before and in much worse situations than this. So who is Jaskier to question Death?

The closer he gets the more he is able to take in. They're tall - taller than anyone he's met before, Jaskier thinks - and incredibly pretty. Not in the perfectly manicured kind of pretty, like some of the most beautiful darlings at court tend to be. No, Death carries a natural loveliness that can only be found and never created, like a special constellation of freckles, an off-center nose, or a small gap between your teeth. Death is everyone Jaskier ever sung of combined in one person, which makes him wonder if they always look like this or if they changed their appearance to please Jaskier's eyes specifically. If the latter, he'd surely feel flattered.

"Come sit with me, sweetheart," Death says and Jaskier is delighted to hear their voice. It's a very nice voice. He wants to hear Death laugh, he realizes as he sinks down next to them on the grass. Their eyes meet his and Death sends him the kindest smile, "It's been a while since I've seen you, sweetheart, I'm glad to see you happy and healthy." Jaskier grins, because what a funny thing for Death to say, but he can hear the honesty in their words. "Oh you know, just the usual aches and pains of my slowly progressing age. Nothing you haven't heard a hundred times before, I'm sure," Jaskier happily chatters back in the same familiar tone. "It's a lovely day, isn't it?" He asks and reaches for his pack. Might as well take his lunch break now, while the fruit he bought earlier this day are still fresh. Death answers his question with an agreeing hum and oh yes, Jaskier might just fall in love with them right then and there.

He focuses on his lunch and wills his foolish heart to calm. "Would you like some?" he asks Death, because his Mama raised him well and eating alone is never quite as enjoyable as sharing a meal. Death looks at him with amusement in their eyes. "I can not eat, but I appreciate the gesture."

Jaskier sighs, "What a pity."

"A small price to pay for a life like mine."

"You're alive?"

"I am here, am I not?"

He looks at Death wide eyed, a hundred thoughts stumbling through his mind at the same time. "I have so many questions."

"And I have a favor to ask of you, sweetheart," Death retords not unkindly. Throughout their short conversation the amusement never quite left their eyes and while Jaskier would normally feel patronized by such a look he somehow knows that Death is simply enjoying his company.

"Are we doing this right? Doesn't this whole asking for a favor thing usually go the other way around?" Death laughs and Jaskier's heart does a little jump, his fingers itch to write a new song. "You read too much, sweetheart."

"I don't believe there's such a thing as reading too much."

"The words of a scholar and a poet."

"At your service."

"Of course. I always get what I want," Death says knowingly, shoving yet another metaphorical box of Pontar towards Jaskier. Lucky for him he has long since learned to not think about these kind of things too much. It does feel a little bit like Death tricked him, though he loves a good repartee. "I have to admit, I am curious indeed. What could I possibly offer to you?"

Death turns their head away from him, looking at the dog in deep consideration. "I need..." Death pauses and Jaskier almost wants to think of it in a hesitant way, "to win a bet." The bard's shoulders drop immediately. "Ah," he says, because the hesitation now starts to make sense. Surely Death must know this of him. "I don't do bets, I'm afraid. It never ends well for the poets caught in between."

"I know," Death agrees easily and not very reassuringly, as a matter of fact. "But I am in need of a song. A song to bring the gods to tears and neither can I write nor sing. What I can do, is offer you my protection."

Jaskier's mind floods with thoughts.

Protection from Death.

The two of them stare into each other's eyes, the world around them timeless, everlasting. Finally, it is Jaskier who breaks the contact and returns to his bundle of food. He bites into a fruit, it's sweet juices run down his chin and drip onto his chemise. "I will make the gods weep," he declares and watches Death smile full of warmth.

[ghcstao3]

marine biologist au :)

-

Soap almost misses the call from Price one unsuspecting three AM, but he wakes up in the nick of time.

He barely has his eyes open to press answer, squinting into darkness as he mumbles out some greeting before waiting to learn why in the world Price is calling him at this time.

“They’ve finally hatched,” Price tells him. And before the cogs in Soap’s head can start turning, Price clarifies, “The turtles, Soap. They’re finally out. Get your arse out here.”

It’s such an announcement that kicks Soap’s brain into a hard reboot, and suddenly he’s flying out of bed and running for his car keys, barely caring that he’s still in his pyjamas as he speeds down the road at this godawful hour. He doesn’t remember when Price or he had hung up, just knows he needs to get to the beach, and now.

The team had had their eyes on a particular bale of sea turtles since they’d laid their eggs, and had waited for so long for the hatching with continuous efforts to make sure all would go perfectly undisturbed. He couldn’t afford to miss this.

And it seems, arriving to the spot, that other scientists had a similar idea. That, or Price had called them, too.

Soap finds the man with just a bit of difficulty between the silhouettes of the small group standing a ways from little black specks crawling through the sand. He claps Price on the shoulder, whispering his excitement as his eyes adjust to the bright moonlight.

“Incredible,” Soap murmurs. He hasn’t felt wonder like this in ages, even if this isn’t the first time he’s witnessed such an event.

There’s just something so special about it.

“I’ll say,” Price whispers back, that same wistfulness.

Except… it’s not Price. Still tall and wide shoulders and rough voice, but… decidedly not Price.

Soap nearly jumps back, recoiling when he realizes he’s been hanging off a stranger’s shoulder in lieu of an old colleague’s. The stranger seems to realize the mistake without ever taking his eyes off the baby turtles, laughing quietly under his breath.

“I’m so sorry,” Soap says. “I thought—“

“Thought I was someone else?” The stranger replies, not unkindly. He angles his head just enough for Soap to catch the outline of his face in the silver glow of moonlight. “I think I can forgive you. We’re all half-asleep, anyway.”

Soap can feel a blush raging across his face, thankful for the cover of night to hide its tint. Even so, he ducks his head as the stranger goes back to watching the hatchlings. Soap takes the opportunity to do the same, though putting some distance between himself and the man, this time.

Eventually, though, their shared silence feels like too much with the hushed chattering of others surrounding them. Soap taps the man lightly on the shoulder and says, “My name’s John.”

“Simon,” Soap is told.

The quiet feels more comfortable, after that. And as time goes on and more and turtles make it out to sea, the other voices seem to die down as well.

It’s not until everyone is certain all of the hatchlings have made it that the group of scientists begin talking again, still quiet, but now above a whisper. Simon finally fully turns to face Soap, who thinks he may be experiencing his second bought of wonder that night, seeing Simon’s face in the dim light.

“It was nice meeting you.” Soap smiles softly up at Simon. “Do you think we’ll see each other again?”

Simon nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. Once glance tells Soap that he’d been rudely awakened as well, and somehow he finds comfort in it.

“I’m sure we will,” Simon says. “Especially since Price is in both our circles. You should probably go find him, by the way. Since—“

Soap groans, burying his face in his hands. “Please don’t remind me. I’m sorry again.”

Soap peeks through his fingers just as Simon grins at him, something almost bashful. “Don’t be. I liked your company. Have a good night, Johnny.”

Johnny.

Soap’s ears burn as Simon walks away. He sort of wishes a crater would open up in the sand and swallow him whole.

He should go find Price.

But… in a moment. Soap can reminisce on his brief encounter with Simon for just a few seconds longer.

[timidpumpkin]

Little Light (Stucky x reader)

Part 4: Retribution

Pairing: Dark!Stucky x f!reader

Word count: 5.8k

Summary: While you're left feeling hopelessly confused, it's clear to Steve and Bucky that you have a lot to learn about being their good little girl.

Warnings for this part: Dark!Stucky, Daddy!Stucky, Forced age regression, DDLG themes, Female reader, Manipulation, Violence against reader, Being tied up, Hints to sexual themes, This one's dark folks, Mean Steve and Bucky, 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI

As always, lemme know if I missed any!!

Notes: Thank you to everyone who has supported me since I posted Part 1 many many months ago. I love you all and appreciate your support and kind words more than I can express. I'm super nervous to post this one so i'm really hoping everyone likes it. ^.^

Tagging: @ppatricia34me @canyonmooncreations @haleyhunwritess

(lemme know if you wanna be added to my taglist!)

P.S. Please feel free to comment/ask questions as they are a million times appreciated as I ALWAYS love to read you guy's thoughts!

(pictures are not my own)

Warm. 

The cozy temperature surrounding you beckons you to sink further into its comfortable drowsy feeling. It feels nice–good. It’s comfortable as you pull at the blanket wrapped around you to cover the cold tip of your nose. 

When you do though, adjusting as you move, adrenaline rushes through you. 

All sense of tranquility leaps out of your body to be replaced by standing hairs and cold blood as you realize you’re not napping in your bed. 

No–you’re napping on your capture’s lap. 

Hazy memories from just a bit ago replay in your mind. The picture they paint is fogged up by an overcast of intense emotion. 

Worry. Fear. Shock.

The panic you felt is now an almost disembodied ghost, content with hiding in the closet as it knows you can’t handle its presence anymore. 

Not right now. 

It would be too much. Your body and mind having already fought till every single cell within you is doused with exhaustion. 

The wispy wave of relief you felt–feel–now molds into another feeling. It rips the comfort your body so desperately clings to at this moment of peril and unkindly reminds you that you shouldn’t have let your guard down. 

But you did. 

You–as you see it–involuntarily allowed the very person, no, the very people who have snatched you, took you from your, albeit, unexcitingly ordinary–but otherwise stable–life, to soothe the very predicament they have forced you in.

As you recall their hushed voices anchoring you, steady hands smoothing your trembling ones, and sweet comfort that you somehow found in their pacifying of you, the one emotion you painfully feel now is…embarrassment. It aligns with disgrace you feel within yourself for giving into…this. 

You stiffen, body frozen in place as you become acutely aware of your situation again. Both the larger reality of being held hostage, and the other–ever so slightly smaller issue–that currently places your head nestled right in your captor’s lap. Bucky’s lap.

This is what you found so comforting in your sleep state? 

Head wedged exactly between his legs, resting heavily against his lower half. Your hands curled up. You stare at them. They lay right in front of your view. Almost too close to your vision where you watch them resting, palms nestled down between his thighs.

But it’s not just your position. It’s his too. One of his arms is resting against you, draped over your side, his hand sprawled just at your navel, adding to the welcoming warmth you felt upon waking up. The other, languidly stroking your head with his thumb. 

It’s an intimate position–close–in more ways than one. It’s not one you should be in, it’s not one you’re in voluntarily–despite what your last memories torturously remind you.

“You get enough sleep there, princess?” Bucky’s voice calls. You haven’t spoken a word but he must be able to tell you’re awake. Whether it’s from how your muscles have tensed, or the way you’ve been holding your breath since, is unknown to you.

You can’t see him. Your eyes are too intensely focused on how your hands rest with faux intimacy at his thighs and the realization of how long you’ve been in this position makes your lungs feel as if they don’t work anymore.

“You really scared Dada you know,” he moves his hand from your navel to caress your arm as he lends forward a bit to get a better view of your face. Still, frozen in place, you don't meet his gaze. Your self-preservation response only knows how to freeze now as you don’t move, but keep looking forward, completely unsure of how to tackle the situation you’re in. 

Waves of memory come back to you. It’s blurry as you remember how scared you were. You remember how Steve calmed you. How his voice led you to placidity. How could that be? It’s what led you to the position you're in now.

Vulnerable. Again. And yet, you let it happen. 

But you didn’t, no–you couldn’t–you don't remember exactly with anxiety fogging up your memory. 

You knew one thing for sure; you couldn’t give in. 

“Not going to ignore Daddy now, are you?” Bucky questions, taking his hand to your chin and facing it upwards so you’re looking up to him. Somehow, it’s still shocking how large he looks. You feel as though you've somehow been shrunk down a third of your size when looking at him. His hand is mostly just ghosting your face, guiding it up as he looms over you, one cheek smooshed against his navel now as his hand remains on the other.

“Hmm?” he questions, his pointer finger tapping methodically on your cheek, prompting you to answer. “Don’t tell me you forgot your manners already now, doll.”

“I-I wanna go home,” You try to sit up, not exactly sure why you said that, as recent events have told you already it’s not what he wants to hear. But you’re just not sure about anything at the moment. He looks at you with a displeased look, face dropping into an unkind frown.

His hold on you tightens; his forearm presses down on your chest lightly, silently reminding you that trying to move would be a bad idea. You don’t fight it, knowing you wouldn’t be able to succeed in getting up even if your life depended on it.

“You are home.” he declares curtly, before swiftly picking you up, dizzying you as he turns you around. You feel as though you’ve barely blinked before you’re in the new position. Your back is to his stomach as he situates you on his lap. His right arm wraps snugly around your waist, firmly securing you against his body. His left hand reaches in front and clasps around your cheeks, the cool metal instantly raising goosebumps on your once warm face as he slowly tilts your head back and forth for you, forcing you to look around the room. 

“You see all this?” he lilts with a scolding undertone. “This is your home. All of it.” he pauses before–somehow–squeezing you closer to him. He brings his head to the side of your ear. His chest flush against your back, engulfing your body, and encapsulating your very being with how he maintains his grip on your face. His breath dances lightly against your ear as he speaks, adding to the chilling feeling overtaking your insides.

“Now what would you call a house where two Daddies take care of their little baby?” He speaks in a low, hushed tone. Not a sweet one–like the hushed subdued one Steve used on you just hours ago–No, Bucky’s tone is polar to that. It’s mocking, and sardonic as you can almost feel the smirk gracing his face without even looking at him. It’s as if he’s asking the most rhetorical question known to man. “Hmm?” 

You feel your own breathing pick up. It becomes evident with how every millimeter your chest moves, your lungs have to fight against the pressure of Bucky’s heavy arms around you. Your mind is blank as fright starts to fill it instead. How were you supposed to answer that? 

When you take too long to respond, Bucky promptly pinches at your side and simultaneously squeezes your cheeks harder, causing a retaliatory yelp out of you. 

“Ah! I-I don’t know!” you squirm around at the pain that certainly doesn’t help you think. 

He promptly covers your mouth with a shush, his sizable metallic hand swallowing up your face as you squeak dully now into his solid palm. 

“No yelling now, doll.” He turns your face towards him so he can look at you as he speaks. He glances quickly at the closed bedroom door before looking back at you. “Answer Daddy’s question.” He directs, “I know you’re a smart girl.” he grins at you, and though–in most contexts–that would sound like a compliment, his tone is decidedly condescending as he continues. “But I’ll repeat my question, just in case my silly little girl forgot.” he smiles snidely at you for a brief moment before continuing. “What do you call a house where two Daddies take care of their little girl?” He says the question more slowly this time, eerily calm but just as patronizing as he goes.

You stare at him with wide eyes as he carefully removes his hand from your mouth. He doesn’t have to speak the words as his eyes alone tell you not to yell again. His fingers remain on your face, retaking their previous position of gripping your chin as he looks at you expectantly.

“...home…” you breathe meekly, voice almost cracking as you do, hoping that was the right answer. 

“Good girl,” he roughly pats at your cheek with a slightly more authentic smile. “that’s exactly right.” he praises. You then hear some movement coming from the bedroom. Bucky glances that way before speaking to you again with a stern glare in his eye. “Now when Dada comes in here, you won't say any of those silly little thoughts, will you?” he asks presumptuously. You shake your head agreeably, and when Bucky’s head tilts with a clench of his jaw, you answer promptly out loud.

“Yes, Daddy” you quiver. He smiles at you, and as if on cue, Steve emerges from the door. There's a towel around his neck and he ruffles it around his hair before spotting you, his face lighting up when he does.

“Hi there angel,” he beams and leans down to you, instantly taking in the sight in front of him. 

Your adorable frame sitting atop his partner's lap. You looked so perfect right there. As if you were the last puzzle piece missing his entire life, now fitting together so seamlessly that it just looks like a painting. A beautiful one. Steve isn’t sure how they went without you before. Your soft face still holds a frayed look. His poor girl. He was hoping a little bit of rest would ease your frazzled little mind.

“You feeling a bit better after your nap?” Steve asks with a loving tone as he carefully picks you up from Bucky’s lap. He situates you so that you are on his hip, one arm supporting your bottom with legs wrapped around his side as he guides your arms around his neck. You fit so nicely around him like this. He almost wishes he could stop time and freeze this moment forever. Being able to hold you like this, he’s never felt so whole, so complete. You feel tense in his arms, but he knows one day…that won’t be the case. You’ll lean fully in, wholly relying on and giving yourself to them both. He’s eager for every moment leading to it and each subsequent instant after. 

Steve’s cold and wet hair tickles your arms. Being so close, you can’t help but notice the crisp comforting aroma that emits from his warm skin. 

For some reason, you look to Bucky as if he holds the answer to Steve’s question. He just glares at you with a slight scowl that dares you to misbehave before standing up after too long of silence on your part. 

“She’s still feeling a bit confused.” Bucky caresses you, palm enveloping the side of your face. “Huh, doll?” 

“Awh…” Steve joins in on stroking your face by soothing the back of your head. “well that’s okay angel. Babies get confused so easily.” he says with that underlying patronizing but sweet tone he uses. “Why don’t you let Dada check you, huh?” he asks while looking you up and down. You then feel all blood draining from your face as your eyes go wide, having no idea what he means by that. 

You look between him and Bucky frantically as Steve gently grabs one of your hands from behind his neck. You instinctively try pulling away but his grip tightens before you’re able to. 

“Now now, don’t be scared,” Steve assures sweetly, a stark contrast to the death grip on your hand. “Dada just needs to look at those pesky little marks we had to leave on you last night,” he explains while unraveling you from him and setting you back down on the couch where he kneels in front of you. Your body trembles in anticipation–for what exactly, doesn’t matter. 

You can’t control it as he diligently peels your socks off and rolls your leggings up to look underneath. He takes his time tracing the deformed marks with his fingertips, lifting up your ankles as he goes before making his way to your arms. He tugs on them gently in front of you and repeats his previous examination as if he’s mapping out every little laceration. “You don’t want any more of these…do you, babygirl?” Steve lilts, an ever so slightly threatening tone lacing his otherwise calm voice as he presses his fingers down, digging just harshly enough into where a bruise must be forming and causing you to jolt at the pain.

“Ah!-n-no!” you yelp pitifully quick at the discomfort.

“No…what?” Steve prods with false grace before pressing harder into your skin.

“N-no Dada!…ah!...please.” you shakily breathe the last word with a plea, pathetically pulling on your arms that don’t move an inch under his hold.

“Good girl,” he praises with a mischievous smile, and unclenches his painful grip, but doesn’t let go completely, instead, keeping a firm hold on you. 

He steadily lifts your wrists up…to his lips. They ghost your skin as he glints at you with a soft smirk before placing slow…slow kisses along the marked-up lines. 

Warm lips meet the welts that are painted all across and up your arms from where you were bound–corporal reminders of what disobeying meant–he trails each one of them, dragging his lips and dousing each inch of burning skin with tender kisses, his grip remaining its powerful hold so you remain immobile. 

When he makes his way to your upper arm, you physically resist from full-on screaming. A quick glance to Bucky with your sorrowful eyes reveals no mercy from him. He just glares at you, a deadpan look on his face but a teasing smirk in his eyes that dares you to make a noise. 

Steve lifts his head up to face you after planting his last kiss on your upper arm, just a hair's breadth from your face. Your head has already pushed itself back as far as it’ll go as the rest of your body is ensnared by his that hovers atop yours. Thick air surrounds you as your trembles turn to full-on shaking, watching him as his eyes don’t even meet yours. His blown pupils are intensively fixated on your lips now.

They look so soft.

Time itself seems frozen, all except a slow-motion icy droplet that falls from the tips of his hair. It lands atop soft cotton, dampening the fabric on your chest that ripples chills throughout you. He follows it, dark eyes lowering to where sensitive skin is hidden by the dainty onesie Bucky dressed you in earlier. You feel heat taking over the arctic sensation within you as he looks at your body with what you can only prescribe as desire–want.

But to your–very minuscule–relief he looks back up to your eyes, and gives you a quick smile, before leaning back on his knees again in front of you with a satisfied smile adorning his face.

“Might take a while for those to heal up,” he remarks, “but don’t worry, Daddy and I will give them lots of kisses to help them heal.” he smiles at you. 

“What do you say, doll?” Bucky speaks up, crossing his arms. 

A confused and worried look that causes your eyebrows to furrow comes over your face, unsure of what he wants when you’ve barely gotten your heart to stop pounding from the previous predicament.

Bucky decides–for now–he’ll key you in. Mostly because he doesn’t like seeing his Stevie all upset when you don’t do as you were told. 

He mouths a “thank you” with a cock of his head motioning towards Steve below him. 

“Th-thank you…D-dada” you squeak, voice uncontrollably shaky. 

“Oh, such a good girl. My good little girl,” Steve beams at you before standing up. “Oh…poor thing,” he remarks while looking down at your trembling form. “You must be freezing,” he states like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Dada will go get you a sweater. Stay right here,” he instructs before trailing off. 

When he comes back, there's more than just an extra garment in his hand. 

“Now later you can play upstairs all you want, but right now,” he speaks while setting down a few colorful-looking books and a box of crayons on the coffee table. “Daddy and I need to watch you and make sure you stay safe,” He then motions for you to move your arms up so he can put the sweatshirt he brought for you on. He carefully moves your arms and head through the holes and then leads you to the coffee table. “You can color as long as you like, angel, just make sure to tell us if you need anything, like water…or juice, okay?”

You nod your head complacently at him while he holds your hand looking down at you.

“Okay-I mean-I-yes…Dada” you fumble before kneeling down on the carpet yourself in front of the variety of coloring books. 

You don’t want to color. But–genuinely–what choice do you have? You could protest, but it wouldn’t lead anywhere beneficial. 

You scan the playful books in front of you, trying to find some solace in the fact that maybe focusing on this would at least mean less nerve-wracking interactions with…them. 

It shouldn't matter–which picture you settle on–with your brain still rattled from before, only you can’t help but feel choosy about the drawing you pick. You flip through the books, dog-earing the ones that pique your interest before settling on a foresty scene that depicts two large sleeping wolves and a little rabbit nestled right in the middle. 

For some perplexing reason, the crayon box decides it doesn’t want to be opened by your frail fingers. Steve quickly notices your frustrated struggle with it and instructs you to hand it to him so he can open it for you. You groan at the box and mutter something about how you ‘got it.’ 

You don’t see his eye squint and eyebrow raise as he watches you fumble with it for a moment longer, but you do feel him taking the box from your hands. 

“I don’t want you hurting those precious little fingers of yours now,” He smoothly opens the box and hands it back to you with a pet to your head. 

At some point, Bucky notices your tired posture and offers you a pillow to sit on before moving the coffee table closer to the couch so you can rest your back on the cushiony sofa. He moves it effortlessly as if the table wouldn’t break your back if you tried to move it. 

You mumble an assenting “thank you daddy” to which Bucky responds. “You’re welcome, sweet girl” with a wink and you withhold from sticking your tongue out at him.

Either one or both of them remain in the room with you for the rest of the evening, checking on you every so often. You attempt to keep your attention on remaining within the lines when you color, but you can’t help the way your unnerved hands still shake, causing you–to your annoyance–to occasionally strike outside the lines. 

By the time the sun has long set, and the only thing illuminating the paper in front of you is warm artificial light, you find yourself yawning with your head sideways on the table as you color. Whiffs of savory smells dance through your nose as Bucky has been in the kitchen for the last little bit preparing dinner.

“Getting sleepy babygirl?” Steve asks, peering down at you and your drawings. You shrug your shoulders, unsure of which answer would allow you the most leniency. 

“Oh, that one is just perfect,” he remarks while bending over and picking up the forest scene you colored first. It was hidden amongst other drawings that you had shuffled to the side. He holds it up and takes a good look at it. “You did such a good job,” he compliments. “I think this one deserves a place on the fridge” he boasts.

You turn your head back and watch in curiosity as he really does make his way to the kitchen and secures it with a little magnet. He stands back and smiles in satisfaction while you go back to coloring, feigning that you never even noticed the proud expression radiating off his body, and positively pretending that your insides didn’t go soft for a brief moment watching him. 

Steve and Bucky chatter while setting the table. You try to tunnel in on their voices but you can’t exactly make out what they’re saying as they speak quite lowly to each other. 

Steve makes his way to you and takes your hand to guide you to the table. He sets you in the seat furthest away from the door as they both sit rather closely to you–practically trapping you in. You poke at your otherwise appetizing plate as you have little desire to eat with your stomach still turned in tangled knots. 

They both encourage you to eat throughout, but you only manage to get a few bites down. Neither of them look particularly happy with you and your full plate. Nevertheless, they stop pushing after a bit and share a knowing look that you can’t make out the meaning of. 

You huff a quiet sigh of relief when they take your plate and start cleaning the kitchen, silently feeling as though you won this trivial round of control.

Bucky catches you from the corner of his eye as you take it upon yourself to get out of your chair. He tenses, preparing to snatch you before you can move until he realizes you’re only going to the living room, opposite of where the front door is. He decides to just watch you for a few moments as you go back to coloring with criss-crossed legs.   

Innocent little thing. His naive little doll shading away, having not a clue in your pretty little head of how erroneous it was to make your own decisions like that. It really was much too soon for you to truly understand what consequences will come when trying to think for yourself. He can’t exactly blame you though. His poor little baby had to do it for so long before they found you. It’s probably why you’re benignly coloring away with not an idea in your head of what’s really in store for your life here. Such a sweet, sweet little girl they had. All to themselves. Forever now.

He observes how you ferociously analyze and juxtapose the colors before you, even testing them on other miscellaneous paper before choosing the right one for the job. 

He already knows you better than you can even comprehend. He knows you’ve likely already thought you’ve gotten away with it.

“What do you think you’re doing little girl?” Bucky’s scolding voice startles you, causing you to jump a little in your spot. After just a second, he roughly yanks you up by your arm, spinning you around to face him as he holds you. “Did Daddy tell you you could leave the table? Hmm? Did Dada?” he fumes, the sudden escalation in action and tone making you want to just cry. 

“I-I-” you fumble, squirming uncomfortably below him. “I thought-”

“Oh I don’t think you were thinking anything in that silly little head of yours,” he chastises while pinching one of your cheeks harshly with his free hand. “And did you really think you could get away with not eating?”

“Ah!-” you fight, struggling against him, confused and disoriented on why he’s suddenly being so harsh when you thought you were off the hook. 

“Hey-hey, it’s okay,” you hear Steve speaking up behind him. “Let me talk to her Buck,” he says, allowing Bucky to let go of your arm and cheek. You tearfully rub at your hurt cheek while Steve kneels down to your level. “Sweet girl…remember yesterday when daddy gave you apple juice?” he asks, circling his hand behind your ear and gently cupping the cheek that Bucky previously inflicted harshly. You nod smally, glancing away around the room as you recall the unfond memory of being bottle-fed against your will. “Good, then you should know that little girls need their nutrients. And that means no skipping dinner,” he explains with a kind voice that makes you feel as if he's quite literally talking to a child.

“I-okay…Dada” you add, grateful for Steve at least being gracious enough as to not yell at and pinch you like Bucky just was. 

“Good girl,” he smiles at you before telling you to sit tight on the couch while he goes to get your dinner. You sit there, a bit perplexed on how he planned on giving you a meal when you’re pretty sure you saw Bucky scrape the remnants of your food into the trashcan. 

Steve returns with no plate in hand and sits a bit away from you, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion until you see it. 

You watch in horror as he reveals a milky white bottle that he shakes in his hand while speaking to you.

“Come here,” he beckons, patting his spacious thigh. You grimace at the granule liquid that swirls around in the bottle, not unlike the one Bucky used on you yesterday. If you didn't know better–which you don’t–you’d say it quite literally looks like baby formula.

“Uhm…I just…” you trail off, trying to come up with a reason, any reason not to be literally bottle-fed like you were yesterday. “I’m-I’m really not hungry-my-my stomach hurts,” you reason clumsily, but truthfully as well since the only thing filling your stomach right now is queasiness. Most of it coming from your situation, but the grainy texture swirling around in the bottle certainly doesn’t help your appetite either. “And-and I can just eat the other stuff,” you add frantically while looking back to the kitchen and wringing your hands.

“Now this is going to help my sweet girl feel a lot better and sleep real tight,” Steve remarks, completely ignoring your words and requests. 

“I-I said I'm not hungry.” you say a bit louder, but with a mild tone as to not sound too combative. 

“And I said this will help you sleep,” he asserts while dabbing the tip of the bottle on his wrist. “Now come sit on Dada’s lap,” he demands while patting his thigh again. You shake your head while subtly scooting away from him. 

“Mmm-mmm” you hum a no while sliding back even further. “Please, I don’t wan-”

“Did Dada ask what you wanted?” he cuts you off with a cock to his head at you. “No,” he shakes his head, answering his own question patronizingly. “I didn’t. You don’t get to decide what’s good for you. Only Daddy and I know that. Now I won’t ask again. Come here. Now.” he insists sternly. You debate quickly in your head, weighing out your limited options. When you still sit there not moving an inch, Steve sighs and reaches for you. He grabs your arm and pulls you towards him.

“No!” you say in response to the action. He’s not necessarily yanking or being particularly rough, but without thinking, you push back at him, your free hand overshooting and accidentally hitting his shoulder. Of course, it’s like you’ve hit a brick wall, the small action hurting your wrist much more than it likely hurt him at all. But something about it felt…cathartic. And something inside you just…snaps. 

You had played nice all day, letting them hold you, touch you, kiss you. Hell–you even sat on the floor for hours and colored while wearing a onesie. And now he wanted to bottle feed you actual formula. You had to draw the line. 

You couldn’t give in. The silent promise you made to yourself earlier rings in your head. You weren’t going to drink this stupid bottle.

Steve still has you in his grasp and is pulling you closer to him so that you can be in his lap. Only, you take this opportunity to fight. Hard. 

With all the strength you have, you wrench yourself back. Steve quickly encapsulates both your hands, making you feel as though you’ll sooner break your own wrists before you ever successfully free yourself from his grip. You take it upon yourself to switch strategies, maneuvering yourself into a position where you just start kicking at him feverishly. It felt childish. It looked childish. But you didn’t care right now. You weren’t going to play along any longer. 

You realize halfway through your nonsensical thrashing fit that Steve is likely just letting you play this out before he decides he’s had enough. He decisively stands up, dragging your combative form with him as he roughly swings you up to throw you over his shoulder. You still fight him, your flailing is joined with nonsensical shrieks as you lash out on him physically and verbally. Steve holds you down atop him firmly while hauling you upstairs. Before you realize it, you’re roughly tossed down into a mattress. The otherwise compliant spread hurts you on impact from the height you fall from. Your swirling vision from being upside down and lack of oxygen in your lungs from screaming leaves you disoriented until your dazed eyes focus on structured parallel bars. 

Steve’s thrown you into the very crib he showed you just hours ago. 

“That’s just for when you’re feeling extra little,”

You instantly try to stand up only for Steve to effortlessly push you back down, sending you to roughly bounce on your bottom. You clumsily try to regain your balance and breath while Steve reaches for something besides the crib. Before you know it, Steve’s grabbed both your hands and starts heatedly tying them together. Tightly. He ensnares your fingers together and weaves the rope around every inch of your digits up to the middle of your forearm, completely restraining the hands that fought him. 

You try getting up again only to find it’s surprisingly hard to move with your hands bound in front of you. 

He mutters to you something about ‘not moving’ while making his way to the end of the crib. He abrasively yanks both of your legs down to the edge of the caged mattress and begins tying those together too. You flail hopelessly, hurling unkind words at him while he secures your ankles to the bars, completely immobilizing the legs that were just unabashedly kicking at him.

When you finally catch a glimpse of Steve’s face, his expression is unforgiving. Furrowed eyebrows highlight his intense dark focus as veined arms secure you to the crib.

Steve straightens himself up and towers over you from beside the crib. He just watches you until you decide to give up on fighting, realizing you can’t free yourself from your binds. Your anger slowly turns to just pure sorrow, as you find yourself crying hot tears into your already burning face. You murmur pointless cries asking over and over again to just be let go…

“Angel…” Steve says softly, his features appearing less angered now, but still unhappy nonetheless. “I’m going to give you one more chance,” he kneels down, leveling himself with you from outside your confines. He reaches through the bars and caresses your rope-covered hands. “If you do what Dada says, then I might go easy on your punishment,” he slides his hands up, open-palmed, slowly inching his way to your face. He lingers on your throat for a moment too long before laying his hand across your cheek. “But that’s only if you stop being a bad girl…is that what you want?” he asks patronizingly, with a cock to his head, faux sympathy lining his tone. “You want Dada to treat you like a bad girl?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, heavy tears pitifully falling as Steve watches you. He doesn’t catch them as he awaits your answer that doesn’t come. 

He then tries to give you the bottle from before again but you only resist. Shaking your head and crying profusely while mumbling sorrowful nonsense.

Steve sighs, and hangs his head. He doesn’t enjoy seeing you like this. He wants to hear you laugh. The same laugh he heard over anything else the first night he found you. He wants to see you smile. The same way you beamed at him that night he helped you find your way back. He wants to draw you close when you fall asleep next to him. The same way he’s watched you fall asleep all by yourself for months. He wants to replace the teeny little thumb you always stick in your mouth when you think no one is watching with his. He knows you want this. He knows you need this. 

But it’s obvious his poor girl just doesn’t understand that yet. 

Steve knows babies have a hard time listening when throwing tantrums anyway...  

For now, if you won’t listen, he’ll just have to show you. 

“My sweet girl…” Steve grabs your face, turning it towards him. “You just won’t learn unless Dada shows you, huh?” he releases your face dismissively and stands up. 

“If you want to act out…” he speaks while reaching across the crib above you, 

“and think you’re a big girl…” he lifts something weighty that’s attached to the top of the crib, 

“that’s fine,” parallel bars intrude your vision of Steve from above you, 

“But this is what happens when you act like a bad girl.” Steve’s voice turns more ireful with every word he speaks, as he works his way around the crib, latching multiple locks together that you hadn't noticed before with increasingly aggressive force. 

“You get treated like one. Bad girls get left all alone by themselves without Dada. If you really want Dada to let you go. Fine. You’ll stay right here until you understand what it means to listen.” he slams the last latch shut.

You barely have time to process his words while your wobbly vision interprets what’s happening above you. By the time you comprehend that there’s a top to this ‘crib’ that Steve has locked you in, he’s already left the room, truly isolating you.

Anguished sobs that were falling on deaf ears during Steve’s spiel to you now meet the equally deaf silence of the room itself. 

The only sound that accompanies you now is your own cries, echoing back pitifully to you from the horizontal bars above…

[eddies-house]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Two - Dainty

W/C: 4.6K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

You need a job, The Bourbon needs a server. The math is there but the owner won't acknowledge it. How will you win over such a crabby man that only sees you as a gnat forcing its way into his space?

A/N: The response I received on the first part fic was so unexpected but I'm so glad everyone liked it!! I can't wait to get deeper into this story

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I’m sorry for running out so fast yesterday.

No.  Too forward.

I think we got off on the wrong foot, by we I mean me.

No, not sincere enough.

I just wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly—

“Excuse me, dear?”

Your train of thought was dissolved within seconds as you turned your focus to the older gentleman that had called for your attention.  A hum in place of an answer as your brows raised expectantly but ever so friendly awaited his follow up question.

“Can I just squeeze past you to grab that jar of peaches?”  He asks, wrinkles around his eyes upturned in perfect harmony with his smile.

“Of course.  Yes!”  Panicked, you rush to the other side of the aisle, the older man waving you off, insisting that it was ‘quite alright’ while he reached for his beloved peaches.

You’d been bouncing back and forth, up and down between several opening statements to provide Donnie, a sour taste left in your own mouth at the way you left her hanging the day before when she was merely being kind to you.  It was something you couldn’t stop, the anxiety eating away at your flesh like bacteria from the fact that you could’ve caused someone to be less than satisfied with their interaction with you, as if you were some kind of service.  People pleasing was a disease.

Sometimes the affected party was blind to its symptoms, oblivious to the way their illness consumed them.  And that’s why you found yourself purchasing a single pack of gum, eyes large and sorrowful before you were even next in line.  Various ways to get the point across were mentally rehearsed and the closer you got to the register, the more you focused on one singular sentence, clinging onto the desire to not stutter or mess it up.  

“Hey you’re back!”  Donnie greets.  “Thought for sure we’d scare you off by now.”

With a wince, you hand her your pathetic excuse of a conversation starter, a pack of spearmint gum with your trembling hand.  If she notices she doesn’t bring attention to it, instead she gracefully takes the pack and rings you up. 

“N-no, no.  I don’t scare that easily.”  You try to convince yourself more than her.

You note that the shop is nearly empty once again just after a handful of customers had done their shopping and went on with their day.  A few patrons still linger, carefully picking out each item from their weekly grocery list; however, you wouldn’t know they were there if not for the squeak of their carts every few feet as they inched forward.

“Could’ve fooled me.”  Donnie respectfully hands back the gum in exchange for your cash.  A crinkled five that had seen better days.

For a moment you debate fleeing once again, nerves tingling and breathing becoming shallow before internally reprimanding yourself.  You can cry all you damn well please in private but right now you need to stand up to the little voice in your head.  “Yeah.  Um, I just–I wanted to say I’m sorry for running out so suddenly like that.”  It didn’t come out as smooth as you’d planned but you’re hoping it came across as sincere enough.  If you could at least look forward to a friendly face at the supermarket every week, well it would be a win.

“Honey, I don’t get offended easily and it seemed like you had places to be.”  She waves a dismissive hand in the air at your apology, not unkindly, more so letting you know you didn’t need to be so formal with her.  And yet you couldn’t help yourself, an unwanted backstory spilling from your lips almost like second nature.  Excuses plucked from the top of your brain.

“I didn’t–I didn’t mean to leave and just not introduce myself.  I just got caught up, with moving and all–”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.  Just your name and we’ll call it good.”  A genuine smile stretches across her face, contagious enough that your lips tug upward as well as you offer your name, a proper introduction this time.

Your shoulders relax ever so slightly, not fully letting your guard down but no longer feeling the need to tense every muscle in your body.  It’s then that you realize that this is the only grocery store that you ever found visually appealing, with its darker toned walls and red checkered floors, the lighting not being so fluorescent and in your face, a bit dim even.  Which for some may be a flaw but for you it was perfect.  You don’t feel so exposed and couldn't be perceived so clearly, the ideal cocktail of a situation for someone so socially anxious.

“I, um, I saw your sign.”  You gesture to the letters reading ‘help wanted’ posted against the window.  If you could land a decent job then maybe living wouldn’t feel so terrifying.  Then again, several things would come into factor other than just your means of income.  

Donnie’s expression turns empathetic and you can feel your breath hitch in anticipation for a brutal rejection.  To be told that you had it all wrong, that you were too unprofessional and too meek and that your help was most definitely not wanted here, that you shouldn’t have even stepped foot in this town to begin with.  The five stages of grief practically take over in mourning over the loss of a potential job.

“I’m real sorry but we already filled the position.  Tom was supposed to take that down around two weeks ago.”  She sounds irritated at the mention of what you assumed to be her coworker.  “Can’t rely on anyone.”  She sighs, striding over to the window and pulling the sign from its temporary home only to abandon it behind the shelf that displayed several boxes of cigarettes.  

“Oh I’m–”

Before you can even begin to apologize for something completely out of your control, Donnie’s eyes light up at something, or rather, someone behind you.

“Hey, Ed!  Isn’t The Bourbon hiring?”

All she receives in return is silence and when you dare to peek over your shoulder behind you, you briefly meet the eyes of the neighbor you had the displeasure of running into twice the day before.  Today he fronts with a black leather jacket and the same black jeans with rips in the knees.  The only thing noticeably different is the chain now dangling at his side and the band shirt you’re unable to read, the letters obscured from your view.  Oh, and a few chunky rings decorating his hand that should make him look tacky as hell but somehow they pull the look together.  

“I dunno, who’s asking?”  He counters, brow raised as he glances at you once more.  You’d barely even spoken a few words to the guy and he was acting as if you committed the most heinous act against him.

“Ed.”  Donnie warns.

“Don, she wouldn’t last a day.”

You were beginning to think that this so-called ‘Ed’ was going to turn into an issue…fast.  Who was he to judge a stranger who he knew absolutely nothing about.  His audacity startled you and while you should step in and defend yourself, you can’t bring yourself to do it, tongue tied in every literal sense, words caught in the back of your throat like they were physical refrigerator magnets lodged in place.

“You don’t know that!”  She grins at him, a grin that silently says ‘watch it’.  “Honey, you got any work experience?”  Attention shifting to you, you felt as if you were burdening two people who had everything figured out in their quaint little lives, guilt plaguing your mind at the fact that you’d shaken things up between what seemed to be good friends or maybe even just well acquainted individuals.

“I–uh–yes.  Yes, I’ve worked at the–at the library and-and–”

“The library?”  Ed questions.  You didn’t dare answer, knowing very well he wasn’t seeking a response.  “What good would that do me in a bar?”

“Well I–”

“Think The Bourbon’s too rowdy for someone like you.”  He continues, only fueling your inner rage as well as pricking the embarrassment that held a permanent home within you, your cheeks flushing hot and palms becoming clammy.

“I’ve also worked at a diner.  Back home.”  Somehow you find a voice, one that isn’t shaky and timid but rather more calm and collected regardless of the absolute fear that pounded in your heart.  

Both Donnie and Ed stare, seconds passing that only feel like lightyears.  Ed still seems bored beyond comprehension, opening and shutting his wallet as he narrows his big brown eyes.  You aren’t sure what to do next, if you should make a dramatic exit once again or continue proving yourself to some stranger who had no business even making you do such a thing in the first place.

“A diner.”  

He says it like a statement rather than a question, as if to mock and discredit you.  

Tears are not an option, tears are not an option.  

“See she’s got experience!”  Donnie attempts to mend the situation, acting as an unofficial moderator.

“Don, no offense but I came here to buy the usual, not recruit.”  Some cash is slapped onto the counter, his patience clearly wearing thin by the way he begs with his eyes.  Donnie’s tolerance appears to be at a dangerously low level based on the glare she forces upon him.  You were beyond unprepared to witness a standoff in the middle of the supermarket at 5:00 PM on a Wednesday.

“Thought you were desperate for a server.”

There’s some bite behind her words, focus never wavering, the two seeming to have a telepathic conversation right before your eyes until Ed breaks the stillness in the air.

“Not in the slightest.  Can I have my shit now?”

Donnie’s sigh lets you know Ed has won and in the process, drained her energy.  Reluctantly, she snatches the cash from the counter and opens the register before grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the shelf behind her and handing them to him along with his change, an unfriendly exchange.  It doesn’t seem to bother him as he clutches the cash and the pack in his hand, not even sparing you another glance on his way out.

Clearing your throat, you pull Donnie’s attention away from the insufferable man now making his way down the cobblestone sidewalk outside.  “It’s okay.  I’m sure other places are hiring.”  

She rolls her eyes and you know it’s not meant for you but you can’t shake the paranoia that screams that she might be fed up with you as well.  “Don’t mind Eddie.  He acts like a hardass but he’ll come around.”

So his name is Eddie.  You only nod in response, unsure of where to steer the conversation from here.

“He’s like a scary dog.  He’ll roll over for the right people.  So if he doesn’t take to you, don’t take it personally.”  She advises.

“Yeah.”  You whisper.  

You were so going to take it personally.

–

As it turns out, no one in Knife’s Edge was hiring, not a single soul seeking a random girl from out of town who urgently needed a job.  Not that you could blame them, they had it all figured out.  Many of the shops were owned by families thus being run by said families and not requiring the additional expense that would come with hiring another person.  And those that did seem to hire outside of their family had already filled in every necessary position.  

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.  This is what you get for uprooting your life and sticking it somewhere it probably didn’t belong.

And now you were moping along the cobblestone, trying to figure out how to pay the bills, working out how much of your savings you could survive off of until you’d run out.  Then The Bourbon came into view.  Almost like it wanted you to see it, the beaming red lights spelling out its name specifically for you to see.  Mainly because it was the only place you knew to be hiring despite what Ed–or–Eddie–whatever his name was, had said in his unpleasant remarks from earlier.  It seemed to be your only shot at employment.

The bar had a few neon signs flashing in the window, one being the very obvious ‘open’ sign and then of course one that read ‘happy hour’ with a margarita.  The rest appeared to be different beers they might have on tap.  It didn’t look like anything fancy but didn’t seem like a hole in the wall either.  The exterior was paneled in wood just like almost every other building in the area, giving it a cabin feel without actually being a cabin.

Dread settled in the pit of your stomach from just staring at the place so if you were going to act, it needed to be now, before said dread morphed into pure panic.  This was going to determine your foreseeable future, if you couldn’t land this job then you might as well toss yourself right back down that mountain with no money and no plan, right back to square one.

The door was heavy, built out of metal and a bell ringing just above, notifying any staff and patrons of your presence which you could do without but you had to push yourself.  If they were staring, your gaze was glued to the ground and you didn’t notice, too occupied in rehearsing an improvised script in your head.  Some kind of rock or metal song blasted through the bar and you weren’t sure if it was overstimulating or comforting.  Your initial thought was that for being in a small town, they would be inclined to play country music so it only relieved you that your possible future workplace wouldn’t be subjecting you to the unbearable twang you just couldn’t seem to stand.  You’d endure it when all was said and done but it was appreciated that it was one less nuisance in your life.

It was a standard bar, the atmosphere mellow with dull lighting and a haziness smelling of tobacco swirling throughout the room.  What immediately drew you in was the obvious game of bingo, suddenly shifting what was a designated spot for happy hour and a cheap therapy session with the bartender into a retirement home full of seniors.  A man that looked to be in his fifties sat on a stool on the tiny stage in the corner, calling out numbers, which elicited a few victory yells from those who had obviously been having better luck.  

However odd the scene may be, several senior citizens occupying the tables of a bar at happy hour, business still seemed to be booming considering that it was a weekday.  Aside from the group of elderly yet energetic individuals, there were also what looked to be the regulars perched on their assigned stools at the actual bar.  They paid no mind to the intense game happening behind them, sipping away at their beers and mixed drinks leisurely.

A vacant seat called to you, two more on each side guaranteeing that you could sit comfortably without awkwardly scooting in next to someone and disturbing their possible winding down time, no doubt trying to blow off some steam after work.  That’s why people came to bars, right?  It was lost on you, this wasn’t your scene and if you’re truthful, you’re not even sure you should be here begging for a job in the first place.  That Ed guy clearly didn’t take a liking to you and though you didn’t exactly have any knowledge on his role within The Bourbon, he seemed like he had a say in the day to day operations just based on the tiny snippets of information you picked up on.  Hopefully someone with the same level of authority would be working now and actually respect you as a person enough to at least give you a chance.  

Playing it cool—as cool as one could be with constant nagging thoughts and shot nerves, you decide to plant yourself down on the stool, the worn leather material partially squeaking in protest as you wiggle into a comfortable enough position, setting your bag in your lap and clutching it in paranoia.  A glance from the left to the right and back to the left lets you know that no one seems to mind your presence though you still close in on yourself regardless, taking up the least amount of space possible.

The bartender, a man maybe in his early twenties who had short dark hair seems preoccupied as he shakes a drink while balancing a conversation with another man at the end of the bar, the two laughing every other sentence like old friends.  And so you wait.  Never intentionally draw attention to yourself and never disturb anyone else’s night until you find it polite to chime in when the bartender doesn’t seem as busy.  Even then, he doesn’t hear your small ‘excuse me’ every time he rushes by onto his next task.

A sad little ghost settled among lively customers, you don’t seek pity, only a glance your way so that you could get this over with and either face rejection or anxiously resume the job search.  Though no one seems to bother looking your way, you can’t help the heat traveling to your cheeks in pure humiliation, the fact that you’re the only thing out of place weighing heavily on your mind.  More celebratory howls and yells sound from behind you, the room erupting into laughter shortly after from a joke you didn’t care to understand.  Even a few select chuckles are heard from the men scattered along the bar.

“Do you just not listen?”

A familiar voice breaks through your thoughts, forcing you to peek up from where your focus remained on the bartop, where moments before you’d seemed entranced by the surface.  In reality you were running in circles in your head, hoping to make sense of your current situation.  Through your lashes you saw him.  Ed.  Or Eddie.  You didn’t put much effort into feeling too bad for not remembering his actual name, especially when he’d never even had the decency to ask for yours.  His leather jacket was absent from his torso, now only showing off a plain black t-shirt that also allowed you a view of various tattoos scattered along his arms.  You were first drawn to the faded bats on his forearm before becoming puzzled by what seemed to be some kind of a doodle on his inner bicep, not a very good one at that.  And then you remembered he’d asked you a question.

“I’m not allowed to have a drink?”  You ask innocently.  Genuine innocence.  No sarcasm.  You weren’t brave enough for that.

“Only if you’re not here to also beg for a job.”  He grumbles.  A man a few stools over gestures down for another round and in response, Eddie nods coolly.  With a certain kind of smoothness, he pulls a new glass out before slamming it down on the counter.  “If you are, the answer is still no.”  The way he quickly pours liquor into the shaker seems so effortless, measurements probably burned into his brain that allow for more efficiency on busy nights.

“Can I at least speak to someone in charge?”  You do your best to keep your voice steady and unwavering in the presence of someone with infinitely more confidence than you, his eye contact never breaking.

“You’re lookin’ at him, doll.”

His voice drips with his signature condescending tone, the corner of his mouth pulled up slightly in a smirk.  One that tells you that you’ve hit a dead end. 

“You—oh.”  Like an idiot, you swallowed any words that bubbled in your throat, unable to find it within yourself to at least come up with a snarky comeback.

“We’re not hiring.”

“That-that’s not what Donnie said.”  Lousy.  The argument just seemed to fall from your tongue involuntarily, not much thought put behind it before coming to fruition.  It would only give him more ammo.

His eyes further surveyed you, meticulously analyzing your every move, every twitch of every muscle in your face.  An unwanted spotlight shining on you, revealing every flaw in your approach to the current conversation.  You wanted a job and he wanted nothing to do with you, your last statement only sealing your fate, only giving him more reason to deny your advances.

“Donnie doesn’t work here does she?”  Without expression, he begins expertly shaking his concoction, forearms flexing with the movement.  He was a character, some kind of figment of your imagination.  He had to be.  You’d never encountered someone so standoffish, so ill-tempered, especially toward someone he’d never even met before, already passing judgment on you based on seconds of interaction.

Ignoring his rhetorical question, which came off as more of a deterrent than anything, you pursue a fair conversation, a deserving interview at the very least.  “Listen, I’m a really hard worker and—“

“And a fast learner right?”

The interruption was unwelcomed though you gave no indication that it was, face set in a straight expression as you processed his uncivil personality.  You couldn’t even find it in you to convey shock, your brain malfunctioning upon his words, outdoing himself with every sentence he uttered.

“Well, yes.”

“Of course.  And you can multitask too I bet?”

This wasn’t the interview you were hoping for, this was downright degrading.

“If you would just let me talk.”  You plead, fingers digging into the wood of the bartop.

“Listen, kid.”  The liquid he had been shaking for quite some time is poured into the glass, an amber colored liquor filled to the brim.

Kid?  

If you had the guts you would degrade him right back.  But you were you and you could only sit and take each hit to your fragile mental state with as much grace as possible.  And soon after the tears would come.  Not yet, though.  Not just yet.

“You look like you’re about to cry and you haven’t even been hired.  What makes you think you can handle a full house on a Friday night?”  The drink is topped off with an orange twist and a black cherry before he slides it to its awaiting consumer, not a drop spilling over the edge of the glass, clearly a perfected craft that he was proud of.

When he’s met with silence you gather that he thinks he’s won just by the smug look on his face, barely there but still evident nonetheless.  That little voice inside your head screams at you to keep pushing, keep bugging him until he has to give in.  Even if by pure annoyance.  And although you can feel yourself trembling in terror, something urges you to just gulp down the fear and prod at the arrogant man just beyond the bar.

“I work well under pressure, I’m very organized, I’ll clean on my down time…”  You begin to list off your abilities and if he wanted to stop listening, the way he glared at you wasn’t convincing you that he was going to.

This time his response is delayed rather than the other way around, suddenly at a loss for words as his large eyes take in your sudden change in demeanor.  Your slight assertiveness takes him by surprise, you can tell from his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.  It’s all a front for you to at least get one foot in the door but as they say, ‘fake it ‘til you make it’.

“No.”  He answers suddenly, sternly.  His disinterest is obvious when he pulls out a rag and starts wiping down the counter, no longer letting his gaze fall on you but instead, the droplets he works vigorously to clean up.

If he wants a fight, then a fight he shall receive. 

“I’m a team player, I’m super reliable, my time is flexible, if you need me in a pinch consider it done–”

“Do you understand social cues?”  

Ouch.  If you had an inflated ego it would’ve surely been destroyed by now but you were already working with close to nothing.

“Yes.”  You reply, not a trace of sarcasm, only an honest answer.

“So I think by now you’d understand.  We.  Are.  Not.  Hiring.”  Each word is enunciated and slathered thickly with bitterness, topped with the intention to send you running like a dog with its tail tucked in between its legs.  

What he doesn’t know is that your soft spoken voice and bashful exterior isn’t all there is to you and that deep down, if you wanted something, you were stubborn and able to manipulate the situation should it be required in the most dire of situations.  Whether it would work on him seeing as he was also just as stubborn, if not more, you weren’t sure yet.

“Are you turning me away because I’m a woman?”  

The pure horror in his eyes almost makes you chuckle because now you know you have the upper hand and had anyone overheard, they would probably question their beloved local bartender’s work ethic.  

“I mean–not that I’m accusing you…”  You were definitely accusing.  “I just don’t see any other women working and–”

It doesn’t have the effect you’re hoping for as he leans toward you, forearms resting on the bar, his eyes returning back to their spiteful nature while he taps his clunky rings against the surface in thought.

“I’m turning you away because you don’t belong in a place like this.  Things can get rough and you’re…too dainty.”  His voice is much more hushed than before but his expression remains serious, without a trace of that stupid smirk.

Dainty?  Dainty.  Noted.

“What–you don’t think a woman can handle–”

“It’s not about you being a woman.”  He seethes.  “It’s about the fact that you are dainty.  Polite.  Shy.  I can’t have that when I’ve got a few drunks refusing to leave at 2:00 AM.”  

“I know when to hold my own.  Especially if it's for a job.”  You attempt to convince him.

“What, so you’re just gonna respectfully tell them to leave, then what?  These guys get out of hand, I can’t be babysitting you, I’ve got a business to run.”  He reasons, straightening his posture, conversation already forgotten as he starts to turn away before you speak up again.

“At least let me prove you wrong before you dismiss me.”  You quietly demand, hands clasped in front of you.  “Think I can handle a group of senior citizens.”  You motion to the intense bingo game still going strong behind you.  

With a roll of his eyes, he seems to ponder his thoughts, bouncing them around in his head.  An exasperated sigh escapes his parted lips while a hand drags down his tired face.  

“One night.  A trial.  If you can handle it, fine.  You’ve got a job.”  He finally declares.  “But if I have to stop what I’m doing to babysit you or you so much as–”

“I’ll find another job.  Promise.”  You nod persuasively, a glimmer in your eyes that he doesn’t miss but quickly ignores.

“Good.  Tomorrow night.  Eight.  And just this one time you can park in the back lot.”

He tries to dismiss himself again but your next question forces him to linger a little bit longer.  He was patient, you’d give him that.

“Wait–what, what’s the dress code?”  You ask sheepishly, a contrast to the business woman you’d molded into just seconds before.

He does a once over, as if to judge your fashion choices but what he ends the conversation with only leads you to think that he favors one word way too much.  

“Casual.  Nothing too dainty.”

~end~

Masterlist

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiemunson95 @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel

[star-girl69]

Hi, I've been thinking about this today, Tsu'tey with a fem reader. dreamwalker where he has to teach the reader the ways of people, and he obviously hates that, he always teases her about how fragile she is and then she starts teasing him back saying the other warriors are better than him, so tsu'tey without realizing it starts trying to impress her every day :)

Sharp Edges

—-

a/n: let’s just pretend that tsu’tey and neytiri were never betrothed pls and thank you! also this is so off ask i’m sorry anon 😭 i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: mentions of animal death, some sensual touching, mentions of bows and arrows, swearing, mentions of death, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

The two of you were in an undesirable situation, yes? You had long since made your peace with it, and you knew you could be an adult about it.

Having Tsu’tey teach you the way of the people wasn’t the worst thing to happen, but it certainly had its downfalls.

But, you thought he would be mature about it.

You weren’t expecting sunshine and rainbows, but he was a knife. His edge was curved and jagged, and he seemed to point the tip right at your heart. Seemed intent on destroying you, but really he wanted to destroy the people behind you.

The humans, the Sky People, whatever they were.

He hated them, so as a dreamwalker, he hates you.

Each day, he seems intent on handing you a knife and telling you what to do with it, only to laugh when you fall on it.

“Wrong,” he grunts. It seems to be the only word he can say.

“Wrong how?”

“Your form. Raise your arm,” he says, and you follow, the string of the bow becoming taut as well. “Hm. Could be better. But, it would be a shame if that skinny arm of yours broke, yes?” he lets out a dry laugh, eyes drifting from you to the ground.

“Thank you, Tsu’tey. Everyday, you are so kind.”

His eyes meet yours and he smiles, unkindly, more so a sneer. But, regardless of what he thinks, you’ve grown used to his harshness. You may not have had his training, but your skin is steel to his insults and actions.

He seems a little startled when you don’t respond, always so used to you scowling or storming off. But, today, at least, you weren’t going to let him win.

“Let me demonstrate,” he says, and you pretend like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

He shoots the bow easily, makes it look natural. His form was perfect, his aim was perfect, and he turns to you with a cocky look, chin held high.

“I am good, no?”

“I’m not sure,” you feign, watch as his face drops. “What would a weak human like me know of all that?”

“You are funny, Y/N of the Sky People.”

“Besides,” you hum, and you know you’re striking low. Will he really even care what you think of him? But you still want to dig in, feel his flesh give in on your side, even if he feels nothing. “I saw Konve shoot the other day. He is good too, no?”

Tsu’tey scoffs. “Not better than me.”

“Of course,” you hum, but you can see the look in his eyes.

—-

The next morning, you follow the crowd to just outside of Hometree, seeing the crowd gather around something. Someone.

You push your way through the thick crowd, wondering what could possibly have everyone so engrossed?

Then, Tsu’tey sits in front of the crowd, high on his pal’i. He takes the world in one hand and carves it to what he likes. He rules it. Bow held in one hand, the other raised out like he is greeting the world- the universe.

Next to him lies the largest sturmbeest you have ever seen. Your eyes flick from him to the dead animal, until voices start to rise up.

“He hunted it! All alone! Killed it, all alone!”

You gasp and look towards him again, only to find his eyes on you. He smiles, smugly, and you can’t help but roll your eyes, hide your smile. He is not as unaffected as he pretends to be.

—-

“Impressive,” you muse when you see him for your regular lesson.

“What?” he asks, but you can tell from by the way his head tilts, he knows exactly what you’re talking about. He just wants to hear you say it.

“Your kill,” you spit, annoyed that he’s playing you like this.

“Oh, nothing,” he says, standing tall with a smug smile.

“You sure?” you smile, like a hunter caught her prey, picking up a practice bow from where it hangs on the tree.

“Sure of what?” he huffs, weary of what you might say.

“Sure it’s not nothing? No reason why you did it? No special occasion, no… special girl?”

“I know no girls.”

“You know me.”

“You do not count.”

You sigh, with and smile, eyes bright as you turn and get into position, ready for him to berate you.

“Whatever you say, Tsu’tey.”

“Fine,” he mutters, before a slow smile creeps onto his face. You ignore it, thinking he has simply come up with a pleasing insult. Tsu’tey has sharp edges, yes, but you have strong walls.

“W-what are you doing?” you gasp, but he simply holds you in place, hands on your hips.

“Sloppy,” he mutters, lips by your ear. “Again.”

“What?” his chin is just above your shoulder, and if he wanted to, if his hands slipped, he could slide them around to press flat against your stomach, hook his chin over his shoulder.

“Your form,” he says, infuriatingly slow, in a low voice, “was sloppy. Again.”

You barely manage to muster up the strength to ignore his warm, big hands, his breath on your cheek, raising yourself back up into the proper form.

He hums, one of his hands splaying across your hip, your waist, the other coming up to run along your arm. Back to his chest, just millimeters away, so tantalizingly close. You won’t pretend to ignore it- Tsu’tey is attractive. A provider. He would be not only a good mate, but a strong father, a talented hunter.

“Better,” he says, hand wrapping around your own, fingers over yours on the bow. He leans back up to your ear, so close you can feel his breath, hear something in his voice. “Shoot,” he bids.

So, you do, let the arrow fly, let it fall and sink into target. Still off, by a few inches, but close enough to where he lets you go. While the arrow falls, maybe he sees you fall too.

—-

Falling for Tsu’tey is an exhausting thing. You think about him too much, not enough- he overwhelms you.

You try your best to tease him like teases you, but while he gets more bold, hands wandering more, you shrink up. Your insults are barely insults. They hold no fire behind them, no emotion other than your flustering.

You feel stupid and foolish, like a teenager with a crush, and he seems only to enjoy. Tsu’tey seems to only enjoy sinking his sharp edges into your skin.

You barely bite back a sigh, cursing yourself for thinking you could have one nice night. It was a hunt festival- you thought he would give it up. At least for one night.

But, no, he had instead inserted himself into your conversation, pulling everyone’s in the groups attention, all while he would smirk at you occasionally.

He is like the eye of your storm, the bane of your existence.

Finally, you manage to slink away from the conversation, into the corner, waiting for the night to be over. You watch as Tsu’tey arm wrestles with some other warriors, staring at you after he wins.

One night, you think to yourself, could I not be free for one night?

Finally, after the fourth round he wins, you give up. You need air. You need space.

The woods provides the perfect cover, a place to hide and gather your thoughts, slink away for just a moment. Maybe you can even rip your foolish crush out of your chest. But then you might have to rip out your entire heart, and you don’t want to die.

Just as you manage to take a seat on a fallen tree trunk, take one, two, three deep breaths, a twig snaps from behind you.

“Fuck!” you shout, whipping around with no weapon in sight, only to see a worse fate.

He looks amused at your fear, your embarrassment, and anger rises in you.

“You will get hurt out here all by yourself, dreamwalker.”

“Then I get hurt,” you mumble, complacent and bored, turning away from him. He stops in his tracks, the sounds of leaves crunching stopping.

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? I mean leave me alone, Tsu’tey. I will be fine. And if not, then why do you care?”

He scoffs, and confusion rises in your chest, but you ignore it. You can’t even see his face right now, too scared everything will all come down, and you’ll let him kill you with his sharp edges.

“I put so much effort into courting you the human way, and all you can do is scorn me?”

You swear your heart stops, hope bubbling in your chest like a volcano, threatening to spill over and burn you. That what it feels like, when you’re with him. Like you’re burning from the inside out.

“What?” you breathe, looking of your shoulder. He has no sharp edges right now. Only softness, like sea glass.

“The humans. This is how they court? The- the teasing?” you can tell the word is odd for him, but in this moment, why would you even care about that? Not when the world is in front of you, when Tsu’tey is telling you he was courting you. “I wanted to impress you, the Na’vi way. But- the humans- I did it their way, too.”

You let yourself sink, let yourself stand and fall into him. You only come a step closer, but his hands fly to your waist like he’s scared you’ll run. Like he has to keep you there. Has to keep you with him. You let him. You like it.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

He frowns, fingers twitching into your sides. “Is that not what the humans do?”

“I-” you gasp, overwhelmed by everything, by him, by the feeling of air in your lungs. “No,” you choke out. “That’s not- I thought you hated me?”

“I did,” he hums, unbothered by it. “But then… you spoke about Konve, about how he was better and I- I did not like it. I didn’t even realize I wanted you until I realized I wanted to impress you. I- I would like for more, Y/N. I want more of you.”

It’s odd, to hear so many words come out of his mouth at once, especially so heartfelt, but it makes you sing and burn on the inside and feel like the most precious piece of treasure.

“I want more of you too, Tsu’tey,” you breathe.

And you’ve learned that Tsu’tey will have what he wants, so he places his lips on yours, let’s you fall into him, and you let his sharp edges sink into you.

You let him sink into you, and it hurts, it burns, buts it’s good.

—-

[izuke-the-zombie]

Ok you can’t just leave us hanging! What happened to pocket monkey wukong the poor little thing.

✨Ooooh hohohohoh hohoOOOooo~

Well, my dear anonymous, since you're so interested, let me ease your mind of such curiosity.😼

shall I~😈✨

Are Poor Little Peaches' sad story begins with a neglectful collector, a JTTW fan, and a not-so-great owner, who didn't see him as a companion but more as an object to be owned and not cherished.

Unfortunately, peaches happen to be the last piece in his collection.

In a cramped little cage, peaches learn very fast to keep to themselves around angrier and hungrier creatures of his kind, especially if he's the youngest collector's item in the group.

and that food won't always be fairly divided between him and his new unkindly friends.

When the small cage starts to stink, the fan collector would merely drape over a small cloth cover so he wouldn't have to endure the stench of the unkept cage he neglected to keep up with its cleanliness.

The collector didn't see why he should be bothered with maintaining the storage box that contained his collection—it'll only gather dust and emit an odd odor at moments

There will be plenty of time to clean it when he gets around to it ultimately... And unfortunately one night he needed to clean it badly

Poor peaches thought it was his chance to voice out his hunger and his need for water to his not-so-loving owner. But unknown to Peaches, his owner has never once had any contact with a living collection in his life, especially one that needed so much attention.

His owner was startled when he came in contact with a tiny soft paw. The collector staggered back and gripped his glass storage box, breaking all but one of his new and prized possessions.

Peaches does not understand the sudden drop and new feeling of his location at all, but he is too worried about the growing pain in his tummy and his very parched throat.

All of a sudden, a horrible screech emanated from his owner, one that he'd never heard from his owner; not once in his life did Peaches hear such a sound come from him. and he didn't know what to do.

He understood a few things his owner was saying, but they started speaking rapidly, sounded more confusing, and became unhinged. The last thing Peaches really understood was, "Do you have any idea what you did!?" "I spend so much money on you; did you know that!?" "My collection, it's all broken, broken, brokeaaaaAAAAAAAA!!!!" Peaches was so scared out of his mind that he did the one thing he could think of, which was to run; he didn't know where he'd never run out of his cage out of this room, his world, and he wasn't going to stop until he couldn't hear the screaming.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire he goes.

I hope this answers everyone's curiosity about his backstory I might try to do mangoes probably be less dramatic for the spoiled pocket monkey.

[courtingchaos]

Eddie Munson x Reader (kind of?)

18+ No Minors

The meeting lets out after sunset and this time of year always makes Eddie feel like he’s missed a step on the stairs when it happens. What feels like a high noon sun disappears after two hours inside the rec center, plunging him into the winter darkness. Even with the chill people still mill around out front with their little paper cups of cheap coffee clutched in their hands while they say their long winded goodbyes. He knows they mean well and it’s good that everyone has connections but all he ever wants to do is leave after these meetings. Get in his van and drive for an hour to unwind the spool of thread that’s been spun tight around the bobbin of therapy.

You weren’t there tonight but he isn’t surprised, still misses you though. He could sense your anger mounting all last month and when you didn’t show last week he didn’t jump to a conclusion for the first time in long time. He sat through the meeting and listened to Charles and his droning calm and when he’d been let loose on the cold streets he’d made a beeline for the pay phone outside.

“Hello?”

“It’s Eddie.”

“Okay.”

A clink of a spoon on pottery, probably one of the misshapen bowls you’d made.

“I’m just checking in.” He shrugs even though you can’t see it. Keeps his tone light especially since you answered after two rings.

The improbable can’t be happening if you’re eating cereal after all.

“Did Charles ask you to call?” A snide remark followed by a crunch of what he can safely assume is Kix.

“No, I made a big boy decision all by myself.”

“Well that’s very brave of you.” Your tone suggest mocking of your group leader and Eddie huffs a laugh into the receiver.

“I figured you wouldn’t be here, but…” Eddie trails off because he isn’t going to tell you he misses you because that would suggest he’s in touch with his emotions, the very things he staunchly ignores in favor of keeping the panic attacks at bay.

“Was I so obvious?”

“A little. The storming out tends to tell people you’re a upset.”

You’re quick with your reply. “I wasn’t upset with you.”

“I know.” The cold creeps in under his layers and the flannel tied around his waist isn’t doing much to keep his lower half warm. Around him headlights swing around the faces of the buildings as everyone starts to finally head home. He tucks the phone against his shoulder so he can huff air into his palms to warm up and you must hear him.

“Are you still downtown?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna come over? I’m just watching Happy Days reruns.” More crunching but a bowl of cereal actually sounds good right about now. He wants to say yes because he likes your couch, it’s dented in the right ways and he sinks into it every time. He also really likes your cat JD but who you call Tubs on account of him being so rotund.

“It stands for Jack Daniel, I bet you can’t guess what I was up to when I found him.”

But there’s this street light that doesn’t work right outside of your third floor apartment. Sometimes it’s perfectly fine but then some other times when he falls asleep on your too comfortable couch he wakes to a flickering. Something that seems to be Morse code, a cry for help from a sewn up dimension and it sends him into a spiral.

“I was uh, thinking about-“

“They fixed the street light.”

His pause must have been longer than he thought. “Uh, yeah I-I’m sorry about last time. I didn’t mean to swing at you-“

“I shouldn’t have just grabbed you.” You dismiss him, not unkindly, but for the umpteenth time he’s apologizing and you’ve said it’s okay. It wasn’t your fault he’d seen a petaled face in the dark of your apartment while you’d tried to calm him down. “Okay, let me rephrase this then. If you’re comfortable, the invitation is open to come have cereal with me and watch Happy Days-no wait I think it’s Bewitched now, yeah Bewitched reruns with me.”

“Oh Samantha is a weak spot for me.” Eddie drops another quarter in when he’s prompted. “I always liked that little nose wiggle.”

The silence stretches for a moment while he deliberates and you seem to move around your place. A quiet chirp tells him JD is weaving between your feet and looking for dinner and honestly, Eddie shares the feeling. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Your voice ticks up in excitement he hasn’t heard in a while from you and it makes his decision concrete.

“Yeah, I’ll be over in ten.”

Played up whooping from you ends his phone call and he only has to grip his steering wheel a little bit before he finally turns his van on and heads to your place.

He lets himself in when he gets there. A bowl for him already on your beat up coffee table and JD sitting in Eddie’s usual spot. The couch swallows him like normal and he relaxes for the first time today. You tell him you’ll be at next weeks meeting and then show him that you can also do the nose the Samantha Nose Wiggle. It makes him laugh while he digs into his second bowl of Froot Loops and the street lamp doesn’t flicker once.

[dandylovesturtles]

once again writing fanfic for an AU that's not mine

uh hi so I guess it is Crying About Future Donnie Hours except this is actually a different future Donnie than the one everyone else is crying about.

I have wanted to write something for @kathaynesart 's Replica for awhile now and I got an idea and I decided to use @tmntaucompetition as an excuse to write and post it, so I guess you could say this is propaganda I didn't expect it to be the day after my poll though so I kinda scrambled a bit aaaaa lol

Replica is one of my favorite ROTTMNT comics, it's one of the first I found after I watched the movie, and I love it so much. If you haven't read it please do! However, there is one part of the comic in particular (and especially one line in particular) that has stuck with me since I first read it, and I think about it a lot. So consider this my little homage to that part of the comic, and to the character who says it.

Also there is a short section of this that is just dialogue from the comic so obviously all credit for that dialogue goes to Kat!

And Kat I really hope you don't mind me playing around in your sandbox a bit /)_(\

Anyway I don't normally title these but I did give the gdoc for this one the title: The Needed Functions to Appreciate It

I hope you enjoy!

~~~

As an AI, experiencing the apocalypse was different.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. did not have to feel the aching gnaw of hunger, or the bite of the cold. He did not feel the sting of acid rain on skin, or the seeping of blood from injury. All the physical sensations his family and friends suffered, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. was spared them all.

That did not mean he didn’t feel.

…

“Hey Dee?”

The “Hm?” he got in response was distracted. Donnie was often distracted those days. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. didn’t resent him for it. He knew how busy Donnie is - he cataloged and prioritized the to-do list himself, after all.

“I still have the timers Raph asked me to set for his training in the system, and all his old records. What…” He hesitated. “What should I do with them?”

“Oh.” That got Donnie to pause in his work oh so briefly. His finger tapped twice on the enter key without pressing. “You can delete all of that. Might as well free up memory space where we can.”

“Okay.” It was the right answer. Members of the resistance were allowed to set timers and save some personal files on S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s system, and protocol dictated that forty eight hours after loss of vitals, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. should clear such files.

It had been three hundred and fifty seven hours since Raph flatlined. He should have cleared these ages ago.

“Hey Dee,” he said again, more quietly this time, and Donnie actually looked away from his work and gave him his attention.

He hadn’t had a physical body since a raid over a year before; he was just an artistic representation on the monitor. Donnie promised to make him a new one, but S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. could see both the parts inventory and the to-do list and he doubted he would be able to do that. Usually it didn’t bother him, but he thought that day that it bothered him a little.

“I don’t want to,” he admitted, and Donnie’s face shifted to something more sad.

“Ah. You have developed a lot of sentimentality…” Donnie sighed, not unkindly. “Well, you can keep it. I won’t make you delete it.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. bounced around the monitor a moment while he mulled it over. Donnie didn’t look away, though one of his battleshell arms took up the task of typing on his computer.

“Isn’t that not good, though, dude? Like… it’s useless now. It’s just taking up space.”

“Yes… sentimentality and practicality are often in direct conflict.” He leaned back in his chair, eyes roving to the ceiling. “Sometimes we just can’t let things go, even against our better judgment, because they remind us of something or… someone.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. zoomed himself in so he filled more of the screen. “Do you get sentimental, Dee?”

Donnie’s lips quirked up in a smile. “Yes, unfortunately so. I find it vexing… though, Mikey would say, “That’s what makes you a person, Donnie, don’t fight it!” or something like that.” 

“But if it makes you hold on to useless stuff, or do things that aren’t necessary, isn’t that bad?”

“Ah, such is the nature of emotions, Shelldon - they often lead us to do things that are, for a lack of a better word, suboptimal… Sometimes I think it would be nice to have a switch so I could just turn the pesky things off. I would focus so much better if I never had to feel… anxious or frustrated or… or sad.” He slumped forward, hugging his arms around himself. “If I didn’t have to… to miss anyone.”

“...That’s the worst one,” said S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N., and Donnie nodded.

“Yeah… yeah, it is.” He turned to face S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N., eyes glossy. “But-”

ERROR: Memory file corrupted.

.

.

.

.

“It is a convincing replica. Expertly crafted. You act just like him… Be careful that it does not interfere with our intended purpose.”

“Need I remind you, one of my core purposes is to act as a support to Donatello’s family. That includes you, even if you have chosen to forego the needed functions to appreciate it.”

“A necessary purge to keep the Kraang’s whispers at bay.”

“Was it? That is not what Donatello ever wished of you. Even when you decided to take on this burden.”

“Not having to ‘feel’ has its… benefits.”

“And Donatello was quite firm that you not lock yourself away-”

“Such advanced artificial intelligence, yet you still fail to recognize your own ignorance.”

“To what, exactly?”

“To the bliss in not having to miss him.”

.

.

.

.

Username: OMEGABOOTYYYSHAKER9000

Password: ****************

MEMORY FILE ACCESS AUTHORIZED

Enter date: XX/XX/20XX XX:XX

RETRIEVING MEMORY FILE. . . SUCCESS

AUDIOVISUAL PLAYBACK BEGIN

“But even if missing them keeps you from performing optimally… Running from bad emotions means running from the good ones, too.” Donatello sighed. “At least, that’s what Mikey said to me after Papa… And it took me awhile, but I realized he was right. Don’t tell him I said that, though, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Your secret is safe with me, dude.”

“Thank you, Shelldon.” He reached with his hand and touched the screen, and even though they couldn’t actually feel each other, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. moved like he was nuzzling his palm. “When you see Raph’s training records, it makes you sad, but also makes you remember all the things you loved about him, right?”

“I guess, yeah… He’d always scratch my head when I came to give him his training report. When I had a body.”

“Mm, so that’s why you always went to do it in person.” Donatello chuckled, rubbing his thumb on the monitor. He was sad, then, thinking that he couldn’t build S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. a proper body. Always lacking the time and materials…

“Is it worth it, though?” asked S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.. “The good feelings, when there’s bad feelings, too?”

“Maybe that’s one of the great mysteries of life, Shelldon. All I know is… I don’t want to give them up. Not anymore. And… it’s easier to deal with, when you’re not alone.” Donatello pulled his hand back, and looked at him very seriously. “Anata wa hitorijanai. That’s as true for you as it is for any of us. Your family will always be here for you, when you miss Raph, or anyone else.”

Maybe it made S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. feel better. He smiled, as much as his facial design would allow.

“Okay. And I’ll always be here for you too, Dee.”

“Thank you, Shelldon.”

“Love ya.”

“I love you too.”

End playback? Y 

PLAYBACK ENDED

[voxofthevoid]

Welcome to Time Travel Fuck-It Wednesday #2. We'll be here a while!

...I keep saying that, huh?

The fic is ~16k now, and while I have no earthly idea how long it will be, I've tentatively outlined seven chapters. There isn't much of a plot, except some background fix-it elements. The main story is a mixture of vibes and feels and, eventually, porn.

Spoilers for Ch 236 below. CWs for referenced MCD and underage.

“What about you, Yuuji?” Satoru asks. “Have you thought much about it? Beyond your type. I remember that—a tall woman with a big butt, hm? Good taste.”

Yuuji makes a low, throaty noise. It’s not quite embarrassment, even if his skin has grown warmer under Satoru’s fingers.

“I don’t know,” Yuuji answers after a few seconds. “I’ve never really… I mean, everyone has something about them. Pretty things, good things. I don’t know.”

“Everyone? That’s a dangerously generous way to love.”

“It’s not love.” Yuuji squirms a little, the mattress and the covers shifting with his movements, and when he resettles, his whole body is closer to Satoru’s. He’s not even sure Yuuji has noticed, brows furrowed in deep thought. “I’ve never been in love.”

“You’re only fifteen,” Satoru tells him.

Yuuji’s eyes snap to his face. He doesn’t say, I might only ever be fifteen.

But it’s there in the air between them, lending it a new weight.

Satoru shouldn’t, but—

“Do you wonder about it?”

“About—” Yuuji’s voice gives out. He clears his throat and tries again. “About being in love?”

“Yes. And everything else. The journey and the end.”

“…Not really.”

“Liar,” Satoru says, not unkindly, and Yuuji’s mouth curls into a puffy pout that’s quivering at the edges. “You’re a teenage boy. You can’t tell me you haven’t ever wanted someone.”

“I—that’s—it doesn’t really—”

“Or just thought of it,” Satoru continues, putting Yuuji out of his misery. “Kissing, touching. Sex. I remember that age, you know. Nothing wrong with wanting.”

“Even if it’s you?”

“Oh, I’ve wanted plenty in my life.”

“No,” Yuuji says, uncharacteristically solemn. “Me wanting you. Is that okay too?”

Satoru’s breath stills deep inside his lungs, long enough to become a feverish pulse. He lets it out, slow and controlled, and Yuuji’s eyes flutter shut for an instant.

There’s no surprise in him. He knew from the beginning how this would end.

“But is it me you want?” he asks. “Or am I all you have?”

Inexplicably, Yuuji laughs. It’s quiet and not mocking at all, but it’s still the one reaction Satoru wasn’t expecting.

Ducking his head, eyes heavy-lidded and hidden, Yuuji says, “I knew you’d say that. Somehow, I just knew.”

This boy, he—

“I’m not rejecting you,” Satoru hears himself say, tasting those words like they belong to a stranger. “But I’m your only real company aside from your grandfather. I’m not family, and I’m very handsome. I understand why, Yuuji. I just want to make sure you do as well.”

“Very handsome,” Yuuji repeats, and it’s louder and brighter now, the laughter in his voice. “And so humble too.”

“Humility is for the weak.”

Yuuji hums, more amused than skeptical. He looks and sounds like he couldn’t care less about the precise size of Satoru’s ego.

He looks—

“You’re also my death, Satoru-san,” he says, calm and steady and unspeakably devastating. “I want you anyway. Is that sure enough?”

Satoru swallows a noise. It wounds his throat, blood dripping acid-hot all the way down to the bones in his chest.

He says, “Yes.”

Yuuji kisses him.

Satoru sees it coming and lets it happen, and then it’s gone, the scant space between their bodies, as Yuuji presses close enough to burn them both down.

It’s a hot, needy press, all want and no finesse, and Satoru allows it without complaint until the frenzy drains out of Yuuji’s muscles and the line of his mouth gentles, pulling back a mere millimeter from Satoru’s lips before returning to him, a little more tentative and a hell of a lot sweeter, and Satoru can’t not smile into it, something hot and helium-light ripped right out of his guts, and Yuuji smiles too, letting out a long-held exhale that warms every inch of Satoru.

He curls a careful hand around the back of Yuuji’s head, palm sliding along the bristly undercut and the softer hairs above, and slots their mouths at a better angle. The newfound ease shivers down the length of their bodies, Yuuji’s smaller frame melting into Satoru’s.

Satoru parts his lips, and Yuuji, ever the eager learner, follows suit.

Warm mint floods his mouth, the familiar taste of his own toothpaste turned into sacred sacrilege on Yuuji’s tongue. Satoru sucks it clean, chasing the simple heat of flesh buried underneath.

Fingers dig into his shoulder, almost hard enough to bruise.

Yuuji’s panting into the kiss, harsh and ragged like he can’t quite breathe right.

But when Satoru pulls away, he chases his mouth, and Satoru chases him right back, holding Yuuji close as their mouths meet and part and breathe and burn. Pretty noises color the air, wet and sweet.

Nothing washes off the taste of blood in Satoru’s throat, but he wasn’t expecting that; he doesn’t deserve that.

He stops before they can go too far. Once, he’d have let Yuuji immolate his youth in a blaze of glory, not unlike and yet nothing like how Satoru had at an age no less tender. There was power in the choice, even if there would never be peace.

And he’ll still let Yuuji burn, but…not tonight, not yet.

Yuuji’s still breathing hard and staring at Satoru with stars in his eyes.

“Satoru-san,” he says, “that was…”

“Good?” Satoru fills in when Yuuji seems content to stare in stunned silence.

“Yes,” Yuuji rasps, shockingly vehement. “Yes, Satoru-san, I want—”

“Everything,” Satoru cuts in, “is yours. Tomorrow, the day after, every day until the end—everything is yours, if you want it. I promise. But for now, sleep on it.”

For a moment, it looks Yuuji will protest. It’s easy to tell why. Satoru can feel him, all that heat. And he wonders what he’ll do if Yuuji pushes. The wise thing, the right thing, the good thing—well, those are all past. But the best thing to do now would be to not indulge him.

Satoru’s not entirely sure that’s the choice he’ll make.

But in the end, he doesn’t have to choose at all. Yuuji nods once, making a visible attempt to calm down. Their entwined bodies don’t make it easy, and Satoru lets him extract his legs and angle his hips away without comment, but that’s as far as Yuuji goes, his torso still plastered against Satoru and his face still close enough that Satoru can feel his breath and his heat, all the way to the back of his throat.

“This is fine, right?” Yuuji asks. “You’re still staying.”

It’s not quite a question, but Satoru answers anyway. “As long as you want me to.”

“Good,” Yuuji breathes, another layer of tension draining from his body. “Thank you, Satoru-san.”

“Good night, Yuuji.”

It takes a while, Yuuji’s mind and body both clearly too awake, but he’s a very well-behaved boy through the torment, only breathing into Satoru’s shoulder and throat, deep and shallow in turn, until the call of sleep grows stronger than the bite of desire.

Satoru holds him through it, arms around Yuuji’s chest and face buried in his hair. It’s sinfully soft, the fruity scent of his shampoo not quite overpowering the smell of his sweat. It’s not familiar, but it’s not unfamiliar either. Satoru never held the old Yuuji like this, but he touched him and was touched by him plenty.

And Satoru never kissed that sunshine boy, but there’s a story he will never tell this Yuuji:

You kissed me once. I was dead. You closed my eyes and kissed my mouth and told me to rest, and when you died, it was still my blood there on your mouth

[casual-violinist-fangirl]

You are not Alone - 5,709 Words

Set after The Bad Batch Season 3, this fic takes place after the war is over and Omega returns home! She brings home some friends... and a secret.

This will be part of a series of works that covers Omega's time in the rebellion and all of the heart attacks she gives her family!

As always, the link to my AO3 is here and the link to my Bad Batch master list on Tumblr is here. I hope you enjoy!

--------

Crosshair rolled his eyes as he watched Hunter pace the short length of the living room once more.

“Wearing a hole in the floor isn’t going to bring her back quicker,” he commented, not unkindly. He knew how anxious Hunter was to see his daughter again after so long… kriff, he may have looked cool on the outside but on the inside his stomach was doing somersaults. Hunter scowled and sent his brother a sour look that told him everything he needed to know. 

Shut up.

Noted, thought Crosshair as he sighed and leaned back in his seat. No point in wasting time pacing when Omega was due to arrive in… an hour? He’d save his jitters until ten minutes before.

It had been an ordinary day on Pabu for the three brothers when they’d received the hologram. The transmission had beeped irritatingly, waking all three of them up; Hunter had practically sprinted to the machine, calling over his shoulder for the others as he recognised Omega’s call sign straight away. 

“Hey,” came the staticky voice of the young woman they had been waiting to hear from for weeks. Normally she was pretty good at keeping up with transmissions but an emergency operation had called her away. Something about rescuing a fellow pilot from Jabba the Hutt… 

Needless to say, Hunter hadn’t been best pleased when she’d revealed that to the group.

“Omega!” Hunter smiled warmly, though Crosshair knew that his kid would be able to see straight through the mask he was wearing. “How are you? Where’ve you been?”

There was no reply for a moment, and Wrecker frowned.

“Maybe the signal’s faulty?” he asked, only for Omega to shake her head. She was silent, but through the sound of static Crosshair just made out the sound of a sniffle.

“What’s wrong, Omega? Are you hurt?” Hunter had clearly heard it as well, and had Crosshair not wanted to ask the same questions, he would have rolled his eyes.

The woman shook her head, pony tail bobbing as she did so. “I’m not hurt,” she managed to croak out. She sniffed loudly and glanced down at herself. “Well I might be a little bruised but it’s okay. Rex sorted me out.”

So Omega had been with Rex? That soothed Hunter a little. Even though Rex was also ageing, the ex-sergeant trusted the man with his kid. He nodded, still clearly concerned and Crosshair sighed. What was making her cry then?

Wrecker seemed to share his sentiment. 

“What’s got ya crying then, kid?” he asked. “You good?” Wrecker’s hearing had deteriorated a bit over the years; the clone now wore a device to help him hear, though he still had a habit of speaking louder than possibly necessary.

Omega let out a watery laugh at that, and a shaky smile spread across her face. She drew in a shuddering breath before carrying on.

“It’s over. We won.” 

There was a moments silence before all of a sudden all three of the clones were cheering loudly. They had grinned and congratulated her. They’d never doubted her abilities of course, but it could be hard fighting in a battle that felt like it had no end in sight. 

“I’m coming home,” she continued, though there was a slight hesitation to her voice. Hunter raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate further. Something was clearly on her mind.

“Is it alright if I bring a couple of friends? They… need a break.”

No one asked questions about who Omega’s friends were, or why indeed they needed a break. Questions like that simply weren’t asked on Pabu. Everyone was welcome as long as they didn’t pose a threat to the peaceful lives of those that lived there.

It was agreed, Omega would arrive as soon as possible (one standard rotation) and she would be bringing two friends with her. Now all the others had to do was wait.

Simple.

Completely and utterly simple…

… or at least it should have been. Hunter was clearly having a hard time remembering to chill the kriff out. No one could blame him, Crosshair supposed. It wasn’t every day you daughter upped and left to join a rebellion. The ex-sergeant had suffered his fair share of near-heart attacks when he’d received comm messages from Omega declaring that she was going undercover and that no one should contact her unless absolutely necessary. The first time she had gone comm silent, Hunter had spent a week staring at his comm device, waiting for it to beep. He’d nearly cried when he’d finally heard her voice again.

Of course, there had also been the time Hunter had actually been summoned to Omega’s aid… he’d been there in a heartbeat, of course, but Crosshair had been the one to break up the argument that came when Omega wanted to re-join the rebellion. Hunter had refused to talk to his brother and kid the whole evening, but had crumbled in the morning when Omega had brought him his usually cup of caf with a watery, hopeful smile.

There had been nothing but short conversations every week or so since that time, which now that Crosshair thought about it, was nearly a year ago. It was high time Omega came home.

——

Wrecker bounded through the door of the hut, shocking Hunter and Crosshair; of the three of them, Wrecker had been the one to maintain most of his youthful energy… just not as much as he was displaying now. 

“She’s here!” he cried, and suddenly both of the other clones were on their feet. Injuries and ageing combined meant that both of them had slowed down a little, with Hunter now favouring one leg (and refusing to use a walking stick), and Crosshair having to slow his pace a little. 

Upon their arrival at the Archium, they were greeted by an achingly familiar ship… Omega’s ship. 

The ramp hissed open, and Hunter took the opportunity to observe the level of carbon scoring on the front. What had she been up to? He tried not to think about it as he heard footsteps heading towards the ship’s ramp; he stared hopefully, waiting for Omega to exit.

Then, suddenly she was there, hair a little longer, eyes a little more tired. Her bag was slung over one shoulder and she carried Lula under one arm whilst her other…

… bore a sling. 

Hunter moved towards the woman, a frown on his face as he went to examine her arm.

“What happened?” he asked, stooping a little to examine the sling. Omega rolled her eyes, a fond smile on her face.

“Hello to you too, buir,” she teased before wrapping in him a hug that forced him to stop looking at her bandaged arm. He sighed contentedly as they stood in her embrace. She was here! Injured and tired, but she was here.

Hunter finally felt as though he could breathe again. 

“Missed, you, ‘Mega,” he croaked out, his voice thick with emotion. The woman sniffled in response; she was clearly fighting back the tears as well.

She pulled back from the embrace before going to each of her brothers; Wrecker wrapped her in his arms and Hunter knew that if he was still able she’d be up in the air like she had been when she was little.

Then came Crosshair. She smiled at the ex-sniper before slinging her good arm around him. He hugged her back, muttering something about “definitely checking out her bandages later” under his breath. She rolled her eyes fondly as she pulled away.

“You sound just like buir,” she teased. Crosshair huffed, trying to look unimpressed.

“Oh, I’m much worse.” 

Omega let out a small huff of laughter at that. She turned back to the ramp of her ship, smiling as the patter of small feet could be heard.

“Auntie ‘Meg!” A little boy came barrelling down the ship’s ramp; he stopped short when he spotted the three old men looking at him, surprised. When Omega had said that she was bringing home friends… they hadn’t thought that one of them would be under the age of five.

“Hey, Jacen!” the young woman smiled and held out her good arm. The little boy, Jacen, ran over to her and into her embrace. Hunter blinked. This was Omega, his little girl, ruffling a little boy’s hair and being called ‘auntie?’ Suddenly the ex-sergeant felt his age as he absorbed the situation.

Omega glanced up at her family, a small laugh escaping her as she looked at their faces. The small child with her stared around at the clones, a look of curiosity on his face.

“Who’re these old men, Auntie ‘Meg?” he asked in a loud whisper that only made Omega laugh more. She put her arm around the little boy and nodded to each of them as she introduced them. “These, Jacen,” she started. “Are my buir and my brothers. This is Hunter, Crosshair and Wrecker.”

Jacen nodded, his mop of dark green hair bobbing as he did. “They helped your mum once, on her home planet. That’s how me and her met.”

The penny dropped as Hunter realised whose kid this was. He glanced back up a the ramp of Omega’s ship only to see Hera Syndulla herself; she looked worn out as she clambered down and towards the group. Upon seeing the three clones, she smiled warmly. Hunter hadn’t seen her since their time on Ryloth all of those years ago, and he couldn’t believe how much she’d grown… saying that, he still couldn’t believe how much Omega had grown and she’d done that in from of his very eyes.

“Hunter,” she greeted with a sly smile before she ruffling her son’s hair. “Thank you for having us.”

Hunter nodded. “Of course,” he responded, glancing at Omega, who was now tickling Jacen and making him squeal. “You’re welcome any time.”

Hera raised an eyebrow as she observed the clone, but said nothing. She simply greeted the rest of the family, thanking them all for their hospitality, before Omega stood to her full height once more.

“I’ll show you around,” she gushed. “You’ll love it here!”

——

That evening, the family sat down with Hera and Jacen, eating foods that had been prepared for Omega’s return. Hunter had noticed throughout the evening that there were times when Omega was about to take something from a plate, only for her to glance up at Hera as though asking a silent question. The Twi’lek would then either nod or shake her head. Occasionally his daughter would sigh and pout when her friend shook her head, which confused Hunter to no end. Was Hera controlling what Omega was eating? What was going on?

He didn’t get a great deal to ponder over his kid’s new habit though, because one Jacen Syndulla was chatting up a storm with his new-found friends. At one point, Hera had to ask him to actually stop talking so that the little boy could eat the food on his plate. It had made Wrecker chuckle, and Crosshair let out a small sigh of relief.

Hunter used the opportunity to turn his attention back to Omega; he’d overheard the young woman complaining that her boots were getting too small earlier, and Lyanna chiming in that it was completely normal for that to happen. Hunter tried to wrack his brain, confused as anything. Omega was an adult, there was no reason that her feet should be growing now. He should know, he was the one who’d had to buy her new boots what felt like every six months at one point. 

His little girl also looked even more tired than usual, but he chalked that up to the end of the war. Even so, Hera had been mothering her a bit; there had been multiple reminders to sit and relax for a while, only for those comments to be met with a scowl from Omega.

His kid still didn’t like being told what to do, but this dynamic between the pair of them still made no sense to him.

As the evening rolled on, Crosshair had produced a variety alcoholic drinks as well as a jug of fruit juice for Jacen to drink; it had definitely not been lost on Hunter when Omega opted to drink the juice instead of a fruity punch that she would normally drink with her family.

Not long after that Jacen had started to flag, prompting Hera to encourage him to say goodnight to his new friends.

Jacen pouted upon hearing the words “bed time.”

“But Auntie ‘Meg’s family still haven’t heard all of our stories!” he cried, saddened by the injustice of it all. The grown ups all chuckled lightly as Omega crouched down in front of the little boy.

“We can keep telling them tomorrow, kid,” she started with a smile. “Now, your mum told me you like twinkly lights… wanna see the ones in my old room? You and Hera can sleep there tonight.”

Jacen immediately perked up at the mention of the string of lights Wrecker had hung up years ago. Hunter smiled fondly as he remembered Omega’s face when she’d seen them; she’d cried a little because of how they reminded her of the Marauder.

Hera stood and snagged her friend’s good arm. 

“Omega, we couldn’t possibly take your bed,” she started. “Not when…” she trailed off and not for the first time that evening, Hunter’s stomach did a flip. He didn’t get much time to think about it when the other woman shook her head. She was determined. 

“You need somewhere to sleep,” she insisted. “Besides, you and Jacen won’t fit on the couch. I will.”

Hera crossed her arms, looking like she was about to fight Omega on the subject when Jacen took her hand with a pleading look on his face. 

“I wanna see the lights, mum!” he grinned, tugging on her arm. Hera sighed and nodded, bidding the family goodnight before going to put her son to bed.

She sent a look over her shoulder to Omega as she went. It was a questioning glance, but Omega waved her off, a nervous smile on her face.

Wrecker and Crosshair disappeared into the kitchen, bickering over who was going to clean up and who was going to dry. Hunter chuckled as he heard them go, sitting forward in his seat and pouring himself another drink. He had never been a huge drinker, knowing that the alcohol messed with his senses, but since the fall of Hemlock he didn’t mind having a drink with his family. He offered the jug of punch to Omega, knowing it was her favourite, but frowned when she shook her head.

“I’ve still got a cup,” she stated by way of explanation. That was a lie. Her ears were a little flushed and she bit her lip, a telltale sign that she was lying. She had always been an awful liar.

“You never took any in the first place,” he replied, not unkindly. “You okay, kid?” Her eyes widened, knowing she’d been caught. Omega curled up on the bench she was sat on, bringing her knees up to her chin like she had done when she was little. That did nothing to soothe Hunter, who was becoming more worried by the minute. He stood from his seat and slowly eased himself into a crouch in front of his daughter.

“I just want to help you, ad’ika,” he placed a gentle hand on her knee. “You’ve seemed off all day, what’s up?”

Omega’s eyes filled with tears and she blinked rapidly to try and be rid of them. 

“I…” she sniffled. “I don’t know what to do.”

All of a sudden it was like she was ten all over again. She surged forward and wrapped her arms around her buir’s neck. He returned the hug, never one to shy away from comforting his kid. 

“Whatever it is, ad’ika, we can fix it,” he’d meant for his words to be soothing but if anything Omega just cried more. “Whatever you need, we’ve got you,” he continued. “I’ve got you, Omega.”

For a while she said nothing and he just held her, running a gentle hand through her hair. His leg began to ache as it usually did when when he was in one position for too long, but he ignored it. Omega needed him to be there for her, and be there for her he would.

“I-I met someone,” she eventually stammered out, pulling away and wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve. Hunter gently removed her hands and handed her a handkerchief; the woman snorted a little with laughter at the gesture. Her buir was becoming such an old man.

“Sh-she’s amazing, buir,” she continued. There was a tone to her voice that made Hunter smile. “Her name’s Tessa and she’s part of the rebellion too. She joined as a medic…” she trailed off, her cheeks a little flushed. “She helped me out with this.” She gestured to the arm in the sling.

Hunter’s smile grew as he listened to Omega speak about this woman. 

“I-I think I love her, Hunter,” the woman let out a nervous laugh before her smile broke and was replaced with more tears being held back. “But I kept a secret from her and now she wants us to ‘take a break’ whilst she thinks things over.”

The ex-sergeant frowned at this. What secret could Omega have kept that meant that Tessa wanted to think things over?

“What secret, ‘Megs?” he asked, wiping a stray tear from the woman’s cheek. She took a couple of shaky breaths before burying her face in Hunter’s neck once more. He was taken aback a little but held her nonetheless. If it was comfort that Omega needed, it was comfort he would give.

“It was stupid,” she started. “It was a stupid, stupid one night thing, before me and Tessa even knew each other…” A sob ripped through her again, and she tried to steady her breathing. 

She muttered something, just loud enough for Hunter to hear. His eyes widened and he took a shaky breath in.

“I see,” he replied, pulling away from the embrace a little. Omega wouldn’t look him in the eye, her cheeks tear stained and her eyes puffy. Sighing, Hunter pulled his kid back into a hug and pressed a gentle kiss to her hair. 

“You’re not mad?” she asked, her voice trembling with nerves. Hunter let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “I could never be mad at you, ad’ika,” he soothed. “Besides, it’s not like you’re a kid anymore. You’re an adult… and the war is over. This is probably the best time to be raising a kid.”

Omega nodded against his chest and slowly pulled away. Hunter smiled at her; he had so many questions running through his mind right now, but he knew that wasn’t what his little girl needed… his little girl who wasn’t so little anymore.

“You,” he said quietly, pressing his forehead against hers. “Are going to be an incredible mother.” Omega let out a watery laugh of disbelief, having not come to terms with the situation herself. 

“A mother…” she croaked out, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m not ready.”

Hunter pulled back from the embrace, slowly pushing himself into a standing position. He held out his hand to help Omega up, which she accepted. The sat next to each other on the bench she had been perched on before they wound up on the floor.

“You think I was ready to be a father?” he asked, a teasing tone in his voice. “You never complained once, even when I made every mistake under the kriffing sun.”

A small chuckle escaped his daughter. “I knew you just wanted what was best for me,” she replied, leaning into Hunter’s side. “You always tried to do what was best, even when it was nearly impossible.”

The ex-sergeant nodded and a thought occurred to him. 

“Cut always said that battling droids was nothing compared to raising a child…” he trailed off, deep in thought. “He was right, raising you was hard… we were always on the run, looking over our shoulders… trying to rescue you from Imperial scientists.” He wrapped an arm around her and shuffled a little closer.

“We relied on each other and our allies to help us. They helped us stay safe.. and raise you.” Hunter looked down at his kid. “You have us, Omega. We’re here to help you through this… even if we never did the baby stage with you.” 

She nodded, not responding verbally for a while and the pair sat in a content silence. Before long Crosshair and Wrecker emerged from the kitchen laughing about something but coming to a halt when they spotted Omega’s tear-stained face and Hunter’s arm wrapped around her. The latter glanced down, a questioning eyebrow raised. “You telling them now?” he asked, an encouraging smile on his face.

After a moments pause, Omega nodded, sighing. “It’s as good a time as any,” she replied. Crosshair and Wrecker glanced at each other, confused, before sitting down opposite the father and daughter to listen to what she had to say.

——

Safe to say, Omega hadn’t needed to worry about telling any of her family that she was pregnant. Wrecker was thrilled at the prospect of becoming a ba’vodu and had wrapped his sister in a massive hug. Crosshair had been more reserved in his response, mainly wanting to know how Omega was feeling; he had also asked if Tessa needed… talking to. His sister had shot him down quickly, making it clear that she was serious about the medic if she wanted to take her back.

“It’s a lot to consider,” she’d reasoned in a sad voice. “It’s not just me she’d be taking on…”

Satisfied for now, the ex-sniper backed off, giving his little sister a hug before sitting back in his seat and pulling a toothpick out of his pockets.

The family had turned in not long after that. Hunter had insisted that Omega take his bed despite her protests.

“Being cramped on the couch won’t help your arm,” he reasoned. “Besides, it’s not just you anymore.” His daughter had snorted and rolled her eyes at that, but relented. She had another six months of Hunter being somehow more protective… she’d better get used to it now. He’d helped her set up his bed and went to bid her goodnight; as he turned around she quietly called him back.

“Thank you, buir,” she whispered as the exhaustion began to settle in. He smiled softly. 

“Always, ad’ika,” he replied. He moved back into the room, gently pressing a kiss against her forehead where she lay in bed before moving away. As he left, he heard her mumble something sleepily that made his heart flutter.

“You’re gonna make a great ba’buir.”

There went his heart, flipping once more. He smiled warmly as Omega slipped into a deep sleep. He remembered years ago, when Hera had been pregnant with Jacen and the Batch had thought it was Omega who was pregnant… he’d freaked out. 

Now, he couldn’t bring himself to be as freaked out. Babies were new territory for all of them, but Hunter knew more than anything that he and his brothers would support Omega, no matter what. If she needed them, they’d be there.

————

(Three years Later)

The gentle sea breeze of Pabu wafted through the windows of the house, making Hunter smile and close his eyes. He sighed as he leaned back on the couch, but his attempts to relax were cut short when he picked up the sound of tiny footsteps running across the patio.

“Ba’buir!” The tiny voice of Mina echoed through the living room of the house, making Hunter laugh as he sat up. A small mop of blonde hair appeared in his vision as she toddled over to him.

“Ah, my favourite bu’ad,” he commented, pressing a kiss to her hair and making the little girl giggle. Of course she was his only grandchild, but if she smiled like that every time he said it, he’d happily keep saying it.

“Where’s mama?” he asked, picking up the toddler. A shy look crossed the child’s face and Hunter was taken aback at how much she looked like Omega.

A small shrug made Hunter laugh. Mina buried her face in Hunter’s chest, giggling a little.

“Are you hiding from mama?” he asked, only for Mina to nod and giggle more. In the distance, he could hear footsteps approaching, Omega’s footsteps. 

“Mina?” came a voice, a touch of concern laced through it. Pabu was a safe place, safe as could be, but Mina was a… curious little girl. It wasn’t beyond her to get into little scrapes when an adult’s back was turned for more than thirty seconds. 

“Quick!” Hunter whispered, smiling at his granddaughter’s grin. “Hide from mama!” 

Mina wriggled until she was wedged between Hunter and the back of the couch. She let out a quiet giggle before Omega walked into the room, looking a little flustered. Hunter plastered a fake look of concern on his face.

“You okay, ad’ika?” he asked, trying not to smile. Omega sighed, still looking worried. 

“Mina ran off at the market,” she worried her bottom lip. “Tessa’ll pull her hair out if I comm her to say she’s missing again so I kinda want to find her quickly…”

Hunter nodded, understanding. Tessa had appeared back in Omega’s life when Mina was about three months old. At first, the Batch had regarded her with scepticism; this woman had hurt Omega! After a while, though (a long while in Crosshair’s case) they had warmed to the medic. One particularly scary night when Mina had been ill, it had been Tessa who’d kept them all calm and in the loop. Watching how gentle the woman was with his daughter and granddaughter that night had won Hunter and his brothers over. She had been a permanent fixture in their family ever since…

… if only Omega would get over herself and propose to her. 

“Well I’ll help you look for her,” Hunter stated, sincerity in his voice. He slowly went to stand from the couch, smiling as Mina latched herself onto his back. All Omega had to do was look at him and she’d see the little girl peeping over his shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck.

Instead, Omega bounced up the stairs of the house, going to look in her old room; it was unofficially Mina’s now for when she came to visit her ba’buir and bavodu’e. She enjoyed sleepovers there, making cakes with Wrecker and giggling hysterically when Crosshair and Hunter told her stories about Omega. 

“She definitely didn’t come this way?” Omega called down the stairs. Hunter shifted his grip on Mina, and the little girl giggled. 

“No, can’t say I’ve seen her…” he trailed off. “She reminds me of you, ad’ika, always running off and getting into scrapes when you were little.”

Omega appeared back in the room, looking flustered; her eyes fixed on the small pair of arms latched around Hunter’s neck and she sighed. 

“You’re not funny, buir,” she chastised as she approached Hunter and her daughter. 

Mina stuck her head out from where she was on Hunter’s back and giggled. 

“Mama!” she cried happily. “I hiding with ba’buir.” Omega let out a small laugh as that, ruffling her daughter’s hair. 

“Oh yeah?” she asked, an eyebrow raised. “Well it seems as though your ba’buir is a bad influence.”

Hunter let out a mock gasp, pretending to be offended, but his smile gave him away. Mina wriggled in his grip and he placed her down on the floor, only for her to toddle away, dragging her own little Lula with her.

“She’s growing up fast,” Hunter commented, and a look of aching realisation hit Omega. She nodded, a small smile on her face.

“I just want her to stay this little forever, you know?” she stated, watching with a smile as Mina came back over and held her arms up for her mother. Omega swooped down and picked her up, placing her on her hip as Mina rested her head in the crook of her mama’s neck. 

“We thought that about you,” Hunter stated, his own small, sad smile on his face. “But we would never have met Mina if you’d stayed the little girl we met on Kamino…” he smirked, a teasing look on his face. “Though we wouldn’t mind not having to go through your teenage years again.”

Omega rolled her eyes at her buir. She knew he was right of course, her teenage years had not been… the easiest. Lots of pent up trauma had floated to the surface and had lead her to do things she’d rather not remember (including running away at one point, convinced that the Empire were after her again). She glanced down at her daughter and vowed there and then that she would never place Mina in that position. Not ever.

“Can we have cake?” came the small voice that startled both adults out of their trains of thought. Hunter laughed lightly, ruffling Mina’s hair.

“I reckon we might have some somewhere…” he trailed off, pretending to think in a way that made his bu’ad laugh. 

“Ba’buir’s being silly, mama!” she giggled, and Omega smiled a warm smile. “He does have cake!”

Hunter dropped the pretence, taking his granddaughter from her mother and walking towards the kitchen. The pair chattered contentedly as he went about getting the cake out for his family. Omega leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen, a fond smile on her face. It was memories like these that made her wish she’d taken up Tech’s habit of recording everything. She made herself a promise that she’d dig out her recorder later. These were the things that she wanted to remember forever.

————

(Twenty Five Years Later)

Mina crept towards the cave where she knew the ship was waiting to pick her up; she breathed in the see breeze of Pabu one last time and smiled. She was going to miss this place…

Once she reached the beach, just metres away from where she was meeting Poe, she froze as she spotted a familiar figure perched on a rock. The figure’s blonde-turning-grey hair fluttered in the wind as she watched the waves lapping against the sand.

“Mom…” Mina breathed as she wondered towards the figure. She should’ve known that she wouldn’t get away with creeping away.

“You can’t beat me at my own game,” Omega’s voice was a little rough with age and she looked up at her daughter. “I tried doing this when I was your age. Your ba’buir caught me trying to sneak off in the middle of the night… from this cave.”

Mina deadpanned when she realised that she really had just been trying to copy her mother’s actions. Omega stood from the rock she was sat on and approached the younger woman, a sad smile on her face.

“Let me guess,” she started, a resigned look on her face. “That Poe Dameron’s waiting for you in there?”

A nod confirmed Omega’s thoughts. Mina’s cheeks flushed a little; she’d been talking back and forth with Poe for the past few months and the pair had grown close… rebellion talk aside. 

“There are whispers of the Empire returning,” Mina explained. “Whispers of the Emperor coming back…” Omega’s head shot up at that, a look of petrified recognition in her eyes. She had tried to protect her daughter from her past, knowing that it was likely their blood possessed similar qualities, and if people were trying to bring the Emperor back… maybe they’d been successful. 

“You fought so hard for a universe where I could grow up and be safe… it’s only fair that I pick up that torch.”

All of a sudden, Omega knew exactly how Hunter had felt when she’d left him all those years ago. Her heart ached at the thought of her buir and brothers, long gone now, and how fiercely they’d fought for her safety. Her daughter was cut from the same cloth and as stubborn as anything… there would be no persuading to get her to turn around and go home now.

“You grew up, ad’ika…” she trailed off, bringing a hand to cup her little girl’s cheek. Before she could get too emotional, she wrapped Mina in a hug, holding her close and taking in everything she could.

When they pulled away from the hug, Mina had tears in her eyes but tried to blink them away. She went to walk into the cave and meet Poe, but was cut short by her name being called.

Omega was frantically trying to untie a piece of cord from her neck; Mina’s eyes widened as she took off the necklace that had belonged to Hunter, her ba’buir. Omega had cried for days when he’d died, clinging onto the necklace like it was a lifeline. He was buried with Crosshair, Echo and Wrecker now, finally at rest after living out the rest of his life on the peaceful island.

“Mom…” she trailed off as Omega held out the necklace to her daughter. “That belonged to ba’buir, I couldn’t…”

“Take it,” her mother smiled, but it was watery. “I wanted to pass it on to you when you were ready… I just never realised it would creep up on me.”

Mina sniffed and wrapped her mom in one final hug. 

“I’m gonna miss you, but I’ll be back,” she reassured as she squeezed Omega tightly. “I promise you, I will.” 

Omega pulled away and nodded towards the cave. “Off you go…” she trailed off. “If you need me, I’ll be there.”

Mina smiled back at her mother, giving her a small salute as she waled towards the cave. Omega looked a little taken aback for a moment, but returned the salute with a grin on her face. 

Yeah, she’d be there if her daughter needed her, but she knew that Mina had her family watching over her as well. That thought was comforting. 

She’ll be fine.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

I saw your requests are open so I hope it's alright if I ask for some Captain Rex headcanons with an anxious love interest or s/o? Like maybe she's nervous about working near/with the GAR as a civ but our 💙 good captain in blue 💙 makes sure she's doing okay whenever he gets a chance/wants an excuse to be near her >///< It's okay if you don't wanna do this or find it trickey, I don't wanna pressure you 💙💙

More than alright, anon; plenty welcome, in fact! I'm feeling it for Rex lately myself, admittedly, so I hope I did him justice. I went with pre-relationship scenarios, so I hope that’s alright! If you’d like me to do a part a little differently, or follow up with the actual relationship, don’t hesitate to send in another request. 💙

Warnings and Information: Our good Captain in Blue has taken an interest in a certain civilian employee of the GAR, and it seems he's not quite so alone in feeling those butterflies in his stomach around her like he thought… Undescribed fem!Reader with unspecified anxiety/anxious tendencies. Little bit of mutual pining and some fluff, primarily. Follows bullet point format. No Mando'a used this time. The reader is given different "nicknames" from the Clones to bypass the use of a name in some cases.

Word count: 2,531

First meeting you

He wholeheartedly supported the inclusion of civilian staff in the Grand Army of the Republic. If there could be non-Jedi staff at the Jedi Temple, why not have non-Clones working alongside the soldiers? It only made sense, in a way. 

And despite initial (and natural) concerns from his men and brothers of the 501st Legion, they had no reason to feel wary about being treated unkindly or with prejudice by any who passed the background inspections to serve alongside the men in other manners. Clerical. Mechanics. Inventory specialists. A team of cooks and a handful of barbers were certainly popular rumors. The one thing in common was they were all kind and even friendly with his men, at the end of the day. 

So the Captain gave it little thought to see civilian staff on base between missions: after a certain point, you just get used to them being there and respond "It's good to be back." to everyone welcoming you back to your home away from home as you step off the LAATs. Another victory secured for the glory of the Republic. 

However, he'll always take notice of a new face. There's a young woman who has just transferred here in his absence. The polite thing to do is introduce himself, but when he approaches and goes to extend his hand, he's surprised to find you shy away in alarm - just a little. "Welcome to our humble little base. It's nice to meet you. I'm Captain Rex of the five-oh-fir- Ma'am, is… everything alright?" he asks, curious and a little concerned. 

Your smile is sweet and apologetic as you tuck an errant strand of hair back into place before introducing yourself with your name. "I'm sorry, Captain Rex, I wasn't expecting any introductions when you've just gotten back. You surprised me." you explain, now cradling the datapad against your chest, or morerather squeezing it against you almost. Oh, that explains it, he just startled you. "That's alright. Sorry for scaring you." 

He would have liked to continue to get to know you beyond the few little exchanges they had, before he was called to the war room for a debriefing and he needed to excuse himself to answer the comms. But he really wants to get to know you better. Learn where you had transferred from and why, and how recently. How you liked the base, so far, and how you were adjusting. Thankfully, there'll be time later, at least. 

One thing, when he gets the time to know you, that becomes immediately clear to Rex in very short order is that you deal with some degree of anxiety (or at least anxious tendencies) in your day-to-day beyond getting adjusted to the transfer. There's a few notable quirks and idiosyncrasies that come up whenever you're nervous, Rex notices. And the anxiety is not just a product of wartime, either. There's a way you just "know". 

Being helpful and sweet

Captain Rex asks a few of his brothers to try offering a little friendship to help ease you further into this transfer. Ideally, he'd do as much of this himself as he could, but he doesn't always have the time to spare. 

But he uses every opportunity he can to check on you himself, of course. As you start coming out of your shell, and your personality really starts to come through, that's when Rex thinks about inventing reasons to seek your company. He's got a few minutes free, he's already in the hangar, maybe he could swing by and see how you're doing, maybe have a quick chat. He picked up an extra drink from the canteen by mistake, maybe you'd like something to drink? Does he really need to run this little bit of paperwork by you if your job is minimally involved? No, not really, but he has a chance to talk to you. 

Jesse deduces early on that he “must really like our new transfer if you keep volunteering to take all the forms even remotely involved to her for everyone, Captain.” Jesse is being teasing and suggestive about it. Rex brushes it off and explains it away easily enough, kind of for himself as much as it is for Jesse and the others. “She wouldn’t admit to it, but I think the last time everyone was coming in and out of her office with all the forms and paperwork for her all day kind of sent her into a tizzy. If I just collect it now, and give it to her all at one time, it’ll make it easier on her. She’s still adjusting here. Just trying to make it easier on her until she’s settled in comfortably.” There’s a few sympathetic winces around the room, hearing that you ended up feeling anxious at the end of that day. And there’s a slightly cheeky grin from Fives that concerns him, only initially, but he finds it’s one of the agreeable smiles soon enough. “Makes sense, Captain. If there’s anything I can do to help-” Echo elbows his chest plate meaningfully, “If there’s anything we can do to help, Echo and I will be glad to do it.” Fives smoothly corrects himself as he volunteers to assist the Captain in assisting this new civ employee.

You who are so incredibly, incredibly kind, and compassionate to the needs of his men (and polite in your professional interactions with him). His men are always so kind to her in turn. Stars, he thinks he finds himself almost falling in love with you, bit by bit. You can be forgiven for your shyness when you're just so kind with everyone you meet. 

The way to his heart is through his brothers

You’re muttering worriedly as you shuffle all the stacks of flimsiplast and a few datapads you need to return to people, looking for something. Dogma notices, and starts walking towards you, clearing his throat from a distance to announce his presence. Give you a warning that someone is approaching. "You won't find it on your desk: I took that report to General Skywalker during his meeting for you, miss. I would have let you know, but I couldn't find you." You give Dogma a gracious smile in light of his act of kindness when you ask where a particular report on your desk went, rather than looking or acting upset any longer that it seemingly disappeared when you went to the ladies' fresher. "Oh, that was sweet of you, Dogma, thank you… I appreciate you doing that." It was no trouble, Dogma promises you. (Both Rex and Dogma silently reason with themselves that she didn't need to know Dogma had almost gotten into a little bit of trouble with the other Generals for being so focused on delivering the report on her behalf he completely forgot to knock before he came in.) 

You and Tup get along swimmingly. Rex finds himself - curiously - envying his brother only for a moment every time he finds Tup getting a little help with wrangling his hair. Thick and full of curls, the typical hair ties they can get their hands on often only last a mission or two before they can't contain his hair under his bucket. "Hey, Tup? You got a second?" He glances at Rex for approval for a moment; they're due to leave in a few minutes and are going over strategy. Rex nods. "What can I do for ya, darlin'?" You pull a little packet of hair ties from a pocket in your jumpsuit, and offer to redo the bun he has to throw together in a hurry with no time to replace a snapped band. "I went to a beauty salon yesterday on my day off, and I saw these. They're advertised to work better for your hair type than these." You explain as you pluck out the broken elastic and rebuild Tup's bun with ease. "There. Now I feel better. I hope those will work for you, Tup." Tup grins appreciatively, and promises he'll do his best when you wish them all luck and to come back safely before returning to your work. (Rex imagines your touch must be so gentle if Tup keeps touching his hair to check that it's truly tied up.) The hair tie outlasts the mission and then some. It’s weeks before Tup has to ask you for another, and he grins from ear to ear, eyes bright with surprise when you give him the remainder of the packet, promising the rest are his. “Oh darlin’, you’re too nice… Are you sure? Thank you.”

Captain Rex often finds Echo and Fives crowded near your desk while you work. The first instance of this, he's concerned about them bothering you of course, but just as he comes along to tell them to go share a shadow with someone else (Him. It's going to be him that they'll bother.) he finds that the three of you are figuring out the difference between form 1587-A and form A1587. "Hmm, look at this subsection here on 87-A, it's asking for things like what's been added to a materials manifest. That's not on the other form is it, Fives?" Echo asks, pouring over one form as Fives looks at the other for you. Three heads set to one task would get this sorted out. "Doesn't look like it. Oh, hey Captain. Need us for something? We're just helping her out with these forms." Fives replies before taking notice of the Captain, who's standing at a short distance. "No, no," Rex replies with an easy smile as you and Echo join Fives in looking up at him, "Only wondering what you three were up to. Don't mind me." he promises, only staying for a few more moments to watch as you and his men sort this mystery out. He's not sure if you're looking a little flushed in the face because of the paperwork debacle, or because he's watching you. 

You have to hunt him down one morning for a signature, dressed rather nicely today. You have a meeting with the head of the civilian staff, and you need one last thing before you attend. "Captain Rex? Could I get you to sign off on this paperwork for me please since it pertains to the manifest you sent me?" Rex apologizes earnestly to you as he scribbles down the approval. "I'm so sorry, I must have forgotten… Was so concerned about Denal that it just slipped my mind." Kix chuckles softly, reassuringly. "He'll be fine, Captain. That battle droid was in worse shape than Denal after Jesse got to his position." Kix quickly promises to give you the story later as Rex returns the datapad to you, his hands brushing against yours innocently. Something feels electric between you from such a simple gesture. "You look nice today, sweetheart. Good luck with your meeting." Kix calls after you, chuckling softly when you can do little more than smile over your shoulder, your face looking a mite flushed with color at the compliment. His team medic turns to him to say something, but changes course when he notices that Rex hasn’t moved a muscle since your fingers grazed over his own. “Hmm, maybe it’s a little warmer here than I realized. You’re also looking rather flushed, Captain.” 

He’s fine, just feels a little strange. He can’t explain why, though.  

Catching feelings for each other

It takes a while for it to happen, but while Hardcase’s runaway speederbike doesn’t hit him as he’s taking it to the hangar to get it repaired, the realization sure does when many of Torrent Company come back from their last assignment dirty, disheveled and oh-so-tired, and you just simply smile at him and his men and tell them all individually, by name, that you’re glad to see him safe? Oh Maker. That’s when he knows. Yes, he loves you. “It’s good to see you made it back safely, Captain Rex. Welcome back.” Like a few of his men before him, since you greeted him last, you give him the option for a welcoming friendly gesture, but there’s a moment where you hesitate before you decide you’ll be a little braver.

“You look like you could use a good hug rather than a handshake, Captain.” You promise him a little grease, ash and soot from the battlefield won’t hurt your jumpsuit - which are meant to get dirty, after all. You just feel a little something extra will do him some good, seeing that you can notice how simply tired he is. (It was a successful campaign and fortunately, they lost very few troops this time.) 

Seeing how serious you seem about it, Rex agrees. “That sounds nice.”

Both of you laugh and smile nervously, nerves buzzing with energy, by the time you and the Captain break the hug. You don’t want to risk getting in trouble when you’re still technically within your probationary period for anything like unprofessional conduct or PDA, but kriff it. The brief hug was worth any anxiety attacks that might be brought on by overthinking this later. 

And if you were disciplined for offering the hug, Captain Rex would absolutely lie and say it was his idea. He notices you seem to hug your arms across your chest whenever you get particularly anxious over some part of your work on occasion, seeing how you take deep, calming breaths before trying to tackle the problem again. He could play off the hug using that as an excuse should anyone come asking questions about it. It’s unlikely, but a man of his experience wants to be prepared for anything.

(Even your men who decide to give you a little ribbing about it.) 

“You’ve been smiling to yourself for the last ten minutes now, Captain. Any particular reason~?” He’s just glad to be home, Jesse. That’s a pretty good reason to smile.  “Oh, I’m sure… She must be glad too.” Jesse suggests with a short bark of laughter. He doesn’t pay it much mind, too busy calculating the days until the probationary period ends. 

That’s just a week away. “That’s when I can hopefully stop feeling so nervous, all the time… At least, when you’re away, Captain.” you had admitted to him, ignoring how hot your face felt, maybe even looked. "I really do appreciate how welcome you and your men have made me feel here… Thank you for that. I took a big chance on this job and a location transfer, but I’m glad I did. Otherwise I… wouldn’t have met you." 

And it’s more than okay when or if it turns out that your nervous tendencies don’t simply “disappear” by next week, too. Captain Rex has taken it into account and brushed up therapeutic and grounding techniques for those who live with anxiety as part of their daily lives, just in case he ever takes these feelings a step further, should he get an opportunity to. After all, his brothers are now taking bets on how long it is before the two of you are going to start doing things like getting lunch together from the mess…

Don't have a fic taglist for the time being, but I'll likely start one soon if I can figure out how to make those fancy forms some people have since I write a variety of stuff.

[Masterlist] [Requests: OPEN]

[heyidkyay]

Oh my god now you’ve got the image of G and Birdie with a little baby girl into my head… you can’t not write it now! I’d love to see maybe them introducing their baby girl to the rest of the band… or anything else you can come up with 🤣

I guess I'll take this pain, instead of your name | The aftermath

A little snippet:)

--

My due date was March 23rd. Which meant that George would be getting quite the birthday present (if the baby had perfect timing) and that they’d most definitely be an Aries, which were two things I couldn’t quite get behind, but something G was ecstatic over. 

Matty had been hoping the little one would arrive a little late, two weeks late to be precise, just so that he could get one over on George and have the baby share something in common with him instead. He really had been an absolute sweetheart throughout the entire pregnancy, but my God was he pushing it trying to get me to extend the absolute hell I’d endured. 

I’d gone through almost every symptom pregnancy had to offer, from day one I’d felt absolutely vile and then when my second trimester had rolled round I’d had to deal with Braxton Hicks, an undeniable appetite (I’d felt like an actual monster), and dizziness that rivalled anything I’d ever felt before. Including the time when I’d been hit by a fucking car. 

Still, all of Matty’s efforts appeared in vain now seeing as though I went into labour on February 13th, five whole weeks before I was even due. 

To say I’d shit myself would have been an absolute understatement. I was fucking terrified to give birth, let alone that early, and to make matters worse, George had been set to play a show, which meant that he’d had no idea my water had broken until I was high as a kite on fucking gas and air, and he was finally off stage. But thankfully, I’d also been at work and Delia had been the one to walk me through the whole process, we’d headed straight to hospital, due to the fact that I should not have been going into labour this prematurely, but also because she was afraid I was going to give myself a sodding aneurysm simply down to the amount I was panicking. 

But who could blame me?

Anywho, the whole thing seemed a bit small in comparison to when I finally did give birth. We’d been blessed with a tiny, little baby girl- 7 lbs 4 ounces and with a head of thick unruly hair. But before George and I could even get a look in the doctor had told me to start pushing- again.

“They’re coming along quite quickly now, just a few more deep breaths.” 

“You what?” I ask the man in scrubs settled between my legs. Baffled wasn’t even a word I’d begin to use to describe the emotions that hit me right then, having thought I’d heard him wrong until I saw the alarming look on George’s face.

“We need you to push, you can already see baby’s head.” A midwife informs me, ushering George to once again take my hand, to comfort me. He does but he’s caught in a daze. 

“But, but I just did that bit.” I say, mostly stunned, delirious almost for a moment. 

“I know, and you did wonderfully. But baby two isn’t too far behind.” She replies, smiling down at me sincerely even as her attention diverts between a handful of other people stood in the delivery room. 

Her words seem to startle G back into reality, “Baby two? As in twins?”

“Twins! What the hell do you mean, twins?” I feel dizzy once more, head darting between the nurse beside me, G, and the doctor who’s seen a little too much of my insides for my liking. I think I start mumbling then, rambling off a ton of questions, a mile a minute, to anyone and everyone who will listen. Twins. “Are you sure? Twins?”

The nurse laughs, not unkindly, then nods, “Definitely sure, even saw it for myself.”

I’m still not really pushing, too confused, too stunned to really do much, in truth. “Are you having me on? Is this a prank?”

She appears to realise G and I aren’t messing about here and I watch on, frozen, as her whole demeanour shifts before my eyes, “Yes, sweetheart, twins. You really didn’t know?”

I shake my head and am just beyond grateful that George is here with me, holding my hand so tightly that I can truly feel it start to numb- because, what?

Things seem to take a turn then, the entire atmosphere in the room drops when beeping starts up and lights start flashing worryingly. The doctor at the other end of my bed is coaching me through it again, his voice high and harried almost, and I know then that something’s wrong and that it’s all my fault.

“What’s going on?” I ask, eyes immediately snapping over towards the nurse standing beside me but she’s gone, fiddling with the oxygen machine behind my head and then the heart monitor. “G, what- what’s happening? Are they okay? The baby. Are they?”

“You need to push. The baby is losing oxygen, we need to get them out as quickly as possible.”

My heart plummets. I start to panic. It’s my fault. My fault. I’m doing it wrong. I’m to blame. It’s all my fault. I’m messing up and they’re not even really here yet. I’m doing it all wrong.

“We need you to push harder.”

“Breathe.”

“Come on, mum. We need you to really push now.”

“That’s it.”

“Birdie, it’s alright. You’re okay, love. The baby is okay. You just need to push a bit more. Just a little longer, okay?”

I feel my head move- nod?- but the room is spinning, I reckon I’m screaming too. Sobbing, even. My mind so focused on the baby I hadn’t even known I’d been housing, let alone created. My baby. 

Two babies! Two.

I let out a loud groan. Barely even aware of the careful fingers on my temple. 

“Good girl, B.” George whispers to me, lips pressed against my cheek as he brushes hair from out of my face. “You’re doing so well. So good.”

I cry harder, I push harder.

Time seems to have stilled in its entirety, the minutes won’t move, the seconds don’t count. I am lost in this moment, my mind screaming at me to just try harder. 

“And it’s a boy!” I finally hear and then I’m weeping again, crying and clinging to George before he too is dragged away from me by nurses to cut the umbilical cords. I stare up at the ceiling, unable to do much else, chest heaving, thick tears streaming down my cheeks, and all I hear is an overwhelming buzz. The kind I’d grown so used to, starting in my left ear before it soon echos in my right. Jumping, back and forth.

“A boy, Birdie. A boy and a girl.”

I blink and George is there again, hovering over me. He takes my face in his careful hands and holds me so close that we are nose to nose. I realise then he’s crying too.

“Twins.” I whisper breathlessly, every inch of me burns, but I itch to get up, to move and see them.

“Twins.” George repeats with just as much disbelief. “Twins, B. Ours.”

A baby boy, he’d told me. A tiny thing, so full of surprises. He was born smaller than his sister, an even 6 lbs and only ten minutes behind, but his eyes are unlike anything I’ve ever seen, huge and so very innocent, placed between a scattering constellation of tawny freckles that dot his cheeks and kiss his lids. 

A girl and a boy. All ours. 

I’d been taken with them both the moment I’d set my sights on them, ‘the twins' people had dubbed them. ‘Let’s go see the twins!’ ‘The twins are finally crawling!’ ‘Somebody grab a camera, the twins are being cute again!’

Never did I ever believe I’d have a family of my own, let alone a husband or these two beautiful beings that always seemed to stare back up at me with an incredible amount of innocence. It stirs something deep within me each time they do, both the thought and the very sight of them, and when their tiny little hands wrap their way around my fingers I know that I’ll never feel this type of love again. I don’t think I could even begin to describe it.

They are beautiful and they are ours, and I know from the very bottom of my heart that I will protect them until the day that I die. Because, how could I not?

How could anyone not?

[lemonlamblaura]

My Husband is the God of Pestilence - chapter 8

We meet Lilybell's mom and dad in this chapter... it doesn't go well to say the least. I decided on Lilybell's voice actress as well! It's Cherami Leigh, specifically the voice she does for Cotton Cookie from Cookie Run Kingdom.

They were ready to go in less than ten minutes, since little preparation was needed. Kallamar called a few strong men, previously construction workers, and a few farmers, to go with them, just for some added protection. He gathered Lilybell in the crook of one arm and held her close, and she heard a strong, steady heartbeat thrumming deeply in his chest.

"I leave everything to you," he said to Trenaty and two other supervisors.

Trenaty stepped forward and looked up towards Lilybell. "Good luck, dear," she said gently, "we look forward to seeing you again soon."

"Thanks, Trenaty," Lilybell replied, putting on a brave smile.

"We'll go by magic, as that's the fastest way," Kallamar said. "Everyone hold tight to me, and close your eyes."

Lilybell shut her eyes tightly. For a few moments she felt no different, and she had to wonder if anything was happening at all. Against Kallamar's orders, she peeked one eye open, but all she saw was darkness. Or were those patterns in the dark very far away? She couldn't tell. The more she tried to concentrate on them, the dizzier she felt. She had to close her eyes again, burying her face in Kallamar's cloak.

Suddenly a cold breeze brushed against her wool (and she could tell it was a breeze, not an ocean current) and she shivered in his arm. When she opened her eyes again, she saw trees with red and orange leaves, and smelled flowers, wood and dirt. Songbirds twittered in the distance, and the hum of insects buzzing filled the air.

"I told you not to open your eyes," Kallamar said, not unkindly.

"Sorry," she said and pulled away from him when another breeze went by, and she realized she was drenched from ocean water. "Aww, I'm soaked!" She complained, starting to wring her hair out.

"There will be towels at the village," Kallamar set her down, not caring that he was wet too. He was used to it, going to and from Silk Cradle so often.

After a few minutes they found a trail leading up the mountain, and Lilybell recognized the trees around it well enough to know that they weren't far from the village. Ten minutes later, they saw the village in the distance, and Lilybell found herself breaking into a sprint to reach it, pulling her robes up a little to run easier. Kallamar didn't attempt to stop her, knowing this was important to her.

Some people called out to her, surprised to see her back when they thought she was gone forever. She ignored them, running at top speed towards her old house, flinging the door open with all her might.

"Father, mother! I'm here-"

Her father stared back at her at the table, mid bite, oatmeal slipping from his spoon, while her mother sat at the other side, mouth hanging open in shock. Aside from looking tired (he never slept well anymore), her father looked completely fine, and was fully dressed, ready to work.

"Lilybell?" He mumbled in confusion.

"Baby!" Her mother cried, rushing towards her with arms outstretched. She wrapped Lilybell up in a tight hug, while Lilybell stared at her father with wide eyes. "You're back! My, those mailmen work quick nowadays! Well you don't have to worry about going back to that horrible ocean, you're home now, and I'm never letting you out of my sight again. Gods, you're all wet! Let me get you some towels."

She gave Lilybell a big kiss on the cheek and let her go. Lilybell's father got up from the table and gave her a gentler hug, his eyes welling with tears.

"You're not sick," she said blankly, not reaching up to hug him back.

He pulled away, searching her face. "Gods... that's why you're here." Her mother came back in the room and he turned on her instantly. "Did you tell her I was sick so she would come home?"

"Well, I had to do something," her mother said matter of factly, "she would never come home if I simply asked her. She's too stubborn."

"I can't believe this!" Lilybell's father shouted, and Lilybell's heart began to race uncontrollably. She immediately shut down, trying to block out her parents. It never worked. "How can you do this?! How dare you tell her something like that?! What's wrong with you?!"

"There's nothing wrong with me!" She shouted back, "you would rather her be at the bottom of the ocean? You'd rather her be a slave to some evil god?"

"You've really reached a new low!"

"I saved our daughter! You should be thanking me! You know she can't look after herself!"

"Maybe she could if you treated her like the adult she is for a change!"

"She can't be - Lilybell! Where are you going?"

Lilybell paused as she had been caught trying to tiptoe towards the front door. She turned her head to see both her parents staring at her. "Um..."

"See?" Her father exclaimed, gesturing towards her with his hoof, "she doesn't even want to stay!"

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course she wants to stay. Don't you, honey?"

"...no?"

Her mother stared at her. There was a look of disbelief on her face, and Lilybell couldn't decide if it was disbelief at the fact that she would rather leave, or disbelief at the fact that she would dare disagree with her. She stepped up to Lilybell, looking cross. "Lilybell," she said coldly, "you are not leaving this house. You are staying here where you belong."

"You can't keep me here anymore..." Lilybell protested, not moving from the door.

The older woman just stared down at her, thinking. Then, surprisingly, she broke out into a big smile. "I know you've had your fun, but it's time to come back down to earth. Come on, now, won't it be nice to sleep in your own bed? I'll make strawberry pie for dinner tonight, I know that's your favorite."

"I'm not staying for dinner."

"Lilybell-"

"No!" Lilybell cried, not as loudly as she wanted to, "I'm going home with Lord Kallamar! I'm happy being with him. He takes care of me, and I have friends there. Can't you understand that? Don't you want me to be happy?"

The air in the house became very cold. Lilybell's mother continued to stare down at her, and she felt like she could sink through the floor at any moment. There was nothing worse than this feeling. She honestly wondered if her mother wanted to hit her. Maybe she should and get it over with. It would do away with years of anticipation.

"Just let her do what she wants for heaven's sake," her father said frustratedly.

"Lilybell, get away from that door right now."

"No!"

Lilybell's mother reached out and grabbed her wrist harshly, pulling her away from the door. "I've had enough of this! I am not letting you go! You are staying here with us and that's final!"

Suddenly the door was ripped from its hinges, and Lilybell's mother screamed as a black eye with red slits stared at them through the doorway.

"Lord Kallamar!" Lilybell cried in relief.

"Get out here, all of you," he growled.

Lilybell nonchalantly walked out the door. Her mother and father hesitated, but seeing that their daughter wasn't afraid, they followed shortly after her. Kallamar was standing on the lawn with the followers from the temple around him. The villagers had gathered around the front of the house, staring up at him in wonder. He looked angrily down at them as they came out, but especially at Lilybell's mother.

"So I see that you are not ill after all," Kallamar sneered down at the father. He turned to Lilybell's mother, who was visibly trembling. "You have wasted not only time, but you have caused my assistant unnecessary distress. How do you plan to correct this slight against me?"

Lilybell's mother was unsure of how to get out of this. What do you even say to an angry god? "I-I'm sorry, my lord, I just wanted my daughter to come home..."

"You could not have asked her? You needed to lie? It is obvious your efforts were questionable, and you had no intention of allowing your daughter to make her own decisions. Tell me why you do not deserve to be punished for your actions."

Lilybell would be lying if she didn't find any satisfaction in seeing her mother's terrified face. Still, she felt guilty that her mother should be punished, and she spoke up quietly, "Lord Kallamar, can we please just go home? You shouldn't punished my mother. I just want to go home now."

Kallamar's face softened slightly at her words, and after a few seconds he nodded, having fully calmed. He reached down and picked her up, holding her close to him, and she turned to look at her parents for the final time.

"Don't go," her mother begged, looking close to tears.

Lilybell waved to her father, and they were gone.

Lilybell's mother sank to her knees and let out a sob. "He brainwashed her! My baby!"

It was you who pushed her away, her father thought wrathfully, knowing his words would fall on deaf ears, and he went back in the house, leaving his wife outside. She didn't even realize he had left.

*

A few seconds later the group arrived back at Kallamar's temple as if they had never left. Some followers came up to greet them, asking about the surface. Lilybell didn't hear any of it. The comfort of being back in what she knew was a safe place and away from her parents, caused something inside her to break. The moment Kallamar put her down, she burst into tears and ran towards her room, not caring who was in her way or what was going on around her.

"Lilybell!" Kallamar called out, wanting to take off after her, but having to weave around the followers at his feet, he was too late to get to her before she slammed her door shut. "Lilybell please, don't shut me out! You don't have to go back there! I'm sorry!"

All he could hear on the other side or the door was sobbing. He heard panting coming up beside him, but he didn't turn to see who it was.

"Lord Kallamar!" Trenaty gasped, finally stopping her run when when she was beside him, doubled over, panting. That was more exercise than she had done in more than a decade! "What... happened? Why... did Lilybell... run away?"

Kallamar's lip curled into a snarl at the thought of that awful sheep, wishing he could crush her under his fist. "Her mother lured her back home with the intent of forcing her to stay. Her father was not at all ill."

Trenaty was taken aback, blinking in surprise. "Did you ever hear the like! I know she wasn't fond of her mother, now we know why!" She leaned into the door to listen and heard the crying. "Shall I go in, my lord? She may need another woman's shoulder to cry on."

He stared at the door. He didn't like that Lilybell was crying. He didn't like that she was upset at all. He wanted to go to her and comfort her. But if he was being honest, he wasn't sure what to say or if he would even do a good job.

"I want to... see her, but..."

Trenaty smiled warmly. "Let's go in together. I'm sure she would like that."

After a few moments he nodded. Yes, that would be for the best. If he said something wrong, then Trenaty could take over. They entered the room quietly and saw Lilybell lying on her bed, hugging her pillow, her face red and tear stained. Trenaty carefully sat on the bed so as not to disturb her too much, and reached over to rub her shoulder.

"Shh, there, there, sweetheart," she whispered, "it's going to be alright. We're here for you."

Lilybell reached up and wrapped her arms around Trenaty, crying into her shoulder. The starfish hugged her back, not caring that her tears were getting her wet.

"Why doesn't she respect me?" Lilybell sobbed, "what do I have to do? Why does she hate me?"

"It doesn't matter anymore, Lilybell," Trenaty murmured, stroking her hair, "you never have to go back there again. This is your home now."

Lilybell sniffled, resting her cheek on Trenaty's shoulder. "I wish you were my mom, Trenaty," she whimpered.

Guilt struck at Trenaty's heart. She laughed bitterly as her own tears started to flow. "No, you don't, dear. Trust me, you don't."

Kallamar wasn't sure what to do. It seemed like Trenaty was doing a great job of comforting Lilybell without him. He hesitantly reached out and pet her head, the big curls of her wool springing back against his touch.

"Don't cry anymore, darling."

She slowly opened her tired, red eyes, looking up at him with thanks in her eyes, and gave a tiny smile.

[wolfawaycamp]

I know most of you said you aren’t open to a lot of kink, so feel free to ignore this, but I’ve consumed every piece of writing with praise kink Dylan in it and I would really like more please😭

🐰 Hi, Happy Pride Month! Your friend Bunny has made you a smut to celebrate!

This should have been easy to make short and simple but, as often happens to me, it ended up becoming its own whole… thing. Like, a 7k words long thing. So, I hope our praise-kink loving anon still enjoys!

——————————

“Compliments?” Ryan asks, tilting his head at Dylan a bit, “what? Like, about the trivia stuff? That got you all hot and bothered?”

“I mean, yeah?” Dylan tilts his head slightly in the opposite direction of Ryan’s, “I… thought you knew I liked praise?”

“Well, I knew you liked it, but I didn’t know you… liked it liked it.”

“Yeah, I mean everyone likes it, right? But I, um, like it more than most people do. I guess you might say I have a bit of a… praise kink,” Dylan confesses.

“I’m seeing the undeniable evidence,” Ryan snickers, not unkindly, “but it’s kind of wild to me that you actually get turned on by praise. Like, compliments and people just… being nice to you? That’s considered a kink?” He’s obviously a little bemused, but Ryan doesn’t sound like he’s judging—his reaction is one of interest and benign mirth.

[ashleigghh]

Day 15- elf. No main, 864 words

“So, just making sure we’re clear here,” Barty starts, hands pressed together gesturing as he talks, “You are an elf now?” He looks around the table, reassuring himself that everyone else is confused too and he isn’t on his own. 

They’ve tried really hard to wrap their heads around the whole concept of muggle Christmas. Lily, Mary and James have tried to explain but it just seems to confuse them even more, which is why Marlene gave up after a failed attempt to explain leaving out a plate of cookies. 

Pandora shrugs in response to Barty’s question, she understands more traditions than the rest of them but is more blindly following along with her girlfriends' traditions than actively understanding and participating.

“For December, Lily and Mary do it every year, they run this thing in their hometown,” Pandora waves a hand, not really sure how to explain it, and throws back her drink “I don’t know, they asked me if I would join them so I agreed.”

“You don’t even know what you’re doing? What is this?” Evan leans forward, staring at his sister sceptically, confusion clear in his furrowed brow. 

“I’d do pretty much anything for them,” Pandora sighs dreamily and Evan pretends to gag while Dorcas pinches her cheek and calls her a big softie. 

“Aren’t elves the ones who make all the toys?” Barty seems very stuck on this topic, trying fruitlessly to wrap his head around the concept, it shouldn’t be that hard really, they know all about house elves and magic so the muggle version shouldn’t be so confusing. 

“No, I think that’s the, um, the guy, Reggie what’s his name?” Dorcas jostles Regulus’ arm, who just looks at her in confusion, being jolted out of his staring at someone across the bar. It’s then that she sees who he is staring at and smiles at him teasingly. 

“Oi, Potter!” She calls across the bar to where he stands with a few friends. He turns and upon spotting Regulus his face lights up with a blinding grin, he turns away to talk to his friends, practically bounding over to them afterwards. 

“Hi, I didn’t know you were here,”

“Can we ask you a question?” Barty asks, probably far too drunk to even remember this tomorrow but still following through on his quest for an answer. 

“You just did, but feel free to ask another,” James jokes, visibly flustered as his eyes keep darting back to Regulus. Barty doesn’t even notice, leaning across Evan to look James in the eye while he questions him. 

“Who is the guy, the red one, with the hat? We don’t remember.” James laughs at them, although not unkindly, happy to oblige and answer their Christmas questions even if they ask the same thing a hundred times. 

“Santa Claus,” Barty nods, trying to follow his train of thought. 

“So he makes the present?” 

“No, that’s the elves,” James answers and Barty snaps his head around to look at Pandora, gesturing so wildly that he nearly smacks Evan, who interlinks their hands to stop him. 

“They’re going to make you make the toys, Panda, do you even know how?” He laments his words slightly slurred by the copious amounts of alcohol he’s consumed. Pandora pats his hand consolingly, looking slightly more apprehensive about her winter job than she was earlier. 

“I’ll figure it out,” 

“I’m confused,” James admits, placing his drink down on the table and sliding into the booth beside Regulus. “Why would Pandora be making the presents?”

“She agreed to be an elf,” Evan frowns and rolls his eyes at sister's romantic side, “because her girlfriends asked her to, so she didn’t even check what she had to do.” 

“Oh, you’re being an Elf for the Christmas fair?” James asks to clarify and Pandora nods, frowning down at her hands, “You just dress up, and then you help with the Santa’s grotto, you’ll help keep the lines entertained, run little decorative workshops and stuff, it’s fun I helped out a few years ago.”

“Dress up? Are they going to shrink her?” Barty asks, genuinely confused and sounding slightly scared. A stranger gives them a weird look as he walks past and Dorcas glares back in retaliation to their judgement. 

“Are they going to make her look like Kreacher?” Evan practically sobs, placing his face into his hands as his eyes well up, “She looks weird enough as it is!” He teases, it’s his sister, what kind of brother would he be if he didn’t tease her? 

She kicks him under the table, “We look pretty much the same, dickhead.” 

James laughs, and she turns to him, eyes wide and full of worry, “Are they going to make me look like Kreacher?” 

James shakes his head, unsure how to explain this to the table full of drunk out of their mind purebloods with no understanding of the muggle traditions. “No, you’ll still look like you,” 

Pandora visibly deflates in relief, and Evan immediately stops his dramatics. 

“Well, she’s not even going to be an elf then?” Barty seems more annoyed by this than the original confusion over how she’d be an elf, “What’s the point?”

[theheraldsrest]

Companions and Advisors reactions to an Inquisitor who loves talking/singing, tends to ramble a bit but has suddenly gone quiet because some prick of a nobleman/noblewoman told them "It's not fitting of someone of your importance to be so... childish and such" (or however a noble would basically say "shut up and stop talking so much" Bonus points if the inky is an Elf) Romanced or not doesn't matter. :D

“Companions (+Romanced) reacting to a very loquacious Elf!Inquisitor being silenced”

Thank you @feral-sins ! Am I uh...still under a threat or…? I MEAN LOVE THE ASK THANK YOU VERY MUCH! 

-Lord Lex

Cullen

“How DARE you speak to the Inquisitor that way?!”

-Listen, this man might not be the best at words when it comes to normal interactions, but when it comes to your honor? You can bet he’s going to say something. Was taught to hold his tongue when speaking to certain nobles but those lessons are right out the window. If glares could kill, this noble would be dead and 6 feet under. Pulls you away so that you both can talk about whatever you like, away from those absolute ass- I mean those unkindly gents. If romanced, he'll definitely consider a duel with that man even if he hates duels and hates making a scene but, Maker forgive him, he's about to TEACH SOME MANNERS-

Josephine

“Says the man/woman who can’t shut their mouth about their affairs?”

-It’s an absolute surprise to see Josephine snap at someone, especially nobility. But that person had no right to speak to you that way. Josey absolutely loves listening to you when you talk and enjoys the vast changes in topics. To see someone shut that down in front of her is like taking her favorite book and slapping her. She’ll kindly remind them that she could ruin their entire life if they ever treat you that way. Even worse for them if you’re in a relationship with her. Your woman is using every insult she’s ever learned on this person. Including elven cuss words gasp

Leliana

“I wouldn’t be telling the Inquisitor to hold their tongue if I were you. You might just end up losing yours.”

-She will full-blown threaten this individual in front of everyone in the room. Leliana couldn’t give a shit or two if they’re related to the Empress herself, this man/woman was good as dead. Though she did find herself losing concentration a few times with some of your conversations, she still enjoyed them as well as your singing. Josey might have threatened to ruin their life, but Leliana will make sure it happens without warning. 

Vivienne

“I’m guessing you were never taught any manners because of how rich your blood is? Then allow me to educate you.”

-Madame de Fer will not allow you to take any of this noble’s shit. True, on the occasion she has had to excuse herself from your ramblings or asked if you could speak another time, but never would she tell you to silence yourself. She’d make them kneel and beg for forgiveness from you to make up for their harsh words.

Varric

“Hey, punchline. Watch who you’re talking to or else you’ll have 20 or so people to answer to.”

-It’s all about the threat behind the words, and Varric’s got plenty to say. He wouldn’t let people talk bad about Hawke, he sure as hell wasn’t gonna let it happen to you either. Varric found it interesting how you could talk about everything and anything and it helped that Varric wasn’t easily annoyed. But if this noble thought you were bad, then boy he better be ready for what Varric’s got to say. It’s both embarrassing and annoying to the point that it makes the noble leave, red in the face.

Cole

“Why? Why silence someone who does exactly what you do-Oh. It’s because you don’t do that. You’re envious of how outspoken they are.”

-Someone’s taught the boy to sass. He knows there’s ice behind this person’s words but he doesn’t understand why they have to be there. Jealousy, envy, clouding this man’s vision from how wonderful the words are that you share. How you lighten up when you talk about something you find interesting or a topic you know well or because you’re not afraid to sing as loud as possible just because the mood strikes you. However, this man makes you afraid, ashamed. That’s not nice and neither will Cole be if he doesn’t stop. 

Solas

“Do not. Speak to her. That way.”

-Solas is livid. And I’m not talking about his usual “humans are a pain” stuff, I’m talking about “I’m about to risk it all just because of a petty insult” livid. Man is trying his hardest to insult you both, but it’s a little difficult with an angry elf staring daggers at him and interrupting every sentence before the noble can say two words. Solas enjoys talking to you and listening, always something new to speak of or to learn. And your singing. Beautiful. He refuses to let anyone speak to you that way. And if romanced, ho boy that noble better split unless he wishes to see if Fen'Harel is really gone or not. No one will believe him either way

Cassandra

“It’s not fitting of someone like you to put them down just because they answered a question when you couldn’t. Now if you’ll excuse us.”

-Also very pissed and very much wanting to punch that noble. Sure, it took some time to get used to your endless talks and the whiplash of conversations, but it was still enjoyable. At least the others had the decency to speak to you with respect or dismiss themselves from the conversation without harsh words. Cassandra is very much considering going to Leliana and ruining that man for her dearest friend. If in a relationship, will actually punch the noble. No ifs, ands, or buts. They're getting their ass handed to them. And she will not regret it

The Iron Bull

“Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to either apologize on your own accord and walk away or I’m going to make you apologize and then I’m going to ‘kindly’ remove you. Your choice.”

-Bull ain’t having none of it. Talking with you helps him pass the time or makes him feel more comfortable in certain areas, not to mention he just likes to listen to you. To tell his Kadan to be quiet because it’s not ‘fitting’ for them, you’re just asking for a fight. He gives the noble a 5 minute head start before Bull makes the choice for him. Either way, Bull comes back to make sure you’re alright and if you’d like to just talk to him or your friends. Even if you're not with him, you've been a great influence in his life. He's not going to let that slide.

Dorian

“Want to try that again? I could’ve sworn I misheard you, speaking so rudely to my friend and the Inquisitor.”

-Dorian knows this song and dance and he’s used to it, but usually it’s directed at him and not you. You two could go on for ages with talking, from magic to history to politics, etc. If this noble thought he better than you to silence you, Dorian’s gonna make him regret. But with words. It’s so hard to hold back your laughter as Dorian puts himself between you and the nobleman, talking about the many words you could use to describe a fat, shameless pig with an asshole complex. Ever seen Dorian mad? Like, full flegged? You have now if romanced. He'll get very serious and very quite, coming up to the noble's face, and simply telling them to leave. There is no mistaking the electricity in his eyes nor at his fingers

Sera

*lots of yelling and cursing, followed by “HOW FUCKING DARE YOU TELL MY INKY WHAT TO DO YOU SHI-”

-Safe to say that Sera’s not happy. Yeah ok, she doesn’t understand a lot of what you say but she still likes it when you’re singing or talking around her. She at least knows you're safe and happy. But god help the poor fool who silences you. As much as he was looking forward to it, Bull has to try and restrain her from killing them as she’s yelling your praise and a number of curse words that made the man/woman clutch their pearls. Don’t let her back in the same room with them or else she’ll make a bee line…with a jar of bees. You’ll also be receiving a lot of angry cuddles. As a friend...yeah, no it's still pretty much the same. Except without the cuddles. She's a very dangerous animal, she doesn't need cuddles. At least that's what she keeps saying

Blackwall

*Casually sipping his drink and turning his sword to catch the man’s eye*

-Not. Having. Any of it. Blackwall isn't great with his words, but he’s good at conveying things through actions. Especially with telling the noble that they’re in danger when he puts his arm around you and has his sword drawn. If they still don’t get it (which, to be honest, is a mistake), he’ll bluntly put himself between you and the noble and ask you to continue what you were saying, there must be some sort of pesky fly around. If the noble tries anything, Blackwall has no problem with knocking them on their ass. As your friend, he may refrain himself unless he can see that this noble's words are doing more harm than anything. You've given him respect when he didn't deserve it. He looks to make sure it doesn't go to waste