#rol fic

[corainne]

Its weird how time flies. Four years ago today I pressed post on a something that would change my life for better and worse. Better for a short while, significantly worse for a long time afterwards, and now it’s just changed. Who knows who and where I'd be if I hadn’t, but it certainly wouldn’t be who I am today

[conradrasputin]

via @abusivelittlebunny

X

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Bloody Valentines

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, Young Justice 98, Titans, GL Corps, Legion of Super Heroes, Flashfam, New Gods, Shadowpact

Summary: 90s vampire slasher AU

Chapters: 7/?

Characters: Dick Grayson, Joseph Wilson, Jason Todd, Charley Parker, Zatanna, Eddie Bloomberg, Daniel Cassidy, Chester Williams DC, Guy Gardner, Kyle Rayner, Lilith Clay, Raven Roth, Kole Weathers, Bette Kane, Donna Troy, Roy Harper, Jenni Ognats, Bart Allen, Virgil Hawkins, Richie Foley, Ayla Ranzz, Zoe Saugin, Rol Purtha, Darla Aquista, Lori Zechlin, Hal Jordan, Helen Jordan II, Orion DC, Lightray DC

Relationships: DickJoey, Daniel Cassidy/Zatanna, DonnaRoy, Jenni Ognats/Virgil Hawkins, Raven/Lilith Clay

Additional Tags: POV First Person, Unreliable Narrator(s), Vampires, No Capes AU, 90s Slasher AU, Homoeroticism, Horror, Slasher

Chapter Seven: The Hitchers (Rol Purtha's POV)

I held onto a piece of wood from the wreckage, drifting toward a light in the distance. I retched as the ice-cold Atlantic waters surrounded me. As I neared the light, it flashed over me, warming my body. The stars fell from the sky and danced around me like a fairy light menagerie. Then, I saw the source of the flashing light, spinning slowly, brighter than sunlight itself, only appearing to disappear. The lighthouse. And finally, something hitched my shirt in the water, pulling me under. I didn’t fight. I was paralyzed by fear and exhaustion, unable to struggle against the force.

I woke up dripping wet with perspiration… As I’d done for the past twelve nights. I shook violently as the ambient noise of my fan returned to my ears despite the violent ba-booming of my heart. I didn’t know how to make it stop until I saw the lighthouse on a postcard. Long story short, I took a ferry and the bus to get to a place of nightmares. I had no choice. I don’t think the nightmares would’ve stopped had I stayed away.

The ferry was almost vacant, save for two girls who seemed like sisters sitting on opposite sides. I sat behind the less intimidating of the two, and she sat on her feet and turned to face me. “Happy Harbor?” she questioned as she offered me a cookie. I respectfully declined her offer.

“Uh-huh,” I answered, “I’m gonna set up camp near the lighthouse.” I patted my rucksack.

“I wanted to rent a cabin, but I think they’re all booked for the weekend, so I’m camping out that way,” she replied. She extended a hand to me. “I’m Laura. Laura Fell.”

“Roland Purtha. My friends call me Rolly or Rol,” I replied. I shook her hand.

“Maybe I can set up camp nearby… Unless you’re doing a soul-searching thing,” Laura suggested. I shook my head.

“It’ll be nice to have the company… Your sister setting up camp, too?” I asked, gesturing toward the other girl on the ferry.

“Oh… No, we’re not sisters. I actually haven’t met her yet… Hey! What’s your name? Are you going to Happy Harbor, too?” Laura asked loudly. The other girl turned toward us.

“Yeah, I’m writing about the crap that went down there in my zine,” she replied as she walked toward us and handed us a copy of a handmade blood-splatter-designed zine on deliberately dogged and chewed-up paper. It was laminated with a matte finish. The inside pages were thin, rough, and as chewed-up as its exterior. Un-glossed. Some pages were black with white lettering, some were white with black lettering, and others used magazine letters instead of handwriting or typed words. She wrote horror stories. Murder stories. Ghost stories.

“This is a horror zine,” Laura noted.

“Mhm. Call me Black Alice or Alice. Horror enthusiast,” she introduced herself.

“What happened on the harbor? Was it at the lighthouse?” I asked. I sounded more urgent than I wanted to. Alice’s eyes widened.

“That’s the thing. A massive amount of people disappear from the harbor every few decades. In the seventies, a camp cook chopped up a bunch of teenagers. Each one bled dry before they were dismembered. He was found dead, holding his son’s silver cross in one burned hand… His suicide note contained only one sentence: I am not a monster. In the forties, families built neighborhoods there. In one single night, all the adults drowned. None of the children remembered the events of that night, but they all said the last thing they remembered was a song lulling them to sleep. All separate homes… But the same lullaby-.”

“Yikes,” Laura whispered.

“Anything about the lighthouse?” I asked.

“Um… Let me check,” Alice whispered. She pulled a journal out of her bag and read through the most recent pages. It was eerily silent for several minutes. “Mhm… Actually, that’s probably the safest spot you can be at. That’s where they always find the survivors. In the seventies, they found a handful of kids holed up in the lighthouse… Scratch marks on the door, but no one could get in.”

“These would make for killer campfire stories,” Laura whispered, “Alice, do you have a cabin, or are you camping out like us? My tent has enough room for two, and Rol said I could set up camp by him.”

“Oh, we never told you our names. I’m Rol Purtha, and this is Laura Fell,” I introduced us. We shook her hands. They were cold, but not shockingly so.

“I’m setting camp, and it’d be great if you guys were nearby. I’m not gonna lie and say I don’t believe something awful is coming,” Alice confessed. I should’ve been scared, but I wasn’t. Something about the lighthouse frightened me more than the stories. I fell asleep sometime after that.

I dreamt of the water, but things were different. I sat in a rowboat as I washed up gently on the shore. The sky was a deep, reddish purple. It was warm, so I stuck my hand in the water. It was shockingly hot. I pulled my hand up, wrapping it in my sweater. I glanced down and gasped at the wet crimson as it soaked straight through the knitted cotton fabric of my cardigan. I fell out of the boat and woke up struggling for air. "Rol?" Laura whispered. She looked green around the gills. "Your nose is gushing blood."

Alice took a napkin from her bag, and I held it to my nose. “Thank you… That’s not-. This is embarrassing. I’ve been having these nightmares-.”

“Do you mind if I interview you about your nightmares after we set up camp?” Alice interrupted. I shook my head. I desperately wanted to explain my nightmares to someone, but it wouldn’t have made logical sense. Alice seemed like she’d look beyond logic if she noticed a pattern.

The ferry docked, and we got off and took the bus as far as it would take us. My nose had stopped bleeding, and I unfolded the map in my pocket. “How many miles are we from the beach?” Alice asked, adjusting the brim of her hat to hide her face.

“Eight miles-.”

“Let’s hitch it,” Alice suggested.

“Cool,” Laura smiled.

I wanted to argue with them, but eight miles seemed far. Alice stuck out her thumb as we walked along the side of the road, and a truck pulled over. “Headed to Happy Harbor?” the man yelled out the window. We nodded. “You three should be able to fit in the back.” We nodded and sat in the rear-facing seats. When we sat down, a little girl turned around and greeted us.

“Be careful,” she warned as she pointed to Laura. The man nudged the little girl. “You should put your seatbelt on.”

Laura edged closer to me, and we touched hands. Hers were ice cold. She recoiled and scooted closer to Alice. Alice stared at me with concern for my safety. The man drove for a short while and stopped at a grocery store. We all got out and picked up food for the trip. I bought a cooler and ice to hold the meat for breakfast. "I'll cook if you guys want," I offered.

I felt a tug at the bottom of my shirt. “Hey, Mister?” the little girl whispered.

“You can call me Rolly. What’s your name?” I asked. I took a knee, and she shook my hand.

“Helen… Rolly, don’t be afraid of the lighthouse,” Helen whispered. My breath caught as I looked at her serious little expression. “We’re taking the tour. Right, Uncle Hal?”

The man looked up from his magazine and grinned at her before frowning at something outside. “That’s right, Helen… And we better get going, because it looks like a storm’s coming,” Hal whispered, “Come on. Round up your friends, okay?”

I obeyed and we paid for our things, but the rain started soon after we got in the car. It poured and the roads were barely visible in the downpour. Hal didn’t seem concerned, though. He drove calmly through the storm while Helen fiddled with the radio. As we neared the campsite, Hal hit his brakes hard, and we collided with something. Everyone gasped and Hal got out of the car. I unbuckled my seatbelt and followed him. “I hit a coyote… He came out of nowhere!” Hal shouted. And that was the last thing I remember.

[corroded-hellfire]

Continuing on with my baby fever I came across videos of parents "laying" (softly hovering) on their babies lap to see their reaction. Some babies are gentle with one parent and push of the other parent. But I wanna see how Eliza would react to the entire Munson family doing this. Thank you!

Baby fever you say? 👀 Step into my office…

Honestly, looking up reference videos for this fic was the most heart melting thing ever and I thank you for bringing that into my life. I hope I have done this justice for you!

Words: 3.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Ugh,” Luke groans as he flops down on the floor of Eliza’s nursery. The Minnie Mouse shirt and pair of toddler jeans he’s holding smack him in the face as his dramatics bring him down.

Eliza sits on her miniature butterfly couch and watches her brother, face stoic as the two-year-old is used to the theatrics he’s inherited from their father. 

“What is taking so long?” Ryan strolls into the room and leans against the door jamb. He crosses his arms over his chest and arches an eyebrow as he clocks his brother on the ground. 

Flinging the articles of clothing behind him, Luke huffs and turns his head to meet Ryan’s questioning look.

“Every outfit I pick out she doesn’t like!”

Heaving a loud sigh, Ryan saunters over to the closet tucked into the corner of the pink room. Curious as to what he’s doing, Eliza cranes her neck in an attempt to see past her oldest brother. Try as she might though, she doesn’t have x-ray vision and has to wait for Ryan to turn around to see the black and white striped dress and pastel green sweater.

“Eh?” Ryan raises his eyebrows as he holds the items out towards the toddler.

Keeping her chin high, little Eliza looks over the proposed outfit before nodding her affirmation once. 

“What?” Luke shouts as he bolts upright. “The Minnie Mouse shirt is way better!”

Ryan throws a smirk over his shoulder at his younger brother as he helps Eliza get changed into the winning look of the day. 

“She must love me more.”

“Uh, no,” Eliza hums as her head pops free from the confines of the dress. “Better clothes.”

Luke cackles with laughter, arms crossing against his stomach as he falls on his back once more.

“Oh, that’s too good! Please, we all know I’m her favorite,” Luke says.  

At only two-years-old Eliza is already used to her brothers competing in almost every aspect of life. She rolls her doe brown eyes and allows Ryan to help her into the green sweater before leaving the two boys alone in her room. 

“I seem to recall us having this argument before and Grandpa somehow coming out the winner,” Ryan says, following the little girl’s lead and heading towards the door. 

“Well,” Luke says, stretching out the word as he scrambles to push himself up into a standing position, “then this time we don’t allow him to be part of our bet.”

The older Munson brother shakes his head in amusement as he walks out into the hall and to the right, towards the rest of the house. Luke is right behind him though, practically nipping at his heels as he waits for some kind of response. 

“What bet?” Ryan asks, stepping into the kitchen.

“Yeah, what bet?” Eddie echoes, eyeing his two sons over his “#1 Dad” coffee mug where he leans against the counter. 

“Seeing who Eliza’s favorite is. And not Grandpa this time,” Luke informs his dad as he slides into a chair at the table. 

“I believe that would be me,” you say with a proud smirk, traipsing in from the living room with an empty sippy cup. “I just turned on Rolie Polie Olie for her.” 

“No one can compete with the Rol,” Eddie jokes, giving you a playful wink and a smile. 

“She definitely loves that show more than she loves any of us,” Ryan says. He yanks the refrigerator door open and stares inside as if something new is magically going to appear before his eyes. 

“I bet I could interrupt it and she’d be okay with it,” your husband says. “And will you either grab something out of the fridge or close the damn door?”

“So, you’re saying you’re the favorite, Dad?” Luke asks, eyebrows disappearing into the curls that are getting too long for his liking. 

“Isn’t that old news?” Eddie asks with a smirk as he walks over to grab Luke’s box of Lucky Charms. 

“Everything about you is old,” Ryan says.

The joke has your hand slipping, causing the apple juice you were refilling Eliza’s sippy cup with to spill all over the counter. Avoiding Eddie’s eyes, you try to hide your snort of laughter as you grab a towel to mop up the mess. Once the sippy cup is successfully filled up, you turn back towards the living room—Eddie’s eyes still firmly burning your back—and go to give your daughter her drink. 

“Didn’t we already do this? I feel like we played this game before,” you say. “Eliza picked Wayne over all of us.”

Eddie shrugs and takes another sip of his coffee. “No beating the old man. The actual old man.” Eddie narrows his eyes at Ryan, who just chuckles in return. 

“No,” Luke says. He shakes his head as he lets the marshmallow cereal fall into his bowl. “We have to know who her favorite in the house is.” 

“Any ideas?” Ryan asks, plopping down in the seat across the table from his little brother. 

“Hmm,” Luke hums as he chews on a bite of his breakfast. “I’ll brainstorm at school today.”

In the end, it’s you who comes up with the idea that sets the competition into motion. Once Eddie heads out to work and the boys to school, you realize how much you’re able to get done around the house because Eliza is thoroughly hypnotized by her favorite show. It’s not until the hour of Rolie Polie Olie is done that Eliza is running around the house, wanting to play with every toy under the roof. 

After dinner that night, and once Eliza is in bed, you bring your idea up to the boys.

“So, like, we take turns? One person a day?” Luke asks.

You nod in confirmation.

“Right. Because if we all did it one after the other on the same day, she’d get cranky and it wouldn’t be fair for whoever goes last.”

“What, we like, pick straws?” Ryan asks. “Then someone goes Tuesday, then Wednesday...?”

“I’m game,” Eddie says. He lifts one flannel-clad arm and rests it behind you on the couch, giving you the perfect opportunity to snuggle into his side. 

“So…” Luke muses as he walks over to the couch and takes a seat next to you, on the opposite side of Eddie. “We just put our heads in her lap like this?” The younger Munson boy demonstrates by laying his curly head on your thighs, staring up at you with wide blue eyes. 

“Exactly,” you say, reaching down to boop the tip of his nose. “See if she cuddles you or pushes you off. And then we’ll see who she has the best reaction to.”

“I like it,” Ryan says.

“Me too,” Luke agrees. “Ryan, go get straws. Cut one short!”

With an irritated eye roll, Ryan does as his little brother says, feet shuffling along the carpet as he goes. 

The plan springs into action the next day. According to the laws of the straws, Ryan was up first. Followed by Luke, you, and then Eddie rounds it out. 

Tuesday morning starts off like every other weekday, everyone running through their routines to get ready for whatever lies ahead for them that day. Once Eliza is dressed in her purple long sleeve shirt, pink overalls, and her morning apple juice is finished, it’s time for the games to begin. 

You, Eddie, and Luke watch as inconspicuously as you can from the kitchen entryway as Ryan approaches the couch. Your daughter’s eyes never leave the little yellow robots, even as her oldest brother kneels on the dusty-brown cushion next to her and keeps scooting closer. 

Eliza’s leaning back, her legs out straight in front of her, and Ryan takes advantage of the open space to lay his head right down on her little knees. The two-year-old just seems confused at first. She looks down at Ryan, back up to Rolie, down to Ryan, up to Rolie, then back down to Ryan again. After staring down at her big brother for a little while, Eliza reaches for his head and begins to card her tiny fingers through his golden-brown locks. Her hands continue the movements even as she turns her attention back to the television screen. Ryan can’t help but smile; it actually feels really nice. She keeps up the motions until there’s a commercial. Then Ryan rolls on his back to look up at her and she giggles down at him in return, not sure what he’s doing, but happy to have his attention. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Ryan asks.

Instead of answering verbally, Eliza wraps her arms around her big brother’s neck and settles back against the cushions. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ryan says with a chuckle, before adding under his breath, “and as a win.”

Wednesday, it’s Luke’s turn. Once Eliza’s got her favorite show on and a cup of apple juice in her, he makes his move. It’s clear from the moment Luke’s head hits her lap that Eliza is in a feistier mood today. Whether she woke up like that or Luke brings it out of her is anyone’s guess. 

“Ow,” Luke groans as two small hands beat down on the side of his head as if it’s a drum. The boy winces, face scrunching up, but as you watch him alongside Eddie and Ryan from around the corner, you can tell Luke is trying to stick it out and see if he can somehow salvage a win. There’s a brief glimmer of hope when Eliza stops percussing on her brother’s head. However, it’s short-lived. 

Short, stubby fingers make their way up to Luke’s curls and the youngest Munson boy breathes a sigh of relief, seeing as how gentle the toddler was with Ryan’s hair the day before. The problem, they discover, is that since Luke’s curls are far tighter than his older brother’s, Eliza’s fingers quickly get caught in them. 

“Oh, please no,” Luke murmurs, but it’s too late.

Eliza tries to yank her hands free, frustrated that her fingers can’t run smoothly through his locks like she did for their eldest sibling. She pulls Luke’s hair while letting out her own whine.

“Ouch! Why are you whining? I’m the one who’s about to be bald!”

Next to you, Eddie lets out a snort of laughter. 

“Bald?” Eddie says. “Wayne? That you?”

Giving a roll of your eyes, you gently swat at his stomach. Luke also hears his dad’s remark and gives him a glare from the couch as he tries to wrestle himself free from the toddler’s grip. 

Finally, Eliza is able to slip her hands free from the rat’s nest that’s become of Luke’s hair—thanks to her. She’s thoroughly annoyed now and grumbles a few low groans, giving up on words completely. If she were old enough to know swear words, she’d definitely be using those.

Luke breathes a sigh of relief and raises a hand to rub at his sore scalp. Before he can make contact though, both of Eliza’s hands splay flat on the back of his skull and she gives a hard shove. The implication is clear: get off my lap.

Not willing to risk any more of her tiny wrath, Luke rolls off her and off the couch altogether. He lands with a thud on the carpet and gets the chance to rub at his head at last. His eyes narrow as he looks up at Eliza, who is no longer paying him any mind. She’s immersed in Rolie Polie Olie once again, the rest of the world forgotten. 

Your youngest son pushes himself to his feet with a huff. He shuffles back towards the kitchen, back towards the rest of you.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he mumbles as he passes, heading straight for the fridge. 

To Eddie and Ryan’s credit, they do both stay silent as the three of you turn to watch Luke yank a Yoo-Hoo out of the refrigerator and pop the top. He chugs down half the bottle before wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand. 

“Ugh,” Luke says with a sigh as he heads toward the hallway. “It’s not even 8 am yet.”

With both of the boys’ attempts out of the way, you’re up. You debate going in straight for the lap when you give her the purple sippy cup of apple juice, but something tells you that you’d end up with a wet and sticky face though. Instead, you wait until most of the beverage is gone and she’s let the bottle roll out of her hand onto the cushion next to her. 

“Good luck, babe,” Eddie says, giving your ass a pat before you walk out into the living room. 

As soon as your knee touches the couch, the television show your daughter is so transfixed on goes to commercial. She turns her head to look at you, large brown eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

You freeze, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. It’s odd to be struck still and silent by your two-year-old, but here you are. Rolie Polie Olie being on a commercial break could either make or break this for you. 

“Mama!” Eliza chirps.

A breath loses from your chest, and you give her a grin as you move to lay your head on her little legs. The moment your body makes contact with hers, Eliza’s arms encircle you as much as they possibly can, and she leans down to rest her head against yours. Her cheek smooshes against yours, her chin bumping into the corner of your eye. 

Warmth floods through you, your heart growing three sizes as she lays all her body weight against yours.

“Hold on,” you hear Luke mutter from the kitchen, “wait to see what happens when the show comes back.”

There are only about forty-five seconds until just that happens. 

Eliza’s skin brushes against your cheek as she adjusts her head to get a better view of the television, but otherwise stays where she is. In fact, it feels as if she cuddles into you even further as she settles in to watch her favorite show. 

“Oh, come on,” you hear Luke complain. The twelve-year-old is clearly not happy that he is losing this competition so far. It’s not as if Eliza could be bribed, though. Luckily, toddlers haven’t been corrupted by life yet. 

Luke walks into the room and stands at the side of the couch, hands resting on his hips. 

“Comfy, are we?” he asks. 

It’s evident your daughter is quite cozy as she doesn’t look up at her brother or move for the rest of the episode. 

“All right,” Eddie says, rubbing his hands together. “Saved the best for last.”

“Debatable,” Ryan says as he chomps on a granola bar. 

Your husband flicks Ryan’s black-rimmed glasses so they slide down his nose. With a huff that sounds far more sophisticated than one coming from a fourteen-year-old, your son shakes it off. 

“Ready?” you ask, slipping your arms around Eddie’s waist. 

“Always up for snuggles with my girls.” 

A wet, smacking kiss is placed on your cheek, and you let out a soft giggle.

“Gross,” Luke groans.

“I know you are, but what am I?” Eddie taunts, proving he’s as mature as his adolescent sons. 

You let your arms drop from around his middle and you cup Eddie’s cheeks. 

“Go get her,” you say.

He pecks your lips before heading out into the living room.

Eliza is as entranced as always in her cartoon and Eddie takes advantage of that by silently sidling up to her. She doesn’t even realize he’s there until the couch dips next to her and her empty sippy cup rolls until it meets Eddie’s jean-clad knee.  

He moves the cup aside and slowly lowers himself until he’s able to rest his head in his daughter’s lap. 

At first, it’s as if Eliza doesn’t even notice. She’s watching her show, letting her dad just lay down on her. But after a few seconds, her stare breaks from the television and her brown eyes meet matching larger ones. Her head tilts to the side, inspecting him, and her curls bob with the motion. Eddie smiles up at her and a slow grin grows on her face in return. 

One of Eliza’s tiny hands splays across Eddie’s forehead, some of his bangs getting pushed to the side, and some getting caught under her warm palm. Her other hand lands on his chin, delicate fingers curving around his jaw and rubbing against some stubble. 

Eliza stays like that, looking down at her father, not moving. It takes everything in Eddie not to laugh as he just stares back at the inquisitive little face that reminds him so much of you. 

Quickly, Eliza leans in and presses a kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose. Gone is his urge to laugh, replaced by the most adoring grin as he revels in her affection. He’s about to thank her for the kiss when she leans in to do it again. This time, however, her mouth is open, and she ends up enveloping his nose in her small mouth.

There’s no way Eddie can hold in his laughter this time as he feels her drool dribble up his nose onto his face. The giddiness is infectious because Eliza pulls her mouth off only to begin laughing alongside of him. 

“You might just be as weird as I am,” he tells her, which makes her laugh even harder. 

That night at dinner, the results are discussed.

“So, who wins?” Ryan asks as he spears some green beans with his fork.

“Not me,” Luke grumbles, slouching down in his chair. 

“Oh, relax,” Eddie says, reaching over and clapping the younger boy on the shoulder. “It’s not like this was scored or anything.”

Luke drops his fork onto the plate with a clang and raises his hands up in front of him.

“My hair ruined it for me! That’s not fair!”

“You know, she can talk now,” you point out, looking at Eliza happily eating in her highchair next to you.

“Good point,” Ryan says. He clears his throat and leans across the table towards her. “Eliza, which of us is your favorite?”

The little girl pops a grape in her mouth and chews, looking like she’s thoughtfully thinking over the question.

“Me,” she finally says.

“No,” Luke says with a shake of his head. “Which of us?” He emphasizes his point by gesturing to the four of you around the table. 

Eliza nods her head once, with finality. “Me.”

Eddie huffs a laugh and shrugs his shoulders.

“Her Majesty has spoken.”

“I don’t think it counts,” Luke laments, looking back down to his plate.

“Yeah, her vote doesn’t count,” Ryan agrees.

You and Eddie share a look of amusement across the table. With these three around, life will never be boring.

[livelaughloveloak]

⌗🌬️ TATTOO ᩡ𖧧

⋆ pairing :: Neteyam x Navi! Reader

⋆ summary :: Neteyam spent his days telling his new metkayina friends about the special girl that took his heart back in his old clan. What was the one thing he kept mentioning though? Your tattoo.

⋆ word count :: 1.2k words

⋆ author's note :: this fic was based on the song "girl with the tattoo" by Miguel. Reader uses she/her pronouns. It's pretty short but ugh I loved writing this 🤭

If they only knew

The girl with the tattoo

"Teyam look!" You said while showing the new tribal tattoo swirling up your upper right arm. Neteyam looked in awe at how pretty it turned out to be.

You came from a more spiritual clan but soon moved to the forest, where Neteyam lived after the sky people destroyed your home. 

You didn't know much about your clan because you moved when you were still young but one thing you did know and wished to do was to get a tattoo once you turned 15. Amongst your clan the woman would get this as a sign of them entering adulthood just like a coming of age ceremony. 

"My girl, you look so pretty " Neteyam cupped your cheek, earning a grin from you. It was night and the people of the Omatikaya clan were still feasting at the bonfire.

You and Neteyam decided to leave early and ride your ikrans to a secluded mountain where you guys would spend your free time, or as some liked to call it, a “date”

Your bioluminescence freckles glowed in the dark, as well as Neteyam's. 

He pulled you into a hug, inhaling the cool night air, enjoying his time with his beloved.

"Even under the night sky she always seemed to shine brighter." Neteyam reminisces on his days back in the forest where he had you always by his side. 

"Forest boy is in love." Aonung gagged seeing how lovestruck Neteyam was, making Lo'ak and rotxo laugh. 

"Be quiet Aonung! I think it's cute." Tsireya tried to defend Neteyam but got drowned in by louder laughter coming from the boys once again.

She rolled her eyes and put her attention back to Neteyam. "She seems sweet, Neteyam."

 Neteyam nodded agreeing with the Metkayina girl. You were the kindest person he had ever met. 

You always did your own thing, not following anyone's expectations or caring if anyone was staring. Some older Navi would tell him that you were way too “independent” for a girl as most Navi women follow their parents' rules until they get a mate, which then they would follow their mate's rules. But that's why he loved you, he would always tease you and call you ‘miss independent’

With your unbeatable beauty and sweet fruity scent, your glowing and silky skin, as beautiful as the jewelry you wore which were gifts made by him. Your golden like eyes which glowed as bright as a star. You enchanted everyone you met, but Neteyam always thought you hit him the hardest.

Aonung stopped laughing and leaned forward from the tree trunk. “So where is she?"

"Huh?"

"You know, your beloved tattoo girl, did she not come with you guys?" Aonung asked nonchalantly as Tsireya leaned closer, also curious.

Neteyam's mouth shut, forming into a straight line, thinking about what to say. 

Lo'ak and Kiri looked at their brother in a sympathetic way, as Tuk sat beside him, leaning on Neteyam's side, listening into the conversation.

Yeah, I see you baby

Just don't lose yourself along the way

"Neteyam I am coming with you." You walked behind you, demanding that he brought you with him and his family. Neteyam was walking around his tent, packing his stuff up as they would depart soon after the ceremony. 

Neteyam huffed and looked behind him, where you stood. "No, you stay here and be the clan's Tsahik, without your talent the people will have no one when my grandmother passes." 

You furrowed your brows, of course you knew that you had to give up the role as future Tsahik, but what good would a broken hearted Tsahik be? If she couldn't heal her own heart, how will she heal others? 

Neteyam was gonna be your mate as soon as you two turned 18. He was next in line for the role of Olo'eyktan.

"I'm coming with you and that's final." You turned around and started walking out of the tent, heading towards yours so you could pack your own stuff. Before you could even exit Neteyam grabbed your hand. 

He took a hold of them, holding your hands in his own. "Please, I can't have the sky people hunting you down too."

You looked down, staying silent. It was true and you couldn't deny it, the clan was bound to get attacked at least once more. The current Tsahik, Neteyam's grandmother, also known as Mo'at would not be able to heal everyone even if there were other healers in the clan.

Mo'at taught you more advanced stuff as you were more skilled, which is why she had picked you as the next Tsahik.

You hissed in frustration and yanked your hand back from him.

 "I will come with you, maybe not at the same time but I will be there. Of course there's consequences but I'm willing to take them." 

And with that you ran out as fast as you can, leaving Neteyam in the dust.

Cause you're doing what you're doing

Just to get to where you're going

"If we took her she'd be in danger too." Lo'ak spoke up for Neteyam after seeing how quiet his brother had gotten. The others nodded understanding the reasoning behind it, as they didn't want to push into the conversation even further.

Kiri sighed and patted Neteyam's shoulders as an attempt to comfort him. 

"Do not worry too much brother, you too will reunite someday."

As night fell in the reef, the group parted, walking in opposite directions towards their own shared Marui. The Sully siblings had a quiet walk back to their Family's home. The most noise they had was Tuk yelling at them to slow down so her tiny legs could catch up. 

As soon as they entered through the makeshift flap they all went to their hammocks after greeting their parents. 

Neteyam laid silently, swaying side to side as his family were conversing with each other about their day. 

The uncommon silence from Jake and Neytir's oldest child set an unsettling feeling in them.

Neytiri turned to the other kids looking for some explanation.

With a sigh Lo'ak spoke up when he heard his brother's breathing slowing down signaling that he was finally asleep. 

"He was talking about y/n again."

But I knew

The girl with the tattoo

"Teyam!!" 

The young warrior looked up from sharpening his fishing spear only to find his youngest sister running towards him with a bright grin on her face. He suddenly noticed the loud noise coming out of a shell, signaling the clan that someone new arrived on shore. Neteyam peered down at Tuk in curiosity. "What is it Tuk?"

"Please Teyam you need to see this."

The young girl grabbed her brother's hand and dragged him towards the crowd of people forming a circle around someone. It reminded him of the first time his family arrived. 

Neteyam heard a familiar loud roar. It was an ikran

He hurriedly walked closer to the crowd, pushing some people aside to get a better look. 

His eyes traveled to the darker blue skinned female with long braided hair. He noticed the unique clothes she wore that complimented her other features. He noticed how crystals decorated her hair and how a single colorful feature was nearly placed in one strand.

His heart skipped a beat as his eyes landed on the black ink swirling around her upper right arm.

He watched you squint your eyes, scanning through the crowd to get a closer look at people, finally stopping once your eyes landed on him.

"Neteyam?"

Oh how he loved hearing you say his name again.

Oh yeah, I knew

The girl with the tattoo

[iliketangerines]

Hi!!

Can I request a quickie between mk1 Johnny and the reader in the back of a limo going to a red carpet event and she leaves her lipstick all over his face and neck?? And Johnny is super loving and sweet during it?

Thank you!!! Your writing is so good!! I read your revenant Johnny fics as bedtime stories 💖💖

worth all the stars

a/n: aww, thank you! i'm glad you like reading my revenant johnny cage stories!

pairing: johnny cage x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), creampies, blowjobs

you grind into Johnny’s lap, dress riding up your ass as you kiss the actor and smear your lipstick on his lips and on his neck

Johnny  moans into your mouth, gripping onto your hips and squeezing your ass as his dick grinds into your clothed pussy

the both of you are in the back of the limousine heading towards the red carpet event, and thankfully, the window between you two and the driver is closed

but the both of you still try to be quiet, and you bite Johnny’s neck, making him bite his lip and dig his fingers into your waist in an effort to stay quiet

you grind your clothed pussy into his lap, and he moves his thumb down to rub at your clit through your panties

you whine into his mouth as your hips jerk into his fingers, and Johnny smiles as you throw your head back in pleasure

he takes the chance to nip at your neck, trying not to leave marks, but it’s hard with the way your hips grind desperately into his

the pad of his thumb rubs slow circles into your clit, and your fingers dig into Johnny’s shoulders as you beg for him for more

he can’t deny you

his thumb rubs at your clit in rough quick circles, and you whine and squirm in his lap in pleasure

Johnny wants to ravish you, fuck you in the limo as he marks you up and fills you with his cum, wants to tell you you look so beautiful for him like this

but he settles for telling you that you look good on his lap, all needy and whiny, and you moan, biting your lip to try and muffle your noises

he hums and brings your head forward to kiss you again, and he slips your panties to the side

you moan into his mouth and quickly undo his buckle as fast as you can without breaking the kiss and pull down his pants

his cock springs up, tip aching and leaking pre-cum, and you line yourself up

Johnny groans as you slide onto him, taking him fully, and he grips onto your waist and slides you up and down his cock

he purrs into your ear that you look so pretty, so beautiful just for him, that you’re so amazing for him, always supporting him

he rubs his thumb into your clit because he wants to see you cum, needs you to cum on his cock

you whine, and you pussy clenches down on him as you cum

Johnny kisses you, swallowing your noises and bringing his hand up to cup the back of your neck

he loves your pussy, loves how you’re so reactive, loves how you’re so good for him, loves you fully and completely

you whimper as he bounces you on his cock, and he tells you to touch yourself, make yourself feel good for him

you reach a manicured hand down to rub your clit, and Johnny groans as your pussy spasms around his sensitive cock

he grunts as he slams you down one more time and cums deep inside of you, and he kisses you again, grinding you against his lap as he comes down from his high

your pussy clenches down on him as you cum again, and your hands come up to grip at his shoulders in desperation

Johnny easily lifts you off his lap, missing the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock, and he cleans you up with the handkerchief stuffed in his breast pocket

you get down on your knees, lipstick smearing around his cock as you clean him up, and he groans at the sight but wills himself to not get hard as you lick off your cum

he tucks himself away and fixes his appearance, and you pull out a little compact mirror to fix your make-up

you go to wipe away the lipstick on his face and his neck, but he tells you to leave it, that he looks good like this with you all over him

you blush and before you can protest, the car rolls to a stop, and the driver opens the door

Johnny exits, the bright lights flashing as reporters take pictures of the way your lipstick is smeared all over his lips and neck, but he just helps you out of the limo

his attention is on you all night, and when he gets on stage, lipstick still all over him, all he can stare at is you as he gives his speech

he’s sure he looks like a love-sick puppy and like a mess, but it’s all worth it when you look at him, eyes shining and bright as he blows you a kiss from the stage

it’s all worth it when he comes back down from the stage with his prize, and you kiss him

it’s better than all the awards he could ever have

[totally-not-a-tickle-blog]

I saw the requests for fics were open I just need to ask if it's ok to put one in and if it's ok to have an x reader even if platonic bc honestly I'm in a mood lol and I am craving LER ALASTOR idk why and I love your fics and you are a great writer

Author's note: EVERYTHING I NEEDED WAS AN IDEA AND WHEN YOU POSTED THAT ONE PROMPT I WENT

I KNOW WHAT I GOT TO DO NOW.

————————————————————————

"Good night"

Summary: You were struggling to sleep that night, so in defeat, decided to just give up and stay up all night. Sadly for you, Alastor didn't exactly approved your idea.

Warnings: Swearing.

————————————————————————

Bags under your eyes would appear if you didn't go to sleep, and you knew it pretty well. It sucks, really sucks, but laying down on your bed doing nothing and being unable to finally take a good night of sleep sucks the double of those two combined.

As much as the TV wasn't that entertaining, it was enough to keep you awake and slightly less bored.

3AM, still nothing. You took a nap on the couch, but then woke up again. Did you actually took a nap? Or did you brain just turned off? Not sure, not bothered enough to care.

But, suddenly, something else finally got your eyes off of the screen.

"And what are you doing down here so late?"

The sudden voice made you stop on your tracks, jump even, as it came right after hours of silence.

"Jesus fucking Christ Alastor, I almost had a heart attack!" You took a deep breath, calming yourself down. "I'm just watching TV."

Alastor looks to the TV with the corner of his eyes, squeezing them slightly to show his displeasure. "Those things can be quite unhealthy at this time, my dear. Why don't you just turn this off and go to sleep?"

"Because I don't wanna and I can't sleep." You didn't even wanted to sound abrupt, but your filters slowly disappear when you grow more and more tired.

"Now that's just rude." Replied, not offended at all but rather keeping this in his mind for later. "Can't sleep, you say? Well, I have a solution for that." He added with a confident grin.

"...does it include hitting my head onto a wall to knock me out or something?"

Alastor stared at you with a blank face, blinking a few times. "Two solutions."

You rolled your eyes and finally sat, raising an eyebrow. "What solution?"

Alastor lets out a snicker, and with a single snap of his fingers, both of you are back on your room. You fell on your bed a bit too aggressively, but it's not like he cares.

"We only need to get rid of that energy of yours. I'm sure it'll be as easy as pie, you're already almost falling asleep."

"Uh... okay... and what's your plan, exactly?"

Your question made him look at you mischievously, which startled you and already made you let your guard up.

"Alastor-"

But before you could react, something pinched your side right behind you. As you looked, it was one of Alastor's little creatures. Is that a little man? A doll? A little demon? A pet? Whatever this thing is, made you flinch with a single touch.

And just like Alastor could spawn one of those, getting more of them needed the exact same effort.

"What are those??"

"Oh, I never really gave them names, so call them whatever you want. They're also harmless."

Three of them surrounded you, poking your upperbody in different spots while giggling.

"H-Hey! Gehehet off!" They may be weird but also looked weirdly adorable, what made you hesitated on pushing them away. "Thehehey're tick-"

But you stopped yourself right away. It got the other demon's attention, since your fit of giggles was definitely not the cause of the sudden hold up.

"Did you just interrupted yourself?" He asked teasingly, leaning towards you with a more bratty smile.

"Whahahat?! Nohohoho!"

Alastor shrugged, throwing his staff lightly from one hand to another. "If that's the case, I must have misunderstood. After all, there's no reason for you to not say 'tickle'." His head turned back to you, curiously. "Correct?"

As they keep tickling you, you ended up falling on the bed, rolling back and fourth as a poor attempt to escape. "ShuhUHUHUT UP!"

The deer chuckled at your reaction to it. "Oh, I'm not the one who should! Your volume may wake up someone in the hotel."

"Thehehen STOHOP!"

Your words entered his ear and leaved the other, or even worse, didn't even entered in any at the first place, as everything he did was look at his nails.

"I can't, I already promised to help. It is getting you tired after all-"

"FUHUHUHUCK!!"

Your tone suddenly increased in a... huge volume. More than he expected, what startled the guy. Wanting or not, if anyone wakes up he'll end up getting in trouble aswell, so he's thinking twice about his plans.

However, something is off for him. Once you lay down, you didn't got up again nor tried to. It definitely isn't bothering you as much as it looks like, and this fact did not make it worse for himself. More likely to be the opposite, as an encouragement.

The inner conflict was agonizing to keep, and Alastor's eyes show that. With a sigh mixed with a humming, he snaps his fingers, finally sparing you from the shadows.

Your laughter slowly died down, and without realizing, your face shifts to one of disappointment.

"Hah... heh... what..?"

The taller one sits by your side, avoiding visual contact but, for some reason, not the physical one.

Before you could react, Alastor quickly recomposed himself, looking at you with a cheeky grin once again while his own hand touches your stomach.

"It is unfair for me to get punished because of your sensitivity, so I'll try something lighter this time."

The demon's fingers began to scratch, but not hurt, tickling you in a slow yet surprisingly effective way. You grabbed his wrist, but didn't have the courage to take it off as you knew it would come to an end if you did.

Your chuckles, snorts, cackles, any noises you would make, would spread the room as long as he wanted, and the silence would only return once you're finally asleep.

[valyrfia]

Hello! I came to ask you to please write that essay you mentioned about how Charles is feminized in the fics, but you already beat me to it hahahah. Pero he de decir que coincido contigo en que se asigna una estructura heteronormativa a la dinámica de pareja y Charles acaba asumiendo el rol femenino, lo que se percibe como algo negativo debido en gran medida a la misoginia internalizada.

Personalmente, como ávido consumidor de fanfics, estas son caracterizaciones con las que siempre me encuentro y, francamente, me molestan. En el caso de Charles, lo describen como sumiso, ingenuo y con baja autoestima, en resúmenes con un carácter “débil”. Sinceramente no le veo nada malo si es con fines narrativos, pero el hecho de que muchos fanfics solo lo describan así o asuman que esa es su personalidad da mucho que pensar, sobre todo porque ignoran otros aspectos de La personalidad de Charles (o bueno, lo poco que sabemos sobre la personalidad de Charles, ya que no debemos olvidar que no lo conocemos y Charles solo muestra lo que quiere mostrar).

En fin, sólo decirte que valoro mucho tus reflexiones. 💕💕💕

Hi anon! I'm glad you agreed, and I agree with your points too. My issue is, and continues to be, when people can't divorce the narrative from the real person and these characterisations carry over into spaces where they shouldn't be. I'm going to expand wider than just RPF here and say the narrative around Charles' generally is sometimes a little much. Take this whole "haunted by tragedy" thing that Sky Sports was having a little too much fun with this weekend, with Damon Hill saying that the reason why Charles wasn't driving well was because he was distracted by grief? Sure, it makes for a good narrative to sell on your sports channel, but doesn't fit with the image of Charles who won Baku in F2 the weekend after his father died, and won his maiden grand prix the day after a childhood friend of his died.

It's so easy for all of us, fans to news pundits to talk about Charles battling with the circumstances of his life, whether it be those he's lost, or Ferrari being like a toxic ex he can never quite seem to leave, that it strips him of recognition of his own agency in a lot of ways. Charles has shown incredible mental strength in his life, and lest we forget, literally girlbossed his way to a legendary Ferrari contract. I got a few anons calling Charles mentally weak for not disobeying team orders in Japan, and I couldn't disagree more. This is a racing driver approaching his prime, who knew he could not defend on 20 lap newer tyres but ran an incredible race nonetheless. Charles is not a damsel in distress, he's an agent completely in control of his own destiny.

Speaking of destiny, the il predestinato nickname slaps, but I think is incredibly misleading for some people sometimes. When Charles wins a world championship, it won't be because he is 'destined' or 'fulfilling some prophecy', it will be due to his own choices, his own skill, his own talent, his own hard work. I think that Charles as a WDC is going to get hit with a VERY different narrative than the one we see now, one that acknowledges his hard work and agency in making his dream come true.

[melodygatesauthor]

Break Your Fall

Poe Dameron X f!Reader

Part 12 of 28 in the February Fluff and Fuck 2023 Challenge

Day 12 Prompt - Accidental Injury

Summary: When Commander Poe Dameron jumps you while you're on a ladder, you unfortunately fall backward and land on his gorgeous face. While you're grateful he broke your fall, you feel terrible that you may have ruined his Valentine's Day date and do your best to make it up to him.

Tags/Warnings: SFW, fluff, accidental injury, minor mentions of blood and injuries, fluffy, cute, sweet, valentine's day fic, Poe is a flirt, reader is more clumsy than she thinks she is, reader is a little oblivious.

Word Count: 3.8k

“Damn it.” You said, leaning into the cockpit of your X-wing.

You heard your BB unit chirping away underneath you.

“Yes, get in there and see if you can figure it out, Otto.” You said to him before reattaching a wire that had been disconnected during your most recent battle.

“Hey!” You heard behind you.

You jumped. Normally you were sturdy on your ladder. Loud noises happened all the time and you were never so clumsy as to fall, but not today. Today the Maker blessed you with the clumsiness of a toddler and immediately you felt yourself falling backward.

“Oh shit!” You yelled as the ladder tipped, and you lost your footing.

You tried to grab onto something on the way down, but there was nothing. You were up high, and expected to hit the ground and have the wind knocked out of you, but instead your fall was much softer. You smiled, realizing that you were ok. That was close, that would’ve really hurt, you thought, letting out a breath. Otto started rolling over to you and chattering wildly, and you noticed BB-8 rolling over with him. That’s when you realized who had called to you, and that’s when you felt his body rustling underneath you.

“C-Commander Dameron!” You jumped up quickly and saw him lying on the ground, groaning.

“I’m…I’m fine.” He grunted, trying to sit up, “nope, nevermind I’m not fine.”

There was blood trickling down his face from his nostrils, and you noticed that he was favoring his arm. You’d really done some damage to him. You held the communicator on your wrist up to your mouth quickly. Panic was spilling out in your tone.

“We need medical over to hangar 2-C, Commander Dameron is hurt!” You knelt down next to him. You had a clean shop towel in your pocket that you pulled out and used to pinch his nostrils. “Are you ok?”

His eyes remained closed, “I hurt…a lot.”

Your heart was racing, “ok, ok well, just wait here, the medical team is coming to get you.”

“Why did you…couldn’t you find something to hang on to?” He asked, keeping his eyes still closed.

“You jumped me! Maybe don’t sneak up on people while they’re on a ladder!” You defended, but you still felt really bad. “I’m really sorry I…I’m not usually that clumsy.”

He finally opened those brilliant eyes. Having a crush on your superior was hard. Knowing that you’d probably broken his nose and he was going to hate you forever now was even harder. Internally you were yelling at the medical team for not being there yet to break the awkwardness by now.

Finally, a team of officers charged in with a stretcher and some supplies ready to help Commander Dameron get to the med bay. You moved out of the way quickly. They took over and checked him over.

“Yep, I think my arm’s broken!” Poe whined from where they were hoisting him up.

You saw through their bodies the dark eyed glare he sent you. Even if it wasn’t entirely your fault, he was going to make you feel bad. Commander Dameron had a tendency to be tough as nails in the field, but when it came to the common cold or a minor injury, he acted like death was at his door. You were sure he did it sometimes to get out of boring and mundane tasks.

“What happened?” The woman you recognized as the head of the medical team, Avra, said as they loaded Poe onto the stretcher.

“He jumped me while I was on my ladder and I fell back and landed on him.” You said. “It was an accident.”

She rolled her eyes, “He should know better.” She was used to Poe’s shenanigans by now.

“Is he going to be ok?” You asked as she started to walk away.

“It’s Poe, nothing can keep that idiot down for long.” She smirked before turning away and heading toward the med bay.

You stood there with a pit in your stomach. You’d injured the Commander. He couldn’t even move when you stood up. What was he doing scaring me like that anyway? You thought. It’s his own fault, right? It didn’t matter, if it was the Maker’s fault, you felt guilty, and you wanted to make it up to him.

He’d always been so kind to you. He was always willing to work with you when you were slow to learn something new, he always made well, and poorly, timed jokes to cheer you up when you were feeling down, and most of all he was a great leader. Even when things felt hopeless, he was there to give everyone hope.

“Hey!” You turned and saw your friend Arla coming your way.

Her smile was infectious, inspiring your own. You waved to her as she approached before putting your hands in your pockets and exhaling a deep sigh.

“What’d you do to the Commander?” She asked, nodding in the direction of the med bay.

You looked over there, feeling a pang in your stomach, a heavy reminder that you would be feeling guilty about this for months. You turned back to look at her.

“I fell on him. From that ladder.” You pointed to the metal apparatus that sat toppled over beneath your ship. “Think I broke his nose, and maybe his arm.”

She giggled, “y-you broke his nose?” Her small giggle turned into an eruption of laughter. You nervously wrapped your arms around yourself, hoping no one was paying attention. “That is too good. Prettyboy Poe Dameron with a broken nose.” She wiped a stray tear.

“I mean, it was an accident.” You said, walking back over to your X-wing and picking up the ladder. Arla followed after you.

Otto chirped away, rolling over to the ship to join you.

“No, I think we’re done for the day.” You said to him.

You were grateful when she decided to change the subject. “So, got any plans for Valentine’s Day?” She leaned against the ladder.

Your blood went cold. It was Valentine’s Day… You’d completely forgotten that it was Valentine’s Day, which made the fact that you’d injured Poe even worse. What if he had a date? What if his date never forgave him for not showing up for their plans and it was all your fault? The thought that you may have single handedly ruined Commander Dameron’s night and potential love life rendered you frozen in place with your friend snapping her fingers in your face.

“Hello…are you listening to me?” She sounded annoyed.

“I ruined his whole life.” You said vacantly.

“You wha-oh, Maker, that’s enough, you’re being foolish.” She patted you on the shoulder. “Just go check on him in a bit. I’m sure the guy is fine, it’s not the first time he’s been beat up.”

That’s just what you did. You waited until you were sure no one else was around and the medical tent had settled before you stepped in timidly to check on the banged up pilot. His arm was in a sling, but you were sure he would forgive you for that, it was his face you were worried about. Commander Dameron was attractive, everyone liked him. He had charisma, good looks, and charm that could kill.

You’d worked under him for a long time. In fact, he was the one who taught you how to fly. When you first joined you were a terrible pilot, able to get from point A to point B, but never much further. He’d seen to it that you were skilled enough to assist him in nearly any scenario, and you were proud to fight by his side. He probably hated you now, he probably wouldn’t want to see your face, but you had to apologize.

“Are you gonna come in or just stand there like a weirdo?” He asked, lips curling up at the sides in a smirk.

You jumped, not realizing he’d seen you, “I’m sorry!” You rushed into the room quickly so you didn’t continue to seem odd. “How are you feeling?”

He groaned, using his good arm to sit up further on the bed.

“Well, nose is busted, clearly, and I have a sprain in my arm, but nothing serious. Should be all fixed up in no time!” He didn’t seem upset at all which took you by surprise.

“I am so so sorry.” You shook your head. “I really didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, you should be. I'll never emotionally recover from that violent attack.” He said, chuckling. “It probably didn’t help that I jumped one of my pilots while she was several feet in the air on a rickety ladder, but…”

“Is there anything I can do for you, Commander Dameron?” You asked, hoping there was some magic task he could give you that would make everything better.

“I’ve told you a hundred times to call me Poe. And actually, yeah, if you could go talk to Alex in inventory and grab a card for Valentine’s Day, I need one.” He said.

“Oh! For your Valentine.” You saw him struggling to reach for some water. “Let me help.” You rushed over and grabbed the cup. “Here.”

When you brought the cup to his soft lips you felt your heart stop when his hand reached up and touched yours gently. He just needs to stabilize himself, don’t read into it, you said to yourself. He just told you that he needed you to grab a Valentine’s Day card for him, remember? He already has someone he’s interested in, and it’s not you. Calm down.

No matter what you said to yourself, it didn’t stop you from feeling a bit jealous when you left the medical tent that you were running a romantic errand for Poe’s date. He didn’t owe you any loyalty, it’s not like he was your boyfriend, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the smallest bit heartbroken over the reckless Resistance pilot. He was gorgeous, yes, but he was also funny, kind, and loyal, everything someone could ask for in a partner.

You shook the thoughts from your mind while you approached the inventory counter. You had to stop thinking like that, he was never going to be your boyfriend, he clearly already had someone in mind. Alex, the bubbly man that kept track of everything coming into and going out of the Resistance base lit up when he saw you.

He said your name, “...how are you darling?”

“I’m good.” You smiled, unable to keep your sour face with Alex’s cheerful personality in your vicinity. “Um, I actually need a Valentine’s Day card.” You leaned on the counter.

“Oh?” He pulled out a box from below the counter, opening it to reveal an array of paper cards for any occasion. “You have a special person in mind?” He looked at you with a sly smirk.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, “no, it’s not for me. Commander Dameron asked for it.”

He pulled out the Valentine’s Day cards from the box and put them on the table.

“Why didn’t he come get it himself?” He asked you.

You shrugged, “um, I think he was busy.” You lied, you didn’t feel like explaining to everyone in the Resistance that you’d broken his nose and sprained his arm. “What card would you get for a date? I don’t know what he wants, he didn’t specify.”

“Why don’t you pick one that you might like?” He suggested.

You shuffled through them at least three times before choosing the one that you felt would’ve best suited you if you were the recipient. Whoever got the card was going to be so happy. Imagining the smile on their face at first made you smirk, but then you felt that stab in your gut when you remembered that you didn’t have anyone getting you a card like this for Valentine’s Day and your smile subsided.

“Whoever he’s giving that to, I’m sure she’ll love it.” Alex said, putting the unchosen cards back in the box.

“Yeah…I think so too,” you said, “thanks Alex.”

“No problem darling,” he winked as you departed, heading back for the tent.

When you went back into the medical tent, Poe was shirtless while a nurse looked him over. You felt a lump in your throat and thought for a second that maybe you should turn away, but he beckoned you over as soon as he saw you.

“They were just finishing up.” He said, nodding at the nurse.

She gave you a kind smile as she left the private area of the tent the two of you were in.

“Oh, here you go.” You walked over and handed him the card.

“Thank you.” He set it down on the table at his bedside. “Would you be able to do me one more big favor?

You were glad that he was asking you for help. The truth was that it helped ease the guilt you had for falling over and hurting him. If you had been paying more attention, or at least not so clumsy, then he wouldn’t be in this situation. The least you could do was help him make his Valentine happy, since you likely ruined her evening too.

“Sure, anything.” You said all too eagerly.

“Could you go out into the woods and see what you can find for flowers? She likes the purple ones that turn more blue toward the center. Know what I mean?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah!” You chuckled, “funny, those are my favorite! I know exactly which ones you’re talking about.” You left the tent all smiles, ready to help him in any way you could once more.

One of the best things about D’qar was its beautiful landscape. The forest was filled with lush greenery and trees taller than any you’d seen on any other planet. It also had those beautiful pale purple flowers that you loved so much. It wasn’t their smell that captivated you. While the scent was lovely, it was the mauve hue that shifted into a deep blue that really made you smile. They were just so beautiful.

When you found one, you walked over to it and knelt to the ground. You touched one of the soft petals in your hand. It was a breathtaking plant. It sort of hurt to cut it from the ground the way you did, but you did it anyway, pulling your knife from your pocket and slicing the stem.

You found several others like that, and by the time you were done you’d collected at least eight. You found some other small white flowers to arrange with the bouquet that you’d made. Whoever this woman was would be so happy when she finally got to see what Poe had planned for her. Jealousy tore through you once again as you got closer to the medical tent with your floral collection.

You and Poe had been friends for some time. After spending a while teaching you how to fly, he also spent a significant amount of time teaching you about basic ship repairs and techniques with a blaster. He had been on dates since you’d known him, but none seemed to stick. While you felt a little envious of the Valentine’s Day mystery woman, you hoped that this one made him happier than the others.

Even with a broken nose, his appearance took your breath away. He was so handsome. Dark curls in disarray from the fall, smooth skin that begged to be touched, and eyebrows that always seemed to sit perfectly without need for plucking. You were squeezing the bouquet in your hand and Poe was looking out through an opening in the tent from his bed. You were sure being in the darkness on such a beautiful day was frustrating for him. Something else to feel guilty about.

“Do you want me to open a curtain for you?” You asked, placing the flowers on his bedside table.

He reached out and grabbed your hand, caressing your fingertips with his thumbs and flashing you a brilliant smile. Be still your beating heart.

“Thanks for grabbing those. That would be awesome. Dark as hell in here.” He said in his deep, sultry voice.

You felt your stomach drop. You wished he wouldn’t touch you like that. It only added to the sickly feeling that came with running Valentine’s Day errands for him and his mystery date. You gulped harshly and pulled your hand away, walking over to the tent flap and pulling it aside. You secured it with a string.

“How’s that?” You asked, turning back to look at him.

He was staring right at you with a soft, hooded gaze, “beautiful.”

You sucked in a breath, “ok, well if that’s everything…” You started to walk away.

“Wait!” He called to you, you turned back around. “One more thing, can you run to the kitchens and see if they have any wine? The pink kind, please?”

This woman had good taste, whoever she was. She liked the same kind of flowers as you and the same kind of wine. You nodded before leaving the tent once more. You wished he’d had you get everything all at once. You felt like that would’ve been so much easier, but instead you were running around back and forth, and your eagerness to help him was waning with every task you completed. Your jealousy was rising slowly, and you felt bad for that in addition to breaking his face.

When you got to the kitchen, it was easy to find anything. You had a friend in almost every part of the Resistance. It made it easy to get what you needed when you asked for something like pink moscato on Valentine’s Day.

“There’s only one bottle left, and it’s for Commander Dameron.” Koline said, shrugging. “Sorry.”

“That’s who I’m grabbing it for. He…he’s busy and said he needed it for his date tonight.” You were still trying to avoid admitting that you’d broken his nose and busted up his shoulder.

Your eyes were begging for her to trust you. Koline groaned and opened the fridge before turning and handing you the pink glass bottle.

“If that goes to the wrong place, he’s gonna have a fit. You know how he can get, so I’m trusting you with this.”

You nodded, “I’ll make sure it gets to him.”

You had every intention to bring him the wine. Walking was something you could safely say you were good at. One step in front of the other. How hard could it be? Apparently it was very, very difficult on this day. You found yourself tripping over quite possibly nothing, the ground coming closer to your face. You managed to stop yourself from getting hurt, save for a scrape on your arm, but the bottle of wine was a different story.

Liquid soaked into the soil of D’qar, and glass glittered everywhere. You immediately wished you could be like the wine, soaking into the dirt where no one could see you and witness your shame. You lay there on the ground for a minute, looking up at the sky, wishing you were anyone else. Not only had you totally ruined Poe’s day by destroying him physically, you now couldn’t even properly deliver his Valentine’s Day items he’d so kindly requested from you.

Before anyone had seen you, you got up and brushed yourself off. You sulked into the medical tent where Poe was laying right as you’d left him. You crossed your arms over your chest and wished you could disappear inside of yourself when his beautiful brown eyes locked on to yours. You noticed the flowers in a vase of water now at his bedside. The nurse must’ve taken care of them.

“Did you drink all the wine on your way here?” He asked, smirking at you.

“Commander I-”

“Poe.” He corrected you.

“Poe…I dropped it and it shattered.” You groaned, “it was an accident. I'm so, so sorry. I’m just so clumsy and stupid…” You let out a heavy sigh. “I just feel so bad. Like, I should’ve been more careful on that ladder, and now you have a date and I’ve completely ruined it twice!” You ran your hands down over your face, still thinking of how you wanted to disappear.

“Well, I wouldn’t say you’re especially clumsy. But dumb…?” He went to shrug but then winced.

Now he was just being hurtful.

“Ok, you don’t have to be rude-”

“Who else do you know in the Resistance who is as obsessed with these flowers and that wine?” He stared at you, waiting for an answer.

You gulped, “it’s one of the most common flowers on D’qar, and I’m sure the reason there was only one bottle left wasn’t due to lack of popularity.”

Poe pursed his lips in defeat, “Ok, fair…but…” he let out a heavy sigh. “Can you actually come here and help me?”

You stepped closer, “help you with what?” You asked.

“No, come here.” He beckoned you over with his good arm. “Stand next to me.” You walked over and stood at his side, and he grabbed your wrist. “I have to tell you something private, come down.”

You leaned over and then he grabbed your shirt collar and pulled your lips to his. You sucked in a breath of surprise before melting into it. It would seem that maybe you were, as he’d so kindly put it, an idiot. He’d been sending you around gathering all of those supplies for…you. You were Commander Poe Dameron’s Valentine. When the kiss broke, you felt like a pile of mush.

“It was all for me?” You asked, still unable to believe it.

“Of course it was.” He smiled at you.

You noticed blood trickling down his nose again through the bandage.

“Shit.” You scrambled to find a towel. When you did, you pressed it to his nose delicately. “I can’t even kiss right.”

“Oh, baby, that might be the thing you’re the best at, been waiting a long time for it.” His eyes looked like they were twinkling, and you were wondering if maybe when you used him as a cushion, you hit him a little too hard.

AO3 LINK

TAGLIST (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @my-secret-shame, @thatmomwitchfriend, @alexxavicry, @welcometostayingawake, @jake-g-lockley, @campingwiththecharmings, @steven-grants-world, @lia275, @minigirl87, @ahookedheroespureheart

[fyeahghosttrick]

Ghost Swap 10: closing ceremonies, happy rerelease day, and what comes next

Ghost Trick is out! On Steam, Switch, everywhere! Ghost!!! Tricks!!! Please play Ghost Trick. Let’s party! These are the SIXTY-SEVEN works that were created for the Ghost Swap exchange / the anniversary celebrations last week, in our biggest edition by a landslide. What a triumph:

@ace-cyclic​ for @catgirl-frostmoon: So You Had a Bad Day (fic, Sith, Sith’s robot, Yonoa crew)

@arbuthnotblob​ for @gippley-png: Chapter 15 Cabanela angst (art, Cabanela)

@azurefishnets​ for @dieanywhereelseart​: Without Form and Void (fic, Jowd, Missile, Sissel)

@azurefishnets for @arbuthnotblob: FFVI crossover, Personal Demons (fic, Cabanela, Sissel)

@azurefishnets for @laughingmango: Maelstrom (fic, Alma, Jowd, Cabanela, Sissel)

@azurefishnets for @siverwrites: Testing the Waters (fic, Jowd, Cabanela, Alma, Kamila)

@azurefishnets, @laughingmango and @siverwrites: Celestial Miracle: Angelic Investigator (illustrated fic, Kamila, Amelie, Emma, Cabanela, Jowd, Lynne, Yomiel)

@bunnybead123 for @pichumaster: Time in a Bottle (fic, Yomiel, Sissel, Sissel - Yomiel’s wife, Lynne, Jowd, Cabanela)

@catgirl-frostmoon​ for @katecattus: Memories Come in on Little Cat Feet (fic, Sissel & Yomiel)

@clay-cuttlefish​ for @ace-cyclic: Lynnvestigation (interactive fic, Lynne, Sissel)

@crushcircuit​ with @mrkanman for @marenwithanm: Jowd holding Sissel (art, Jowd, Sissel)

@dapskie​ for @yunaffie: Sissel and Missile being cute together (art, Sissel, Missile)

@darknessconsumesmeslowly​ for @clay-cuttlefish: The Darkness Within (fic, Yomiel)

@dinner-rol​ for @starsofcarnephel: Bailey and partner living together (art, Bailey, Bailey’s partner)

@dreamdancerdotfile​ for @moodlemcdoodle: Ghost Trick/Ace Attorney/Professor Layton crossover (art, Sissel, Professor Layton, Phoenix Wright)

@epiceisaloser​ for @rookiebotwx78: Sissel trying to be impulse control for Lynne (art, Sissel, Lynne)

@gavinnersroadie​ for @space-biscuit: AA crossover Lynne and Ema snacking (art, Lynne, Ema)

@gippley-png​ for @serrangelic-art: Multiple prompts, mob psycho crossover (art, Yomiel, Jowd, Cabanela, Alma, Sissel)

@graegrape​ for @siverwrites: Odd gift giving Ot3 fluff (art, Alma, Jowd, Cabanela)

@guccisystem​ for @dinner-rol: Kamila and Amelie pro-gaming (art, Kamila, Amelie, Missile, Sissel)

@gxos​ for @guccisystem: Yomiel and Sissel caught in the rain (art, Yomiel, Sissel)

@katecattus​ for @darknessconsumesmeslowly: Question (fic, Yomiel, Sissel, Sissel - Yomiel’s wife, Lynne, Cabanela, Jowd)

@katecattus​ for @epiceisaloser: Sissel as tarot cards (art, Sissel)

@katecattus for @methemystery: Hair down Yomiel (art, Yomiel)

@katecattus for @okiroash: Touch (fic, Yomiel, Sissel, Sissel - Yomiel’s wife)

@katecattus for @phantriicks: Flower Yomiel (art, Yomiel)

@kiaroou​ for @octopeachy: A day at the garden (art, Amelie, Kamila, Memry)

@laughingmango​ for @playghosttrick: Disco Elysium crossover, majestic cockatoos (art, Cabanela, Harry du Bois)

@laughingmango for @arbuthnotblob: FFVI Crossover, Princess Kamila & Feral Pomeranian (art, Kamila, Missile)

@laughingmango for @azurefishnets: New timeline Jowd and Pigeon Man (art, Jowd, Pigeon Man)

@laughingmango for @dapskie: Cabanela & Jowd role swap (art, Jowd, Cabanela)

@laughingmango for @raygirlramblings: A most ignominious dog theft (art, Lynne, Memry, Missile)

@laughingmango for @siverwrites: Undercover Jowd (art, Cabanela, Jowd)

@laughingmango for @yunaffie: Some hurt/comfort (art, Jowd, Cabanela)

@laughingmango for domestic Alma/Jowd/Cabanela lovers: What it says on the tin (art, Alma, Jowd, Cabanela)

@laughingmango​ for @clay-cuttlefish​: Another ghost that night (art, Untitled Goose Game crossover)

@marenwithanm​ for @soup-for-ghosts: Bittersweet, long-awaited reunion (art, Yomiel, Sissel)

@moodlemcdoodle​ for @ravensa: Cute pet outfits (art, Sissel, Missile)

@nebulacloudz​ for @azurefishnets: OT3 arcade winnings (art, Alma, Jowd, Cabanela)

@phantriicks​ for @dreamdancerdotfile: The most fashionable duo (art, Cabanela, Missile)

@playghosttrick​ for @arbuthnotblob: Game Night with a Ghost! (fic, Yomiel, Jowd, Alma, Cabanela, Lynne, Kamila, Sissel)

@pichumaster​ for @gxos: Yomiel as hanged Tarot card (art, Yomiel)

@puzzling-angel for @epiceisaloser: Yomiel and Kamila being witches/wizards with familiars (Yomiel, Kamila, Sissel, Missile)

@octopeachy​ for @yami-yomiel: Happy anniversary (art, Yomiel)

@okiroash​ for @wyrmswears: Sissel makes a not-so-convincing human (art, Sissel, Lynne)

@okiroash​ for @serrangelic-art: Human-sona Sissel and comic (art, Sissel, Jowd, Cabanela)

@ravensa​ for @emeraldfox11: Ghost Trick Disco Elysium crossover (art, Cabanela, Harry du Bois)

@raygirlramblings​ for @dapskie: Peace, Love, and Pigeons! (art, Rock Jailbird, Lovey-Dove, pigeons)

@raygirlramblings for @okiroash: Rube Goldberg gift giving machine (art, Kamila, Yomiel, Sissel)

@serrangelic-art​ for @phantriicks: Sissel comforting Yomiel (art, Sissel, Yomiel)

@shibasquish​ for @tankens: bothering Jowd after hours (art, Cabanela, Jowd)

@siverwrites​ for @graegrape: Splintering (fic, Lynne, Cabanela, Kamila)

@siverwrites for @catgirl-frostmoon: Breath of Fresh Air (fic, Lynne, Kamila, Missile)

@siverwrites for @emeraldfox11: The Reticence of Mangoes and Cheesecake: The Guide to Not Getting Answers (fic, Cabanela)

@siverwrites for @yunaffie: An evening’s celebration (fic, Alma, Jowd, Kamila, Cabanela, Lynne, Missile, Sissel)

@s00r00me for Ghost Trick anniversary: Ghostly Yomiel (art, Yomiel)

@soup-for-ghosts​ for @gavinnersroadie: FianSissel destroying Yomiel at card games (art, FianSissel, Yomiel)

@space-biscuit​ for @kiaroou: AA crossover, Maya makes a friend (art, Maya, Sissel)

@starsofcarnephel​ for @alto-tenure: Sissel comforting Yomiel (art, Sissel, Yomiel)

@tankens​ for @shibasquish: Jowd relaxing with Cabanela (art, Cabanela, Jowd)

@theriveroflight​ for @darknessconsumesmeslowly: The Case of the Missing Allen Wrench (fic, Sissel, Missile, Kamila, Jowd, Alma, Lynne, Cabanela)

@theriveroflight for @laughingmango: hoping for a last-minute miracle (fic, Cabanela, Jowd, Lynne, Sissel, Pigeon Man, Amelie, Kamila, Yomiel)

@theriveroflight for @okiroash:A Chance Encounter (fic, Jowd, Cabanela, Yomiel, Sissel)

@wyrmswears​ for @raygirlramblings: Sissel, Missile and Lovey-Dove cuteness (art, Sissel, Missile, Lovey-Dove)

@yami-yomiel​ for @bunnybead123: Sissel being a good kitty doing something silly (art, Sissel, Yomiel)

@yunaffie​ for @puzzling-angel: The Good Old Days (fic, Sissel, Yomiel)

@yunaffie for @okiroash: To Feel You At Last (fic, Sissel, Yomiel, Jowd)

A big big thank you to all participants! It’s thrilling and moving to see so much love and energy poured into this edition. As planned, this has been the last edition of Ghost Swap as an exchange. 9 years and 10 editions (pulling double duty to shift to June on the 10th anniversary)! It’s been an honor, folks. Truly. From now on, the event will run as a simpler fan fest: participants will send in their prompts and freely pick at least one that they like. Guaranteed to work on a prompt you love, not guaranteed to get a gift, but if more than just your gift in the list here felt like a present for you in the overall festive spirit, that’ll for sure still apply. But more on that next year! For now: ghost’d. tricks. you know how it goes. Nothing like it, baby!

[jenniejjun]

FALSE GOD.

PAR: johnny suh x leitora!fem

GÊNERO: fluff e angst / idol!au

avisos: não tem nada demais nesse a não ser o fato de que é citado que a leitora e o johnny já terminaram antes, uma discussãozinha em que os dois são meio babaquinhas mas não tem nada tóxico (ao meu ver), a leitora também é artista.

PESSOINHA QUE PEDIU ALGO COM O JOHNNY EU PERDI SUA ASK DESCULPAAAAAAAAAAAAA! mas tá aqui, desculpa pela demora imensa! bom gente, como já tinha falado antes aqui, eu fiquei bem abaladinhe com a notícia dos shows da taylor swift e de que eu não poderia ir, sou fã dessa mulher há 10 anos e foi um puta baque pra mim. acabei perdendo a inspiração pra algumas coisas, mas tô de volta agora! os pedidos continuam abertos caso queiram pedir algo. essa fic é antiga e eu só adaptei pro johnny porque achei que combinava super com ele, esse homi me passa a impressão de false god todinha!

━━━ ⟡ JULHO, 2021.

Você olha pela janela e de repente são cinco da manhã em Seul. Da última vez que olhou para o relógio, mal passava do meio-dia, mas escrever um álbum pode ser assim tão avassalador. Toda a cidade estava a dormir, até o rapaz que considerava ser o dos seus sonhos estava a ressonar num sono profundo. Mas, por outro lado, você não conseguia bater um olho. Talvez fosse o fato de estar a pensar no álbum que estava a escrever, e este parece vazio. É como se precisasse de algo mais... precisasse de algo intenso. Que lembre às pessoas, e a você, o que são os sentimentos. Algo que, cada vez que cantasse, fizesse sua alma entrar em combustão, assim como as pessoas ao seu redor.

Você suspira, com a mente vazia, e vira-se para ver Johnny, o seu Johnny. O rapaz que lhe roubou seu coração há tantos anos. John que está a dormir pacificamente, alheio a tudo. Ele é tão bonito e tão seu, que poderia passar toda a sua vida a adorá-lo, independentemente do drama. Johnny tem sido tudo para si desde que se conheceram há dois anos atrás em no Inkigayo e pensar que houve um momento na sua vida em que realmente pensou que vocês poderiam ser apenas amigos depois de tudo, faz com que um vazio que você pensava ter preenchido se esvazie novamente.

Flashes sobre aquela noite passam-lhe pela cabeça, o medo entra-lhe no corpo como uma cobra. Frio e duro. Sai do quarto e dirige-se para a cozinha. A cozinha de vocês. O apartamento era pequeno, uma vez que era suposto ser um segredo, por isso a caminhada não demorou muito mais tempo. Sentindo a brisa a bater-lhe no rosto, e quando se instala numa cadeira, o seu olhar encontra a camisa de botões que ele vestiu no início da noite para o evento a que foram. Também a camisa que ele usou nessa noite.

Sentindo-se pequena, você abraça o pijama, abre o seu cancioneiro, pega na caneta que lhe estava presa e começa a rabiscar, sem saber por onde começar.

As memórias daqueles meses toldavam-lhe a mente e sabia que, se queria mesmo escrever uma canção sobre tão arrebatadora, teria de reabrir aquela ferida dolorosa. De alguma forma, parecia mais profunda do que a de 2019, mais madura. Lembrava-se de se sentir tão assustada, como se o fosse perder de novo.

Concentrando-se nesse medo, você escreve:

"And I can't talk to you when you're like this, staring out the window like I'm not your favorite town.”

E isso é tudo o que basta para a fazer voltar, como numa máquina do tempo, a uns meses atrás. Mesmo antes do eventos daquela fatídica noite, quando você era um pouco mais imatura e mais nova.

━━━ ⟡ FEVEREIRO, 2021.

Na sala de jantar da Irene cabiam 30 pessoas. De alguma forma, ela conseguiu colocar 50. Você estava enroscada com a sua melhor amiga a celebrar o seu aniversário antecipado, às oito da noite, quando a ouve. Em alto e bom som. Madison Tottenham e uma garota na qual você não conhecia, falavam sobre algo que Mark Lee disse. Você grunge ao ver aquilo.

"Se eu soubesse que aquela garota ia ser babaca e convidar a ex do teu namorado para a minha festa, nunca a teria convidado”, Irene disse, com um tom de veneno, os olhos a rolarem para a parte de trás do crânio.

"Para ser sincera, também não sabia que ela ia trazer a Madison”, Joy respondeu, com as mãos suadas. Você quase teve pena da pobre mulher, se não estivesse demasiado concentrada na garota morena que balançava o corpo ao som da música.

"Tudo bem”, você manteve as coisas simples.

Mas não era tão simples assim. Você não era alguém que agia por maldade, não importava quanta raiva tivesse por aquela pessoa. Se Madison estava lá, não deveria ser um grande problema. E não era. Não até que o reacender da sua amizade com Johnny começasse a florescer. Se ele quisesse voltar a ser amigo dela, tudo bem, mas você reconhecia que os sentimentos platônicos eram unilaterais. Os quadris a andar para trás e para a frente, os cabelos indo de um lado para o outro e os olhares. Era completamente desrespeitoso, mesmo que Johnny não estivesse a responder. A culpa é dela, você tem todo o direito de estar zangada. Com Madison, mas não pode deixar de se sentir zangada com seu namorado também.

O namorado que ficou ali a franzir o sobrolho quando viu a carranca na sua cara.

Você estava a ser injusta, sabia. O Suh só tinha olhos para ti. Isso explicava a forma como ele lhe beijava o pescoço, discretamente, cantarolando a sua canção preferida, quando reparava que estava aborrecida. Mesmo quando você se virava de costas.

"Estamos em público, para”, você disse, com um tom de voz firme, mas ao mesmo tempo suave. E ele apenas acenou com a cabeça, abraçando-a pelas costas e depositando um beijo no seu cabelo.

Por um momento, nem sequer se lembra do infeliz incidente. Vira-se para trás, alisando-lhe o cabelo com os dedos enquanto se abraçam. Até revira os olhos quando ouve um comentário provocativo de Jaehyun. As coisas voltam ao normal por um instante. Mas esse momento desvanece-se rapidamente quando Johnny vai beber um copo e acaba por ter uma conversa com a menina Tottenham.

Ela estende a mão para lhe tocar no ombro, rindo-se de algo que ele disse e isso faz seu sangue ferver. Johnny, felizmente, afastou-a instantaneamente quando se apercebeu que ela estava demasiado perto.

Mas, mesmo assim, sentiu a cara a ficar vermelha quando Taeyeon te abordou com algo sobre pensar em voltar com Baekhyun. O pânico corria-lhe nas veias, tanto quanto o estresse, quando você se desculpou com Irene. O que significava nada de festa e Johnny ao seu lado no carro. Má ideia.

A primeira coisa que faz quando chegam a casa é desbloqueá-la e pedir desculpa a Irene.

"foi mal mesmo, joo! prometo recompensar com uma noite das meninas qualquer dia desses.”

Não demorou muito para que ela te respondesse:

"relaxa, solzinho! se resolve com o johnny primeiro e depois a gente marca algo :)”

Você sentiu-se à beira das lágrimas, mas engoliu-as para deixar cair as chaves no balcão da cozinha. Você sabe que está a ser dramática, ainda mais quando percebe que o Suh lhe está a dar tempo para se abrir sobre o que a está a deixar chateada, mas as imagens de Madison a exibir-se como um troféu para ele não estavam a ajudar em nada. Quer que ele sinta que fez besteira, e das grandes. Mas, no fundo da sua mente, é apenas um ato egoísta.

"Quer falar sobre isso?", Johnny te pergunta enquanto se deixa cair no sofá da sala de estar.

"Sinceramente, não sei como expressar o que sinto”, você diz do outro lado da sala, com os braços fechados à volta da sua figura. "Porque é que não a impediu?"

Johnny suspira. "Pensei que tinha deixado bem claro que sou teu namorado o tempo todo, bê. Já passamos por isto antes, estou contigo e com mais ninguém. Ela que se foda se não consegue respeitar isso."

"Eu sei, mas não podia simplesmente dizer que tem namorada?", você pergunta, lentamente.

"Ela sabe que eu tenho namorada. Madison só tá tentando se meter entre a gente, eu conheço ela, mas se você quiser eu grito pro mundo que você é a minha garota”, Johnny assegurou sério. “Não posso empurra-lá na frente de todo mundo, essa merda chega na mídia e é um inferno. Tu sabe disso, vai ser maior do que precisa de ser”, sim. Você sabia disso, mas isso não a impediu de suspirar, Johnny parecia etéreo mesmo quando as suas palavras a magoavam involuntariamente.

"Então, eu tenho que ficar aqui sentada sempre que ela se atira em você?”, quis saber.

"Não, não. Claro que não, linda, isto é provavelmente uma coisa de uma só vez. É só ela querendo atenção”, o tom da sua voz era suave quando ele se levantou e caminhou até você, envolvendo os braços à volta da sua cintura. Suh beijou o seu nariz. No entanto, o contato não durou muito tempo. "Amor."

“Nem vem, John. Ela faz isso sempre, cada vez que se encontram”, você pega a palavra novamente, exasperada. "Sabe que não me importaria se fosse outra pessoa. Mas não é, é ela. É sempre ela, não uma fã apaixonadinha ou uma amiga. É sempre a Madison com o seu complexo de 'posso ter tudo o que quero'."

A sala de estar fica em silêncio.

"Sei que é arriscado e que podemos ser cancelados por coisas estúpidas, mas é desconfortável e pensei que você, mais do que ninguém, entenderia. É a nossa relação."

Quase parece que você o agrediu, atirando-lhe à cara uma recordação tão dolorosa. Ele era a pessoa que mais entendia. Você sabia disso. Foi ele quem suportou todo o drama com seu colega de elenco quando a mídia, de fato, transformou aquilo em algo que não existia. Havia sido ele quem teria aguentado todos os rumores de traição que Dispatch poderia soltar sobre vocês nessa época. Foi ele quem aceitou o término que você propôs com a desculpa de que seria melhor para ele e a imagem do grupo em que estava inserido.

Foi ele que te telefonou quando vocês terminaram, deitado na sua cama, todas as noites, à espera que estivesse pronta para falar. Ele sabe disso e você sabe disso.

"Eu entendo, bê, mas é de Madison que estamos falando. Quanto mais deixar isso mexer contigo, mais vai mexer contigo. Além disso, pelo menos, eu e ela não nos vemos o tempo todo", diz ele, tentando parecer mais calmo do que irritado.

Você nunca foi a primeira a quebrar, Johnny tinha sido sempre o primeiro a pedir desculpas quando ele tinha sido a causa de uma de suas brigas. Mas era visível que isso estava em outro nível. Você estava a ser irracional.

"Tá tentando me dizer alguma coisa?", disse séria.

Ele sabe que você está magoada.

"Não, só estou dizendo para não deixar que o ciúme se meta no meio de nós outra vez", ele diz desesperado.

"Não é ciúme, John, é literalmente o mínimo que estou a pedir. Se fosse eu no seu lugar, não ia querer o mesmo?", você suspira, de repente não está zangada com ele, está zangada com consigo.

Zangada porque sabe que está a ser injusta com o namorado.

"Ah, mas eu quis. Eu quis e você não fez nem isso", ele deixa escapar, zangado. A voz está a tremer.

Um murro tê-la-ia magoado menos, pensa.

"Isso é diferente, amor. Ele é meu amigo. Um amigo do trabalho, não um ex com quem você sabe que eu tenho um passado", ela nem sequer hesita em dizer. "E ele certamente não estava se jogando em cima de mim."

Você aproveitou a oportunidade para se aconchegar no conforto do sofá, abraçando uma almofada. "Estou pedindo algo tão difícil assim? Apenas diga a ela para parar. É quase como se você gostasse."

É claro que é mentira, ele adora o chão que você pisa. Mas mesmo assim, a mágoa e a confusão toldam-lhe a mente.

"Cuidado", ele avisa mas você o corta.

"Não, John. Você nunca te impõe neste aspecto. Só coloca lenha na fogueira, sabe que é verdade. Só faz alguma coisa ou admite que está errado quando percebe que estragou tudo. E não devia ser assim tão difícil, honestamente, se quer saber a verdade é que estou cansada. Se isto vai ser sempre um obstáculo na nossa relação, não consigo. Não consigo fazer isto".

"Você tá sendo injusta", o rapaz Suh aponta com a voz a estalar no meio do assunto.

"Quer saber? Antes eu estava! Me senti tão mal por estar zangada com o meu namorado quando na realidade o problema era ela. Doeu um pouco quando não fizeste nada, mas quando veio ficar comigo, eu sabia que estava lá para me confortar, mas agora, vendo como você se recusa a admitir que devia ter feito alguma coisa, faz-me questionar isso. Tem noção de como foi embaraçoso para mim ficar vendo aquilo? Precisar que os meus amigos me assegurem de que provavelmente não era nada? Ou as pessoas olhando para os dois de forma curiosa por causa disso?"

Você chora, mas não consegue evitar o que sai da sua boca.

"E o que é que você quer que eu faça? Eu fui àquela festa idiota por sua causa, não preciso de ir cuspir o meu amor e carinho por ti na cara de toda a gente, porque eles conseguem ver isso claramente! Se ela não consegue ver isso é porque não nos respeita e se não nos respeita então não vou perder a merda do meu tempo com ela".

"Não te estou te pedindo pra fazer cena, apenas para falar com ela. Você a conhece como disse, é muito simples."

"Por Deus, será que você consegue confiar em mim por um instante? Pare de ser tão insegura! Eu tô com você, não tô?", ele fecha a boca instantaneamente, arrependido de tudo, e você fica calada do outro lado da sala. "Amor, eu…"

"Vai se ferrar, John."

Os dois estavam a segundos de chorar, odiando-se pelas palavras que tinham dito.

"Escapou, bê, desculpa. Não sei o que me passou pela cabeça, foi uma merda. Eu sinto muito", ele disse, aproximando-se do seu rosto ofendido.

Doeu quando deu um passo atrás.

Ele sabia que aquilo tinha feito explodir um fósforo dentro de você, todas as memórias de brigas passadas retornando. Mesmo que soubesse que não tinham acabado, sabia que talvez fosse uma hipótese. Quiçá, vocês não fossem almas gêmeas, afinal.

━━━ ⟡ JULHO, 2021.

"Bebê?", uma voz faz você olhar por cima do ombro, onde Johnny Suh te olha sonolento. Ele brilha ao luar, desgrenhado e com os boxers de Stormtroppers que vestiu nesse dia. Ao estender a mão, você sente John envolver os seus braços à volta dos seus ombros, deixando beijos molhados no seu maxilar e pescoço, e você suspira, sentindo borboletas por todo o lado.

"O que tá fazendo acordada?", ele pergunta, olhando por cima do seu ombro para o livro de canções. John lê a primeira letra e franze o sobrolho, sentando-se, partilhando os dois a mesma cadeira.

"We were crazy to think, crazy to think that this could work."

"Sobre o que tá escrevendo?", Johnny te olha e te transfere para seu colo, sentando-se desta vez confortável na cadeira inteira, um beijo no seu ombro.

"Tava escrevendo uma canção sobre o que aconteceu em Fevereiro", ela diz, fechando os olhos.

Era uma ferida fechada, já não doía, mas ainda os deixava desconfortáveis de vez em quando. Envolvendo os braços à volta dos ombros dele, inclina-se e beija-o por um breve momento.

"Vai escrever uma canção sobre isso?", ele sussurra, com os olhos fechados assim como os seus. Suh trata de deixar beijos em você como forma de distração. Assim, você o abraça com mais força e cantarola ao som do canto dos pássaros à janela. Já era de manhã.

"Não uma canção inteira", sussurra de volta, acariciando-lhe o cabelo curto. Seu namorado te olha, acenando com a cabeça para que continue. "Eu queria mostrar os altos e baixos de uma relação. Não é necessariamente uma canção de separação, é mais a normalidade de coisas como são quando se está apaixonado. Ainda nem sequer está terminada", explicou sorrindo e corando como uma criança só para ele.

"Eu sei, mas agora vamos escrever sobre os altos, está bem? Ele diz deixando beijos na pele exposta dela, enquanto ela se ri quando os beijos lhe fazem cócegas. Era como se estivéssemos juntos numa bolha que ninguém conseguia rebentar.

"Vai me ajudar?"

Ele cantarola enquanto sorri. "Alguma ideia?"

"Não muitas", você responde, deslizando as mãos pelas costas dele. Ele te olha de novo, duvidoso. "Tô falando sério. Pra ser justa, só tenho o conceito."

"Me conta", Johnny pede.

A verdade é que você tem estado a pensar nesta canção há já algum tempo, em como as coisas acabariam por se tornar. A ideia original era ser uma canção de término, como as suas antigas canções em "Haunted", mas ao vasculhar o seu cancioneiro encontrou letras antigas de 2018. Como ela parecia apaixonada na altura, não mais do que nos dias de hoje, mas tão apaixonada pela ideia de um romance.

Os versos de "L-O-V-E" cheios de doçura e inocência, acabou reparando como tudo parecia quase milagroso.

Como se não houvesse nada mais puro para ser fiel do que o seu amor por Johnny. A ideia de um romance tão forte que é a única coisa em que se acredita é tão atrativa para o álbum, que o tornavam um álbum tão pessoal. Os seus sentimentos por ele também eram, pensava. Era a sua religião, afinal de contas. Uma conduta que seguiria em qualquer lado. As noites que passaram juntos a perpetuar isso, tudo lhe trouxe um sorriso ao rosto.

"Na verdade, eu tenho uma ideia", diz enquanto se baixa para escrever algo no livro.

Remexe-se em cima do colo do homem. Pela forma como a respiração de Johnny se acelera, imagina que talvez o mesmo pensamento estivesse a passar pela cabeça dele.

"We might just get away with it, the altar is my hips."

[drawonescenet]

Here is another instalment of my Hinata and Sakura "Little Mermaids AU" illustrations. For some time a was wondering how to make it more natural for Hinata and Sakura to meet and be friends when Hinata as the princess lives in a very sheltered enviroment. So here is my solution.

Sakura works at the palace as a "Lady in waiting", which as I understand was kind of like a maid of sorts. Their job was to tend to the princess or queen needs. So here it is. Sakura is Hinata's lady in waiting and is helping her get ready for a royal annoucement. In my "fic" Hinata runs away and makes the deal with the sea witch because she dosen't want to get marry with the mer-prince of the neighboring Kingdom (Toneri). She loves the sea and is really invested in her people as the princess, but her father (Hiashi) sees her as a political tool, so he plans to marry her of to another kingdom for alliances. So with the help of Sakura she runs away.

They have known each other since childhood, so Sakura is the one that introduces Hinata to Human artifacts. In this illustration Sakura is trying to reassure Hinata, help her cheer up because she knows Hinata dosen't want this arragen marriage. Hinata of course is very upseat about it, and we also see Hinata's younger sister Hanabi. I am still working on her rol in the story. Maybe she will also lose her voice xD WHO KNOWS!

Still looking to improve this illustration. Maybe add some things on the vanity.

Thanks for all the likes, rebblogs, comments and support :)

You can also support me on my Deviantart account: DrawOneScene

[sixth-light]

Fic meme

List five of your least-popular fics, as well as when/why you wrote them (tagged by @themardia)

a beginning (TOG/WoT, Andy & Nile, gen) - If I recall correctly this was in response to a 'cross your newest and oldest fandom' challenge, and well before WoT crashed back into my life with the TV show in late 2021! I've got a whole lot more worldbuilding for this tucked away in the back of my head somewhere...

The Waiting Game (RoL, Peter/Beverley, Peter & Thomas) - it's tagged 'ask box fic' and I think I would have written it as part of a whole lot of post-Hanging Tree prompts, but the years have eroded my memory of who prompted me and what exactly they prompted me.

they choose to take you in (Court of Fives, Bettany & OC) - a Yuletide fic for a very small book fandom which features the clash of a matriarchal and a patriarchal culture; I was obsessed with the idea of a longed-for male heir (still in utero at the end of the series) being...whoops, not that.

The Sight of Other Skies (Eternal Skies trilogy, Samarkar & Tsareg Edene) - another Yuletide fic for a book fandom, ft. female friendship, but mostly an excuse to roll around in the series worldbuilding.

The Retirement of Gabriel Argent (Daniel Blackland series, Gabriel/Max) - I am extremely proud that I wrote the first fic on AO3 for this very tiny fandom. It was the unusual-for-me case of finishing a book trilogy and being absolutely unable to move on without getting this post-canon idea out of my head.

Tagging: @emjee, @raedear, @darlingofdots, @highladyluck, @butterflydm, and anybody else who feels like doing this!

[rallamajoop]

I recently found your blog while working on some things for a Heisenberg fic, and I love it! It made me think more about this HC that I have about Urias and Heisenberg. Since you have a lot of posts that talk about the game files and things like that, I wanted to ask your informed opinion on this if that's alright?

My HC is that Urias is actually Heisenberg's father--not just due to the fact that the concept art and character models look too similar to be a coincidence (in my opinion; I'd also like to add that I've never found anything that confirms or denies (or even refrences) this anywhere online, so if I'm missing something, feel free to let me know!).

I always imagined Heisenberg being close to his father, who likely was the one to teach him everything he knows in terms of engineering (I almost wonder if his name could be Karl Heisenberg Jr., his father being closer in reference to the physicist he's based on than Heisenberg himself. I hope that made sense-).

I imagine Miranda took his father first, whose experimentation results were close to what she was looking for, but no cigar (pun intended), so her next best bet was to hop down the family tree to his son--which yielded much more promising results--giving us the Heisenberg we know and love.

This would definitely explain why Heisenberg is much closer to the lycans than any other character, and why he's able to wrangle them so easily, because he's related to one--even if the consciousness of that relationship is long gone.

I'm so sorry if I came off as weird or anything, your blog just really kind of livened-up my HC and my fic ideas in general, and honestly makes me feelnreally confident about it and wanted to know your thoughts. Thank you! :)

Honestly, my initial kneejerk reaction to this one was “Jeebus, doesn’t the guy have enough dads already?” But on a second thought, heck, maybe there’s actually something to this idea…

The info we get on the possible Heisenberg family from the notes from the concept art is all over the place, and concepts for Heisenberg’s father are the worst offenders. Sturm was supposed to be his real father, Heisenberg’s monster form was supposed to be his father’s, the village leader was supposed to be his father... I assume these were different ideas from different phases (or one was a step-dad?) but sheesh, how many dads does one guy need?

Meanwhile, the one thing we do learn about Urias (apart from the fact he seems to part of some extended Urias family) is that he was supposed to be the village’s leader at some point… but that’s where this whole thing might just get interesting. Because if Heisenberg’s father was meant to be the village leader, and Urias was also supposed to be the village leader… could there have been a point in development where both were true at once, and Heisenberg’s father was going to be Urias? (I mean, as well as the village leader, presumably.)

I mean, they’re both beard-y, grey-haired dudes with a love for giant hammers and long coats. It’s not for nothing that so many fans came out of the early previews for this game assuming Urias was just Heisenberg in lycan form. Those concept pics of Heisenberg's father in a trenchcoat with a shock of grey hair aren't a million miles from Urias' design either.

There's some plausibility to the idea of Miranda experimenting on members of the same family too, especially if they've got cause to claim descent from one of the four founders. I speculated as much myself about what might have happened to the rest of the Beneviento family in my post on her background. Heisenberg specifically strikes me as more the sort of guy who probably wasn't born in the village, given he names his monsters in German, mocks the very idea of his lordship (more on that here), and is clearly the least brainwashed member of the family. But that's interpretation ‒ there's nothing truly definitive either way.

You'd have a harder time squaring 'an engineer who taught Karl all he knew' with Urias' role as the village leader, though ‒ I have trouble picturing anywhere as superstitious, isolated and backward as the village being led by someone with that much 'outsider' knowledge to pass onto his son. RE has certainly tried to sell us on wilder things, but it doesn't really click for me.

As for Heisenberg's affinity for lycans, that's more debatable. He certainly seems to be commanding them at the start of the game (just to really cement all those lycan!Heisenberg theories!) but past that point, any lycan associations dry up very quickly. There are no lycans to be found anywhere in the factory ‒ just soldats, and moroi wearing mind-control visors (called ‘haulers’, but they’re obviously just new versions of the creatures you meet in Donna’s domain). Why bother putting visors on skinny zombie creatures if he could command lycans without them? Doesn’t really seem like Heisenberg’s ability to control lycans goes far beyond ‘stop’ and ‘go’.

True, Heisenberg does leave his Rose-flask in a stronghold full of lycans. But he also sends Ethan to that stronghold, where he has to fight and kill Urias himself. The idea that Heisenberg was ever close to his lycan-dad is going to be hard to square with how casually he sends someone to kill Urias, or how pleased he seems that Ethan succeeded. In Heisenberg’s mind, lycans are nothing so much as they’re expendable – Urias included.

So as far as the finished game goes, I think it’s probably reaching to suggest that Urias (of the extended Urias clan) is related to Heisenberg, who so casually throws him in Ethan’s way as a test. But the possibility that maybe Urias was going to be a Heisenberg at some point in development is a better explanation for the fact the Urias-clan are so big into hammers and trenchcoats than any other explanation I’ve heard yet. It’s certainly no crazier than so many other headcanons I’ve heard around this game.

But speaking of the Urias-clan, let's cover the other Uriasi you can find around the game. Urias Strajer (the bigger version of Urias with the mace that Chris fights near the megamycete) is supposedly Urias' older brother ‒ something the concept art wants you to know so badly it's mentioned on pictures of both of them. So if you still want one of them to be Heisenberg's father, the other is presumably his uncle. Heck, maybe Strajer could be Heisenberg's father, and Urias could be the uncle he never liked very much (despite his excellent taste in hammers), if you want to explain Heisenberg's lacking reaction to Urias' death. Some of the game files for Strajer are labeled 'village elder', which also points some kind of connection. Chock up some more evidence of Miranda experimenting on members of the same family too!

The two axe-wielding optional bosses you can fight in the sawmill and over Claudia's grave are apparently Uriases too ‒ Urias Drac, specifically, though you'd only know that from RE.net, where you can see stats for how many of them you've killed in Mercenaries mode. Personally, I only realised they were supposed to be lycans at all because you can one-shot them with the magnum if you unlock the 'special customisation' that 'does extra damage against lycans' ("extra" apparently means "10x" in special-customisation land). But presumably they're based on the same unused design from the concept art of this one 'lycan' out walking his varcolacs too.

Are these Uriasi too part of the greater Urias-family? Who knows ‒ that one's up to you. Their bodies, with that swollen weak point on the back, do match the model for Urias Strajer (shown below). In fact, I'm pretty sure all the Uriases use the same base model, just with different clothes, armour and hair. So there's some shared DNA in there somewhere (even if only in the sense that recycling a good model saves so many hours of development time).

The name 'Urias' is apparently a term for giant in Romanian, which checks out. Strajer, meanwhile, apparently translates as 'guardian' or 'sentinel', which tracks with the fact Strajer's job is to guard the megamycete. 'Drac', meanwhile, seems to be the same word you might know from Dracul (dragon or devil) or Dracula (son of the above) ‒ though I am also amused that google translate tried to tell me 'urias drac' means 'huge fuck'. 'Giant demon' may be more on the money for that one. Either way, all this etymology does strongly suggest that 'Urias' is more a description than an actual family name. Which is somewhat reassuring, because nothing I've read about Romania suggests they put surnames first.

Probably just to annoy me, personally (because I absolutely will overthink this shit now you've got me started), one of the models used for regular-vanilla-Urias is randomly called 'Gregorio', a name that shows up nowhere else in the game. There is a Grigori ‒ he's that old guy who gave Ethan his first handgun before the lycans dragged him away.

I really do not think we're supposed to take it that Urias is a lycanised Grigori, though ‒ that's rather too big a transformation in not nearly enough time. Otherwise, 'Gregorio' is neither Romanian or German (like both 'Karl' and 'Heisenberg' are) ‒ it's Italian or Spanish, which is just confusing. One of the four founders (more on them here) did have a vaguely similar name ‒ Guglielmo ‒ but I don't think that's really close enough to mean much either. 'Gregorio' could be the name of a developer who worked on the file once, for all I know.

So where does that leave us? Honestly, nowhere very exciting. None of the evidence of this greater Urias family was actually in the playable game (notes on concept art and names you have to find on an unrelated website are very tenuous canon at best). Still, Urias and Urias Strajer are similar enough that it's reasonable to assume they must have some sort of relationship. So take all this as you will (or not at all).

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Grief Stricken

Fives x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your perfect life is shattered into a million pieces after your beloved Fives is murdered. Overcome with grief, you decide to take out your revenge on the man responsible for his death. 

Pairing: Fives x Fem!Reader

Characters: Fives, Rex, Fox

Tags & Warnings: established relationship, fluff, romance, kissing, cuddling, death, grief, mourning, funeral, hurt/no comfort, angst, alcohol, drugged alcohol, seduction, violence, revenge, premeditated murder, borderline dark fic, unhinged fem!reader

Word Count: 7.2k

Author's Note: Apologies in advance to the Fox girlies! I did not villainize your boy, but wrote him like any other military police type. That man is a victim too. I stylized this fic as a back and forth from present to past. So, if you remove all the pieces and rearrange them chronologically, the story would still flow correctly. Also, the last few scenes were written to "Cheap Thrills" by Sia, so that's the vibe there. Bonus, if you want to cry, listen to "Somewhere Only We Know" by Keane (Rhianne Cover).

PLEASE DO NOT IMITATE. This is fiction and fiction only. If you or someone you love is struggling with grief, please reach out to get professional help!

@clonexreaderbingo Square: Fox

You stand speechless beside the open casket, staring down at the lifeless corpse inside, wondering how you arrived at this moment.

The morning light breaks through the curtains and gently wakes you from your slumber. You feel his warm body wrapped around yours in half-a-sleep snuggles as a pot of caf percolates in the kitchen. You nuzzle your face into his outstretched arm, breathing in his scent as he rustles under the covers. You wonder how you became so lucky as to have such a wonderful man like Fives in your life. He is your everything. Strong, brave, handsome, and an absolute love-bug. 

It’s a struggle at times, when he has to go on missions, but you always wait patiently for him to come home with hugs and kisses at the ready. He always greets you at the door with a big smile and squishes you as hard as he can without hurting you. You know he enjoys coming home as much as you do, and the time you get to spend with him is your favorite. You both dream about what your life together will look like after the war and come up with all sorts of grandiose plans.

You roll yourself over to look at him, his eyes still closed, lips slightly parted, and breathing softly. Resting peacefully without a single care. You smile and gently press your lips against his. It takes a moment, but he kisses you back tenderly while sliding a hand through your hair and behind your ear to pull you closer. You stay like that for a moment, lips locked in a loving embrace of pure bliss. As your lips finally part, you gasp and take in a much needed breath.

“Am I suffocating you?” Fives jokes with a small laugh as he props his head up with his hand. He looks lovingly into your eyes. You stare back into his glistening brown eyes. They’re deep and dark and would swallow you whole if they could.

“Just a little,” you giggle back. You scoot forward and nestle your head under his chin and breathe deeply. These are the moments you live for, the ones where it’s just the two of you and the rest of the world isn’t allowed to intrude. At this moment, it’s just you and him. No war. No missions. No fights. No weapons. Just two people madly in love.

Fives is the first to pull away from the embrace, but gives you another small kiss for good measure. He pulls back the covers and playfully flops them over your head before getting out of bed. He laughs as you claw at the heavy blanket to try and escape. You struggle your way out from underneath the blanket only to find your hair has become a static mess. You blow a piece out of your face and pout at Fives who thinks he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread. 

“What’s that face for?” he chuckles and folds his arms.

You shake your head and smile. “Nothing.” You flop backwards onto the bed and roll onto your side to watch as he starts his morning routine. It’s the same procedure every day, but you never get tired of watching him do it. It’s the regimented soldier in him that makes it so automatic, and you find an odd comfort in the small consistency it brings to your rather inconsistent life.

“I have to leave for Ringo Vinda today,” he reminds you while pulling his blacks over his head. “Shouldn’t be a long mission.”

“So soon?” you question with disappointment. You crawl to the edge of the bed to get closer to him. “You’ve only been back for two days.”

“You know war, darling,” he soothes while walking back over to the bed. He bends over and plants a kiss on your forehead to reassure you. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

You kneel on the edge of the bed and prop yourself up to lean into his chest. He wraps his arms around you, resting his head atop yours, and slides his warm hands across your back. Goodbyes are hard, especially during war. You never know if he’ll come back or not, but you try not to worry. Fives is a smart and capable soldier. He won’t do something as dumb as dying. At least, that’s what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night.

He lifts his head off of yours and tilts you back a little so he can see your face. He brushes your hair behind your ear and asks. “Do you want some caf before I go?”

“Yes, please,” you smile as you slip down from his arms and sit back down on the bed. 

You watch him walk out of the room and soon you hear the clink of ceramic as he pulls two mugs out of the kitchen cabinet. The strong aroma of freshly brewed caf fills your home. You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, enjoying the blissful moment. You look around the room and think about the life you’ve made. Then your eyes land on his helmet sitting in the corner and an idea pops into your head. You peek out of the room to see if he’s coming and quickly grab it.

“One mug of caf as ordered,” Fives sings while walking back into the bedroom. He briefly pauses, puts the mugs down on the vanity, and places his hands on his hips while raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“ARC trooper 5555 reporting for duty, sir!” you announce with a sloppy hand salute as the oversized helmet bobbles around your small head. 

Fives snorts and brings a hand up to cover his mouth before bellowing out in laughter. You love it when he laughs. He doesn’t laugh often, at least not since Echo’s passing, but every once and a while you can rile him up into a good fit. He bends over and holds his stomach as laughter-filled tears form in the corner of his eyes. You aren’t sure what is so funny about this particular instance, but it doesn’t matter. He’s laughing and it warms your heart.  

“Give me that,” Fives demands playfully while walking towards you, still chuckling to himself at your ridiculous imitative display. He reaches out a hand to grab the helmet off your head, but you place your hand over his to stop him. He pauses, frowns, and lets out a soft sigh. He gently pulls the helmet off your head, revealing what he expects, your teary eyes. “Oh, darling,” he soothes while wiping one of the tears away with his finger.

“I’m going to miss you,” you confess while wiping a few new tears away as you attempt to compose yourself. You want to be strong for him, but sometimes it proves too difficult to hold in.

“I’m going to miss you too,” he professes while cupping the side of your face with his gentle hand. He rubs his thumb against your cheek in tender sweeps.  

You lean into his warm caress and close your eyes. “Come back soon, okay?”

“It’s a promise,” he whispers and leans in to give you a soft kiss on your lips.

“You… You promised…,” the words get caught in your throat as you touch the side of his cold cheek. “You promised… to come back to me.”

You fall to your knees and sob. Your left hand is hanging onto the side of the casket while you rhythmically pound your right fist on the ground. You tilt your head back towards the sky and scream as the tears roll down your red cheeks. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You feel Rex’s hand rest on your shoulder as he kneels down beside you. He takes his other hand and silently grabs your bloodied fist, forcing you to stop. 

You turn your head and look at the captain with blurry eyes, pleading without words, why. 

The days go by slowly as you wait for Fives to return. You busy yourself, of course, to keep from going crazy. Your job at the diner helps, but you still find yourself daydreaming, waiting for the moment you're back in his arms safe and sound. When you’re not working, you stop by some of your friend's houses to keep you company. Their men are usually off on missions too, so it’s nice to be around people who understand what you're going through. 

You laugh, eat, and play games to pass the time. Sometimes you’ll talk about Fives and how amazing he is, and sometimes you won’t mention him at all. Other times you and your friends will gossip about new clones arriving on Coruscant and wonder what their nicknames are. Still, more times than not, you and your friends will go shopping to keep up your spirits. As you go through one store, you see a little arc trooper doll on the shelf and immediately buy it. 

When you arrive home, you rustle through your drawers pulling out markers and grab the picture of you and Fives off the bedside table. You glance at his armor in the photo and look down at the doll and think it will be easy enough to replicate. You pop the cap off the marker and get to work adding the correct colors and markings that adorn his armor. The Hevy insignia proves difficult and looks more like a blob than a rotary blaster cannon, but you shrug and keep going.

When finished, you place the little Fives doll next to the photo on the bedside table. You look at the doll and the photo and smile brightly. You can’t wait until he gets back from his mission so you can show him your handiwork. You think he’ll probably laugh and say something like, ‘Is that supposed to be me?’ You chuckle at your thoughts and let out a content sigh. You love this life the two of you have built together, and you love him more and more as each day passes.

“Goodnight, my love,” you say as you kiss your finger and place it against the photo. You smile longingly at it one more time before turning off the lights and slipping into bed. You wrap the covers around you tightly, wishing it was Fives instead of the blanket, but you know he’ll be home soon. Eventually, he’ll come bursting through the door, loud and obnoxious as ever, scoop you up into his arms, toss you onto the bed, and shower you with love and affection.

“Tell me why, Rex,” you cry while rocking back and forth on the ground.

Rex doesn’t respond, but tightens his grip on your shoulder as his hand holding your bloodied one begins to tremble. He leans his head against yours and whispers. “I wish I knew.”

“He wasn’t supposed to die,” your breath catches between your sobs and you turn your face to look at him. Your tear-stained eyes lock into his as you trade emotions.

“I know,” Rex answers with a barely audible voice, straining to formulate words as they drip from his lips in a cacophony of grief.

“He said he’d come back,” you sob harder as your voice cracks under the weight of your unabated emotions. 

“I… I know,” Rex barely gets out as he attempts to console you through shattered breath.

“Why did you let him die?” your breath catches again as you realize the implication of what you said. You know it isn’t Rex’s fault, but your mind is a jumbled mess of anguish and anger.

Rex lowers his head and swallows hard. He chokes on his words as tears form in his eyes. He can barely speak, but he finds the words somewhere in his mind and forces them out. “I didn’t have a choice.”

You hear a knock at the door. Putting your holo-book down on the bedside table, you walk up to the door and open it half expecting it to be Fives surprising you that he’s back home. However, when you open it, your smile quickly fades. It’s the Coruscant Guard. Your heart begins to race. What could they possibly want with you? Why are they here? You haven’t broken any laws or done anything to raise suspicion. You stare nervously at the intimidating commander in red. 

“Can I help you?” you ask with caution while hovering your hand over the door-button in preparation to close it. 

“Where is ARC-5555?” the commander demands as he pulls out a holoprojector and displays a hologram of the arc trooper in question.

Fives? Why are they looking for Fives? You shrug and tell the commander what you know. “He’s on a mission to Ringo Vinda. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“Ma’am, please step aside,” the commander orders as he forces his way into your home. You resist and try to close the door, but his strength overpowers you.

“Hey!” you yell as he tosses you aside into the hallway. “What do you think you’re doing? This is my home!”

“ARC-5555 is AWOL and wanted for crimes against the Republic,” Commander Fox states as he hands you a datapad with the warrant and signals the rest of his men to enter your home. “Withholding vital information toward his capture will make you an enemy of the Republic and you will be brought up on charges for treason.”

“AWOL? Crimes against the Republic? Treason?” you repeat in disbelief as you watch more red clone troopers file into your home. You put the data-pad down and refuse to look at the details of the warrant. “There must be a mistake!” you exclaim as you come to his defense. “Fives wouldn’t do any of that. He’s a good soldier!”

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” the commander begins while getting in your face. “Where is ARC-5555?”

“I told you already,” you plead as anger fills your voice. “I don’t know! He hasn’t been back since he left for Ringo Vinda.”

The commander grabs your arm, pulls you to the kitchen table, and forces you down in one of the chairs. “Stay here and don’t move.”

You sit at the table, watching as these unfamiliar red-armored clones ransack your home. They pull out everything in your drawers and cabinets, all your papers, all your things, and dump them out on the ground with blatant disregard. Your blood boils and you wish you can do something to make them stop, but you know resisting will only get you arrested. If that happens, you won’t be able to get to the bottom of these outlandish allegations.

The guardsmen start calling out ‘all clears’ as they canvas each room in your house, but as they head to your bedroom you take action. You don’t want them handling your personal items, grabbing your clothes, breaking your memories, or touching anything that belongs to Fives. You get up from the table and run into the bedroom only to see it’s already trashed. One of the guardsmen has the photo of you and Fives in his hands and you lunge at him to take it back.

“I told you to stay put!” the commander yells as he grabs your arm. He drags you back into the kitchen and slams you back onto the chair. You let out a yelp as you hit the chair with a thud, a bruise already forming on your arm from where he gripped you.

“Stop it!” you yell, pleading with them to leave you alone. “Please! He’s not here.” You start crying, clutching the photo to your chest to find some form of safety.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Captain Rex exclaims as he walks into the open doorway to see you crying at the table. He rushes over to you and grabs your chin softly to pull your eyes up to look into his. “Are you okay?” he asks gently. He lifts up your arms and moves his head around to look you over. “Did they hurt you?”

You shake your head and sniffle as the tears continue to roll down your face. Your tears anger the captain and he stomps off to confront the commander. “Fox!” he shouts while getting in the commander’s face. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“My job,” Commander Fox retorts, refusing to back down at the captain's harsh tone. “There’s a dangerous fugitive that needs to be found.”

“Well, obviously he’s not here,” Captain Rex articulates while gesturing his hands around the empty room. “But you have made quite the mess, so I suggest you and your men leave.”

“Careful captain,” Commander Fox begins while getting in Rex’s face. “You may have a reputation on the battlefield, but here, on Coruscant, I’m the one in charge.” 

“I’m asking nicely,” Captain Rex sneers while closing the already short distance between their faces. 

Commander Fox huffs and continues their staredown, raising the tension in the room to a whole new level. “Alright boys,” he finally calls out to his men. “Clear out, he’s not here.” 

As the Coruscant Guard leave your home, you sit in bewilderment at the table, shaking and paralyzed from the terrifying encounter. Rex pours you a cup of water, sets it down, and sits at the table beside you. You both sit in silence for a moment. The only noise that can be heard is your soft sniffles as you try to process what is happening. You don’t know what to think and you’re too afraid to ask Rex, because you know he'll never lie to you.

Finally, Rex breaks the silence. “It’s true that Fives is missing.” He sighs heavily before continuing to explain what he knows. “There’s talk going around that he made an attempt on Chancellor Palapatine’s life.”

“That’s a lie!” you counter fiercely. “Fives wouldn’t do something like that and you know it.”

“I know,” Rex agrees as he traces circles on the table with his finger. “But it doesn’t change the current public perception or what’s happening because of it.” He pauses for a moment, scrunches his lips, and begins to speak again. “I have to ask,” he starts cautiously. “Has he tried contacting you?”

“No,” you answer adamantly, the question annoying you. “I haven’t heard from him since he left for Ringo Vinda.”

“I believe you,” he assures while putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Would… Would you like some help cleaning up?”

You nod your head and Rex gets up to start picking up the pieces of your newly destroyed home. He grabs the papers strewn across the floor and piles them neatly on the counter, then grabs a broom from the closet and starts sweeping up the broken dish pieces. Meanwhile, you continue to sit at the table in shock and disbelief at what has occurred. Your mind struggles to process any of it. All you want is for Fives to come home and fix everything.

You snap out of your brain fog when you feel a soft hand touch your shoulder. You flinch and glance up to see Rex looking at you with sympathy. “Do you want to pick up the bedroom?” he asks. “I don’t want to intrude into your private things.”

You take a deep breath and nod while getting up from your chair. Rex helps steady you on your feet and you nod again for him to let go. The transaction between the two of you is silent, but full of emotion, care, and concern. There are no words of comfort at this point. Your whole world is crashing down on you and there’s nothing either of you can do to stop it. You wonder if Fives will ever come back home, but you quickly shake your head to dismiss the intrusive thought.

You slowly walk into your bedroom, sweeping your head from one end to the other and sigh as yours and Fives’ things are strewn about in disarray. You walk through the littered floor towards your bed and think about the last time you were with him. You curl your lips as you try not to cry. Looking beside the bed you kneel down onto the ground and pick up the little Fives doll that was tossed so carelessly on the floor. You clutch it to your chest and weep in silence.

“Come on,” Rex whispers as he gently tugs on your shoulder. “It’s time to go.”

“No!” you yell as you throw yourself across the casket, clutching at it in desperation. “I’m not leaving without Fives.”

“Please,” Rex pleads as he fights the tears forming in his eyes while nudging you to get up.

“No!” you sob and cough through your words. “He needs to come home!”

Rex lets his tears fall unabated as his voice cracks. “He’s… He’s not coming home.”

“No!” you scream while pushing Rex away. “I'm not leaving without him!”

“I’m sorry,” Rex laments while pulling at your waist to drag you away from the casket. You kick and flail and scream for him to let you go. The heartbreak emanating from your voice is excruciating. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers through his tears.

“He needs to come home!” you continue to wail, desperately fighting against Rex’s grasp as he finally picks you up and begins to carry you away. “He promised me he’d come home!” 

You slam your fists against Rex’s back. He grips you tighter. You stretch out your hands towards the casket, clawing out of desperation to get back to the man you love, but Rex continues to carry you further away. You watch in horror as they lay the lid down and lower him into the ground. Your agonizing screams fill the air as Rex struggles to maintain what’s left of his composure. The terror and anguish you feel as they shovel the dirt on top of him overwhelms you.

“Fives!” you call out desperately through your sobs. You wait for him to answer you, but an answer never comes.

Your reading time is once again interrupted by a knock at the door. You're still reeling from the last time you answered the door and you're cautious about opening it again. There’s a part of you that hopes it’s Fives. Actually, you want to believe it will be Fives this time. That he’ll walk in the door like he always does and explain that the accusations are false and he can come home. That your life can finally go back to some level of normalcy.

You open the door and to your surprise, it’s Captain Rex. Although, you get the sinking feeling that this isn’t a ‘Rex checking up on you’ type of call. His face and body language are unusually depressive. Your anxiety increases and your thoughts race, but then your stomach drops when he pulls Fives’ helmet around to his front. Your heart stops. You can’t breathe. The only time a helmet comes back without its soldier is when the soldier is dead. 

Rex doesn’t have any words to say and neither do you. He reaches out with trembling hands and places Fives’ helmet gently in yours. You stare at it, the helmet that you’ve seen so many times before. The helmet that Fives wore proudly as an ARC trooper. The helmet he decorated with the memories of his fallen brothers. The helmet that you so playfully donned before he left on what you would now remember as his final mission.

You run your hand across the face plate and reality strikes you like a searing knife to the heart. Your legs give way and you crash onto the floor with a loud thump. Rex tries to catch you, but his reflexes are too late. He kneels down beside you in the doorway and looks you over for any injuries. You don’t notice his gaze or his soft touches as you continue to stare at Fives’ helmet, clearly in shock at the news that still went unspoken.

After several minutes of silence, you finally gain enough coherency to ask a single question. “What happened?”

Rex takes in a sharp breath and begins to explain the events on Coruscant's Level 1325. You listen as well as you can, not really understanding most of the military stuff. There is a part of you that doesn’t want to know and a part of you that needs to know. As Rex continues to speak, you pull out choice words from his explanation and let them float around in your mind as you try to comprehend any of it. Much of what is said flies over you as your mind shuts down.

At the story's completion, you ask another question. “Did he suffer?” You gently stroke the side of the helmet while you wait for the answer.

“No,” Rex replies while trying to hide his emotions. “It… It was quick.”

“Did he die alone?” you ask further, showing barely any emotion and refusing to look Rex in the eyes.

“I…” Rex begins with a slight strain in his voice, but he pauses and puts his emotions back in check. “I held him while he passed.”

You continue to caress the helmet, lost somewhere in your own mind, pondering everything that has been said and all the things that have gone unsaid. You break your own silence and ask one more important question. “Who shot him?” 

This time you turn your head to look Rex in the eyes. You want to know. You want to know his name. You want to know the name of the man who killed your beloved Fives. Your apathetic gaze visibly shakes Rex and he shifts uncomfortably on the floor. You can tell he doesn’t want to tell you, but you need to know. You can’t hope to move on in any sense of the word until you hear his murderer’s name. “You owe it to Fives,” you remind the captain. “Tell me his name.”

Rex sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. You watch as he mulls it over in his mind, his facial and eye movements clearly showcasing the options he is contemplating. Rex opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it again, fighting the protocol to not release the information, but he eventually caves. “It was Commander Fox.”

You start to chuckle, startling Rex with your unusual response. You lean your head back against the wall and laugh while remembering your terrifying encounter with Commander Fox. “He was killed by one of his brothers?” you rhetorize while tracing over the helmet with your finger. You want to cry, but you can’t, so you let out your emotions the only way you can. “Killed by a clone… One of his own kind,” you snort and don a half smile. “How ironic.”

Rex tilts his head to the side and furrows his brow in concern. “Are you alright?”

You stop caressing the helmet and slowly turn to look at the captain with a sarcastic smile. “No.”

The days are all but a blur. You don’t remember much after Rex brought you home from the funeral. All you know is you’re back at home, laying on your bed, spiraling into grief's dismal embrace. You think Rex visited you a couple times, leaving behind food and a promise that the 501st will be there for you for as long as you need them to be. It must have been a sweet gesture, but you never paid attention when he spoke to you because your mind was miles away.

You lay quietly on your bed. What time is it? What day is it? How long has it been since you’ve eaten? When was the last time you opened the curtains? Is the world still spinning? Or is it just your world that came to a screeching halt? You wonder to yourself in the deep darkness of your once bright and life-filled home. Fives is the one that brought the light with him. Without him, what do you have? No one can replace Fives or the memories you have with him. 

Your scrapbook lays open on the floor, collecting dust. You’re not sure when you opened it, but there it sits, full to bursting with photos of the life you shared with Fives. Love letters poke out of the sides of the different folds of pages. He never wrote his name on them, just the number five. They always made you smile. There are lots of smiles, and laughs, and joys abounding in the still memories of the book. All your dreams. All your plans. Everything. It’s all been broken.

You rotate all your unanswered questions around in your head in planetary motion, revolving around one, then another, and then the next one. You never stay on one question for too long. That would prove to be too painful. And you try your best to stay away from the ‘what ifs’, but they never leave your mind for long. There is no reconciliation for the death of someone you love. No. That’s incorrect. There is no reconciliation for the murder of someone you love.

Murder. Now, that’s a word you let spin around in your mind constantly. What is it about this word that’s so intriguing? When did it become so important that it captivates all your thoughts? You think about the ‘how’s’ and ‘why’s’ of murder. How does one murder? Why does one murder? Is it just for threats? Is it out of anger or desperation? Yes, in desperation one murders another. The pieces begin to click together in your mind as the picture becomes clearer.

Your answer is there, amongst the grief. It lies amidst the dearly departed. The dead have the answer you are looking for. Murder is for those who decide it belongs to them. Could you commit murder? Could death's tight grip be commanded by your feeble hands? Can murder be justice? Can justice be murder? You ramble away in your mind at all the possibilities, when you suddenly see flashes of red dance across your vision. 

Red, the color of death and denial, but also, the color of the armor adorning the one who committed murder. The memories of the Commander come flooding back to your mind. You can hear the forceful words he spoke to you not so long ago. You can hear his pure disregard as he tramples on your memories. He’s laughing at you. He’s laughing at Fives. You just know it. How dare he. How dare he laugh at your sorrow, at your broken life, and at your dead lover. It’s disgusting.

Why does he get to laugh and you have to cry? Why does he get to live a free life, while Fives’ cold flesh rots away beneath the earth? You finally connect the dots as electricity sparks throughout your brain. You jolt up in bed and look around as if coming out of a daze. “Murder,” you mumble to yourself as the wheels turn. “A life for a life.” The immoral ideas begin to solidify. “I’ll repay him in his own currency.” you smile as you begin to develop your plan of revenge.

You pull out a data-pad and start typing out your ideas. You type something, delete it, then type something else, continuing the process for days. You think about all the different ways you can accomplish your goal. As the leader of the Coruscant Guard, he won’t be easy to take out. You have to be devious and underhanded with your methods. This type of operation will require more intelligence than power. You continue to type away on your data-pad, smiling at your own devilish genius.

At long last, after months of research, stalking, and planning, you have your attack strategy. The last Friday of every month the Coruscant Guard drops in to 79s for a night out where they relax, drink, and unwind with whatever beautiful lady catches their eyes. It’s the perfect ploy. You know exactly what time they’ll be there, where they’ll sit, what they’ll drink, when the commander will be alone, and how you’ll seduce him into your lustful honey-filled trap. 

Tonight is the night for you to execute your plan of sweet revenge. You turn the radio on, blasting your favorite music while dancing around the room. The lyrics fill your mind in preparation for the big night. Stepping into a hot shower, you let the water wash all your worries down the drain. You get out and peruse through your closet, sliding the hangers around until you find your favorite dress. Sleek and sexy, with a glittering shimmer, it was Fives’ favorite.

After slipping the dress on, you sit down at your vanity mirror, swaying your head to the music. You brush out your hair and arrange it in your favorite style. Next, you pick out a gorgeous set of earrings and a matching necklace to adorn your ears and neck. You then grab your make-up tray and apply your foundation and a bit of blush. To complete the look, you apply your eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, and a bold lipstick. You smack your lips to spread it out evenly.

You look at yourself in the mirror with a satisfied smirk. There isn’t a soldier on Coruscant who can resist you now. You look over at Fives’ helmet sitting on the edge of your vanity and you smile fondly. You pick it up gently and kiss it, leaving an imprint of your lipstick behind. A giggle escapes your mouth and you put the helmet down. You give it a soft caress, then grab your favorite perfume and spritz your neck with it. This particular scent always drove Fives crazy.

You give yourself a satisfied nod and make your way back to the closet. You open the little hidden compartment and pull out a locked case. You input the combination and pull out the ELG-3A blaster pistol Fives gave to you for self-defense in case he wasn’t there to protect you. It’s a small and elegant weapon, easily concealable, and more importantly, can kill. You strap it to your thigh under your dress and turn to look at yourself one more time in the mirror. It’s time. 

Friday nights are club nights at 79s, which means the music is blaring and the bass is pounding. You enter the bar and the smell of alcohol and musk fills your nose. You see your target sitting at the bar alone, his bright red armor giving him away. As you approach the bar, the bartender asks what you want to drink and you respond with a simple cocktail. As you sit down, you catch the Commander glancing at you with mild interest, so you give him a small smile in response. 

“Put her on my tab,” the commander instructs with a raise of his glass. Perfect, you’ve caught his attention.

“Well, aren’t you a gentleman,” you smile while turning your body to face the commander, crossing your legs seductively in the process. He puts his drink down and stares at your gorgeous figure with a smirk, clearly intrigued by what he sees. 

“I know a pretty face when I see one,” the commander asserts with confidence.

“And a connoisseur of fine women I see,” you point out with fake confidence to bolster his confidence.

“You live around here?” the commander questions as he takes a sip of his drink.

“Just got in actually,” you lie as you twirl the fruit in your cocktail with a toothpick. “I’ve had a long day and wanted a fun night out to unwind.” You pull a piece of fruit off with your lips, enticing him with your flirty demeanor. 

“Well,” the commander slams back the rest of his drink and motions to the bartender for another round. “You’ve come to the right place, darling.”

You force a smile at the commander's words, but internally you’re a raging storm. That particular pet name is not something you want to hear from his filthy mouth. That’s the name Fives called you. You flash back to the last time Fives said the word ‘darling’ and you try not to let the emotion get the better of you. You take a large sip of your drink to try and purge the image from your mind. You only have one goal tonight and you can’t let yourself get emotional.

“Easy baby,” the commander chuckles while watching you take the large swig. “We’ve got all night.” 

“You have a name, soldier?” you ask playfully while putting your drink back down.

“Fox,” he answers while staring at you lewdly. You can tell he’s getting a buzz and his mental fortitude is slowly slipping, but that’s exactly what you want to happen. “What’s yours?” he asks in return. 

“Ladies don’t kiss and tell,” you shoot back with a frisky smile and a wink. You can tell you're getting closer to trapping him in your web. A little more alcohol and a little more seduction, and you’ll have him right where you want him.

“We’ll see about that,” Fox challenges in response to your teasing. He slams back his drink again and gets up off his stool to get closer to you. He’s so close you can smell the alcohol on his breath and the heat radiating from his body, as his thighs brush up against you. He stares into your beautiful eyes with lust and smirks. “Come join me on the dance floor.” He flips his hand over for you to take hold of as permission to go with him. 

You look at his eyes and see the glaze forming over them. You prefer that he drinks a couple more rounds before progressing further, but the seduction piece of the plan is equally as important as the incapacitated part. A couple sessions on the dance floor wouldn’t hurt your mission. You bite your lip and look into his eyes. With slight hesitation, you grab his hand and accept the invitation to dance with him.

“At a girl,” he praises while guiding you off the stool and leading you to the dance floor. The music is blasting and powerful. You spend the next several minutes dancing with the man that killed the love of your life and you can’t help but think it’s disgusting. But, for the sake of the mission, and for your beloved Fives, you do it anyway. You let yourself get lost in the bass beats of the music as his foreign hands caress your body while you collide in feverish movements. 

You watch his movements carefully, waiting to see when the opportune time will be to pull him away from the crowd. You can feel his hands getting sloppy and his actions get less and less intentional. Of course, it did help that you paid the bartender in advance to slip a little something  extra in the Commander’s drink. It won’t be enough to knock him out, because you want him awake, but it will be enough to slow his reaction time to the point where you can deal with him without issue.

You continue to move along to the beat of the music, but when his hands get a little too wild for your own comfort, you decide now is a good time to break from the dance floor. You stop his hand before it goes where you don’t want it, lean into his ear, and whisper. “Why don’t we take this back to your place.” You feel his body shudder from your hot breath.

“You read my mind,” he agrees as he pulls your waist close and gives you a kiss. You want to vomit, but you lean into it passionately to keep from raising suspicion. He breaks the kiss and haphazardly pulls you through the crowd of people to the back door. The drugs are beginning to affect him the way you planned. You put on a devious smile as he ironically leads you to his own death.

The two of you stumble out the door and into a dimly lit alleyway behind 79s. The brisk air gives you a slight chill as it touches your sweaty skin. Fox sways a little, then stumbles into you, pinning you against the brick wall. You gasp at his weight and give him a nudge to get off. He props himself up with one hand and puts the other up to hold his head like he’s dizzy. He blinks hard a couple times and you realize the time is approaching.

“Are you okay?” you ask with a little sarcasm in your voice.

“I…” Fox begins as he continues to hold his head. “I don’t feel so well.”

“That would be the drugs,” you reveal with an evil grin.

“What?” Fox slurs as he stumbles back, fighting the urge to fall over. “Drugs?”

“Do you know who I am?” you ask as you turn around to face away from him. You take a deep breath as you prepare yourself for what needs to be done.

He wobbles and blinks a few more times as he tries to focus on your face. “Should I?”

“You killed the man I loved,” you reveal as you turn back around to face the Commander with a maniacal grin. “And now, I’m going to kill you.”

“What?” Fox asks with shock and confusion. He goes to pull out his blaster, but it’s missing. Your plan covered everything. You conveniently took his blaster off him while on the dance floor and disposed of it. He was so enraptured by you, he didn’t notice you disarming him. Now he has no way to defend himself, making this an easy and quick job.

You pull the ELG-3A blaster out of the holster from under your dress and shoot Fox in the right kneecap. Fives taught you that trick to quickly incapacitate an attacker. Fox grunts in pain and staggers to the side, hunching over but still standing. You frown and decide to shoot the other kneecap for good measure. This time the Commander falls back onto the ground. You walk towards him while he attempts to drag himself backwards away from you, but he’s too slow. 

“Don’t do this!” Fox pleads for his life as you approach, pain dripping from every slurred syllable. 

The sound of his suffering invigorates you. This is the moment you have been waiting for. The murderer will now become the murdered. Sweet justice. The kind of justice needed during war. The kind of justice that can only be tasted by those brave enough to embrace it and its consequences. You place the muzzle against his temple and listen to him beg you for his life, but you simply smile at his pathetic pleas.

“For Fives,” you whisper as you pull the trigger.

Masterlist

A03

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[cybercloudpunk53737]

Hi!!!!! You haven’t seen me in a while 😅 but that’s because of family problems! So here is a apology fic!

| Roman Reigns x Cody Rhodes x reader

POV: you are the apprentice of Roman Reigns, you always despised the way the bloodline cheated. Roman wouldn’t even be champion with out the Uso’s. But you couldn’t help falling in love, but what happens when you also love Cody Rhodes?

“Roman, please don’t let the Jimmy or Jey interfere with your match with Cody tonight. it’s unfair and stupid, and you know it.” Roman walked past you to get changed, he didn’t even spare a glance. “Roman! Listen to me! Why do you even need them there anyway? Can you not win your own matches?” Roman started walking over to you “it’s smart, you never know if I need backup.” You scoff “backup? Really? Because all I see is cheating. Your a cheating scumbag that can’t win a game on your own, that’s what i see.” All your bottled up anger started to spill, why couldn’t he just win a fair game like everyone else? “Y/n, don’t get me started. I’m already in a bad mood, and I don’t need you making it worse.” He grabbed you and gently pushed you out of the room. He made you so mad sometimes, but is that why you love him? You weren’t sure. You also didn’t know why you were heading over to Cody’s room, but his easy going personality was really calming. And you might as well warn him about Roman, right? Once you got there you noticed you were nervous, maybe it was because you also liked him? You were always in a puzzle when it came to those two. You loved them both but you didn’t know who you would choose if it came down to it. “Hey y/n! Are you ok? You look mad, please come in!” He beckoned you inside and sat you down “are you ok?” You looked at him and nodded “yea I’m fine, it’s just Roman. He was being an ass.” He looked at you and laughed causing you to smile “what was he being a ass about?” He said through laughs “well, it’s about your match tonight. I was tired of him cheating” he made a ‘ohhh’ sound with a knowing look “yea, it makes me mad to don’t worry. That’s why I’m going to win tonight!” He smiled and looked at you but you looked at him with pity “it’s going to be hard though, Solo and them won’t let you get the win, they will make sure of it. It might take you a while to steal a win from Roman. But no matter what happens, I will still cheer you on in secret, at least.” You said with a smile he nodded. “I will make sure I win, even if I don’t win tonight just know that I will win eventually.” You smiled and thanked him for his time as he lead you to the door.

This was the part you were dreading. Cody’s music started blasting throughout the stadium as he made his grand entrance. You watched as Roman was walking back and forth, getting his pep talk from his ‘wise men’ even though he wasn’t actually wise. “My tribal chief, you are the champion for a reason. Cody doesn’t stand a chance against you.” You almost gagged when Roman got the nickname ‘tribal chief’ it was cringy. But you turned your attention to the screen as you watched Cody get into the ring. Then Roman’s music started playing, you watched as Roman and Paul started walking out but as you expected, Solo went with them. You cursed, you felt bad for not stopping Solo at the entrance but you know that you couldn’t.

Watching the two boys was painful, especially since you loved them both. You just wanted them to get along, you wanted them both. You watched as Cody got beaten by Jimmy and Jey, you watched as Roman and them cheated. You were mad that the referee wasn’t doing anything about it. You waited until the match was over and ran over to Cody once he got backstage “Cody! I told you it was going to be hard, I’m sorry I didn’t stop them!” He looked at you and smiled “it’s ok, I promise sweetheart.” You were too worried about him to notice the nickname (lol) Roman walked in a stared at the two of you “y/n what are you doing? You should be checking on me.” You looked at him a rolled your eyes, deciding to ignore him. “Cody, here your injured let’s get you patched up.” You put Cody’s arm around your shoulder and started walking to the infirmary.

Roman was pissed, you were HIS apprentice for a reason. He started walking towards the infirmary, thinking about you and Cody. Once he got there he got himself patched up, and started walking towards you and Cody “y/n, Cody. I want to talk to the both of you. Now.” You looked at Cody for confirmation and he nodded. Grabbing you, Cody started walking with you and Roman, only making small talk with you while you guys walked. Once you got to a secluded area, Roman turned around “y/n, you are supposed to be MY apprentice no his.” You looked at him in shock, why would he care? He had a wisemen already. “So? I can help out Cody every once in a while.” He scoffed “just choose, me or Cody.” Oh no, shit. Fuck you were screwed. You loved them BOTH. “Uh..” you looked between Cody and Roman, they looked at you with anticipation “well, I like both of you.” Roman looked at you and laughed “you like everybody, y/n” Cody reluctantly nodded “maybe I put that wrong, I LOVE both of you. I want you both, but that can probably never happen because you hate each other.” They looked at each other. “Both?” Cody was shocked, why both? “I’m willing to share you with Roman, y/n. But, that is up to Roman if this relationship could work.” Cody hugged you from behind and smiled “Roman?” Cody was glaring daggers into Roman, waiting for an answer “fine, I will share you with Cody. But we will keep this a secret for now.” You mentally screamed, you were so happy!

Time skip!!!!

You were sitting on Roman’s lap watching one of Cody’s matches. Cody fought a couple of hours ago, but both you and Roman were busy. Cody walked into the living room and smiled “just now watching it? Spoiler alert, I won.” You and Roman smiled as you got up to hug him “your back! Are you hurt any?” Roman chuckled and hugged you from behind “I’m fine, but man did he pack a punch” he chuckled and gave you and Roman a kiss “well I’m going to take a shower, I will be back.” You smiled and kissed him again as Roman started dragging you back to the couch.

Hope this was enough of a apology! I just love them both so much 😻😻