#shot the war drum before battle so no one could call for help

[devilfic]

I bought baldur’s gate 3 as an early birthday present and I’ve never played a game quite like this before (sans persona 5) but it’s rewiring my brain. the sheer autonomy I’m allowed to have means that I don’t have to face a boss and his eight goblin minions bare-assed with only spells and a dream. I can fill dror ragzlin’s throne room with gunpowder barrels and set it off like an atomic bomb. I’m allowed to do that. and it works

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 161

Another guest chapter, this time from the lovely and chaotic @charlylimph-blog, with feedback from @quantumizedinsanity and @baelpenrose.  As with the previous one, I had little to no interference with this chapter beyond editing for tone, grammar, spelling, etc.

With one exception. @mustachebatschaos, I finally managed to deliver the way we both hoped.  I just needed a little help from some friends ;)

Charly had decided to try micro knitting. It was something she had just invented. The materials were simple, sorta. A pair of telescoping lenses that she had jury rigged to a headband, two very long needles, and the finest thread she could find. She was just getting the hang of it when- BWAAAAAAHP! 

The klaxon blared and Charly’s magnified eyes jerked up and as she tried to look for her combat suit and weapons. Her knee slammed into the corner of her worktop, and stabbed herself with one of the needles. She swore violently.

After ripping off the magnifying goggles off her head she ran to get her gear. Drilling this ten-fucking-thousand times had certainly helped her not panic as she geared up. As she ran to the rendezvous point that had been pinged to her, she commed in with Coffey.  It was a short conversation, consisting mostly of “I love you, and if you die I’ll kill you myself and then I’ll have to vacuum. And you know how much I hate vacuuming so don't die.”

As Charly ran to where the breach was going to happen, her favorite running song helped her keep her pace. 

 "Oh, Mrs. McGrath," the sergeant said,

"Would you like to make a soldier out of your son, Ted?

With your too- ri- ay, fol the diddle day,

Too- ri- you- ri too- ri- ay.

 Her feet pounded the deck of the ship. Running in the suit wasn’t fun. But she did it. Charly had more important things to worry about. Her home and everyone she cared about was in danger. 

 "Oh, Captain, dear, where have ye been? ;

Have you been in the Meditereen?

Will ye tell me the news of my son, Ted?

Is the poor boy livin', or is he dead?"

 Charly skidded to a stop with the rest of the archers on the catwalk above the breach, just as the wall of whatever storage room this was supposed to be was breached. They had the height advantage on their attackers. Fantastic. Arthur called for the capsaicin first to defend the breach. After two volleys of those Charly yelled and ordered for all but two archers to switch to broadheads and pick their shots at will. Those last two archers maintained a near consistent barrage of capsaicin arrows. She didn’t want these bastards to have a moment to think.

 With your too- ri- ay, fol the diddle day,

Too- ri- you- ri too- ri- ay.

 A technicolor-shrimp-pirate was trying to get behind Coffey. Charly shot what was probably its eye.  The song drumming through her head was an Irish anti-war song from the era of Napoleonic naval battles. She supposed this was a boarding party. So far she was glad they didn’t have gunpowder or cannons.

 "Well, I wasn't drunk and I wasn't blind

When I left my two fine legs behind."

 Just horrifying tentacle monsters with enough teeth to make a shark jealous….

 With your too- ri- ay, fol the diddle day,

Too- ri- you- ri too- ri- ay.

 Charly saw a small contingent of shrimp-pirates try to break away from the main fight and either rush the stairs leading them or flank the melee fighters.  She rallied the archers to bring them down before that plan came to anything useful.

Jokul got grabbed by a tentacle and went down.

 "Or was it while walkin' on the sea

A big fish ate your legs from the knees away?"

 Hundreds of hooked teeth were wrapped around his legs, and began dragging towards whatever maw was at the center of that rudeness to reality. Methodically she pinned each of the future bits of calamari to the floor and Jokul was able to cut himself free.

 "And bejasus I'll make them rue the time

That they swept the legs from a child of mine."

 This damned song. At least the beat was appropriate for the pace she needed for shooting bastard fucking space invaders. 

Blood, ichor, oil, visera, natto paste, chunks of shell, and spare abomination teeth coated every square inch of floor as the fighters hacked and fought against the press of the boarding party that wanted to claim this tiny island of humanity for the sake of their own greed.

There was something wrong. Something was changing. Charly squinted into the melee. Was that a wrench? What alien bastard was wielding a wrench?

 Ah, well up comes Ted without any legs

An in their place he had two wooden pegs….

 That was a human. 

A human was fighting with the pirates.

This was dumb and dangerous, and Coffey would probably punish her for it later, but she did it anyway. Charly pressed the quick release for the string on her bow. Now she had a staff. She jumped the railing and down fifteen feet, rolling to break her fall.

She needed to stop this. She needed to get everyone's attention. ‘Well they say all the worlds a stage …’

Charly filled her lungs as she rushed forward with a bellow. “STOP!” She brought her staff up and blocked the wrench that was about to strike Arthur. Her chest heaved from the exertion of the fight but she held herself calm and steady, looking into the brown eyes of a human she had never met before.

That was not something that had happened in a while. This was a new human.

An eerie calm settled over the battlefield as everyone held their breath.

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[tech-knowing-hillbilly]

The hillbilly: Music and life in Appalachia

Day 1

When Tr’thl’ia first learned that the ship would be getting humans from a region on Earth that the humans called “Appalachia”, xe were confused. They had only ever met humans that came from cities near coasts, and had heard of what those humans referred to as “Hillbillies” in almost a derogatory tone. xe took it upon xemself to learn about what kind of humans would be joining xem. As xe read, xey started to understand why other humans had been critical of those from that area. Xe read about how that are hadn’t really been very populous due to the terrain, and also learned that because of the lack of infrastructure in that area, many humans that lived there did not get a lot of education due to many families being in poverty, mainly due to the only jobs in those areas being in the coal mines or other jobs that depended on coal. Xe read about events such as the Coal Wars, specifically about the Battle of Blair Mountain, which made xem shudder with sorrow for the lives that were lost. Xe also read about families such as the Hatfield's and McCoy's, which reinforced the stereotype of humans from there being violent and uneducated. Xe resigned xemself to dealing with constant fights and dealing with whomever started each one.

Day 2

When John McKannon walked onboard the G.U.R.V(Galactic Union Research Vessel) Frailing with the others from the mountains, he was surprised to see Security Officer Tr’thl’ia standing there, waiting with what looked like dread and disdain.

“Hello, my name is-” 

“I know who you are, Hillbilly.” Tr’thl’ia stated.” Just know this about my ship. I will not tolerate violence on this ship. If any of you or your friends cause trouble onboard, you will be shot out the airlock mid warp. do you understand?”

“Yes Xir,” John simply replied. What in the absolute fuck was xer problem?

Day 3

The day went, much to xis suprise, without physical incident. There was an incident around the second meal of the day that involved one of the hillbillies, Amos, and one of the other humans, Mike, from a place called “Florida”, in which Mike did some sort of odd whooping noise with their hand over their mouth and bounced around, which xe would later learn is a type of “racial” slur against those of First Nations descent. This caused Amos to start charging toward Mike before being stopped by John. Tr’thl’ia was confused by this, as the research that xe did before hand showed by all accounts that John shouldn’t have stopped Amos and instead should have even joined into the fight.

In the evening, or what could be considered evening on the ship, Tr’thl’ia was making xis rounds when xe heard a sound that xe had never heard before. It was rythmic, strumming sound along with beats that xe could not place, and it seemed to be coming from the rec area of the Hillbillies( they were given their own area as the captain was advised to by Tr’thl’ia). As xe drew closer xe could start to make out words:

My old mistress promised me                                                                                  When she died she’d set me free/                                                                           Lived so long her head went bald,                                                                           I don’t believe she gon’ die at all!                                      

more of the strumming and thudding sounds.

You take yours, and I’ll take mine,                                                                           We’ll go fishing in the summer time!/                                                                       You get a line, and I’ll get a pole,                                                                            and We’ll run down to the fishin’ hole!

Xe was at the threshold of the doorway to their rec room, and saw something that was suprising to xem. All of the hillbillies, save John and Amos were surrounding those two. John was strumming an object in their hands that looked like a disk with a stick on it, and Amos looked to be stomping. Xe let an audible gasp that drew the attention of everyone in the room.

“Are you alright?” John asked.

Yes, I w-was just investigating the source of the noise that I had heard. What were you doing with that object to get that sound?” Tr’thl’ia asked in amazement.

“This? this is a banjo, which is an instrument from Earth that was based on an instrument from Africa. And the noise that you heard is an old tune called ‘Hook and Line’. It’s a song that’s been played in our mountains for years.”John replied.

And those thuds that I heard?”

“That is a type of dance known as ‘Buck Dancing’. It is a dance that is similar to tap dancing , but where tap dancing is more involved with the front of the foot, buck dancing uses the whole of it to act almost as a set of drums for mountain bluegrass.” Amos answered.

“Ah, so is it a form of war chant, or ritual?” Asked tr’thl’ia.

“It is neither, it is a form of entertainment that is popular in the Appalachians due to it being very cheap, and it is good for social bonding.” 

“So that explains why you are all around. But why did Mike make that odd sound towards you, and why did that upset you?”

Amos turned red at that question, looking like he was about to cry , and John cut in for him, speaking in a soft, but firm tone. “He did it because he is a racist piece of shit, that’s why. Amos is Native American. His people where some of the first in the region, and were deeply persecuted back in the day for both their culture and skin color. Many were made to leave the area in an event known as the Trail of Tears. But some of those people did not wish to go on the Trail of Tears, and instead retreated deep into the mountains, for safety. Even still, many people nowadays hold deep prejudices against his people, and others like them. That’s why many of his people hid in those mountains, and joined communities of those that hid there as well for various reasons.”

“I understand now why you had a reaction like that, but why don’t other humans like people from your area? You seem like people that are very accepting from what you have told me.” Tr’thl’ia questioned.

“Because they are not as accepting as they seem. They came from privileged homes, homes with food on the table, parents who were home all the time to be able to answer questions, to help them learned. They are jealous that they do not have the drive to be able to get out of tough situations, like we do. Many of those you see here among us are from families that are broken and poor, with one or both parents gone at any given time. Many of us had days where we wouldn’t eat, because we wanted our younger siblings to be able to have a meal. Hell, many of us are working here TO support our families back home, to fight to keep food on the table. We fight a lot, as you probably have read, because we have to, because we have no other choice but to fight over resources as simple as food. That fighting, brings us together, the struggle brings people in our communities together, as we have all shared that struggle at least once.” John picks up his water glass and takes a sip. “We all here had to work to get out of those hills, for if we didn’t nobody would help us get out. We would all be dead within twenty years.”

Tr’thl’ia listened to the words that John was saying, and really thought them over and began to feel a bit of remorse for the way xe had greeted them earlier.

“I’m sorry,” Tr’thl’ia said softly, “ for the way I greeted you when you came aboard. I was biased by what the other humans had said about your people, and what they would be like, without giving me context as to why you may have to be that way. I didn’t realize that you would have to struggle that much to get out of that area, I thought that you would have all of the resources that you need to do what ever you wanted to do for a job, and that it was your own fault for not leaving.”

John cracked a warm smile at that. “You have no need to apologize for that. Many people have that same reaction to us. What matters is that you have the balls to accept that you were in the wrong and have tried to make some sort of amends. Now, where were we?”

You take hook, I’ll take line,                                                                                     We’ll go fishin’ in the summer time!

(If you made it this far down the story, Thank you! This is my first post, so it is probably a bit rough, but I hope you enjoyed it. Name of the tune mentioned in the story is ‘Hook and Line’ and if you want a good example of both the song and Buck Dancing, check out  Clifton Hicks - Hook and Line (dance accompaniment)! He is very talented and also has many videos on the history of the banjo and the afro-carribean roots of it. He also does lessons on older styles of playing such as Overhand(Frailing, clawhammer) and two finger picking. Thanks again for reading and I hope you enjoy!)

[aetherarf]

Thank you! I very much like Teppei.

Also I know Teppei has a wife, so if you wanna make it fem reader to be canon compliant that's fine, but personally I'd prefer gender neutral if you don't mind.

The prompt is: Teppei's S/O was severely wounded in the fight on the beach, and Teppei fights to keep samurai away from them, and gets a vision mid battle.

Then a touching moment after the fight where he's helping apply beetle stuff on the reader's wound.

Sorry if my prompt isn't enough for you, I think the scenario is sweet.

I'm not a stickler for being canon compliant, so I'll do gender neutral just cuz that's my thing.

Note: Anata is a term of endearment, similar to calling your partner 'hubby'/'wifey' too a degree, literally meaning 'You'. It's used, more commonly, by women towards their husbands but it can be used gender neutrally, just less commonly so.

[[ Warning: Gore, Blood, Injury, Background Death, Near Death, Graphic Descriptions ]]

[[ Summary: The battle was violent, and it was getting close to the end... of the battle, and for you. But luck was on Teppei's side, and maybe the gods were, too.

Word Count: 1'119 ]]

Battle wasn't something he was new to, but when there was blood splattering on his own skin, shockingly warm as soon as it hits him...

He wouldn't get used to that- maybe it was a good thing he wasn't ever comforted by it.

Not time to think, as he jabbed his spear through the body of an enemy, and the blood shot out, the crunching of bone and the slicing of flesh ringing in his eardrums, his eyes shot wide open as he listened to everything-

He ripped his spear back out, spinning around and slashing the spear, hearing a shout and more blood, blood blood blood, the poor bastard collapsing to the ground, he jabbing his spear right into the Samurai's throat, staring down at them with no small amount of horror and shock as they failed to gasp for air, blood beginning to bubble from their mouth as they scrambled for the spear...

And they were gone, Teppei taking the weapon out again, the body spasming in reaction to the pain-

Why-

Why did...

Why did it feel like time had slowed, that nothing was passing as it should. There was so much fear in his heart, he stopped feeling, and he could only hear his own breathing, his heartbeat, and-

"Teppei!"

He spun around, his own body feeling oddly light- floaty. Like he could drift away, floating on a river.

But the only river was the one at his feet, and he looked forward and saw an enemy slice through...

You.

You, you, you, he thought, running at full speed, hearing his own panting in his ears, his heartbeat morphing into the drums of war, ringing, booming, and as he screamed, lifting up his spear, half skidding as he lifted it over his head, the drums were too loud for him to hear his own voice, much less a single thought...

Suddenly, there was something in his other hand, clenched so tight he could feel the edges jabbing into flesh, and he felt... wet...

As though he did end up floating down a lazy river.

He threw the spear-- And through the rain, droplets danced around the spear, it beginning to spin, to glow as it shot forward, and the poor bastard who had sliced you open was met with a spear straight to the face, the crunching of his skull, his face no longer a face as he collapsed backward onto the ground...

Teppei didn't care, he kept running to you, falling to his knees just beside you, your skin pale and sickly, blood having drained from a wound you failed to plug with your hand over it...

"No, no, nono..." He shook his head, "Please, Anata..." He almost reached for your hand, but then he remembered- he was holding something, and as he looked...

A vision.

Hydro.

It sat there, and as the drums of war faded out, it too had dulled ever so slightly, not shining like a beacon, but only a pleasant hum of light...

And it beat, bum, bum, bum.

It was beating with the heart that pounded in his chest.

Hydro, like... Like the Divine Priestess herself...

"Teppei," you said, weakly, "Please... look at me... I... I want to see you before I go."

His heart sunk...

With the wound, and no healer, you'd die, but...

Hydro was the element of life. It was the most nourishing, healing, protecting.

And even when he set it down, brows furrowed as he looked at his palms... two small orbs of water. It still beat, bum bum bum, with his heart.

"Anata," he said, softly, "This is going to... to sting."

With all the fear in his heart, he swallows it, and slowly rests it to your stomach... the massive wound, a scar would remain, but he would kiss it everyday, worship it every morn if he knew you'd survive...

As he set it on, it seemed to instinctively fill it in- and it was tinted with the color of blood, but it refused to leak off... and as he watched, he could see it gently tugging at your ripped wound, as though it wanted to put you back together, he able to watch the healing progress...

"Teppei... it doesn't hurt... is that bad?"

Was it bad?

He didn't know.

"No... no, just breathe."

"I'm... i'm scared, it's not hurting anymore."

A lack of pain could refer to imminent death, but... It could also be Hydro healing...

Instead of giving up, he rested his hands on either side of your wound, gently pressing them together, and you... sighed.

A sigh of relief, and he could watch as the water seemed to condense, forming faux stitches that held you together.

And slowly, ever so slowly, your body was sealed.

A scar, a massive scar over your body, but he didn't care- it was just as perfect as the rest of you, he nearly pressing his lips to it, but he knew better. That was for a different time.

Your hand rested over your stomach as the water, the hydro trickled off, sinking into the earth, its duty complete. Your bloodied hand left a faint print on your stomach, a reminder of the injury that was just there. Awkwardly, you pushed yourself up, trying to look, but Teppei put his hand on the back of your head.

"... Shhh," he hushed, looking around... Somehow, everything was oddly quiet.

But he wasn't afraid.

He could protect now, he... he was now strong enough to heal, as well.

Something he could never have done without the god's favor.

"Wait, wait, waitwaitwait!" He chirped, so innocently excited as though nothing wrong had happened, and he grabbed the vision, and placed it right into your unbloodied hand, "Look, look..."

Your hand wrapped around it, and then lifted your hand, staring for a moment... then your eyes widened.

"You... you..."

"Anata," he said, "You gave me what I needed to get a vision."

As awkward as it was, he refused to lift you up, but still hugged you as you lie on the muddied ground, still weak from the blood- that he could not heal, but if you lived, he'd nurse you back to health, with or without the blessing of his Vision.

"Teppei... you always had it. You just... needed to show it."

"No, no... Anata... just rest, my love. We'll return to the resistance camp and... and we can celebrate then."

Celebrate.

Just a few moments ago, he thought he'd be mourning.

The drums of war had become little more than a rhythm of his adoration now. And oh, even if it never stopped, he could live with it.

What he couldn't live with was a lack of you.

Bum bum bum.

[nothing-but-dreamy]

STORM

Pairing: Gladio x Reader

Words: 3.069

Warnings: slight mention of panic, fluff

Synopsis: An upcoming storm terryfies yn but Gladio is there to help

"Maybe we should stay in the hotel tonight. The weather seems to change.", yn said as she watched the sky slowly turning grey. There was still some blue between shreds of clouds but it looked like rain and the local weather forecast already had spoken out a severe thunderstorm alert. Not the best weather to be outside. At all.

"I think yn has a good point there.", Prompto said and yn was glad to have his support in this moment.

"This little bit of rain? Couldn't stop me from going out.", Gladio said, what caused yn to roll with her eyes. Gladio smirked as he saw her grimace. To tease her at any time was one of his most favorite hobbies. She knew that. It was their thing. A big part of their friendship was to tease each other about everything. And still, yn couldn't stop to lay herself open to attack right now.

"It's for Noctis to decide this.", Ignis said, maybe taking the easiest way even if yn could see that he preferred her idea as well. And it was true, the prince made the decisions on this adventure. That was the point where yn got new hope that they would stay in the hotel. Therefore, they would be able to avoid the upcoming weather. Noctis hated camping in the rain.

The only thing yn hadn't considered was Noctis' willingness to help the people on their way. So, while the group sat around, watching the strolling people and the view of the meteor, they also waited for Noctis to come back. He had excused himself for a moment to speak to one of the merchants in sight distance to be on Gladio's observing glance. As Noctis came slowly back to join his friends, yn's heartbeat dropped in fear. She noticed the piece of paper the prince was holding. It was one of these countless hunting quests yn and the group did on their journey.

"What's that?", Gladio asked and nodded to the paper in Noctis' hand.

"A bunch of saberclaws are terrorizing the outskirts of Lestallum. We got asked for help.", Noctis explained.

Gladio already jumped up from his seat, "Alright, what are we waiting for?", he said, already willing to go on the next hunt. Ignis and Prompto also stood up. Yn followed them reluctantly.

Once again, yn checked the sky which was more troubled with grey clouds than before, "Boys, please, the weather... These beasts won't run away. We should wait till tomorrow until the weather is better.”, she suggested.

It was Gladio who walked over to her, placing one of his massive arms over her shoulders, pressing her against his side with a lopsided smirk on his lips, "Since when do you say no to a good fight, huh? That's not you. I checked the position. It's not that far away. If we go now we will be back before the rain even has a chance to destroy your pretty hair style.", Gladio said while guiding her to the car. Noctis and the others already were sitting inside waiting for them. Defeated, yn gave up. There was no way to argue against all four boys if she wouldn't have any kind of support...or good arguments.

*

Around sixty minutes later, yn was breathing heavily as she pulled out her bloody short sword out of the lifeless corpse to her feet. With her foot, she stemmed her bodyweight against the dead animal to drag the material swiftly out of the flesh with a squishy sound. She was still trying to catch her breath as she looked around to check on the others. But everyone was alright, dirty and kinda bloody, but unharmed. It was then that yn noticed how the sun already set behind the treetops. It became darker with every passing second. The black, rain filled clouds increased her worries even more. They had to hurry if they wanted to reach Lestallum before the storm would break loose.

As if reading her mind, Prompto looked at the sky as well, "We should hurry. These clouds don't look too promising."

Yn thanked silently for Prompto's words and already was on her way into the direction where the Regalia parked as Ignis said the words she feared to hear, "We shouldn't drive back. It's already too dark."

"But Ignis the city isn't that far away. Ten or twenty minutes. We still can make it before it's getting too dark.", yn tried to convince the most reasonable of the group. If she could convince him, the others would follow.

But she couldn't.

"We really shouldn't drive back. We should find a good spot for the tent to camp here instead.", Ignis argued.

"But the weather-", yn tried once again. Camping during a thunderstorm didn't seem to be less dangerous than to drive back into the city through the darkness.

And once again it was Gladio who walked over to her, pushing her into the direction where the others already went, "Forget the weather, sweetheart. The Coleman gear can withstand everything.", he said in his typical light manner.

But this time, yn pushed Gladio's arm from her shoulders, "Yeah, it can...", she muttered and followed the others with a sullen expression.

Gladio frowned and looked after her with a confused expression. Never before, yn had acted like this and mostly not towards him. Usually, they were a unit as best friends. Inseparable. They always could count on each other no matter what. And she never, really never, had pushed him away before.

*

Twenty minutes later, the group had found a good place for the tent. They made a fire and got ready for the night. Ignis worked his magic with the food and all were eating in silence. Everyone except yn. She was just pushing the food around on her plate with her fork.

Ignis watched it for several minutes before he lost his patience, "Alright, yn, that's enough! I'm used to this behavior of Noctis but since when aren't you eating your meal?", he asked sternly mixed with concern in his voice.

Releasing her breath, yn put the plate down, the food was completely untouched, "I'm sorry but I'm not hungry. I go to bed. Goodnight.", yn said low, stood up and went into the tent without another word of explanation.

Speechless, all four boys were staring after her. Noctis was the first who reacted. He smacked Gladio's arm and looked seriously at him, "What have you done to her? You were talking with her lastly. Why is she mad?"

"I have nothing done. I don't know what's wrong with her.", Gladio said in his defense.

"Maybe it's this time of the month again?", Prompto asked carefully, hinting at the point that yn was a girl.

But Ignis shook his head firmly, "No, it's not this time.", he said, being the only one of the group who was cautious enough to know her cycle, "And even if, you all know her. She never acts like this. And mostly, she never leaves her food untouched.", he pointed out, worried about this totally unusual behavior.

"Should we ask her?", Prompto asked.

Once again, Ignis shook his head, "No, we should give her a break. I'm sure tomorrow, she will be the old one again."

*

The boys stayed outside around the campfire until it started to rain. The announced storm was finally arriving and darkened the night even more as the stars and the moon disappeared. As the boys crawled into the tent, yn already laid in her spot. Like every time they were camping, Gladio laid next to her. The other three boys changed their position almost every night. Usually, Gladio and yn were talking quietly until one of them would fall asleep but now, as Gladio laid down, yn already seemed to be sleeping, facing the inside wall of the tent.

'Odd like everything else on this weird day', Gladio thought as he stared at her small back. But maybe Ignis was right and she would just need time. And if she was still weird the next day, Gladio would ask her about it.

The wind increased and tugged violently on the ropes of the tent that it was shuddering into every direction. The leaves on the trees were crinkling and the branches whipped against each other. Yn knew that the sound she heard was just the wind flying through every small gap but for her, it sounded more like howling ghosts on their hunt for every living soul they could find. The heavy rain poured on the tent surface like violent war drums calling for a battle. All of this was already too much for yn but then, the thunder started.

First, it was just a rumbling in the distance but soon, driven by the stormy wind, the thunderstorm reached their position. As the first lightning cut through the night sky, yn counted the seconds to establish the distance. The next thunder boomed through the night, followed by the next lightning and yn didn't need to count any further to know that the thunderstorm had almost reached them. Maybe five to ten minutes away.

The next lightning illuminated the tent and several seconds later, the thunder echoed through the air. It was the loudest and strongest thunder so far during this storm and yn knew it wouldn't be the last. As the thunder broke loose like a bellowing shot, she winced and curled into a ball. While trying to calm her racing heart with steady breathing, yn placed her hands over her ears to silence the sound. But as the next thunder exploded, she knew that it wasn't working.

Hot tears were building in her eyes because of the panic she felt deep inside of her and while squeezing her eyes shut, the tears were running down her cheeks, soaking her pillow. Small sobs were escaping her throat and she placed a hand over her mouth to silence the sound in fear to wake one of the boys.

But it was too late. As the next lightning shot through the night followed by the thunder, she winced and two seconds later, she felt a strong and heavy hand softly lying on her shoulder. Even without looking, she knew it was Gladio's hand. It was always Gladio who cared for her the most. Slowly, he tried to turn her over so she would face him. She let him do it but avoided his eyes in hope he wouldn't notice her state, "Yn, are you alright?", he whispered but his voice was filled with concern and worries.

Yn felt bad that he was awake because of her and that he was worried. She had tried to stay as quiet as possible but Gladio had always been more empathetic when it came to her and her mood, "I- I'm fine, Gladio. Just go back to sleep.", she whispered in hope it would work.

Of course, it didn't. Gladio searched her eyes and as she still refused to look at him, he cupped her chin carefully between his fingers to force her to look up. It was then that he noticed the shed tears on her skin, "You cried.", he said low, matter of factly.

Reluctantly, yn raised her eyes to meet his amber orbs which were now filled with so much concern that it almost hurted her to see it, "Y-yeah but it's nothing.", she said weakly with a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. It was a bad attempt to reassure him and she should have known better that Gladio wouldn't buy it for one second. Even if he was goofing around a lot, he could also be very serious if needed to be.

"I don't believe you, yn. What is going on with you? The whole day you act strange. Did I do something wrong? Or one of the others?", Gladio asked carefully while replaying the day but everything had been the same. Everything...except the weather.

"No, of course not. None of you had done something-", she got stopped by the next loud rumbling thunder. Violently, she squeezed her eyes shut and winced.

Gladio watched her in shock. He never had seen her acting like this and he knew her since so many years, "Y-you're scared.", he breathed, watching this small woman curling into a ball, embracing herself and ducking her head, removing herself from his touch, waiting for the storm to end. Carefully and with a soft touch, Gladio stroked strands of her wet hair out of her face, "I... Yn, I watched you fighting fearlessly so many times against the biggest beasts on this planet and now, you're scared of this storm?", he asked.

"I never expected you to understand that. That's why I never told you anything about it.", she whispered breathlessly, trying once again to calm her racing heart.

Gladio felt a pain stinging his heart by her words. He thought he would know everything about her. They could talk about everything and now, he had to learn that there were still things he had no clue about, "But why? Why have you never said anything?", he asked.

Slowly, she raised her teary glance to look at him, "Because you're Gladio, the King's Shield. You're fearless. I know you wouldn't take me seriously if I tell you that I'm scared about some stormy weather. I knew you would make fun of me.", yn said bitterly, closing her eyes slowly. New tears were running down her cheeks.

Her words pained Gladio but mostly, it pained him to see her like this. Here he was, lying next to her, thinking of himself as her best friend and yet, she wasn't brave enough to talk with him about her fears because she really thought he wouldn't understand her. If he thought about it, she had mentioned her concerns about the weather several times and he had made fun of it. He hadn't really thought about the reasons behind her concerns. Now, he understood it and felt bad. Slowly, he scooted closer to her, "Look at me, please.", he pleaded.

As yn opened her eyes, Gladio's face was as close as possible to hers. His glance bored into hers, a stern expression on his face. With slow moves, he cupped her face with his hands, tangling his fingers with her hair to tickle her calming, "I'm sorry, yn. I really am. I would never make fun of you about something that scares you, believe me. I'm sorry that you couldn't tell me this. I would fight against the storm to stop it if I could help you with it."

"Oh, I would like to see you trying. I'm sure you're the only person in this world who would be able to terrify a thunderstorm.", yn said with a soft chuckle between two sobs, feeling a bit better.

Gladio smiled softly before he became serious again, "I... I don't like seeing you scared like this. It's nothing I'm used to.", he said what caused yn to smile once again.

"It's silly that I'm scared. Mostly, considering the fact what we're facing every day since we left Insomnia. But it's the sound of the thunder and the ravenous natural force that always scared me since I was a kid."

"That's why you wanted to stay in the hotel.", Gladio understood, nodding slowly, "Sure, staying in a tent is not really helpful."

"Yeah, but having you boys with me is already helping, at least, a little bit.", yn said but was wincing as the next lightning and thunder shook the tent.

"You know what, maybe I can help you even a bit more.", Gladio whispered with a smile that caught yn's attention.

"W-what are you doing?", she asked surprised as she saw Gladio moving.

"Just trust me, sweetheart.", he said. Swiftly, he snaked one of his muscled arms underneath her head and around her shoulders to pull her close to his chest. He took his blanket to place it over both of them before he laid his other arm protectively around her frame as well. While she snuggled against his warm skin, relaxing slowly, she listened to his steady and strong heartbeat. His natural body heat enclosed her and his familiar scent flooded her brain.

Gladio buried his face into her hair, "I'm here for you. You're not alone. Nothing can happen to you. I will protect you.", he whispered reassuringly while drawing patterns on her skin with his fingers.

"Thank you.", yn breathed against his chest, snaking her arm around his body to pull him even closer.

The next lightning cracked through the night sky followed by a loud thunder and even if yn winced a little bit, she already was calmer than before. Gladio noticed the change immediately. She stayed where she was, lying in his arms. As the next wave of the storm broke loose over the tent, Gladio noticed her staying even calmer. And ten minutes later, yn didn't even respond anymore to the harsh weather outside. Gladio didn't have to check on her to know that she had fallen asleep lying secure in the protection of his body. Slowly, he drifted back to sleep on his own, keeping yn in his arms the whole night.

*

The next morning, yn awoke by the first rays of sunlight that fell through the open tent door. She could hear Noctis, Ignis and Prompto talking about something outside of the tent. It sounded like a discussion about breakfast. Cool air was flooding the tent and yn breathed in the freshness. She was slowly moving but got stopped by warm, muscly barriers: Gladio's arms.

Without waking the still sleeping, peacefully looking man, she tried to sneak out of his embrace. But as yn was almost free, she got dragged back to her former position by the said arms and their tightened grip around her, "Where do you think you go?", Gladio mumbled sleepy.

Yn looked up into Gladio's face, "It's morning. The storm is over.", she explained quietly with a soft smile.

Gladio tightened the embrace a bit more, "I don't care. It's perfect like this.", he whispered.

"So, you want me to stay?", yn asked surprised.

"Always.", Gladio mumbled and drifted back to sleep.

And just like that, a ravenous storm had changed a friendship to a next level.

Instead of destroying something, it had built something new.

[melzula]

The Throne

part three

pairing: Zuko x Princess!reader

summary: Koa greatly underestimates the Princess, but he’s not giving up just yet...

~ part of the fire lilies series ~

The air of dawn is frigid and cold, yet the subtle trembling of your body is not from the chilly climate. The sun has yet to rise and your people are still asleep, the mutiny is just a few hours away, and you find that after hours of tossing and turning it’s better to begin your preparation for the battle ahead than worry yourself to death any longer. Your regular dress has been exchanged for an outfit much more suitable for fighting, your crown replaced by a water tribe emblem pin secured neatly in your hair, and though you normally choose to wear gloves to keep your scars hidden you opt out of using them today. Your wounds are a reminder of your resilience and your strength, and those two attributes are things you’ll desperately need today if you hope to defeat Koa once and for all.

“Princess,” Sokka’s voice whispers from outside your door accompanied by a gentle knock, “my dad and his warriors are here. I kept them out of sight like you asked.”

“I’ll be right out,” comes your quiet reply, and without a moment to waste you follow the boy out of the palace and into the courtyard towards the one blind spot from the watch tower where two of Koa’s guards wait on duty. Just as Sokka said, Hakoda and his men stand waiting and at the ready for the chaos that is to ensue when Koa attempts to over throw you and your mother. The small village Chief bows respectfully in your presence but you wave off the action with a smile.

“There’s no need for formality,” you assure him. “I can’t begin to thank you enough for agreeing to help me.”

“There’s no end in sight to the struggles our village faces with Koa in charge. You have your father’s spirit, Princess, and I know for a fact that there is no one more capable than you to rule our tribe. We will do everything in our power to put an end to his reign one and for all,” Hakoda vows earnestly. “Just say the word and we’ll be there.”

“Thank you,” you utter softly, eyes watering at the mention of your father— would it be terrible of you to admit that you struggle placing his face in your head? You could really use some of Iroh’s famous advice right now...

“You should get back inside,” Sokka says, “if anyone spots you out here this early in the morning they might get suspicious.”

“You’re probably right,” you nod, and without another word the water tribe boy escorts you back into the palace and into your room.

“You have everything you need?” Sokka asks, peering around the room before resting his gaze upon the small pile of unopened letters on your dresser. The red of the Fire Nation insignia is a stark contrast to the soft hues of blue that line your bedroom.

“I have all the evidence together, Kai agreed to speak out against his father, and Hakoda can tell everyone about the neglect the smaller tribes have been facing thanks to Hakoda. Katara is in charge of keeping my mother safe and I’m ready to fight if I have to. Everything is ready.”

“You know, it’s still not too late to make a last minute call to Zuko,” Sokka notes casually only for you to give him a pointed look.

“Sokka...

“I’m just saying, if I were your boyfriend I’d want to know about the fact that there’s someone out there threatening the girl I love.”

“Why bring him into it now when it’s almost over? No calling Zuko,” you reiterate firmly. “And afterward if he wants to be mad at me for keeping it a secret from him then he can; I’ll be able to sleep soundly at night knowing I did it for his own good.”

“I doubt Zuko’s sleeping soundly,” Sokka mutters to himself, his eyes never leaving the stack of scrolls.

For a water bender, you’re very stubborn.

~~~

The steady beat of the soldier’s drums draws the people of your village towards the palace grounds and brings their attention to Koa who stands before the palace door. Mother’s hold their children to their chests and the merchants quickly begin to pack up their goods at the sight of the army of guards that stand before the man. He is confident and sure, heart pounding with anticipation and giddiness as he prepares to take his “rightful” place on the throne. Your father is gone, your mother is weak, and he’s turned your own guards against you; there’s no way for you to save yourself now.

“Princess!” Koa bellows. “Show yourself!”

Everyone watches with baited breath as you emerge from the palace with Sokka right behind you, face stoic and head held high with dignity and grace as you confront your opposers. His eyes glance briefly at your scars before returning back to you, his grin never falters, and neither of you break from each other’s gaze.

“What is the meaning of this?” You ask with feigned obliviousness.

“On behalf of the Southern Water Tribe, I am relieving you and your mother of your duty. No longer will you be leader of a tribe you do not deserve and no longer will you continue to fail your people,” Koa announces for all to hear.

“Do you really speak for everyone?” You retort with a raised brow, and Koa falters slightly at your surprisingly calm demeanor. He expected more of a reaction from someone who was mere seconds away from losing their throne. “Chief Hakoda, please step forward.”

Koa’s eyes widen at the sight of the man who appears from the shadows and joins you on the steps, small gasps and uneasy glances exchanged between those part of the royal tribe as well as Koa’s own guards.

“My name is Hakoda, and I am from one of the smaller outer villages. For years our village has suffered from dwindling numbers and resources as a result of the war. Koa promised us aid, he promised us food and assistance in rebuilding our village, yet we have not received one single thing he has promised us. We were cut off from the rest of the southern water tribe as were the rest of the outer villages the moment he took on the title of chieftain. Everything he has promised you is a lie. Koa is not fit to rule our tribe.”

Quiet murmurs and hushed whispers sound throughout the crowd, and you hold back a smug smile at the anger that flashes across Koa’s face. He wasn’t the only one willing to fight dirty, and he was a fool for believing you’d give up the throne that easily. One thing was certain: Koa had no idea just who he was dealing with.

“Please, I’ve done everything I can to help your people. It’s not my fault you don’t know how to properly use your resources,” Koa spits, but he can sense the tension arising from his men, some who come from the same village as Hakoda.

“I knew of your plan to stage this mutiny against me, and I know of your plan to invade the north,” you retaliate with a stern glare. The faces of his soldiers as well as Koa’s own face pales at your words, and gasps sound throughout the crowd.

“You can’t prove that!”

“I can,” Sokka says firmly. “I went to that secret meeting and heard all about your plans to invade our sister tribe. You don’t care about anything unless it has to do with power.”

“Are you really going to believe these children over me? The man who served as advisor all these years and took care of your needs?!”

“You said every man was expendable.”

“You have no proof!”

“Actually, she does,” a voice pipes up from the crowd, and Koa watches on in horror as his own son joins your side and hands over his journal. “My father keeps all his thoughts and plans in this book, and you can find everything you need to know about him in those pages.”

“Kai?! What are you doing?!” Koa demands only for his son to look away guiltily.

“What you’re doing isn’t right dad, it has to stop.”

“You little water rat,” Koa seethes, “you’ve turned my own son against me! Attack her!”

At the sound of those words Sokka, Hakoda, and his warriors create a wall around you, weapons at the ready to defend you. However, with a small shake of your head their defenses are lowered.

“You don’t want to fight each other. We’re brothers and sisters, this isn’t the way. There can be no era of rebuilding if there is no peace. Koa promised you great things, but he doesn’t care about you the way a leader should. I know you don’t think I’m ready to lead, but I promise you I will do everything in my power to rebuild the Southern Water Tribe and bring it back to its rightful glory. All you have to do is trust me.”

The air is thick with tense silence as your people exchange quiet glances with one another, both you and Koa watching on with baited breath, but then one of the men slowly removes his helmet before tossing it to the ground and lowering onto one knee. His eyes meet your own in quiet remorse and you smile faintly in appreciation, eyes beginning to water at the meaningful gesture. To Koa’s dismay many of the other men follow suit until only a handful of his followers remain.

“No... no! You fools! Get up! Don’t let her trick you!”

“Your reign is over Koa,” you announce for all to hear. “You will be removed from the palace and tried for your acts of treason against the water tribes. It’s over.”

“Not yet,” Koa vows, eyes narrowing at your figure with rage and hatred. You have too much of your father’s spirit in you, something that he loathes more than anything.

A sudden blast of snow is shot in all directions, blocking your view and prompting Sokka to quickly pull you close and shield you with his body. Disoriented and startled, no one is able to detect Koa’s quick exit, and when the smoke clears the man is gone.

“Should we go after him?” One of Hakoda’s men asks, but you simply shake your head.

“He has nowhere to run,” you say, your gaze far off and distant as you look towards the horizon. “He’ll be back...”

~~~

Things are slowly but surely starting to get back on track and you can’t complain. After Koa’s disappearance you were left with his remaining men, and despite the fact that they’d been so willing to betray you you were able to forgive them with ease. They were desperate, lost, and looked to someone they thought they could trust to help them; how could you fault them for wanting better? You felt it would be too cruel to throw them in jail or punish them, so instead you came up with the agreement that they would help rebuild and deliver supplies to the outer villages in desperate need of care. Your mother was back on the throne and in change, and you both had agreed that Hakoda would serve as your new advisor. Yes, everything was shaping up nicely for your tribe and you couldn’t be happier.

You’re late for dinner, this much you know, but you’re too engrossed in the new plans Hakoda has sent you in regards to new structures for the outer tribes that will strengthen their defenses to get up now. Katara and Sokka are probably waiting for you, enjoying their time home before they must return and resume their work on the Restoration Movement, but you doubt they’ll mind if you’re a little late— well, Sokka won’t mind as long as he can still eat in your absence.

With your back to the door, you hear a gentle knock and call out a quiet “come in,” as you assume it must be Katara or Sokka calling you to dinner, but the harsh slam of the door immediately has you on your feet. A shadowy figure stands before you, and you waste no time pulling the water from the air and shooting sharp blasts of ice towards the intruder with your fists. They are fast, agilely dogging your attacks and barrel rolling out of the way before tossing sharp darts in your direction. The wall of ice you form manages to block most of them, but one needle strays and nicks your arm. You cry out in pain, and when you attempt to raise your arms to bend you find that you can’t move at all. It’s as if your body slowly begins to shut down before finally your knees give out and you collapse to the floor.

“N-No,” you gasp out, trying to move but to no avail.

“Shishu spit darts. Hard to come by in the water tribe, but I have my ways,” the sinister voices says, and your heart immediately drops to your stomach at the familiar tone.

“Koa...”

“Did you miss me, Princess?” He smirks, slowly removing his hood before towering over you. “I told you it wasn’t over yet. I’d never let myself lose to the likes of you.”

“Why are you doing this?” You whisper in a trembling voice, adrenaline and fear coursing through your veins at the sight of the sharp dagger in his hand.

“When your father died in battle it removed a great weight from my shoulders. I wouldn’t have to worry about him any longer, and I knew your mother would be too feeble minded to fight my suggestions of temporary placement on the throne. But you... my, you were just too stubborn for your own good. I had hoped you’d stay in the Fire Nation with Prince Zuko, but when you returned it made things much more complicated. You see, I underestimated you the first time. But now, with you helpless at my feet, I’m going to take care of you once and for all.”

The dagger raises and you shut your eyes tight in preparation for your death, but the blade never comes. Instead, the weapon is knocked out from Koa’s grasp by a very familiar boomerang.

“Get away from her!” Sokka cries fiercely. He attempts to charge at the man, but Koa is quick and manages to evade Sokka’s grasp before running out into the hallway. “Guards, stop him!”

You watch from the corner of your eye as a group of men rush past your doorway in pursuit of Koa, oblivious to Sokka’s movements as he scoops you up off the ground and rushes you to his sister in hopes that she can somehow heal you of the poison.

“How did you know he was here?” You manage to ask him.

“I didn’t. Katara sent me to come get you for dinner because she knew if I didn’t you’d spend all night looking over those plans my dad sent you,” Sokka says seriously. “Y/n, you we’re almost killed!”

“I’m sorry...”

Sokka, realizing the harshness of his tone, lets out a small sigh. “It’s not your fault, but I have to put my foot down here. We obviously can’t fight Koa on our own anymore, we have to get help.”

“Sokka, what are you saying?” You utter uneasily, reluctant to hear the answer you know is coming.

“We have to tell Zuko about Koa.”

| tags: @rainteslerrrr @simpinforsukka @oddment-niwit-blubber-tweak @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @coldlilheart @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @zukh03s @taeeemin @user12345321 @just--artemis--with--ghost @titaniafire @dekahg @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @lozzybowe @izzieserra @melacholy @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @thirstyforsometea @ihaveaproblem98 @brown-eyed-thang @djskfkdkkf @xapham @yeetletzgetitjae @misnmatchedsox @chewymoustachio @that-bucket-hat-gal @chilifrylizard2 @kyomihann @kaylove12 @kiwihoee @freggietale @neighborhoodpansexualdisaster @noodlesfluffy @moon-spirit-yue @bubblegum-bee-otch

[uwua3]

hi bunnie!!! i’m simping over juza again (but when am i not) so may i request some soft juza dating hc’s?? anything is fine 🥺👉👈 ilysm 💕

hi, mel~ ♡ i hope you’re doing well! :D i know you’re a fan of genshin impact, so i hope you enjoy this !!! <333 this isn’t as #Soft as i wanted, but i hope it makes you smile regardless 🥺 i love you lots !!! so does juza~ ´͈ ᵕ `͈ ♡°◌̊ (ahhh can you ever date a fatui harbringer though? hopefully some day TT)

summary: before juza leaves, he gives you a dream he will defend until the end

warnings: genshin impact spoilers(?), mentions of death

author’s note: no, i will not elaborate on why i have this extreme association of juza with childe. please do not ask me, as i will write *too much*. however, for any of my a3! genshin fans, please enjoy this piece for 11th fatui harbringer, hyodo juza! (there are no MAJOR spoilers for childe’s story—just his personality/family relations!)

+ i do NOT ship childe/traveller !!! childe is a young adult while traveller is canonically a teenager, i do not support the actual ship itself. please note juza is 18 in this writing :)

word count: 1,566

music: who are you, really? – mikky ekko, killer – the ready set

until we meet again, in snezhnaya.

🍁🍰 hyodo juza

They call Hyodo Juza, “Defender of Childhood Dreams”.

Because if you make a promise, you keep it. If you make a mistake, you apologize. If you give someone a dream, you defend it ‘til the end.

Despite always being away from his home country of Snezhnaya, Juza found himself keeping his word no matter where he went. As one of the older brothers of the Hyodo household, Juza could clearly remember his younger siblings’ tears as he departed all those years ago.

“Toymakers go all around the world for the best toys! I’ll send home lots of gifts, promise.” Juza swore on his life before disappearing away in the snow, wielding the emblem of the Fatui at eighteen.

“Brother Kumon, I will be home soon. I will take the first ship home, just as I promised—and you know how I always keep my promises.”

Yours faithfully, Your loyal knight

Juza sits in Liyue now, the ink staining the parchment against his will as he carefully signs his name. Gifts of all kinds sat beside him, such as kites, rattle drums, porcelain dolls, and snacks. After all, Juza did make a promise to send gifts. His younger brother, Kumon, deserved the best.

Before Juza could remember the chill of the snow down his spine and the numbing cold of frostbite he hadn’t felt in so long, the surface of his tea became unevenly rippled. At a distance, Juza could already tell it was you. Your rather odd companion, Paimon, could be sighted a mile away with how loud she was. On the other hand, you attentively listened as you stood out amongst the crowds.

Placing his quill down, Juza placed a pleasant smile upon his face. For a second, Snezhnaya disappeared. The frozen binding of his loyalty to her Majesty, the Tsaritsa, melted to reveal a heart longing for you to turn your head.

Even if it was for a moment, Juza’s head cleared of it all. His family waiting for him to conquer the world, his brother awaiting his latest toys, the expectation of laying all seven stars upon the Cryo Archon’s feet. All of it disappeared and all that was left was your face.

Honorary knight of Mondstadt. Hero that slayed Dvalin, or Stormterror. Lost twin looking for your sibling across Teyvat. You, a person from a different world, had made Juza forget why he had been fighting. Ever since he was fourteen, Juza fought tooth and nail just to survive. Now, Juza almost felt like he didn’t have to even move a finger as you met his eyes and returned his smile.

Juza would go through the abyss again, for three years even, to keep that smile.

When you walked over to his table of one, Juza lifted his hand in a wave as he called your name. Like you two were just friends, and nothing more. However, friends... wasn’t enough, not for Juza.

“Finally! My only worthy opponent, have you come for another fight?” Juza half-joked, his voice betraying his rumbling excitement and passion to be beaten once again. You always managed to gain the upper hand despite everything, and the rush of feeling like he was about to die gave him a thrill like no other.

But, you just shook your head as Paimon rolled her eyes, crossing her little arms mid-air. “Gosh, Juza, all you think about is fighting!” Juza held his hands up as if he surrended (he never actually would) and rested his hand on his spear, feeling the cool metal. Juza could imagine the electric sensation of his delusion, crackling for a fight regardless.

Only you could get him so worked up, Juza thought.

“No, I. . .” You trailed off, pausing to look away. The lowering sunset reflected in your eyes, like waves of Liyue’s harbor. Juza watched as your heart beat faster, uncertain, which was strange for such a renown legend in the making. Finally, you met his eyes with the confidence he knew and loved.

“I wanted to see you again before you left Liyue.” You honestly admitted and Juza let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The bustling merchants of the city of contracts continued to thrive around the two. Carts of many merchandises wheeled past them, children ran by making up fantasies beyond the ocean, and business never stopped as trade went on and on. This was Liyue at its finest, and Juza was sure he’d miss it. Or, more specifically, you.

“Really? Perhaps I’ll have to take you home to my family one day. In the snowy hills where everything is cold.” Juza spoke like he was telling a story, as if he was speaking to Kumon back in their one-room hut. As if the snowflakes were in their hair, gloves keeping their hands functional, and makeshift fire was burning weakly between them. You seemed to change, posture weakening as if you were... safe.

You relaxed and didn’t have that subconscious to fight, not when you were with Juza. While you and Juza were two opposite ends of the spectrum, you two had one similarity that bound you together: being born into a life where fighting was the only option. Your hand that always hovered above your weapon fell to your side, and you took a seat across from Juza.

Juza, eleventh Harbringer of the Fatui, feared by all for his chaotic wild card battles. Yet, here he was, writing back home and drinking tea with a traveller who had done the impossible. You made him feel like putting down his weapons and running away, you made him want a second chance at life. As long as it was with you. Only you.

“Snezhnaya... tell me about it.” You said and Juza’s fingers twitched. Visions flew by his mind rapidly, mostly unpleasant and hard to speak of at a place like this. Juza wouldn’t dare tell you about the droughts of hunger when the war left the people to fend for themselves, the iced-over corpses serving as markings in the mountains, nor the everlasting pine trees that spoke of disaster with each collapse. Juza couldn’t say it, not when you were looking at him so wholeheartedly.

“My favorite thing to do is ice-fishing.” Juza started and launched into a whirlwind of his number one hobby. Spoke of the early morning hours cutting holes into thick layers of ice, wobbly legs shaking on the large expanse of the frozen lake, and sitting in silence as wildlife swam beneath them. Juza told you about the spike of adrenaline when he could feel the ice crack haphazardly, the jagged splits uncommon but exciting every time. When Juza shared his most beloved memories, he couldn’t help but feel the Snezhnayan cold with the closest possible feeling to joy.

You listened once again, face pensive and eyes focused on Juza’s hand motions, content tone, and honesty above all. You could almost see the nameless lake, the snow banks, the shadows of fish. You exhaled, and despite the warm atmosphere of Liyue, you swore you could see your breath solidify as if it was Dragonspine.

When Juza closed off his story with a smile, you spoke without a care in the world. As if your sibling wasn’t missing. As if you didn’t have to find all seven archons. As if the fate of Teyvat wasn’t upon your shoulders. Right now, it was just you and Juza. Juza and you.

“When I come to see you in Snezhnaya, I want to have your best fish dish.”

Juza propped his elbow upon the table, before holding his pinky out. You took it with your own, and Juza shot you a wink of many unsaid words. A contract, if you will. Fitting for Liyue.

“It’s a promise. You know I always love testing my limits for my opponents.”

If you make a promise, you keep it.

Juza pulled back first, as he always did. Standing up, Juza paid the bill generously with his excessive Mora. The words “goodbye” left a spicy taste on his tongue, so Juza refused to say them. You two held each other’s gaze for a moment too long, but didn’t mention it.

“I’m sorry for leaving you so soon.”

If you make a mistake, you apologize.

You didn’t react immediately, you just nodded as if it was okay. It wasn’t, really. You both knew Juza’s sudden departure was shrouded in unknown mystery. Neither of you had the courage to properly address it, however.

“But, I’ll see you again. I promised, didn’t I?” Juza began walking away, knowing he was due to leave and run far, far away to his next assignment. Liyue had no place for him anymore. Even when the stars of Teyvat claimed there would always be a place for adventurers, Juza wasn’t so sure if they meant him as well.

All you wanted to do was run after him. Sprint towards Juza and make him stay, even though he never would. You wanted to stand up and weave through the crowds to see his back one last time. But, you didn’t. You didn’t want to make this harder on yourself than it already was.

Before Juza disappeared for a long, long time, he looked over his shoulder with a wave.

“Farewell, my friends. Until we meet again... in Snezhnaya.”

If you give someone a dream, you defend it ‘til the end.

[invaderlynx]

Booker and La Campagne de Russie

I just watched The Old Guard and honestly, it was one of the best movies I’ve seen in a VERY long time. Of course, now I’m having all sorts of thoughts about the whole thing and particularly about Booker because his backstory intersects perfectly with my historical interests. I know that all the immortals in The Old Guard have experienced all sorts of terrible trauma, but because I am a history major with an affinity for the Napoleonic period, especially the Russian Campaign (and because Booker is my favorite character), I’d like to give you guys an idea of just what sort of torture he faced even before the pain of losing his family (also for fair warning, I have not read the comics):

Please place yourself in Booker’s shoes. You are one of over 600,000 men mustered to march into Russia. You’re serving in an army you never wanted to join, taking up arms for the glory of an empire that’s never done anything for you. You’ve been separated from your three beloved sons and your wife whom you love more than life itself, and have been sent off to fight in a foreign land that’s nothing like the home you’ve left behind. That much becomes evident immediately. 

The invasion starts in the summer of 1812 and it is hot, unseasonably hot. You feel it, laboring as you are under the thick heavy materials of your sweat-soaked uniform. Each step is its own torture in the heat as you struggle through mud left behind by hard summer rains. More than a few men kill themselves at this point and although this is just the beginning, you can hardly blame them. Some of your comrades get the bright idea to start discarding some of their extra layers of clothing—underthings and the like. Perhaps you join them, anything to lighten the load. You can’t be expected to carry all this over the long miles ahead. You’ll live to regret that decision.

The fighting itself is worse than the conditions. You never quite get used to the violence. No matter how many times you’re thrust into battle, your mouth still goes dry, your heart still thunders as loud as the military drums’ tattoo, you still choke on that thick gunpowder smoke. You nearly threw up the first time you killed with a bayonet. You remember sticking the man in between the ribs, a swift stab and he is bleeding out. It is only then that you see his face and realize just how young he is. He is a boy, maybe a few precious years older than your eldest. He cries as he falls. You didn’t speak Russian at the time but you didn’t need to to recognize the word “Мама”.

The only thing that makes it possible to keep putting one foot in front of the other (besides your family, of course) is your comrades-in-arms. Against all odds, you’ve found friendship here, men with whom you can share stories and jokes and drinks. You find a few men of around your own age with families, wives and children that they lovingly speak of, but many of these soldiers are young, young enough to be your sons, far too young to be out here slaughtering and being slaughtered. Over your meager meals you tell stories of home and it is enough to hold off the impending horror, at least for a moment. When that doesn’t work, you turn to drink. You drink an awful lot.

The conditions of this foreign land are mercurial at best and your woes are only compounded by your lack of proper supplies. The Russians have been scorching nearly everything in the wake of their retreat, making it difficult for you to forage for food. Your search parties turn up very little by way of provisions and your food supply continues to fall in tandem with the temperature.

Borodino is hell. You see the man to the right of you receive a cannonball to the chest and fall in a spray of red, you see the man to the left crumple as a shot rips through his handsome, hard-lined face. One of your friends, one of those boys that you’d come to regard as a surrogate son who was barely old enough to grow hair on his chin, catches a bullet in the leg. He dies in agony four days later, one of the thousands of casualties of that damned battle. In your lowest moments, you wish you would have joined him.

You were never a particularly happy man, even before the war. Prone to fits of melancholia, they would have said back then. Your darling wife and your three sons certainly helped to alleviate that heavy, aching emptiness that resided in your chest, but it never went away, not fully. It resurfaces with a vengeance now. Sitting with your gun in your hands and far too much liquor in your belly, you think about ending it all. How easy it would be to put a bullet in your brain and finally die. In the end, it’s your family that saves you again. You may not want to live for yourself, but for them- for them you can keep fighting. Besides, Moscow is only 70 miles away and once you take the ancient capital, Russia will have no choice but to surrender. That’s what everyone is saying and you force yourself to believe that it’s true.

Moscow was a lie. You took the capital but there was no peace. There was no food either. The Russians took it all when they abandoned the place, leaving almost nothing for your starving army. Nothing but liquor, which you are very grateful for at least. Your superiors probably aren’t, you think wryly as you raise the bottle to your lips and drink, drink, drink.

Moscow passes in a drunken haze for you. You drown yourself in Russian booze, drinking yourself absolutely insensate. There are entire days you spend propped up against the wall of some ramshackle Russian establishment, surrounded by empty bottles, too drunk to even stand. You remember bits and pieces, shattered memories drifting in and out of the fog. The looting and the things you took (a fine scarf, a silver flask, maybe more), a ladies’ fur shawl wrapped about your shoulders to keep out the chill, the burning heat of a terrible fire and the screams in French and Russian, the acrid taste of bile in your mouth as you splutter sick all over yourself only to raise the bottle to your lips again for another drink. In the end, you’re forced to leave Moscow as the position becomes untenable, the abandoned city burned to a shell of its former self. You never do learn who first started the fire, even years after the fact. 

The retreat is hell on Earth, worse than anything else that came before. La Grande Armée is hardly an army any longer, you’ve lost practically all discipline. By now, you’re just a bunch of exhausted, cold, starving men who want nothing more than to just make it home alive. Most of them won’t. The temperatures have dropped to below freezing at this point and you are wishing more than anything that you still had those infernal layers that caused you so much pain in the summer months. The clothing you and your comrades drunkenly plundered in Moscow—silken scarves stolen from abandoned trunks, heavy furs pilfered from store inventories, ladies’ shoes that hurt your feet but do a better job of keeping out the slush than your tattered boots—help, but not enough. Your fingers stiffen to near icicles in the cold as you try your damnedest to massage even a little warmth back into them, your face is wind-chapped and scabbed. You feel as though your very marrow has frozen, and you are one of the lucky ones. Men freeze to death in their sleep in less than an hour. Fifty men will sit down at a fire and only the twenty or so closest will ever get back up again. You all begin to loot the bodies of the dead and—as you grow more desperate—the dying as well. Corpses are stripped naked and left in the snow as the survivors squabble over their threadbare uniform pieces. Sometimes the corpses still twitch and moan but you try to ignore that.

There’s no food either. In addition to freezing, you’re starving too. The lot of you fight and quarrel over moldy crusts of bread, and in some cases even kill each other for them. The more clever turn to other sources to fill their writhing, empty stomachs. Some eat their boots, but there isn’t much leather left in any case. Some carve their meals off the horses as they walk, tearing bits of bleeding flesh off of the warm, moving flanks in a short-sighted attempt to get even a few morsels of meat in their bellies. Others, in mad desperation as the march (if you can even call it that any longer) wears on, turn to each other.

Perhaps you take part in this, perhaps you don’t. Perhaps you sidle a man out of the way to get closer to the fire, perhaps you take a coat off a corpse that you don’t know for sure is dead yet, perhaps you accept a piece of meat that you do not quite know the origin of. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

In the end it doesn’t matter. You die anyway. You don’t really remember how it happened the first time. Maybe you were finally picked off by the advancing Russians, maybe it was exposure, exhaustion, starvation, sickness, any of the hundred ways that you could die in this frozen wasteland. All you know is that one moment you were on your feet, shambling mutely forward, the next you were lying on the icy ground, gasping air back into lungs that had fallen completely still. Four faces are burned into your memory and from one you can still hear the gurgling, watery screams.

That’s when the dreams start, after that first death. Though, you wouldn’t classify them as dreams, they’re far more alike to nightmares. You see that screaming, drowning woman often. You feel her fear as she slams her body against her metal coffin. Even awake you can’t get the sound of her choking out of your head. Sometimes there are soft moments interspersed with the horror. You see a woman with short hair (it reminds you of a coiffure à la victime) laughing, you see two men resting in each others’ arms, foreheads pressed together gently, blissfully happy. To be quite honest, these ones hurt worst of all because they make you regret ever waking up.

You die a few more times before you finally decide to desert. You can’t take it anymore. That tyrant Bonaparte has abandoned this army, why can’t you? You take flight under the cold cover of night, trying to get to the Russian border. You don’t make it very far. You are dragged back—aching, tired, and hungry—and are hanged by the road as a deserter. Perhaps there still is a little discipline left in these ranks, at least enough to allow these soldiers to kill their comrades in the name of orders. You have to wait three days for the road to clear before you can finally run. In that time your body is almost entirely picked clean by looters. You continue your desperate trek back home in spite of it all and die many more times in the weeks (or was it months?) that follow. It never gets any easier.

 It’s near the border into Prussia that you finally meet one of the figures from your dreams. Perhaps it is the woman with the short hair who offers you a drink and a coat to put around your shoulders, and tells you bluntly but not unkindly that you’re immortal. Perhaps it is the curly-haired man who helps hold you upright when you stumble and is careful and caring with his words as he gently explains the situation. Perhaps it is his lighter-haired lover who catches you when you fold in on yourself from the weight of his words and offers you affirmations and condolences in a voice reminiscent of a priest. Whoever it is, they ask you to come with them and explain that there are others like them- like you out there.

“What about my family?” you stutter out, almost unconscious of the words as the tumble from your mouth “My wife? What about them?”

They favor you with a sad smile and try to explain, but you will hear none of it. They do not stop you when you tell them that you are going home, and you are glad for it.

With the supplies they give to you, you manage to hobble your way back home. You’ve been taken for a dead man, you realize, everyone you pass seems to think you’re a ghost. You don’t care. You only have one person on your mind.

Your wife answers the door dressed in black. She starts to cry when she sees you and throws her arms around your neck. You nearly crumple, weak as you are. “Bastien, Bastien,” she sobs against your shoulder “What happened?”

That question fills you with icy dread. Your stomach drops as you realize you cannot explain to her what you’ve been through, not in a way that she’ll understand. Even if you explain the immortality and she believes you, she won’t understand the horrors you’ve seen. No one will. A soldier’s burden.

You stay silent and instead cradle her closer as your boys appear in the doorway. You have them and, for now, that is enough. You won’t forget, you will never forget, but for now at least you have this.

[moonbeambucky]

Know It All

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader [College AU] Word Count: 5300 Warnings: fluff, minor angst

Summary: Your grades and patience are tested when you’re paired together for a class project with the one person you cannot stand, Bucky Barnes.    

A/N: This is my submission for @jaamesbbarnes​ and @sgtjbuccky​ Milestone Celebration Writing Challenge. My prompt was “Looking for trouble, are we?” I cannot thank Sam @buckyofthemyscira​​ enough for being a wonderful beta and helping me get on track when I was so lost with this and to Allie @all1e23​ for her help with a plot conflict. My mind was working against me on this one but I hope it turned out well. gif source (x)

The brisk air of autumn winds fill your lungs as you stepped outside, energizing your body faster than the coffee you finished not long ago. Coffee was practically a requirement as a college student, a must for an early Monday morning class, especially when that class is calculus, taught by the nice but a little stiff and robotic Professor Vision.

Leaves crunch under your boots as you walk to the building for your next class. It’s a short distance away yet still you pick up your pace, huffing as you rush towards Lee Hall so you could get a good seat for your next class which happened to be your favorite.

If there was anyone more excited than you about American History it was Professor Coulson. You had first taken his introductory class a few semesters back and found he had an excellent way of bringing out new details to a subject you thought you were well versed in.

Naturally, when he was teaching another class you needed for your requirements you jumped on the chance at signing up. As you walked into the large lecture hall you glanced to the left, greeting Professor Coulson with a cheerful smile, a smile that dropped the moment you noticed someone was in your seat.

You stomped your way up the steps to get to the fourth row, stopping dead center at the incredibly annoying person you knew was testing your patience.

“Move Barnes, you’re in my seat,” you huffed, arms crossing over your chest.

A sly smirk spread across the face of Bucky Barnes, a person you could sum up in one word, slacker.

“I don’t see your name on this chair, doll.” He winked; a simple gesture that made your anger boil over.

Class was about to begin so you sat down, leaving a seat in between so you didn’t end up in part of MCU history as the girl that strangled a classmate during class.

Bucky was the only damper on an otherwise perfect class. He didn’t take notes, he didn’t participate and he didn’t ever study. If Professor Coulson called on him it was like Bucky had no idea what the class was even doing. He would always stutter as he tried to catch up, turning towards you as he sighed after successfully bullshitting his way through another question; which pissed you off even more, because despite an open lecture hall with plenty of seats Bucky Barnes chose to sit next to you.

It was obvious you were a smart student. Your hand raised every time to be called on, you took amazingly detailed notes and aced every test, which is why you had a feeling a certain someone decided his new spot would be beside you. Cheater.

If he only studied and gave a shit about his grades he wouldn’t have to try to copy off you. Well you made sure he couldn’t. During tests you hunched over your desk, curving your arm around your paper to protect the answers you spent countless hours studying for.

Throughout class you tried to ignore the eyes you felt on you, seeing Bucky’s goofy smile through the corner of your eye. He was not going to succeed in distracting you. Nope.

You were going to continue listening to this lecture about World War II and not at all think about the way Bucky’s bright white teeth stand out against the scruff of his face. He’s probably too lazy to shave just like he’s too lazy to study.

Bucky let out a chuckle when he heard you humph under your breath. His audible laugh caused you to whip your head in his direction, flaring your eyes at him before they rolled back into your head.

“By Wednesday I hope everyone will have read pages 346 to 403 just in case something pops up,” Professor Coulson said, smiling to the large hall.

Grabbing your laptop you placed it neatly in your bag, tucking away a small notepad you kept out just in case and made sure your pens were capped tightly before they went into their own separate compartment.

“Wow, you’re such a nerd.”

You looked up disdainfully at Bucky’s large frame standing over you.

“The world won’t end if you misplace a pen, you know.”

You don’t respond. Tossing your bag over your shoulder you walked down the steps, calling out to Professor Coulson with a big smile as you waved him goodbye.

“Later Phil,” Bucky said as he left.

You rolled your eyes again at his boldness. Sure Professor Coulson said you could call him by his first name but it still seemed inappropriate. Of course Bucky didn’t care.

As you continued walking down the hall, you felt a presence beside you.

“So, are you going out for lunch now or are you going to head to the library like always? There’s plenty of time in the world to study, you could take a little break you know.”

Your lips scrunched together as you frowned, picking up your pace as your feet took you faster to anywhere that was away from Bucky.

“You just gonna ignore me?”

Your fists tightened so hard they were shaking, itching to feel release if you could only punch the smirk off Bucky that you knew he had.

“Doll?”

You spun around immediately, pointing a finger in his face.

“I’m not your doll so stop saying that! Why are you bothering me? We’re not friends. Just stay away from me Barnes.”

Bucky remained in his place as he watched you turn the corner, huffing with anger. His lips stretched out flat, an uneasy smile that gave way to a small frown, wishing things were different.

Professor Vision rambled on for an extra five minutes and would not let the class go, meaning now you had to run to Lee Hall if you were going to be on time for your next class.

Beads of sweat ran down your temple as you finally got into the building, panting as you raced up two flights of stairs. Your heart was pounding like a drum against your chest as you attempted to catch your breath during the power walk to the room.

It was bad enough you were probably going to be late, with eyes on you as walk through the door, now everyone was going to see you looking like a sweaty mess on top of it.

As you pulled the door open expecting the worst you were surprised to find that no one was looking at you. Professor Coulson was addressing the class as he was discussing something he had put up on the large screen.

Even though you wanted to see what it was you needed to take your seat which was surprisingly open. Bucky was sitting in the same row a few seats away but he had left your seat open.

He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, watching as you anxiously got yourself in order. It was unlike you to be thrown off from your usual precision.

“Incredible Bucky.” Professor Coulson admired the photo. “Where was this taken?”

“After the Battle of Azzano.”

Your head turned towards Bucky as he answered, with a wide eyed stare of disbelief having never heard him speak in class before, not in a real class anyway…

Before your mind wandered somewhere you didn’t want to revisit you straightened up, finally looking at the screen. It was a black and white photo of a group of soldiers, arms thrown over each other smiling despite some visible injuries; a bandage wrapped head, cuts and scrapes along their faces.

“Can anyone tell me what happened in the Battle of Azzano?” the professor asked again.

Your hand naturally shot up, smiling widely as you were called on. “About 200 members of the 107th infantry were captured by the Nazi’s, with their Captain leading an unsanctioned rescue mission to free them.”

“Correct. It nearly got him a dishonorable discharge but instead his superiors believed his actions in saving lives of not only U.S. Military but British and French soldiers who were captured as well should be awarded with a special medal, the Shield of Bravery.”

Again you felt Bucky’s gaze on you and turning your head your suspicion was confirmed. His smile was soft as he stared at you, his eyes expressing a strange aura of... Joy? Pride? You’re not quite sure and honestly you didn’t want to find out. Your head stiffened as you set your own gaze forward to begin taking notes.

As promised Professor Coulson “surprised” everyone with a pop quiz, one you know you would have aced regardless of the day you spent studying.

“Okay class, time is up. Pass your quizzes forward.”

Rustling paper echoed throughout the hall as you added your quiz to the pile you were given, walking it over to the person that sat in the row below you a few seats to the left.

“I’m gonna let you all leave early…” the Professor’s sentence was interrupted by a roar of cheers. “...but first I want to give you a heads up for an upcoming project. The details are posted online. Let’s say it’s due in 2 weeks?”

A wave of groans echoed from the back of the hall.

“Alright, 3 weeks.” He smiled as the new date went over a lot better. “Let’s make this simple, whoever you’re sitting closest to is your partner, if anything is uneven just join the nearest group. See you all next Monday!” he said, closing his laptop.

Panic flooded your body like a tidal wave, crashing down and dragging you under. It was hard to breathe, realizing the one person you wanted nothing to do with was going to be your partner for this project.

Bucky wore a smirk that made you roll your eyes and groan.

“Looks like we’re partners.” You didn’t respond.

With deep breaths you put your things away and got up, exiting the room and savoring your final moments of peace. Bucky shrugged his bag over his shoulder following you out.

You pushed open the door to the stairway, a forceful shove as a final act of letting out the anger you felt for being partnered with Bucky.

“We might as well get started,” you said, as you began descending the stairs.

“Get started?” Bucky scoffed, “It’s due in 3 weeks. We have time, doll.”

You shook your head. Of course Bucky wants to be lazy and save everything until the last minute. Well, that’s not how you do things.

“Don’t call me doll, and just because it’s due in 3 weeks doesn’t mean we can’t start now. Plus I want to get this over with.”

Bucky skipped ahead to hold open the door for you. “Uh huh, you mean you don’t want to spend more time with me?”

His tone was light and playful as his face became almost cherubic, batting his eyelashes, his lips pulling into a sweet smile that was almost convincing if you didn’t already know him.

Your face twisted incredulously. “Why would I want to spend time with you?” You shrugged your long knit cardigan closer over your body as you passed him, stepping outside into the chilly air.

Bucky scoffed again, his patience beginning to run thin. “Please doll, you’d be lucky to spend time with me.”

“Yeah right!” you chuckled, walking aimlessly beside him. “Your little act didn’t get passed me today Mr. ‘I’m going to kiss the professor’s ass with an old picture I found because that’s a great way to distract him before a quiz.’ You know it would be a lot easier if you just studied!”

Bucky’s smile soured into a sneer. “Oh like you, Miss ‘I’m scared of letting loose and actually having a good time so I’ll drown myself in studying as an excuse to be a stick in the mud,’” he mocked with a higher pitch in his voice.

“You don’t know anything about me!” you snapped, stopping on the walkway to yell at him, ignoring the looks of curious students as they passed by.

Cocking his head Bucky smirked, “Actually I do. Maybe you pushed it down but I remember you. Drama 101 with Professor Laufeyson two years ago.”

His words carry you back to the open room, where a black tiered platform with more chairs than students sat across from a stage. It wasn’t very large but the burden of stepping on it sat like a boulder in your stomach.

You remember it vividly, standing in the center as the bright lights burned away your confidence. The words of your monologue became a scramble of alphabet soup in your mind. Terrified and shaking, you stood silent in front of the class until a meek apology croaked its way out.

Head hanging low with disappointment as you sat back in your seat, watching as the rest of the class did what you couldn’t do. You hated how acting came so easy to them; to be a different person, to let go. Bucky did that with ease.

You envied him and his ability to be free and act silly or speak with a weird voice. He could do whatever the role demanded and you hated it. You hated not being good at something, hated that you couldn’t get over your insecurities, and you hated that Bucky could do something you were too afraid to do yourself.

“He was begging you to break out of your shell but you couldn’t. Guess you can’t study your way to an A for everything.”

Tears burned their way to your eyes at the sharpness of Bucky’s words. “You’re a real jerk, you know that?” You had no other comeback, you couldn’t fight the truth.

Before you gave him the chance to say anything else you took off. Feet pounding on the pavement as you raced to get as far away from Bucky Barnes, the biggest asshole you’ve ever met.

Bucky didn’t show up the following Monday. It was a relief to not have to face him after the way you left things. Not because you cared about him; you were more concerned with hoping he didn’t see you cry.

His absence didn’t stop you from thinking about him. While trying to pay attention to the lesson you cursed Bucky out in your head. Cutting class… what are we in high school? What’s the point of paying for college if you don’t even show up? But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about anything.

On Wednesday Bucky strolled into class just as it began. He trudged up the steps stopping at the row in front of yours. You expected him to move towards the center in front of you but instead you watched him shrug off his backpack, slouch into the chair and pull out his laptop.

Throughout class you kept glancing over towards him. His screen remained blank, turning black after neglect as Bucky rested his cheek against his palm, elbow propped up on the desk. Go home if you want to sleep during class!

When class ended you saw Bucky waiting for you at the door. With a deep breath you prepared yourself for whatever he was going to say.

“Hey,” Bucky said with much less enthusiasm than usual. You stared at him, giving a silent acknowledgement with a raise of your brows. “I need your number.”

Your response denying his request shot out like a speeding bullet. You didn’t even have to entertain the idea. Giving someone like Bucky your number would be an invitation to middle of the night calls, pranks or worse.

“How are we going to work on the project then?”

“Work on the project? That’s funny,” you laughed dryly, shaking your head.

His brows furrowed and just as Bucky was going to speak again you cut him off.

“Forget the project Barnes. I’ll do it myself and you can slap your name on it. Let’s be honest, I’m sure that’s what would have happened anyway.”

Maybe it was a harsh truth but it was a truth you knew from experience. It would be easier to complete the work on your own and have Bucky stand up there when it was time to present. He shouldn’t complain anyway, this would be an easy A for him.

“You’re a real bitch Y/N.”

Your jaw dropped open as you turned to face Bucky. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, jaw clenching tight as his ocean blue eyes were set ablaze.

“Excuse me? How dare y–”

He lifted his hand as he began to talk over you. “All this time I’ve tried to be your friend, since Drama! I say hello, I ask how you’re doing and all you do is ignore me.”

As Bucky ran his hands through his hair he turned his head away from you for a moment and you could swear the light reflected a watery shine in his yes. “You hate me for whatever reason and I don’t know why I kept trying but you don’t know shit about me!”

He began to walk away before coming back. “For the record, that picture was of my grandfather. His funeral was 2 days ago but I guess you’re too much of a selfish know-it-all to give a shit.”

Bucky stomped away this time for good, leaving you alone in the hallway feeling like absolute shit.

After finally motivating yourself to move, your feet took you to the library. Setting up your laptop you decided to do a little studying, but instead of academics you focused on researching something unknown, Bucky Barnes.

Finding him on Facebook was easy. Last year you made friends with Peggy Carter during your shared anthropology class and she happened to be dating Steve Rogers, aka Bucky’s best friend. On Steve’s profile you searched for “Bucky” and surprisingly nothing came up. When you searched “Barnes” you saw his profile, James Barnes.

Well that was something unexpected. How did you not know Bucky’s real name was James? A quick glance of his profile doesn’t show much information seeing as the most recent post was a meme someone named Sam tagged him in over a year ago. Great.

Looking at Bucky’s friends you were more successful in finding the profiles of his family. His father George rarely posted anything except for some comments on baseball and a sweet picture of what had to be Bucky’s sister. Dressed in a cap and gown, she was surrounded by her parents and Bucky, holding a diploma in her hand. Must be high school. She’s definitely younger than Bucky.

His mother Winifred’s page was a goldmine of information. It was George’s father who passed away. Henry James Barnes, a decorated World War II veteran who earned a purple heart after losing his arm in battle.

She posted several pictures of Henry throughout his life; some with his wife and the large family they had, a newspaper clipping of him with his oldest son Charles at 1955 World Series when the Brooklyn Dodgers won and the one Bucky shared with the class.

Every picture told the story of a loving husband and father who became a grandfather many times over. And there it was. Henry sitting on a floral couch holding baby Bucky against him. It made sense, clearly Bucky was named after him, and based on the other pictures posted they were very close.

You felt compelled to learn more about Bucky, going through his mother’s old posts and photos to see what you might find and what you uncovered seemed unbelievable. Student of the Month. Honors Society. The Dean’s List. Bucky was… a good student?! No, not just good, he was an excellent student.

You sat back against the hard chair wondering why you judged Bucky as hard as you had. He had never done anything personally to you for you to hold a grudge, and as you thought about what he said earlier he was right.

In Drama he tried to talk to you, tell you it’s okay, to shake it off your nerves and go for it, but you brushed him off, twisting his kindness into a condescending lecture. Even in History, when he saw you had class again together his eyes lit up. He sat beside you, asked how you’ve been and you gave him the cold shoulder.

Everything you thought you knew about Bucky Barnes was wrong and you needed to find him to apologize. You walked around campus hoping to run into him but that was useless. Now you regret not exchanging numbers.

The need to speak to Bucky grew as the days passed. Studying was nearly impossible. You couldn’t think about anything except him. Then you felt it, that aha moment. You were looking for Bucky in the wrong place.

It took a bit of digging to find Bucky’s Instagram (thankfully Steve still had his connected to his Facebook) but there it was, his life on display through vibrant pictures. Coney Island at night caught your eye, from the bright lights of the rides and games against the dark midnight sky, to other pictures of the Brooklyn Bridge with a beautiful sunset glow.

Your lips tugged into a smile while looking at Bucky surrounded by Steve and a few other friends but when you came across an old picture of him obviously drunk your smile grew into a large grin that stretched across your face.

Bucky was a mess, with glossy eyes that didn’t quite focus, long messy hair sticking to his sweat covered brow and yet he had the brightest, cutest smile ever, all while clutching a Kermit the Frog plush.

The most recent photo was of him and his grandfather with a touching caption that made your heart do a funny flip in your chest.

The circle around his profile picture turned pink and suddenly you wondered if you should click on it. If you do, he’ll know you were stalking his page but there’s a chance his story could tell you where he is. If you don’t you’ll have to wait two more long and torturous days before you can apologize.

You wanted to stop, to let it all go and begin studying for the weekend but you couldn’t. You were wrong and needed to make things right.

Click.

It’s a photo of a beer bottle with condensation dripping down onto the counter top, a faint glow of red from the lights behind the golden bar. Thankfully he tagged the location, Starks.

Quickly you changed out of lounge pants and threw on some jeans and boots, grabbing the nearest jacket and wrapping a scarf around your neck. With your phone in hand you headed out to the bar, hoping Bucky would still be there.

There was a small crowd beside the entrance, people you would normally feel intimidated by but you pushed on, passing them without hesitation as you were determined to find Bucky. Rock music blared as your eyes scanned all the people sitting at the bar but Bucky was not one of them.

A man behind the counter with dark eyes and finely sculpted facial hair made eye contact with you, flashing a big smile. You nodded back, smiling but moving along. Drinks were the last thing on your mind, although if you didn’t find Bucky you were seriously considering drowning your sorrows in whatever libation would take your guilt away the quickest.

You were nearly ready to give up until you heard it, the sound of Bucky’s laughter. You followed it towards the back, seeing a row of pool tables with Bucky on the end. He was accompanied by Steve and someone with a contagious laugh and gap-toothed smile.

Watching from afar you were happy to see Bucky happy and joking with his friends. Apparently you hadn’t blended into the crowd well enough as Bucky lifted his head and caught you in the gaze of his blue eyes.

“Well, well,” Bucky began. Since there was no point in hiding you walked towards him. “Looking for trouble, are we?”

Your heart began to race and you weren’t sure if it was from the flirtatious tone in his voice paired with the smirk he would not stop staring at you with or the fact that he looked damn good.

A simple grey sweater has never looked better, stretched across his muscular frame you never quite paid attention to before. Dark jeans stretched over thick thighs that made your mouth water.

Swallowing a nervous gulp you asked, “Can we talk?”

Bucky turned towards his friends, giving a silent look they must have understood. Grabbing their drinks they left leaving you and Bucky alone at the pool table.

“Bucky, I–”

“Hang on,” he said, walking around the pool table to grab the sunken balls from the pockets.

You waited a little impatiently for him as he racked up the balls, wanting to get your apology over with.

“Okay doll, you want to talk and I want to play so we’re doing both.” He smiled, grabbing a pool stick off the wall and handing it to you. “So what’s on the line?”

Confused, you asked what he meant as you chalked up the end of the stick.

“Well, we have to play for something, doll.”

All you wanted to do was talk to him but if he wants you to play this game literally, then you would.

“Fine. If I win, you have to stop calling me doll.” You smirked, watching his face sour with dismay.

“Really doll?” Those big blue eyes became even bigger as he pouted feigning sadness.

“I said stop,” you warned.

He dropped the pout, pulling his lips back into a sly grin. “You didn’t win anything yet, doll,” he said, winking at your unamused face.

As Bucky chalked up the end of his pool stick he mulled over ideas in his head. “Now if I win I promise to leave you alone...”

Your brows knit together with confusion. Why would he leave you alone? It should have felt like a relief and yet for some reason it upset you.

“... but first you have to give me a kiss.”

All of your worries flew away with his finished sentence. “Excuse me? No. Don’t be creepy Barnes.”

“Okay, okay, relax doll.” He held his hands up defensively. “I didn’t say it had to be on my lips alright. A peck on the cheek is fine. Deal?”

For some reason you agreed, probably because you really wanted to apologize to him. Despite Bucky’s stipulation you felt really bad for how you’ve been treating him.

Walking past Bucky you took off your scarf and jacket, throwing them on top of his familiar leather jacket. You set yourself up to break, leaning over the table to adjust the position of the cue ball and Bucky couldn’t help but stare at your backside.

“Need me to teach you, doll?”

He pictured himself leaning against your body, his hands gently sweeping over yours guiding the pool stick in the proper position. The thought got him a little too excited and thankfully you couldn’t see the way he adjusted his stance, shaking off his desire.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” you asked rhetorically, hitting the cue fiercely and sending two balls in.

Bucky’s mouth was agape in surprise.

“You don’t know everything about me either,” you smirked playfully as you set yourself up to hit the solid balls you claimed.

Leaning against the wall, Bucky tried his best to hide his proud smile as you nailed the next shot. This game might be over way before he expected and quickly he thought about asking for best 2 out of 3 to keep you there longer. He didn’t even care about the kiss, he honestly wanted to keep hanging out. Thankfully you missed the next shot and Bucky took his time figuring out the best angle to try for with the cue’s current placement.

It was now or never you decided, wishing you hadn’t walked past the bar because liquid courage would really come in handy.

Clearing your throat you finally spoke up. “I’m sorry about your grandfather.” Bucky picked his head up from the table, his face dropping to a solemn expression. “It seemed like he lived a great life.”

A simple chuckle and Bucky smiled again. “You stalkin’ me doll?” His tone was light and then he dropped it again with a more serious thank you.

Bucky took a shot and missed but he didn’t care about the game. “I should apologize too. You’re not a bitch or a stick in the mud.”

Your lips pulled into a lopsided smile. “Thanks. Well I might be a stick in the mud,” you admitted.

Walking closer to you, Bucky leaned against the pool table. “No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “Maybe more like a twig.”

He was happy to see you burst into laughter at his joke. This was the side of you Bucky had been waiting to see. He knew it was there, buried under the layers you built up in your quest to be a perfect student.

You continued to play, talking through the game as you got to know each other for real for the first time.

“I was so jealous of you in Drama. You were so carefree. I guess I twisted that in my head to think you didn’t give a shit about anything. I’m sorry.”

Bucky aimed to sink the next ball. “I do give a shit,” he said, striking the cue. “I study, but I have fun too.” He grimaced as the ball barely made it towards the pocket.

“I could probably take notes on that,” you replied.

“You would take notes. Where’s your laptop and your precious pens?” he teased.

“At home,” you chuckled. A wide smile spread across your face as you set up to take a shot.

“You look cute when you’re all smiley like that.”

The warmth of your cheeks intensified at his comment. Feeling your whole body begin to race you completely messed up the shot.

“You did that on purpose! You’re distracting me!” you grinned.

Bucky smirked, dropping his voice to a much lower octave, “Maybe I really want that kiss.”

You swallowed a lump that formed in your throat, urging him to continue playing. Things were close but a bad miss on Bucky’s part allowed you to hit the final solid ball, calling the 8 ball and sinking it.

“I’m gonna miss calling you doll,” he said, dropping his head down as his lips pulled into a frown.

“Considering I won I think I’ll let you continue calling me doll.”

His head picked up at your words, seeing the smile you wore that truly did outshine the sun.

“Oh, look at Y/N. She’s out having fun and breaking rules!” he joked.

Shaking your head, you chuckled, “Shut up Bucky.”

“Hey, I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said my na–”

You caught him off guard by pressing your lips to his but as soon as Bucky realized what happened you felt him smile against your lips, parting his own to kiss you back. His arms wrapped around your body as he pulled you closer, deepening the victory of his loss.

The crowd seemed to disappear as you lost yourself in the kiss, thankful that Bucky was holding you because you felt like a feather blowing in the wind. When you parted for air, you did so slowly, not wanting to separate your lips from his.

It may be true that you’re a bit of a know it all but now as you proudly fail at holding back a wide grin you realize there’s so much more to learn about your new favorite subject, Bucky Barnes.

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[delicrieux]

Hello! May I have a one-shot with Kylo being injured and reader, who is part of the resistance, finds him and takes care of him? Thanks!

idk how this turned out to be 5k words but WHEW i mean if ppl want me to continue it im down so send in sum request of wat u think should happen!! xoxo gossip girl

requests are open! | masterlist | part 2.

Fear. The kind that makes it hard to breathe as if you are kept underwater; the kind that makes your muscles clench and freeze as all senses flow out one by one. Today had been almost too typical — you woke up, you trained, you talked to your comrades and learned battle strategy — and you were certain your evening walk would be just as uneventful. The breeze in your hair was playful; the setting sun provided warm light and set your surroundings in a pleasant, rosy glow. You like the fresh air; you like exploring; you like the freedom that comes with being alone in wilderness. And in turn, it serves as a reminder for why you are fighting in the first place. To preserve this peace, this freedom, that now has been tarnished when you stumble upon a body.

For a heartbeat you think he’s dead — his expression is lifeless and his face, pale as first snow, is bruised, covered in soot and dried blood. Willing your legs to move, you approach cautiously, not breathing, afraid to break the shrill, sudden silence — no birdsong, no wails of wind passing through trees… nothing. Life had, at that moment, stilled completely. But as you draw closer, grass crunching under your feet softly, you intake a breath of both relief and surprise. Dark locks of hair spray on his forehead and obscure the minuscule knit of his brows, his trembling lashes. He’s alive. The thought consumes you and you fall to your knees, skidding beside him, pushing his hair from his face and landing your palm on his forehead.

It’s awfully cold. Chilling. Almost biting at your sensitive flesh, urging you to pull away. It rolls in waves, this sudden cold, sudden sickness, as if it is a virus that spreads and you have caught it with this minimal contact. But you don’t pull away, despite the near overwhelming urge to do so, despite the fear returning with a new blow. Instead you glide your fingers down his jaw and press on his neck, breaking into a small, crooked smile once you feel a slow drum against them. He is alive, but barely. You glance about him, looking around the area. Nothing out the ordinary, no branches broken, no bushes disturbed and no trails left on the grass. How he got here is a mystery that will have to be solved a different time.

You hope he will tell you once he wakes up, if he even wakes up at all.

That, and, his name, too.

Your base is small and tugged away in a dense jungle, the tall trees and heat warding from unwanted visitors — the First Order. The compartments are small; there are barely above a few dozen people here; it serves more as a safe haven for lost wanderers looking for a cause or shelter, or a backup base in case others were destroyed and the rebels had nowhere to go. It is far away enough from war. Everyone here is, to some extent, safe.

You had never been on the front lines. You had never faced a Storm Trooper, had never seen the Force at work — if there even is such a thing, speculations speculations, nothing consistent, merely gossip — and you had never seen a dead body. Perhaps that is why you froze up so terribly at the sight of him. Perhaps that’s why you felt as if a void opened within you, swallowing up the last shred of light, of life, and leaving you hollow.

You should get used to the sight, though. There will be many dead in battle.

He’s the only one occupying a bed in the Medical Wing and he hasn’t woken up for two days now. His vitals are stable — no internal bleeding, no disease detected, nothing out of place as it seemed. But he is lost in deep sleep, constantly dreaming about something that made him tremble and muss and toss and turn, but never wake. It is entirely bizarre how his state is simply there, caused by no injury, no blow, nothing. And the more you take care of him… the more questions you get.

You eat in the cafeteria, a vast enough, pale walled space occupied by few people during lunch time. Next to you sits a blue eyed, blonde haired cherubic woman – she serves as the doctor, the only doctor here. She smiles lightly at you when you catch her gaze. You had always wondered why her name is Vendetta. 

The amount of denizens is small here, so small in fact that the only ones serving under this branch is a rag tag team of scavengers, travelers, nobodies that had abandoned their old lives to fight in this war. Rebels, quite literally, with a cause. Many have taken new names. Vendetta, too, had a name before this, a life, a different purpose. Though her odd choice leads you to believe that what ever had happened to drive her here was painful and severe, deserving justice. In front of you sits a tall, bony, brown haired, brow eyed mechanic with a scar running down half of their face – Q. And beside them, July – you had never seen him smiling, had never heard his voice hold a tender note in it. He is always displeased. Always with a frown.

“Seven.” Vendetta calls you, noting your blank stare, the untouched food in your plate. Seven. You chose this because you were the seventh child in your family, and, subsequently, the seventh person to join the Resistance when this base first opened.

“She’s probably thinking about the stranger.” Q mutters, taking a sip, “His origins are…” They glance about, leaning in slightly, “ A hot topic, after all.”

“We get injured wanderers all the time.” Vendetta waves them off, “As if he’s any different.”

“I don’t think we should be so quick to dismiss him, V.” July grumbles, his voice low, the sound of crunching gravel. He sits with his arms crossed over his chest, observing the three of you with something akin to hostility, “You never know who may be working for the Order.”

“You can’t just assume that.” You pipe up, “He might just be another gambler dropped by the Floating Casino because he couldn’t pay his debts.”

“Or he might be a spy.” July stresses, glaring.

“No one knows there is a base here.” You continue, unrelenting, “Half the Resistance doesn’t know it exists, how can someone from the Order?”

“Still, I advice we exercise caution.” Q says calmly, a pleasant smile on their face — if anyone can defuse an argument before it starts, it’s them, “You never know what people are hiding, Seven.”

“Okay,” Vendetta chimes, “I will certainly not disclose this vital information when the man awakes from his comatose state. I shall make sure to confuse and frighten him further by chaining him to his bed.”

“Good.” July says.

“That is not what I had in mind, and you know it.” Q mutters, a tad disappointed, “I was thinking more along the lines of… An interview.”

“Too civil.” July mumbles, “I say we go with Vendetta’s idea.”

“That was not an idea,” She hisses, “it was sarcasm.”

“Fine, interview.” You submit, “Either way, I doubt anyone from the Order would not say they are from there. They are feared. Probably would think he has the upper hand, or something. Plus, our disguise is impeccable. We look like a research facility. Better yet, a shelter if no one wanders up to the main rooms.”

“I also sincerely doubt anyone, Order or not, is so good at lying first thing when they wake up.” Vendetta agrees.

July narrows his eyes at her, “That is an awfully naive observation to make.”

“Really now? It is a known fact that people half-asleep always tell the truth.”

Another hour of this and you feel drained and sore and with a mild headache. As much as their company has helped you, they can be a bit too eager to prove one another wrong. On most occasions you’d enjoy the chatter. Today, however, you feel too distracted to focus on anything. Q makes some good points, July argues, Vendetta and her biting comments pick at your skin. Always the blazing look in her eyes, always a certain gleam of anger hiding within her mellow, sweet tone. You excuse yourself when you finish your meal and they do not keep you from leaving. Perhaps they noticed you being out of it. Perhaps they were too caught up in their new topic – Lo and Chester’s sudden break up. 

It does not take you long to come to the Medical Wing. The door shuts with a silent sweep and your heart drops – the bed is empty. Before you can do much else strong arms wrap around you from behind. With a yelp you feel a hand squeeze your throat and your breath leaves you with a helpless whine, sparks flying in your vision. Your reflexes kick in before you can control them. In a panic, you elbow your attacker in the chest and the grip loosens a bit, enough to allow you to escape and put some distance. Inhaling mouthfuls of air, you turn to the man that had been sleeping since you found him in the wilderness.

You never quite realized how tall he is, or how angry he could be. He’s confused and you see fire in his eyes, a sneer on his face, and he stands unmoving, waiting for you to try something, anything, so that he could grab you and try to kill you again.

You raise your hands, palms up —a fragile, harmless motion to indicate you mean no harm. His guard is still up. He’s heaving and his shoulders are tense, his gaze not once leaving your form, “…Hi,” You wheeze, almost voiceless, “I’m not here to hurt you.” You indicate softly. Cold, again, as if thrown into a bottomless ocean; body heavy, like a stone. You gulp. “Are you alright?” You question gently, afraid to provoke him again. “You must be tired. You’ve been out for a while.”

“Where am I?” His voice is deep and scratchy and it seems to set him off. He trembles from anger, you can almost feel the steady build up of rage in his chest, ”Who are you?”

“I’m Seven.” You introduce, “I found you outside our base. Do you know how you got here?”

He takes a threatening step forward and your arms shoot higher, “I’m not your enemy.” You insist, “You are not a prisoner here. You were dying and I wanted to help you.”

He regards you for a silent moment as if unsure whether to believe you or not. However, you sense that he will not try to hurt you, for now at least. You give him a shaky smile, trying to ease him — you cannot imagine how frightening it is to awake in some room among strangers and not knowing where you are or what had happened. “Do you…know your name?” You continue your questions, your arms slowly falling by your sides. After another pause, he nods curtly, “Good. That’s good.” you step away from his bed, “Please, lie down. You’re still recovering. No shady business, I promise.”

You are a bit surprised that he listens, but you don’t show it. He’s cautious, regarding you as if you were some dangerous animal cornering him, and his walk is sluggish. You can tell it’s hard for him to move, but don’t say anything. You doubt it would do any good. He finally sits down and just stares at you. You try to smile again, “Do you know how you got here? It’s okay if you don’t.”

“How long have I been here for?” He asks instead.

“Two full days in the base.” You say calmly, “But out there?” You vaguely motion with your head to the outside world, “I don’t know.”

Your answer unnerves him. For the first time his frown falls and he stares at you with big eyes and a trembling lip, as if a lost child not knowing what to do. That expression warps suddenly and he looks away, his hands gripping the side of the bed so tightly his knuckles turn white. 

“Well, if there is…anything you need…” You start mildly, “You can call upon me. Or Vendetta. She’s the doctor here, so if you feel any pain or sickness, you should tell her. She’s sweet.” You smile, “And she will help. But right now, just try to rest…I’ll…leave you to it.”

You bolt past him to the door but– “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

You turn back to him, shaking your head lightly, “No. But it doesn’t matter. A lot of adventures come through here, lost and injured. You aren’t the first one. Now rest, please.”

He’s volatile, is what you learn upon the first days of his resurrection. His mood can change in a flip of a coin and he goes from placid to enraged in a blink of an eye. Tantrums, yelling — all signatures of a spoiled child not knowing what he has but simply wanting to break it. He’s nobility, or so your peers gossip. You hear snippets of all sorts of things, each more outrageous than the one before. The one that he is a prince kicked out of home for adultery seems to be the most popular one.

And he’s egotistical. He had not been, besides the attempted murder, that hostile and untamed towards you — the choking you told no one about as you concluded he simply felt threatened and scared. Though his other tantrums you are not so quick to chalk up as self-defense. Vendetta, exasperated, one evening told you that she somehow offended him — ”All I said is stop pouting because you need my help!” — and he, with a bruised ego, so high and mighty promptly jumped out of bed. Whatever he was trying to do backfired — perhaps he was trying to leave, or trying to grab something and to hit her with — but he slipped and fell and hit his head into the sharp corner of table. “And I said to him, oh I said: look what you’ve done now! Off to bed, quickly!” Vendetta finished bitterly, stabbing her fork idly into her food, possibly imagining his face there. His nose, much to V’s displeasure, was not broken, but an ugly gash and a dark bruise split his skin in half and he laid in bed sulking for at least a day.

As the week passed, he seemed to favor your company the most. It is not that he smiled and joked and laughed in your presence, and you were not exchanging secrets or hugging or even calling each other friends. He simply seemed to be more mellow around you, possibly because you oddly knew what to say and what to keep silent. It is as if you sensed the subtle shift of his moods; could read his expressions in a way no one could, perhaps no one tried. And you would come and visit him as often as you could when relieved of your duties — you felt responsible for him in a way, and you wondered if you would still feel this weight on your shoulders when he eventually left this place. After all it was you that had found him lying in the grass; it was you that had insisted to help him; and now, it is you that brings him food and tries to provide some comfort in a form of conversation. You don’t pry into his past, don’t even ask for his name, because you know he does not want to give it, and you won’t risk questioning in fear of another explosion of his temper. You talk about inconsequential things: what’s happening around the base, what sort of plants grow around here, what bugs could kill him before he took two steps. He especially enjoys hearing the rumors about him, even if he is too prideful to admit that they amuse him greatly.

“And what if I am?” He questions one evening, something akin to a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His eyes, a kind hazel color that could be beautiful if not for the persistent angry spark within them that is now, seemingly, vacant, watch you closely.

You frown softly, “Are what?” You question, “A prince?” He nods. You snort, “Well then, your majesty, I shall make sure to inform the others. What will be your first decree?” 

He pretends to think, “No more slacking around.” He says sternly, “This is supposed to be a military base, isn’t it?” He ends on a cheeky note. You gulp. Ah, yes, you might have let it slip that he’s in one of the Resistance’s safe houses, though you did not disclose the coordinates.

“On a mission to make fun illegal, are you?” You ask with a raised brow. 

He frowns, “Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

Childish, really, though you suppose it is better than arguing with July.

You feel it before you hear it— rain and thunder. The merciless patter on the roof and on your window. In night the sound is almost deafening — a loud roar of an engine, followed by cracks of lightning and flashes in the dark sky. You would have slept through it if not for the pins and needles washing your skin behind the warm sheets thrown on your body. You stir. Thunder roars and a flash of bright white light illuminates your room and seeps through the cracks of your lashes. Cold, again, as if standing in the middle of a storm.

You finally sit up, rubbing your face and then looking around to see if your friends are playing some sort of joke on you. You were almost certain they had dragged you outside and left you to get drenched. But you are alone in your room and you frown and shiver from the biting cold. Groggily you throw the sheets away and leave your bed, not entirely certain where you are going but there is a pull in your gut and half-asleep you follow it. You think you might still be dreaming —the rain on your dry skin feels real, though all dreams feel real until you awake. You leave the dormitories and take the elevator to the first floor. The base is silent, save for the shrill of machinery. Finally, still in your pajamas and almost fully awake, you step past the main entrance and stop.

It’s pouring, a curtain of rain obscuring the confusing contours of trees and leaves and bushes. The darkness does not help. A bleak light pulses to life once you pass the sensor and your surroundings illuminate. Thunder, lighting, more rain. You stand safe and dry under the roof, and he stands at the very edge of it, half soaking, his face kissed and washed by the rain.

You are not sure what to think. He seems lonely standing there surrounded by darkness and water. It’s whispers, or something akin to that, that urge and beseech that he does not want to be alone. You hear them somewhere in the back of your mind. If he noticed you, and he should have with the light suddenly on, he does not show it. You approach him slowly, your footsteps concealed over the heavy drum of rain.

“Not used to it, are you?” You ask, your voice followed by a bolt of thunder. He stirs, head tilting in your direction. Your heart skips a beat when your eyes meet — there is no hostility in them, no anger, just a distant sadness. You give him a soft smile, “I can tell you don’t see it often. I didn’t, either, at first. I grew up surrounded by deserts and I had not seen a drop of rain for at least eighteen years. But, here… Well, there’s no shortage of it. We have storms at least once a week. You’ll grow sick of it before you leave, trust me.”

He says nothing, still looking at you. The light sniffs out. Both of you stand unmoving.

“Why are you here?” He asks, a note of genuine confusion slipping past his calm tone.

“I… don’t know.” You admit. A frown pulls on your brows and you bite your lower lip, staring into the heavy curtain of rain, “I…I really don’t know.” You turn to him, “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, savoring the silence. Then, “I got bored laying in bed.” Somehow you feel that anxiety has more to do with his sudden nightly venture, rather than actual boredom. Though, you suppose it is quite tedious doing nothing all day. You imagine he is active, judging by his built. He has a strong character and he knows what he wants (most of the time), or rather has a distinct sense of what he doesn’t want. You imagine he’d be a good commander, or leader, with his deep voice and unrelenting stare, if only he wasn’t so sensitive. He’s too unpredictable. Too uncontrollable. His emotions get the better of him too quickly for him to be unbiased. For that reason alone you deem him unfit to be a spy, or a soldier, or a figure of military power. He’d burn all he would build if that were the case. No, him being of noble birth and being stranded here as some sort of twisted punishment sounds believable enough.

“What are you thinking?” He questions, drawing you out of your thoughts. You hum, ponder whether you should be honest with him or not. “Don’t lie to me.” He says suddenly and you jolt, heart drumming painfully in your chest. For a frightening moment you figured he could read your mind. Then again, you have been spending a lot of time together. He must have noticed how gentle you are with him, how carefully you pick your words. His signature frown is back, you see it for a second when lightning strikes.

“I was thinking about your life.” You admit, “Your work. Whether you really are a royal as most of my crew mates seem to think.”

Flash. You see half a smile blooming on his lips.

“But I know you won’t tell me. Don’t worry, I get it. Ladies love a mystery.”

“What?”

It’s your turn to grin, “Oh, please, it’s almost all I hear about. Seven brought a brooding stranger with a secret past into the base. Lo…Michel… Two of your rapid admirers. I already told you that your arrival has sparked many speculations.”

“I…I haven’t…” He sounds uncertain, flustered almost, as if embarrassed, but there is no way he is, you refuse to believe it. He stumbles upon his words and lastly says nothing. You snicker silently. Another flash of lightning and you see the same confused, puppy-like look on his face you have had the pleasure of seeing once or twice. He does not shield it this time, this moment of vulnerability. He probably doesn’t see the point because darkness obscures everything again.

You extend your hand to him as a silent offering. How many things have you offered him now? Life, health, your company. He regards it, ponders a bit, lastly gently clasps his hand over yours. You jerk. Electricity courses through you and your eyes go wide, tingles rushing all over your body. Lightning strikes. You see wonder on his face, a mimic of your own surprised expression.

“Come on,” You stutter, tugging him, “you’ll catch a cold.” He follows after you. The light blinks on. You don’t know what is happening. Couldn’t have been the thunder, the feeling is not as intense. It felt more like a build up of energy; like you accidentally touched a circuit and it zapped you.

Impossible, you hear something alike his voice but not quite — it’s quiet, distant, muddy.

“Hm?”

“What?”

Once inside, the door sweeps shut behind you, “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything.” He sounds a bit ticked now, and you decide to drop it.

“Oh,” You mutter, “must’ve imagined it, then.”

His hand is cold in yours and you squeeze it just a bit, hoping he won’t notice and hoping that you will warm it. When you reach the Medical Wing, you tilt your head and say, “Wait here. I’ll get you dry clothes from the storage.”

But as you turn to leave he doesn’t let go, though doesn’t say anything either. He’s choked up — either he doesn’t know how to say it or doesn’t want to say it at all. He doesn’t want to be alone. Those whispers come again, ringing in your ears so quietly you aren’t sure they’re even there. You give him a soft smile, catching his gaze, “Okay, we can go together. You’ll probably stay here for at least another week, so, it’s best you know where the storage is anyway.” There’s no rush in your words, no annoyance, just simple acceptance. It eases him, relieves him of saying and admitting things he’s not willing to bring to light.

The walk is quiet and you still hold hands. His is much bigger than yours, rough, though not unpleasant. They are hands of a man that uses them often — for better, or for worse — and a twinge in your heart, a sudden thud of uncertainty, informs you that your previous speculations might have not been correct at all. His hand doesn’t feel like that of a prince (not that you would know what that would feel like), no, it feels like a hand of a soldier. But that inching of something amiss is swept away by warmth, silent happiness, a certain deliriousness that starts blooming within you and spreading all around. You feel him, somehow; feel a connection. You can’t put it into words exactly, you doubt you could ever explain it to anyone. It’s fragile. And beautiful. And maddening that such a devout emotion is sprung by something as innocent as holding hands

You wonder if he feels it. You somehow know he does.

The storage room is not big. Your hand slips from his as he chooses to stand by the doorway and you rummage to get his things. You feel braver. Perhaps it’s the tiredness that leaves you so open and bold, but searching you can’t help but ask, “So tell me…” You start, handing him some towels, “What were you actually doing? Besides being melodramatic.” You add, your lips quirking upwards.

He regards you with lively eyes and you see a grin lift his cheeks. He’s smiling, actually smiling, and you know this action is precious and rare and you can’t help but beam at him in return, “You think I was being melodramatic?” He questions.

You laugh a little, a breathless bell-like “Yes” falling from your lips as you fetch him dry clothes from the upper shelf, “All you needed was a cape to swing around.”

His expression abruptly falls and the temperature drops with it.

“Right, no cape.” You mumble, a tad disappointed, handing him his clothes.

As you make your way back, you can’t help but saying, “I just thought it would suit you, is all.”

“What else do you think would suit me?”

You raise a brow, trying to keep up with his drastic shift in moods: again, hes smiling, then he’s pensive, now he seems lighthearted, genuinely curious. “You like to ask a lot of questions.” You conclude.

He shrugs, “I’m just trying to figure out what you think of me.”

“And why are you curious?”

“Now you are the one asking a lot of questions.” He points out. You snort.

“You started it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

This again, followed by quiet chuckles. You don’t turn to the Medical Wing now, instead stopping by the elevator and pressing the red button. The doors slide open. You glance at him.

“So…” You mumble, “This is not how I imagined my night going, but…” You aren’t quite sure how to finish, how to vocalize the strange swirl of emotions in your chest, “Well, goodnight.”

You step into the elevator, going to push the button—“Ben.” He says suddenly, making you flinch and turn to him. He’s not looking at you, instead staring at the floor, “My name. It’s Ben.”

Again, that same energy, that same shock you felt when you first touched his hand ignites your body with something closely akin to happiness. Trust. Bond. He trusts you. The connection you felt was not an exaggeration. He would not have given you his name otherwise.

“Goodnight, Ben.” You say softly, fighting a smile that’s trying to rise on your face, “Sweet dreams.”

“…Goodnight, Seven.”

As the elevator doors shut, you think you hear him say “Thank you”, but that might have just been your imagination.

.

hope you liked it! xxx

.

[nonbinarybrainstorm]

Thunderclash Ruins Normal Spike for TFA Roddy

So, by popular demand or at least high interest, I’ve written my tfa!Roddy and ll!Thunders fic idea

Content: size kink, tummy bulge, excessive cum, kindling feelings

Enjoy!

Shots fire over the battlefield with resounding explosions as they make impact on the gray stone around them. Rodimus Prime pushes his back against a low outcropping and checks his bow, cursing as he takes in the damage. It was going to need extensive repairs after this and as it is now, he probably would only be able to get a few more shots in. Well, better make them count. He whips around to aim above his cover, targeting towards the Decepticons charging at him at full speed. Shutting his optics for just a flicker of a moment, thanking Primus that at the very least his team had managed to getaway. He pulls back and is just about to release as a sudden flash of light and a thunderous boom shakes the thin atmosphere, startling him and making his shot fly wide. Everything goes still as the dust begins to settle and a large silhouette lifts from the ground. It’s a mech like none Rodimus has ever seen, large and powerful like a Decepticon but land-bound like an Autobot. All Rodimus can think this mech could be is back up for the Decepticons here but they were far from needing any. What was going on?

Thunderclash looks around, dazed and confused, trying to gather his bearings and make sense of what just happened. Oh, right, Brainstorm happened, his processor finally provides helpfully. He turns to spot some unusual looking transformers emblazoned with the Decepticon insignia making him go on guard immediately. The war may be over but that certainly didn’t seem to stop any Decepticons they’ve met so far from wanting to continue hostilities. Realizing they were already on the attack as he puts his stance wide, he traces their line of attack to find their quarry. His optics land on a small bot, a mini and at that moment Thunderclash recognizes his shape, his colors and realizes he must be in another universe for he’s staring at a small replica of Rodimus Prime. He doesn’t need to spare a moment more to think about it, whatever the current situation, these Decepticons were going down. He wasn’t about to let any incarnation of Rodimus come to harm, not even that one evil one they met.

Rodimus watches in slack-jawed awe as the new arrival swiftly knocks the front-most Decepticon back like he weighed nothing more than an annoying stack of datapads. The mech’s movements were practiced and elegant like he’d been doing this all his life, a true machine of war. It didn’t make any sense in Rodimus’s processor as to why this mech who should be among Megatron’s most elite was defending him and he knew this mech was defending him after seeing that look in his red optics. Before Rodimus can come to any kind of census in his processor, the Decepticons who had been on the verge of bringing him to his end are retreating with heavy wounds of terribly dented armor and rips through their plating leaking energon. The mech turns around now covered with blast marks and scratches that don’t even seem to phase him with the occasional splatter of energon here and there. None of the energon could be his with how there wasn’t a single significant wound on his body. The strange mech smiles down at him and Rodimus can feel his frame heat inexplicably.

Thunderclash slowly walks towards the small Rodimus and kneels down to reach his hand out to him.

“Are you alright?” Thunderclash calls softly to him, not wanting to startle him.

The mech has an Autobot brand on his chest but he’s so tall and big, Rodimus can’t fathom it. Without thinking, Rodimus reaches it out and places his hand on the mech’s outstretched one. Upon the light touch, the mech’s hand wraps around his completely, encasing it gently but firmly in a warm embrace before he’s helped up from kneeling. Rodimus stares up mech and feels very small as he stands to see he only reaches the mech’s spike cover which serves to fill his processor with very unseemly thoughts that make his faceplates heat up. He blames it on the high of battle and pushes the thought roughly away.

“Yes, thank you,” Rodimus keeps his optics firmly trained on his face.

Thunderclash smiles down at this mini Rodimus and then feels his face heat in embarrassment as he realizes he hasn’t even introduced himself yet, “Oh, uh, I’m Thunderclash by the way.”

“Thunderclash,” Rodimus repeats and clears his intake, embarrassed at how dreamy his voice sounds saying this mech’s name.

“You must be Rodimus Prime, the Rodimus Prime of this universe that is,” Thunderclash says and releases his hand when he notices he was still holding it.

Rodimus blinks up in surprise and nods, “Yes, you’re from another universe? Do you know my alternate there?”

“I am,” Thunderclash’s smiles warmly again making Rodimus’s spark stutter, “He’s my captain, the captain of the Lost Light. I’m rather proud of that claim.”

A burst of jealousy that Rodimus knows is completely unreasonable bubbles up in his spark as he puts on a smile for Thunderclash.

“That sounds nice,” Rodimus scratches the back of his helm nervously.

Suddenly, his communicator beeps and he sees the message is coming in from command. He looks up apologetically at Thundeclash who waves him off with understanding. Rodimus nods his thanks and walks a few steps away to answer his communicator.

“Rodimus Prime,” Ultra Magnus’s strong voice pops in with a burst of static, “What is your situation?”

“I remained behind to give my team a chance to escape,” Rodimus reports, chancing a glance at Thunderclash every so often seeing him on his own call, “The Decepticons retreated after I received some aid from…”

Rodimus stalls as the ridiculousness of Thunderclash’s existence crashes over him. He couldn’t just tell Ultra Magnus he’d got help from a giant Autobot from another universe, that would sound insane.

“Rodimus?” Ultra Magnus prompts him, sounding concerned.

Rodimus shakes his head and responds, “I received some aid from a surprisingly adept civilian who helped me beat back the Decepticons.”

“That is… surprising,” Ultra Magnus says over the comm, thankfully sounding more surprised than doubtful, “We will have to give this civilian a commendation. A transport is set to arrive at your destination in two cycles with a Red Alert. We anxiously await your return.”

“Thank you, sir,” and with that the call ends.

Thunderclash walks up to him, “I’ve been told that I’m going to be picked up in just a few hours. So, I guess I’m here until then. You?”

“Transport is on its way,” Rodimus shrugs then tilts his head, “Hours?”

Thunderclash shrugs, “Earth time. It caught on pretty quickly on our ship.”

“Okay…” Rodimus says not sure how else to respond.

They stand there awkwardly for a moment, neither of them quite sure what to say. Thunderclash pats his legs for a moment and looks at an outcropping of rocks, thoughts flitting behind his optics.

“It’s going to be a while until I can get back, until either of us are going to get back,” Thunderclash points to the outcrop and looks back at Rodimus, “I’m going to go sit over there, maybe catch some recharge. Feel free to join me if you wish.”

Thunderclash walks over to the outcropping and slides down its surface so his back is to it and stretches his strong arms out before resting them on his knees. Rodimus watches him, feeling a sudden sense of indecision. There was a real possibility he was never going to see this mech again and Rodimus wanted… He didn’t know what he wanted really or, rather, he wanted to many things. He knew exactly what he wanted what was he kidding himself for? If they’re never going to see each other again after this then there was no harm in testing the waters or even taking the plunge. If he asked the worst that would happen is that he would be embarrassed for two whole cycles and that would be the end of it. Making a decision, Rodimus walks up to Thunderclash and rests a hand on his knee, getting Thunderclash to look up at him with an open expression.

“Uh, I would like to give you my thanks,” Rodimus drums his fingers on Thunderclash’s knee, “for saving me, I mean.”

Thunderclash smiles sweetly at him, genuinely touched, “It was no trouble.”

“No, I know,” Rodimus gets closer, moving his hand to Thunderclash’s shoulder, leaning in closer with his spark spinning a mile a minute, “I saw how you defeated them with barely straining a cable. I just want you to know…”

Thunderclash doesn’t move as Rodimus leans in, optics traveling to his derma and staying stock still, not entirely believing that this was happening. Rodimus leans in close and presses a kiss against his lips which Thunderclash would like to say that he had a bit more self-control and didn’t immediately melt into it but he did. Having this small version of Rodimus in his arms was like a dream. He doesn’t remember when he pulled Rodimus into his lap, but there he was, kneeling and kissing Thunderclash like his life depended on it. Thunderclash trails his hands over Rodimus’s frame, unable to resist the mech in front of him, feeling how small he is with his frame fit perfectly into Thunderclash’s hands. One of Rodimus’s knees rubs Thunderclash’s panel and it snaps open to let his spike pressurize between them. He tries to apologize to Rodimus but his words turn into a gasp as he feels Rodimus grab the head of his spike and run his thumb over it.

“Is this okay?” Rodimus pants out and Thunderclash just nods.

Thunderclash feels his processor practically melt as Rodimus starts stroking his spike, eyeing it with a hungry optic that Thunderclash had never even imagined on the face of his captain. Then, Rodimus uncovers his valve and lowers down in front of Thunderclash’s spike so he can push up against it with his wet valve. Making a choked off sound in his intake, Thunderclash grabs onto what he can of Rodimus as he balances on Thunderclash’s knees and starts grinding against Thunderclash’s spike. Thunderclash just moans and watches as Rodimus’s, this alternate Rodimus’s valve lips hug his spike as Rodimus moves his hips along it, gasping whenever his node rubbed against the head of Thunderclash’s spike. Rodimus’s legs begin to shake so Thunderclash takes him in his arms and moves to his knees so he can keep grinding his spike between the hot folds of Rodimus’s valve. He looks down at Rodimus whose optics are blazing with light and his face is practically split with how wide his smile is, optics firmly locked on Thunderclash’s spike.

Thunderclash moves his hips faster, getting Rodimus to cry out sweetly and pant, hot to the touch in Thunderclash’s hands. Then Rodimus grabs the head of his spike and squeezes, sending a jolt through Thunderclash that makes him stop cold, panting and moaning heavily.

“I want you to overload inside me,” Rodimus leans up and captures Thunderclash’s derma in a slow, gentle kiss before breaking it with a swipe of his glossa over Thunderclash’s lower lip.

“I don’t think…” Thunderclash vents out between pants only to screw his optics shut as Rodimus lines himself up with Thunderclash’s spike.

“Just go slow,” Rodimus trails his hand down Thunderclash’s length with one hand as grips Thunderclash’s arm with the other.

When Thunderclash still hesitates, Rodimus pushes himself down onto his spike some, the head of Thunderclash’s spike already stretching him obscenely so his node rubs against Thunderclash’s spike. Leaning down to steady himself on one hand, Thunderclash pushes in at a painfully slow pace, terrified of hurting this Rodimus. As the spike pushes deep inside of the wet heat of Rodimus’s valve, he relaxes to let more and more in. Rodimus moans as he sees how his plating shifts to let Thunderclash in, a bulge forming on his abdomen where Thunderclash’s spike is. Thunderclash feels himself shaking as he tenses every cable in his body to keep him from simply sinking into Rodimus, his valve impossibly tight around his spike. He can feel heat gather in his array and pressure build in his spike, waiting to be released.

Rodimus grips Thunderclash’s chestplate and tugs him down sharply to look him in the optic, “You’re not allowed to overload yet, not until you’re all the way in then you can.”

Something ignites along Thunderclash’s lines and he bites his derma as he continues to push in slowly, using every ounce of his willpower to hold back which comes harder as more of his spike pushes into Rodimus. Rodimus feels Thunderclash’s spike twitch in his valve as he’s stretched wide and filled so completely his hips twitch and spasm, unable to escape the almost overwhelming sensations. Finally, Thunderclash feels Rodimus’s valve lips press against his pelvic plates and sighs with relief, pausing as he vents heavily, heat and charge clouding his processor. Rodimus runs a hand over his lower plating over the shallow bulge and bites his derma as he writhes on the spike, gasping as the ridges rub against the walls of his valve.

“Well come on,” Rodimus pants excitedly, his optics flaring erraticly, “I know you’re desperate to overload. So, do it, I want to feel you overload inside me.”

Thunderclash chokes off a groan and practically overloading upon Rodimus’s command, filling him with hot transfluid, so that some pushes past his spike to drip onto the gray stone below. Rodimus cries out as he’s filled, overloading on Thunderclash’s spike, his valve unable to tighten anymore around Thunderclash’s spike that’s filling him so completely. They come down from their overloads rapidly rather than gradually and charge immediately begins to build again in Rodimus’s systems and he moves his hips however much he can.

“Keep going,” Rodimus begs, gripping desperately onto Thunderclash, “Please, I need more.”

Thunderclash swallows a moan and pants out, “Say that again.”

Rodimus groans in frustration and all but shouts, “Just frag me! I want you to use that spike of yours to- Ah!”

Thunderclash thrusts and Rodimus digs his fingers into Thunderclash’s arms, unable to form words, barely even able to think as Thunderclash’s spike fills him over and over. Unable to control himself any longer Thunderclash let’s loose, pounding into Rodimus as he keeps him still in one arm, his hand holding Rodimus’s hip tightly. It’s fast and rough, with the obscene sounds of Rodimus’s wet valve being used. Overload takes them both more violently this time, charge licking their frames in broad arches as Thunderclash spills again into Rodimus’s valve, making Rodimus feel warm and heavy in a way he’s never known before. They calm down completely this time and Rodimus winces slightly as Thunderclash’s spike depressurizes out of him, letting cold air hit his valve. Rodimus scrambles to hold onto something as Thunderclash stands up rapidly and walks him over to a taller bolder and sets him down gently. Pulling a clean rag out, Thunderclash begins cleaning him up, muttering under his vents.

Rodimus puts a hand on Thunderclash’s chest, getting him to stop for a moment.

“What is it?” Rodimus asks and Thunderclash looks incredibly chagrined.

“I should’ve had more control, now look at you, you’re all…” Thunderclash rubs his fingers into Rodimus’s abdomen plating soothingly, encouraging them to return to their normal extension.

“Stretched out?” Rodimus offers teasingly but Thunderclash only looks regretfully.

Rodimus pulls Thunderclash’s face down and kisses him again.

“I liked that a lot,” Rodimus smiles up at him, “I hope you did too.”

Thunderclash nods sheepishly and stares down at Rodimus, a faint pang forming in his spark. Wanting every moment he can have of this fantasy, he finishes cleaning them both up then pulls Rodimus to him, to hold him and kiss him sweetly until he gets a notice that just in a few minutes, he’ll be able to go home. The swirling blue vortex appears suddenly in the air and with one last farewell, one last kiss, Thunderclash walks through the hazy portal, returning to his own universe and leaving Rodimus alone.

Later, his transport arrives right on time with Cliffjumper and Red Alert in tow. He boards it with barely a word, feeling a strange kind of melancholy that he didn’t know how to describe. Red Alert guides him to the small medbay and checks him over. To lost in his own thoughts, he misses the concerned glances of the transport crew and the critical gaze of Cliffjumper. Red Alert smirks and that’s what catches his optic.

“What?” Rodimus asks, his tone reflecting his sour demeanor.

Red Alert just shakes her head, “Usually, mechs are a bit more cheerful after getting fragged to within an inch of their life. Have fun with our hero did we?”

Rodimus splutters and Red Alert waits patiently for him to form coherent words. He has to clear his intake of static, her comment throwing him so off guard.

“How do you mean?” he asks as flatly as he can even though he’s completely on edge now.

She points to his abdomen and explains simply, “Your plating is distended at quarter capacity. That only happens for two reasons and seeing as how I didn’t have to turn you the right way out again, you got fragged.”

Rodimus looks away, faceplate heating to a bright red, “Oh.”

“Oh indeed,” Red Alert chuckles, “I guess your hero got all the commendation they wanted then?”

Rodimus doesn’t say anything at first then very quietly says, “He was… nice.”

Red Alert stops and turns around at that to see the melancholy from before return. She walks over and pulls him into a tight hug.

“Oh, Rodimus, I’m sure, you’ll see him again.”

They journey back to Cybertron and Rodimus tries very hard to forget a mech with kind red optics, and a sweet smile.

[eugenesmorphine]

Hi, could you write something about ack ack? Anything but fluff

Yours Truly // Andrew “Ack-Ack” Haldane Imagine

AN: I want to let you know that this is angst. It talks about death and some blood so this is your warning. I worked hard on this Imagine so I hope you all enjoy :)

Words: 5,149

Taglist: @alienoresimagines @teenmagazines @punkgeekchic @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant @valterras @adamantiumdragonfly

Y/N hummed as she walked throughout the rainy, muddy land of Peleliu. She managed to snag a spare apple from chow. A rare occurrence and a new luxury amongst them all. And she managed to not only snag one, but one for her fellow officers. Maybe it wasn’t the best of her as a Lieutenant. Snagging some extra food beside giving it to her men. But she had gone without eating for a bit. Giving her meals to some privates who were less fortunate. So grabbing three apples for her and her two fellow officers in command wouldn’t be all too bad.

   Crunching down on her apple as she approached Captain Haldane and Hillbilly Jones. Smiling at the men as she chewed down on the fruit. It didn’t taste like the ones she ate back in the states. But compared to the maggot filled rice they had been eating, it was a little slice of Heaven. “What is up, boys?” she asked softly. Pulling her weapon off from her shoulder and setting it onto her lap as she sat on a rock. Jones and Haldane turned and smiled softly at the girl. The two always viewed the female as a little sister almost. But, to Haldane, she seemed to mean a bit more than that.

   When Lieutenant L/N first showed up as the first female Marine officer to see combat like no other, she was viewed immediately as a weaker target. In that time, women weren't viewed as strong supports for much. But Y/N was so different. She walked with her head held high. Her weapon tightly in her grasp. She took no shit from anyone. Y/N L/N was a woman of class, yet she knew how to lead these men. She was able to earn the Marine’s respect. It attracted Andrew Haldane. He respected her from the moment her boots hit the mud of Peleliu. He yearned to know more. And of course as they were in command. Like how Haldane and Jones grew close, the two accepted Y/N into the group. And that is where Haldane and Y/N blossomed.

   “Hey, Lieutenant. What you got for us this time?” Andrew asked. Leaning against some sort of oil drum. Smiling at the female as his trusty Lieutenant Jones approached his side. Smiling at the female. Grinning back, she took her helmet off for a moment and set it to the side. Digging her hand into her Marine issued trousers and pulled out the two apples. They were just a normal green, Granny Smith apple. Slightly bruised, and not the biggest. Haldane’s and Jones’ eyes narrowed at the apples. They were sure they wouldn’t get one because they let the other have them. Their men came first. Always.

   “I know rations and food has been more and more scarce recently. But I snagged these for us. Actually, the cook saved them for me. Said that we deserved them since he noticed we hadn’t been in line for chow yesterday or the day before. Nice boy, really. Said we needed to get our strength up for fighting the Japs!” she explained. Hopping off the rock she sat on. Slinging her weapon back over her shoulder. She never went anywhere without her rifle. Approaching the boys and placing the apples in each of their hands. Grabbing her partially eaten apple and taking a nice bite out of it. The juices dripped down her chin messily as she wiped them away with her sleeve. Causing a chuckle to be released from both her fellow officer’s lips.

   “Thanks, L/N. I’d swear I’d die of starvation without you,” Hillbilly said softly as he rustled the woman’s hair. Sometimes a break from the war to just sit and joke was needed. It gave a sense of clarity. That maybe the war would end sometime. It was just a thought but man could they dream of it. Y/N grunted and pulled away.

   “Aye, Hillbilly! I already look a mess enough with this mop of hair on my head. What I would do to wash it just once,” she chuckled. Giving the Lieutenant a playful punch on the shoulder. Andrew just watched. A small smile danced across his lips as he did so. She was gorgeous in his eyes.

   The Captain had grown fond of the woman but just kept it to himself. Not even bringing it up to Jones. He knew war wasn’t a time for love and passion. No distractions were needed of him. But no matter what, he couldn’t stop himself from searching for the female Marine within combat. Needing to know she was safe. And when he realized his own doings he cursed to himself. He fell for a woman in the worst time ever. And the worst part was, he knew she felt the same.

   The two had shared smokes. Had deep conversations on watch. And it wasn’t until she had kissed him once night when no one was around, that is when he knew. He remembered that shit eating grin on her face as she pulled away. Taking the smoke right out of his lips and placing it between hers. And when he asked why she did it, she just shrugged. “When you work in a field such as this, surrounded by men who always think down on you. You learn to take what you want. Be assertive, Show you are in charge,” her face steadied as she looked down for a moment. Looking back up at Andrew with a soft smile on her face. “And I guess I wanted you, sir,” she said. Not a day went by where Haldane didn’t think of that night. It was a night he’d never forget, nor ever share. That was their moment, and their moment only. It was going to stay that way.

   “As much as I’d love to stay and eat apples all day with you two, we got a briefing for the next attack for tomorrow. We better get going if we want to make it on time,” Haldane said to the two. Biting into his apple and chewing slightly. The two other officers nodded and began to make their way to the briefing area. Andrew watched Y/N joked around with Hillbilly. The same smile rested on his lips. He hated the thoughts and future he wanted of that woman. She was like venom that flowed throughout his veins. An addiction. Haldane had a taste of her, and now he was left chasing after more. He kicked himself for it. But he just couldn’t help himself almost.

///

   It was early in the morning when the Japanese’s mortars boomed and exploded throughout the muddy fields of battle. Y/N and Haldane sat in a small foxhole, their backs pressed up against the dry dirt and rocks of the airfield. Pinging a few Japanese when she could, strings of curses left her lips as she looked at her Captain. That same shit eating grin came to her lips. “Hey, sir! How about if we do survive this shithole, why don’t we get married back in the states?” she yelled over the sounds of bursting mortar shells and the gunshots of the Japanese Army whizzing right past them. Ack-Ack wanted to turn and yell at her. Tell her to think of the mission at hand. He turned sharply to look at her, his eyes falling onto hers. He couldn’t help but smile. Why was he smiling? He had no idea. It was like she had taken him into a trance. The war seemed to fade out of his ears as he gave her a nod.

   “Of course, Lieutenant. You got yourself a deal,” he told her. His voice was smooth and calm. Little did he know, Y/N said it because she knew she wouldn’t make it all that long. In that moment they shared, Y/N turned to Ack-Ack, a look of calm spread across her face. She had her head on straight. Another quality that many didn’t have in an active war zone. It was almost like the screams of comrades being blown to pieces and shot to bits weren’t even there. Andrew needed to stand. Needed to lead his men. But yet he was nailed down by her smile. Her eyes darted and danced with traces of love.

   “Andrew Haldane, I can happily say I am more than in love with you. If I am to die during this war and not be able to make it home to truly be yours. Just know, my heart stays with you. As it is where it wants to belong,” she said to him. Grabbing at the sides of his face and pressing her lips against his. The sweat and mud that dripped down their faces collided as she sat there like that for less than ten seconds. But it felt like an eternity that they never wanted to end.

  When Y/N pulled away she straightened her back and stood up. Her head dipped won to avoid fire. With one last soft smile given towards the man she just admitted her love to. Andrew sat there for a second, trying to gather his thoughts as he watched Y/N called out to her Marines and led the charge. She was a goddess that walked amongst the combat field. He stood and peered over the edge of the dune. It was almost like the bullets and the mortar blasts were afraid of her as she ran through the air field.

   Grabbing his weapon. Andrew ran. His eyes stayed on Y/N the entire time. God he wanted to stop searching for her. Keeping his mind on the mission and the rest of the men. But he just couldn’t stop his feelings from taking over his mind. He hadn’t even realized Hillbilly running about three feet to the right of him. Dodging and weaving through the consistent fire from the enemy.

   “Captain Haldane! The Japs are already being pushed back! We’ll take this place over no time, our armor is almost here and we’ll have it in the bag!” he yelled over the blasts. He took his eyes off of Y/N for a split second to turn and give a nod towards his second in command. But he wished he never did. His head turned back towards the female officer. And his eyes widened.

  “Y/N!” he yelled. But there wasn’t anything else he could do. A mortar strike had hit the ground about two feet from her left leg. And with a loud percussion and the ground around her exploding, her body was thrown. And he watched in her horror as her left leg was torn completely from her upper thigh. “Holy shit.. Y/N!” his voice broke. He saw her body hit the ground. She landed flat on her back. Even from about twenty feet away, he could tell it just wasn’t good. Turning around to look at Hillbilly as he just saw one of his best friends and blown away by a damn mortar strike. The Lieutenant’s features were mortified. Sure men died every day and you couldn’t always expect that the next day was guaranteed. But when you create and share bonds with people, the pain is all too real. 

   Andrew froze at first to actually go and retrieve her. He would go to tell people that the reason for why he froze was because he needed to see if she was alive before he risked his life. To make sure it was even worth risking his life. But the real reason made him hang his head in shame almost. He was just too scared that he wouldn’t be prepared to see how she actually looked after a blow like that. From his years in the service, he knew after a strike like that, no one looked good. And Y/N wasn’t any exception sadly.

   When Ack-Ack came to, all of the silenced sound of the battlefield came back as well. His ears rang as he made his way to Y/N. Hillbilly was tailing behind him briskly. Their boots hit the dry dirt roughly as they ran. Andrew of course reached the fallen woman first. Her helmet was god knows where, face splattered in her own blood. Her left leg was completely gone, nowhere in sight around them. Pieces of shrapnel digging in all over her body. It wasn’t a good sight. And Andrew knew deep down there probably wasn’t going to be a positive ending for her. War wasn’t about happy endings. It wasn’t some fairytale with princesses. It was real life. With real death. And real consequences from real problems. But Andrew knew he had to at least try? When in reality, he would curse to himself later as he realized he had wasted supplies. But he only did that to try to ignore the real pain he felt. 

   He stared down at the female. She was still breathing, but her chest rose only slightly and slowly.  He knew she wasn’t doing too hot. Dipping down to scoop her up in the bridal style carry he tapped the sides of her face. “Come on, come on,” he mumbled. Turning towards Hillbilly, who was squatted down behind cover just watching them. Pressing his lips together he grunted as he tightened his grip on the woman’s arms. She was bleeding out, but he had nothing to even attempt to stop the bleeding from her leg, or the wounds that now show from her stomach. A piece of shrapnel had sliced deep into her skin. Blood seeping from her stomach and staining the cloth of her Marine uniform. “Jones! Make your way towards the front line. I need to find a Corpsman!” He yelled. Hillbilly just nodded and took off. 

   Andrew wasted no time. He ran. Screaming out for a Corpsman as loud as he could. Glancing down at Y/N every so often while he ran cover to cover. Her skin grew paler and paler as her eyes fluttered open for a moment. Then closed once again. Her breathing seemed to slow each and every second that flew by. Holding onto her tightly. The Captain muttered prayers beneath his breath, he never usually did as an adult. He would do it as a child when he was most worried or scared. But as he ran, and between calls for a Corpsman, he prayed.

   After a while of moving cover to cover, a Corpsman jumped next to him. “Sir, set her down and I’ll take good care of her. You need to move forward with the rest of the men!” he yelled. His hand on his helmet as he kept his head below any of the gunshots. Andrew stared at him for a few moments before setting her down gently. Staring down at her as she grunted in pain. Running a hand through her hair softly before pressing his lips to her forehead. He didn’t know why he even did it. In front of the Corpsman too. His body just made him do it.

  “Take care of her,” he told the young man. Who was already tying off the wound on her stomach. While placing a tourniquet onto her upper thigh in attempts to cut the bleeding off from her missing leg. Taking one final glance at the woman, he swore he saw her lips turn up into a smile just for a second. But he played it off as he was just imagining it. Giving the man a final nod before standing and making his way to the rallying point. Gulping slightly as he ran. Using all of his power to put into his legs for running. The images of Y/N flashing in his mind. He didn’t know why, but it wouldn’t stop. Her smile. Her laugh. Just yesterday when she was biting into her apple. It was crazy what could happen in such a short time. The feeling of her lips on his came back to his lips. Like a phantom feeling. His fingers coming to his own lips to graze over them. Huffing as he placed his hand back onto his weapon. Narrowing his eyes as he kept running. Knowing the faster they all moved forward. The more of the airfield they were taking. And that meant he could see Y/N and see if she was okay. But deep down. He already knew the answer. Yet he just ignored it and played in a false reality of hope and future dreams. The same false reality he told himself he would never get in. But yet, emotions are the devil and Andrew Haldane learned this first hand. 

///

   After what seemed for hours of constant fighting, the airfield was taken over by our Marines. Haldane panted as he jogged towards Hillbilly. Looking up at the tall Lieutenant. Wiping the sweat off his brow as he looked around. “Jones, where are the wounded. Have you seen Y/N?” he asked. Hillbilly Jones sat quiet. Pressing his lips into a thin line as he turned to look away.

   “Ack-Ack, I..” he started. Haldane knew. But he just needed to see her. He gave a hard stare at Hillbilly and chewed on the skin of his bottom lip. To which Jones just nodded. “I’ll show you where she is. I just don’t think I can stay there with you. I can’t see her like that no more,” he said softly as he turned and began to make his way where groups of bodies lay. He didn’t blame his second hand man.. Y/N grew to be one of his best friends. Two peas in a pod. He just kept quiet as he made his way along behind Jones. His mind knew well enough that Y/N wasn’t going to be there to smile at him. But god, in his mind she was going to just be there. Looking over the bodies. 

   When the two officers in charge reached the bodies that were all in a line and laying on cots. A Chaplain and Corpsman walked amongst them. Removing the blankets that covered their faces and removed their dog tags. Yet when the Chaplain saw the officers, his face narrowed. He already knew why they were actually there and who they were there to see. Giving them a nod and standing. “Right this way,” was all he said as he made his way to a lone cot with a body that had the same dark green blanket that was the same as the others. See that's the problem Andrew Haldane had. She was just another Marine. So many died every single day, so this shouldn’t have meant as much as it did. But yet, he felt this ache within his chest that seemed to be the same one he felt when he was alone most nights while the rest of the men were asleep in their foxholes. The nights where he thought about the men he had lost under his lead. But, when Y/N began to talk to him when she showed up, it just seemed to melt away. He didn’t even notice it. And as the world seemed to move in slow motion as he approached that lone cot, that same feeling returned after all this time. His feet felt heavy as his final steps reached the point in which he stood besides the blanket. He looked down and saw the familiar sticky, red substance that had soaked into the blanket right above where the left knee began, and traces of where the midsection was. He knew. Andrew knew right then and there. He knew all this time. Just his mind wouldn’t accept it. 

   The Chaplain stood behind the Captain and Lieutenant. Watching as they stared down at the body. “Here,” he said, slipping one of the dog tags he had removed from her set into the Captain’s hand. “I’ll leave you alone,” he said, turning to leave them be. Haldane and Jones stayed silent. Waiting to find the courage to pull back the blanket. They knew they needed to. But they just couldn’t. 

   Andrew’s hand tightened around the dog tag within hand. His thumb running of the engravings of her name. Beneath the pad of his thumb he could feel each letter that wrote out her name. Over and over his thumb ran over the letters. The image of her smiling stayed within his brain as he looked at where her head would be beneath the sheet. Taking a deep breath, he felt the dark feeling in his chest grow more. It felt more as a sharp pain within his lungs and his heart. But he didn’t feel tears within his eyes though. Just a strange empty feeling. 

   Gathering his bearings and thoughts, he squatted down and slowly grabbed onto the edge of the sheet. Gently and slowly pulling it back. First it was her hair. Her H/C hair that rested there. A mess like when she would wake up after sleeping. It was rare for her to do so, but when she woke up with a serious case of bedhead, Hillbilly was always there to tease her. And Andrew was always there to chuckle. And she always smiled.

  Pausing for a short moment, he just pulled the sheet down to at least her lower stomach. He heard Edward take a sharp inhale. His eyes narrowed as he felt his breath get stuck in his throat. It looked as if Y/N was sleeping. Her face was as peaceful and as gentle as ever. It struck him in a cord he never thought he would have. Gulping as he took a moment to look down and stare at his boots and the mud. Taking a deep breath as he looked back at her.

   “I.. I can’t do this sir, I’ve seen enough,” was all Ed Jones said as he turned and began to briskly walk away. Ack-Ack could hear his boots squish against some of the wet and also dry dirt. Leaving him alone.

   His eyes rested on her closed lids. Then looking at her lips. The ends curled up into a soft smile. She went peacefully. That’s all he could think about. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe, Y/N.. I know you said you wanted to live out this war and get married,” he paused to let out a sad chuckle. The tears now began to prick at his eyes as he pressed his lips together. “I wish we could’ve gone against this war together.. I knew this was war, and I told myself in the beginning that I wouldn’t have fallen for you. Enough of the younger men had done that enough themselves. But.. not everything goes as planned clearly,” after those words, he noticed one of her hands was draped over her chest. Noticing a piece of paper crammed into the holdings of her fingers. He looked a little closer and he noticed ‘Ack’ on one the creased folds. He looked across both sides and looked back down at her. Gently picking her hand up and slipping the paper out of her grasp and placing the paper into his pocket while placing her hand down back down. He shut his eyes for a moment as he grabbed the end of the sheet and gave her one last look. A tear slipping down his cheek as he found himself smiling. Leaning down and pressing his lips to her forehead and then pulling away. “I’ll see you again one day, Y/N,” he said. One hand holding her dog tag and the other using the sheet to gently pull over her face once more. At first he almost sat there longer. No reason to. But deep down he just didn’t want to leave her. But pushing his feelings aside he stood up. Taking one last glance down to her before standing to begin his trek back to his sleeping quarters. Turning to take the final look and then turning back, wiping his eye with the back of his finger as he trudged along. Continuing to run his thumb over the one dog tag. Feeling the eyes of the Marines on him as he walked. Though he just looked onward as he only focused on getting to his sleeping quarters.

   Finally, Andrew reached his sleeping quarters. Dropping himself onto his little and uncomfortable cot. He thought back to the times where the female Lieutenant would knock and walk in. And they would spend the night talking about god-knows-what and anything that would pop into their minds. Andrew chuckled to himself at the memory as he dug his hand into his pocket and pulled at the note. It felt like another quick and shallow jab when he saw the small finger prints of blood that had been stained on the note. But he shook his head slightly and kept going. Biting his bottom lip slightly as he unfolded the letter and began to look at the writing. His fingers grazing over the letters before even reading them over. Shutting his eyes for a moment and taking another deep breath. Opening his eyes, he began to read:

   “My Dearest Ack-Ack,

   You’re probably reading this letter because I met my unfortunate end on the battlefield. I wrote this letter a while back when I decided that you would probably see this. It was written and placed in my pocket where it stayed everyday. And the reason you are reading this, if this isn’t Captain Andrew Haldane, give this letter to him. Please. He needs to see these words.

   The reason you probably found this in my hand is because I got the strength to pull it out of my head and rested finally with it within my grasp. But enough of that. Andrew from the first day I met you, I found you so handsome. It started off like a teenage girl crush. It sounds stupid as hell, I know. But watching you put yourself before these men alongside Hillbilly, or Edward I should say. I looked up to you. And I will forever. But after our late night talks and that night I kissed you, I didn’t know what came over me. I had fallen head over heels for you, Sir. Man was it stupid to fall in love during a war. Especially when an outcome like this. But I am sorry, Andrew. I fell for you and I couldn’t live with you after this shithole. I would’ve followed you anywhere and I still will, please know that. Live for me. I will see you again, I know I will. Like I told you that night way back when: I get what I want. And I want you and you to come back to me. I will love you forever. I know in life I was too scared to tell you those three words, but I can say it here. I love you and I always will. My heart belonged to you the moment I first shook hands with you and I felt my name fall out of your mouth. My heart is yours, it will stay that way for the rest of the eternity. I will see you again. And we will be surrounded by love. But live for me. Don’t stop and be that amazing leader you are. Fight this war for me. Make it end. I love you Andrew Haldane. Forever and always.

   Yours always,

   Y/N L/N”

  Tears dripped down his face as Andrew had to set down the paper onto the side of the cot. A few sobs climbed up his throat and fell out of his lips. Ack-Ack never thought he would see himself crying over a woman like this. Let alone just a Marine. But Y/N wasn’t just a Marine. She was his heart. She was his soul. And he was more than pissed at himself for realizing this only now. Placing his face in his hands as he cried. War left no room for love. Just hate and sadness. Yet he found love. And he definitely found the hate and the sadness.

///

  It had been about a week since Y/N’s death. Her letter stayed within his pocket at all times. Almost like one would keep prayer beads or a cross. He reread her letter each and every night. The pad of Andrew’s thumb grazing over the engraving of her name, date of birth, and blood type as he read. And now he was running through the muddy lands of Peleliu, pinned down by a sniper. Deep down he knew what was going to happen to him in order to protect his men. Smiling at Edward one last time and turning his back. Digging his hand in his pocket and grabbing a new note he had written himself. A personal one that he held close to his heart as he began to run. It wasn’t long when the deafening shots of the sniper’s trigger finger sounded off and the bullets digging through his chest. 

   Andrew fell. Gasping out for air as he knew his date was to come. But his mind was clear and the pain had numbed. A few tears slipped down the sides of his face as a small smile came to his lips as he gripped the letter he wrote to his chest. He would leave his men, but he would die from bravery. As a leader. He lived. He lived his life proudly and bravely. His eyes shut as he succumbed to the tired feeling that grew over him. His smile was soft and his head was clear. The letter on his chest remained protected from the rain from his hand that covered it. It read:

   “My dearest Y/N L/N,

   This letter is to you. I made this shortly after I read the letter you wrote for me. I know you’ll never read this. Or maybe you will. But I did it. I led these men to the best I could. I kept my word as I always did. I’m sorry I couldn’t live as long as you probably wanted me too. But I get to see you soon. In whatever Heaven there is. We will see each other again. And like you always said and what I believed from you. You wanted to see me again after all of this, and you wanted that. I know I will see you again. There I can tell you those three words we couldn’t tell each other. I love you. I didn’t know what it was till you were gone and I didn’t want to believe the feelings while you were alive. But now I can. I love you. My heart is yours. Forever and always. I’ll see you again, my dear.

   Yours truly,

   Andrew Haldane”

[synoxshots]

Glue Me

Summary: After the discovery in his meeting with Rogun on Tatooine, Ticcer shuts himself away on his ship. Only Risha can break his silence.

Spoilers for chapter three of the smuggler class story.

One-shot. Cross posted to ao3.

No words were spoken on the speeder ride back to the Firebird. Risha had never known him be so quiet in the three years since they'd met; if anything, the challenge was more getting him to stop talking. Usually he never shied from offering up some daft comment or typical smuggler boast for her to roll her eyes at, like he enjoyed setting her up to make a witty comeback. But this time, nothing. His eyes focused solely ahead, a scowl etched upon his face ever since Rogun's hideout.

They'd gotten closer in the past few months, close enough that they could actually call it a relationship after so long flirting without making commitments. She'd never intended to let things get this far – after all, taking her throne was always supposed to be the priority – but she'd never quite managed to hide the smile that formed every time she heard those familiar footsteps approach her room on the ship. She'd spent all that time trying to resist him for the sake of her future, but truthfully she'd much rather spend time with him than some refined, pretty noble like Merritt Rineld. Ticcer was rough around the edges, about as far away from the ideal king as she could find, yet that drew her to him even more. He didn't worry about sucking up to her, he wanted to be with her before he ever knew about the throne, and finding out didn't change the way he treated her at all. And yes, he was definitely nice to look at as well. Though the trouble was telling him that without getting one of his 'I told you so' grins back.

The mood was different now though. Since the meeting with Rogun and his men, the discovery about Darmas and the senator, a wall had gone up around him. There'd been none of his usual swagger when he took out Rogun and seized his criminal empire for himself, something that should have been cause for celebration. Instead there was an unnerving coldness in his voice that hadn't been there before.

From the moment they started working together, it had been obvious that the Empire was a sore spot for him. He never really talked about his past, or at least nothing before he started smuggling, but she'd run background checks when she first met him and she had her theories. Ticcer was so obviously a nickname that she had to do a bit of poking, after all; and it was best to know what she was working with if they were going after her father's treasure. She traced Ticcer Marzan back to a Ticcanledri Marzan from the planet they'd met and, well. It wasn't hard to guess what had happened to someone growing up on Coruscant at that time. The shockwaves were still being felt in the Republic more than a decade later; it was no surprise that personal scars ran so deep too. There was no need to press him on it. Hating the Empire that way, always having his guard raised, that all made sense.

“Come on, let's get moving,” he grunted, helping her off the speeder before setting off towards the ship at such a pace she had to jog to keep up. The rest of the crew had already gathered in the docking bay outside, Guss apparently in the middle of another story that left Akaavi exasperated and Corso fighting back tears of laughter.

“Hey Captain, where we headed?” Corso tried to ask, but Ticcer marched past him and straight into the ship without so much as a glance. “What's up with him?”

Risha shook her head frantically, firing off warning glares at each of them before they followed him up the ramp. “Don't ask. Don't say a word.”

Ticcer was already waiting in the cockpit when they caught up to him, drumming his hands against his thighs as he paced from side to side.

“Finally,” he said brusquely. “Corso, set a course for Corellia.” His words were sharp, his eyes avoiding the bewildered stares of his crew. He left the cockpit as abruptly as he'd spoken, leaving them all in a stunned silence.

Corso turned back to Risha. “Do you want to tell us what's happening? Are things okay with you two?”

“We are fine. Rogun's dead. But it turns out Pollaran and Dodonna are traitors, all those jobs were to help the Empire, not the Republic.” Corso sunk back, grasping towards his seat at her words, Bowdaar giving a loud growl of anger. Major players in the underworld they may all be these days, but there were still those who had a personal stake in seeing the Empire defeated, just like their captain. Even Akaavi, the most pro-Empire of all of them, seethed with disgust, spitting about dishonour and muttering in Mando'a under her breath.

A barrage of questions followed all at once, but Risha could barely muster her response. The news had been a sucker punch straight into the guts of them all, and of course they wanted to know what the plan was from here. But where normally she had a great scheme to share, now even she was coming up short. Go to Corellia, but then what? And what could a crew do if their Captain couldn't lead them?

She only wanted to find him, comfort him, reassure him – but what could she say to even begin to make things better? Nearly two years they'd worked with them, two years spent trusting the wrong people. Even if he did it to line his own pockets rather than those of the Republic, a betrayal like this was probably the cruellest thing they could have done to him. He wasn't a man to let go of his grudges, the way he'd chased down Skavak had been a testament to that. And this was the Empire, this meant more. He'd never claimed to be a Republic patriot, see them as the good guys like Corso did, but there'd always been a pattern in the jobs he'd taken. Money, yes, but also hitting the Empire where it hurt. It was how he'd always justified picking up those extra jobs the Republic offered, even as she teased him for being their lackey. Hating the Empire often went hand in hand with helping the Republic, and at least he was wise enough to make credits from it too.

She didn't have a personal stake in the same way. He was her personal stake, and there was no way to sugar-coat the pain he was in now, no kind words that could make it all disappear. Watching him shut himself away like this was a struggle, but it didn't even begin to compare to the way he hurt right now.

* * * * * * * *

The Firebird was eerily quiet for the rest of the journey to Corellia. Normally Risha would have been relieved for their antics to die down for just a minute, but now the ship was barren and devoid of energy. Meals were taken in near-silence, none of them wanting to venture beyond small talk. Even Guss had lost his usual spark, refraining from his typically bizarre stories that kept the crew amused on long journeys.

Ticcer hadn't been seen for hours, retreating to his quarters before the ship had even got off the ground. It had been an unspoken agreement among the rest of them that he wasn't to be disturbed. But someone had to break the silence eventually, and that someone had to be her. Bracing herself, she knocked at the door of his quarters. No response. She tried calling his name, but still got nothing back. She was on the brink of giving up when to her surprise, the door finally opened.

He lay perfectly still on the bed, eyes fixed upon the ceiling, with no acknowledgement of her entry to the room at all. He still wore his clothes from Tatooine, not even bothering to remove his boots or take the guns out from the holsters at his hips. It couldn't have been comfortable, but he didn't seem to care. The charm and presence that normally filled a room had been replaced by little more than a shell.

She removed her coat and lay down beside him, placing the most careful of kisses on his cheek. He tensed for a second at the contact, but soon pulled her closer and took her hand in his. His clasp was firm, needing, like he couldn't let her go.

“They've played me for a fool, Rish. All this time, they were just using me,” he croaked, the small voice miles away from the brash, cocky smuggler captain he presented to others. Words usually came so easily to her, but in this moment none were right. He'd never been this way in front of her before, so raw, so vulnerable. They were normally so playful when they spoke, even in a serious conversation, but none of that suited now.

“I can't say something that will make things better,” she sighed. “But I do know you won't let them beat you without a fight.” She cursed the clichéd words of inspiration, that she didn't have something better to offer. He said nothing else, just stroked the back of her hand with his thumb and shifted his stare to where their hands met. Hours could have passed, or perhaps it was only a few minutes before he broke the silence again.

“You being here...it's enough.”

There was no use pushing him further. If he wanted to speak, he would, and she promised herself that she would be there to listen when that moment came.

And if lying here now could ease just a fraction of his pain, she would do that too for as long as he needed.

* * * * * * * *

She hadn't realised she'd fallen asleep until the ship's alarms bleated out, signalling their impending arrival to Corellia. She had to flex her neck after resting on his chest for so long, but he sprung into life straight away like a fresh wind was powering through him. He charged through the ship, startling the crew with the sudden burst of energy, dishing out instructions and barking at them to gather their guns and gear for the fight ahead. He was a general readying his troops for battle, only this was no military fight. This war was one fuelled by revenge and personal pride only.

The rest of the crew descended the ship's ramp, but a hand on her arm stopped her before she could follow.

“Hey,” he said softly, pausing as pale blue eyes met her brown. “Thank you.”

The stare lingered, filled with truth even as the words went unspoken.

“I know.”

[alexboehm55144]

Alex Final Wars 2: Dark Alex , Chapter 36 - The Island

"One hostile spotted," Skye said, scanning the island shore with her scoped rifle. "He's alone."

"That's a long shot, though." Captain Boehm noted.

"I got it. Thankfully the water isn't too choppy."

The fox aimed down her scope, but she was not only looking at the target visually.

Skye squeezed the trigger, the projectile zipping across the water and hitting the head of a Chinese soldier, putting him down.

"That was really good," JayJay said, the boat the team was in continuing to advance towards the shore.

"Foxes can use the Earth's magnetic field to gauge distance and more accurately hit their targets."

"Oh yeah, I heard unevolved foxes use that to help with hunting."

"I guess that explains why there are so many fox sharpshooters," Alex said.

The boat reached the shore and the team disembarking onto a pavement tarmac with large fuel silos nearby.

"Isn't this where it all started?" JayJay asked. "This war?"

"Yep, this is where the Chinese fired on a US warship, sparking off this war," Alex said.

"Main building should be over there," Jack whispered, pointing past the silos to some structures on the other side of a runway.

"Alright, let's get in, get the data, and get out."

The four mammals slowly advanced through a maintenance area containing pumping equipment and storage crates. The whole team was dressed in jet black camouflage uniforms, complete with hoods and capes to further obscure their forms from detection. JayJay had even dyed her fur an ashen light gray for this mission, and the whole island was shrouded with overcast cloud formations. The entire area was dreary and gray in color, from the storm clouds overhead to the rough tarmac to the unassuming buildings made of standard concrete.

Skye pointed ahead towards a Chinese human soldier that blocked the team's path, the trooper's back to the Heroes. Captain Boehm moved forward, stowing his rifle on his back and drawing his carbon fiber knife. He snuck up behind the trooper and, in a flash, struck. The Heroes leader covered their mouth with his hand and plunged the blade into their neck.

The captain dragged the trooper back and tossed the body behind some small containers, and the team continued ahead.

"Look over there," Jack whispered, pointing out at the tarmac. "They must be doing maintenance on their planes."

Chinese fighter jets and bombers sat out in the open on the runway, surrounded by maintenance equipment and technical personnel.

"We can use that to cut across the runway," Skye noted.

"I'll take point," Alex said. "Follow my lead, and stay low. Skye and JayJay, keep your tails down and matted."

The four mammals slowly moved out onto the tarmac, taking cover behind a fuel truck. They could hear the technicians chatting and discussing their work.

As they paused for a moment, Skye stabbed the fuel tank with her knife, and there was a slight gurgling noise as a stream of fuel started to leak out. Every bit of gear destroyed now was one less thing the Chinese could use in combat.

The human captain peeked around the corner and took note of where the technical personnel were, before quickly moving under a parked jet, his team following suit.

Maintenance crews walked back and forth nearby, oblivious to the US soldiers sitting nearby. If someone turned in their direction and looked under the jet, they would be spotted.

Jack breathed rhythmically, calming his nerves. As a ZIA agent, this wasn't his first time in hostile territory on a stealth mission.

Once the coast was clear again, the team moved quickly. Going from under the jet to a ditch on the other side of the tarmac.

Skye pointed out two more guards standing near the door to a building.

"I've got the one on the left, on my shot," Alex whispered.

"I got the one on the right."

"3... 2... 1..."

Two silenced shots went out in unison, the guards dropping at the same time.

The team began to advance, but suddenly, alarm sirens went off, the high-pitched whine bringing everyone to alert.

"What? Is that us? But how?" JayJay asked.

"Ok, plan B." Alex said, "Jack, Skye, you take those 2 structures."

The human pointed to a pair of buildings a dozen or so meters away.

"I'll take that building."

He pointed to a military building that was closer to the group.

"JayJay, you take that building."

He pointed to a larger and unassuming building sitting near the tarmac.

"Once you find any reports or hard drives, call it in!"

"Will do, be safe, everyone!" Jack said, the 4 mammals splitting up and going in separate directions.

"Team B! Launch!" The captain said into his radio.

Offshore, another rubber boat began to move at top speed towards the shore, purposely trying not to be stealthy at all.

The boat hit the beach, and the 6 warriors inside, Eris, Laval, Kion, Jasiri, Nick, and Judy, all jumped out into battle. They were all dressed in the black special forces uniforms that team A was also wearing.

Team B immediately opened fire on the Chinese forces that had assembled near the tarmac, forcing the hostile troops to run for cover.

"Team B! Squad on your left!" Toothdee said through the radio.

Jasiri and Kion turned to their left to see more hostile troopers advancing. Still, knowing the hostile troops were coming, the pair swiftly struck them down with gunfire and sword strikes.

"Thanks Toothdee!" Kion said.

"No problem, I'll keep providing overwatch via satellites and drones."

The group continued advancing, gunning down and slicing through hostile soldiers in their path. The Chinese forces were no match for a group of experienced and prepared Heroes.

While most enemy troopers were becoming fodder for the reaper, a group of veteran troops had coalesced around the airplanes in the center of the tarmac, firing back with mounted machine guns.

The group of heroes took cover in ditches or behind structures, bullets whizzing by.

"Toothdee! Launch a cruise missile! Leave nothing but rubble and ash!" Eris said into her radio.

"Affirmative! Requesting targeting!" The Heroes commander aboard the typhoon said.

"Jasiri! You have the targeting laser! Mark a target for the missile!"

Jasiri tucked one of her pistols into its holster, reached into a pouch on her belt, and pulled out a large laser pointer. The activated the laser and pointed its sharp green beam towards the group of Chinese soldiers engaging the group.

"Target marked!" Jasiri said.

"Affirmative, coordinates received," Toothdee said, "launching missile."

A large missile blasted out of a compartment on the typhoon and shot into the sky, quickly nearing the Chinese-controlled island.

"We should get down," Eris said, crouching and using a wing to cover herself and another to cover Laval.

The deafening sound of a jet engine grew closer and closer before the missile turned sharply and dove toward the ground. It impacted the veteran Chinese formation in the center, obliterating soldiers and causing debris from equipment to fly into the air with a massive boom. A bright orange fireball lighting up the dark, gray world.

"Wow," Nick said, "that's an impressive firework."

While most of Heroes continued to battle against the Chinese forces on the island, JayJay had reached her assigned structure. She found a door for medium-sized mammals such as herself and tried to open it, but the door was locked, forcing the wolf to bust the barrier down with a powerful kick.

She entered the darkened building, peering through the shadowy veil with her night vision. It was a warehouse containing boxes of equipment and supplies, containers of oil, among other materials.

But before the wolf could continue to investigate, all of a sudden, she was struck from behind. Adrenaline and instinct kicked in as JayJay retaliated with an elbow jab and kick, leaping away from her attacker and spinning around to face them.

It was like looking into a mirror. The one who had attacked JayJay was her counterpart. Also sporting light gray fur and clad in an armored black outfit built for combat and tactical use.

But JayJay noticed something else her counterpart had and felt a lack of something around her waist.

"My belt!" JayJay said, looking down at her own waist and looking at the weapons and gear now in her counterpart's paws.

"It's mine now." Dark JayJay said, "Did you really think you and your friends could sneak onto this island undetected? I'm a wolf. I recognized your scent the minute you stepped on this island. After all, we have met before. I know your scent."

"You disgust me. I look at you and wonder what the hell happened to that version of me."

"You chose to bottle up your rage. I chose to embrace it. If you ask me, what your doing isn't very healthy at all. I wonder what your boyfriend will think when he finds out about this dark side."

"No! He accepts me, despite my flaws. He loves me."

"And he will never see you again!"

Dark JayJay raised her counterpart's SMG and opened fire. Still, JayJay dodged before the attack could hit and retreated into the depths of the warehouse.

"You won't hide from me!" Dark JayJay said as she kicked over a storage shelf next to the door. The object and its contents falling down in front of the exit.

"Alex!" JayJay whispered into her radio as she hid behind some oil drums and watched her counterpart prowl around the warehouse. "I'm in trouble! My counterpart is here! She stole my weapons!"

"What?! Ok, I'm coming. Just hang on till I get there."

"I'm trapped in here with her!"

"You're stronger than her. Evade her and strike if you can. Claws and paws are still dangerous tools."

JayJay disconnected the call and moved from where she was, just as her counterpart passed by.

"Come on, JayJay..." the wolf thought to herself. "Your ancestor fought in world war 1. You can do this!"

The young hero scurried under a storage shelf and got behind her counterpart. She grabbed her enemy and managed to land several good punches and kicks before her dark opposite opened fire again, forcing JayJay to retreat once again.

"You are no match for a hunter like me!" Dark JayJay yelled, firing and watching her counterpart run through the warehouse before eventually losing sight of her.

JayJay once again took cover and studied her counterpart's movements. Dark JayJay was now routinely checking behind her, watching out for any more surprise assaults. But while she was looking behind her, she wasn't looking down near her feet. Thinking quick, JayJay slid under a storage shelf with tools on it, grabbing a metal pressure gauge and tossing it nearby.

Dark JayJay heard the noise and moved to investigate, which is when JayJay made her move. The wolf grabbed her counterpart's legs and pulled, causing her enemy to fall to the ground. With her opponent stunned, the warrior jumped out from under the shelves, grabbed a wrench, and smacked her counterpart multiple times with it.

Red drops of blood flew through the air as JayJay managed to land some good strikes on her enemy. Still, the villainous wolf managed to kick her counterpart away and once again fired wildly, attempting to hit her attacker.

JayJay ran on all fours, shots whizzing nearby as she widened the gap between the two wolves.

Once she was safe again, the Heroes operative studied her opponent again, looking for an opening. Dark JayJay had wised up again. Now, in addition to looking behind her, she was keeping an eye on her feet. Wary of attacks from below. But not above.

JayJay began to climb up one of the shelves, this one holding heavy metal containers. Every step was tedious, going slow, so she didn't make any noise and alert her counterpart.

When her counterpart passed below, JayJay grabbed one of the containers and jumped down. She slammed the container into Dark JayJay's head, knocking her down to the ground, before pouncing on top of the wolf and slashing at her with a swarm of claw strikes.

JayJay was in a furious rage, determined to destroy her counterpart once and for all. And when her anger faded, it was done. Dark JayJay lay dead, covered in claw marks and staring up at the ceiling with a blank expression on her face.

The heroic wolf wondered how close she was to ending up in the same position, lying dead while her counterpart claimed victory.

Footsteps approached, and JayJay turned to see captain Boehm moving closer and closer, rifle at the ready, inspecting the two wolves.

But both mammals looked the same, which one was heroic and virtuous, and which one was cold and filled with malice.

The captain took one look at the victorious wolf and saw something in her eyes. He somehow knew that she was his, that this was the virtuous and sweet-hearted JayJay. But, also being a logical and cautious man, he spoke up.

"What did you do that prompted me to say 'ow' and wonder what you were doing?"

"I was nibbling on your ear! And I told you it was a wolf thing."

The captain immediately stowed his rifle on his back and reached down to help JayJay up.

"Are you ok?" The captain asked.

"I'm fine..." JayJay said, reclaiming her weapons, "... I did it."

"She was no a match for you. I knew you could do it..."

The captain put his hand on her shoulder.

"It's strange, though. She looks just like me. It's like seeing myself lying dead somewhere."

"I know. These counterparts are like a glimpse into some dark part of the soul. Sowing nothing but destruction and despair."

There was a pause, the pair reflecting on these counterparts and looking at the wolf lying dead on the floor.

"But if today is any proof...." Alex said, ".... good has triumphed over evil."

"Thank you."

The moment was interrupted when Jacks's voice came through the radio.

"Alex, I've recovered a set of documents marked with... what I think are classification markers? I can't tell. It's in another language."

Skye chimed in as well.

"I've found some documents and hard drives. I managed to bag them."

"Ok, in that case..." The captain said, opening the radio channel to all heroes, "both teams return to the boats. We have what we need."

000

A few days later, everyone was assembled in the briefing room on the typhoon.

"This is like a crowd of school kids," Toothdee said to Alex, looking out at their friends and comrades.

These mammals weren't exactly the most professional people in the world. Even though they were awaiting an essential official briefing, they weren't really paying attention.

Haida, Retsuko, and Judy were busy talking, JayJay was bushing her fur, and Nick was busy munching on some blueberries.

Meanwhile, Laval and Eris were hugging while Jasiri and Kion watched something on their phones.

Even Jack and Skye, who were trying to set up something on the presentation screen, were busy flirting and teasing each other as they worked.

"I kinda like it." Alex said, "it makes our little band of warriors feel more alive, and like actual people with lives, traits, and quirks."

"Heh, That we can agree on."

"Ok! The screen is working now." Skye said.

"Alright, EVERYONE! ATTENTION, PLEASE!" Toothdee said, and the room Immediately quieted down as everyone focused.

"Well, at least they are attentive when they need to be." Alex joked, getting a small chuckle out of Toothdee.

"As you know, we recovered documents and servers from the Chinese facility on the island we raided a few days ago. With the help of the ZIA, federal authorities have gone through the recovered data, and the necessary information is what you will see today. Remember, this island is where the war began, and what you're about to hear is radio traffic from that day."

Toothdee clicked a button on a remote. A portion of a radio call started to play, having been translated by the ZIA.

"Weapons locked on US warship. Preparing to fire."

"Hostile warship is readying its weapons."

"Dispatching interception team."

"Hostile warship is firing warning shots, returning fire."

"Direct hit on enemy vessel."

Murmurs went through the group of mammals in the briefing room. What they were hearing was the event that started this war—the first battle in this conflict.

"But there is more..." Toothdee continued, "according to reports we discovered, it is believed that our dark counterparts instigated this attack."

A gasp and another round of murmurs went through the group of mammals.

"We know more about the depth of our counterpart's involvement with the Chinese, but a lot remains hidden."

"Do we know where the counterparts come from?" Kion asked.

"Not yet, but there is only one counterpart left. We're on the cusp of eliminating this threat entirely."

Alex chimed in to make a vow, a guarantee to his friends, and maybe even the world that the threat posed by these dark doubles would be wiped away.

"I'll see to it personally that my counterpart is destroyed."

[sorrelchestnut]

from the discard pile: dogs of war, sole & deacon

Going through some drafts and unearthed this bit, which I think was originally meant to be the closing scene of Jeepers Creepers before I decided the pacing was off.  The lead-in to the scene is missing but they’re in Sole’s garage in Sanctuary, talking about X6, who is outside with MacCready. (Content warning for mentions of past war crimes, including torture and execution.)

"Don't worry, he can't hear us," Sole says, catching the line of his gaze.  "This garage is soundproof - only way I got some goddamn peace on the weekends.  His hearing might reach, on a quiet day, but he can only process one auditory input at a time.  As long as you don't use his name, or any words that might trigger his attention, you're fine."

"You're sure of that?"

"I've read approximately six hundred pages of reports to that effect, so yes."  And then she grins at him, easy and loose.  "Also, Mac and I tested it.  Extensively."

Deacon trembles to think what form that 'testing' might have taken.  The two of them hold the current Railroad record for goading Carrington into a temper: one minute and forty-two seconds, and they weren't even talking directly to him.  Deacon's own best time is barely under three.

"It's a miracle you're still alive."

"Nah.  Not really."  And her gaze wanders once more to the door, something like fondness tugging once more at the corner of her mouth.

Worry churns in his gut: not new, exactly, but… renewed, maybe.  He trusts her judgement, in the general sense, but she's also possessive about her people, and that can lead to mistakes.  "You like him, don't you?"

"First time I met him he took down an entire Brotherhood squad in less than five minutes.  What's not to like?"

Deacon brushes that away with a gesture.  "No, I mean you actually like him."

Most people fidget when they're thinking: their gazes roam, they bounce their knees, they bite their nails, something.  (Dez rubs her fingers together, like she's holding a cigarette; Carrington folds his hands.  Glory taps her belt buckle.  Drums tugs at his sleeves.)  Fixer, on the other hand, goes completely still.  It's how he figured out that her first training was as a sniper, even if she tends towards more direct solutions these days.  MacCready has it, too, as much as Deacon hates to admit it.  When the chips are down, they both have that instinct to wait, and take a breath, before they decide.

He doesn't know about X6-88.  As far as Deacon can tell, he's always absolutely still.  Right up until the moment he's not.

"I understand him," Fixer says finally.  "The best of the best, with a broad mandate and minimal oversight, answerable only to the highest authorities…  Hell, I've been him.  I don't think they really knew what they were doing, when they started making soldiers like him.  They don't understand how they think."

The pronouns are a little confusing, but he gets what she's saying, since she can't use words like Institute or courser with X6 so close at hand.  "They don't think they can."

She tips her head in acknowledgement.  "The army didn't, either, back in my day.  It's not really what soldiers are known for.  But that's how I know."

"Know what, Fix?"

"How it happens."  She's not really looking at him; her gaze is fixed broodingly into the middle distance, on some foreign land that's been dead so long Deacon can't even really imagine it.  "You give someone that kind of latitude, they're going to use it.  It's inevitable.  Doesn't mean they kick up, doesn't mean they're not still following orders, just-  It's a choice.  Every day."

"And you think his choices-"  The Institute, he tries to say without saying it; all of the synths he's dragged back to slavery, all of the people he's killed-  "-mean you can trust him."

She grins at that, shooting him a sideways look that would probably seem almost flirtatious, if he didn't know that she'd put a blade through his throat before she'd let him touch her.  "He has a standing kill order on Mac, you know."

Deacon almost spits out his cigarette.  "What?"

"Yeah.  Since day one.  The, uh, big boss, really doesn't like me having outside ties."  She shrugs, seemingly entirely unmoved by the prospect.  "I'm not worried.  He's more than half in love with him, you know."

More pronouns.  "You mean MacCready, or…"

"Or."  She smirks at his surprise.  "Hey, just because you don't like my boy, doesn't mean it's a common affliction."

"I think you'll find you're the odd one out there, Fix."

But Deacon can't help but look through the door, out to the two figures in the garden beyond.  At some point in the past couple minutes, MacCready successfully coaxed X6 away from his guard post and down into the garden next to him, kneeling with little regard for his shiny-black coat.  Which would be startling enough, but as Deacon watches, MacCready knocks lazily against him with one shoulder, seemingly unconcerned with reprisal.  X6, after a moment's deliberation, expressionlessly returns the gesture, seemingly no harder than a shrug but enough to send MacCready tumbling into the dirt.

There's a cry of offense, loud enough to be heard even through the door, and then MacCready is popping back up like some demented jack-in-the-box, trying and failing to fix a scowl on his smiling mouth.  X6-88 waits patiently until his diatribe is done, then says something in reply, his face still fixed in that absolutely blank affect.  Whatever it is tips the battle between smile and scowl, and MacCready loses it, his head thrown back in a silent shout of laughter.

The angle of X6's head changes very slightly, as if he's looking at the long, exposed line of MacCready's throat.  And then he turns away, and goes back to his task.

"You see," Fixer says, very quietly, next to him.

"Holy shit," Deacon breathes.  "How long have you-"

"Suspected?  Early.  First mission, practically.  Known?"  She shrugs again.  "Baited him when we hit Med-Tek.  Gave him a chance to make his move - lots of ghouls, no witnesses, MacCready was freaking out.  All he had to do was step back, but he turned them into fucking paste.  Never saw him move so fast.  So."

He looks at her sidelong, trying to judge how she feels about it.�� "Never saw you as the type to share your toys, Fix."

A twitch of a smile.  "You don't know everything about me, Deacon."

No.  But he does know a lot.  "So it's as simple as that, huh?  He's hot for your boy, so you trust him?"

That earns him a cool frown.  "I don't trust anybody.  Except MacCready," she corrects judiciously.  "And Preston.  Sturges.  Nick, most days.  Everyone else?"  She shrugs.  "It's situational."

Deacon’s a very pointed absence from that list, but hell.  It's not like she's wrong.  They understand each other too well to be offended over a little thing like honesty at this late date.  "But considering the situation-"

She makes an exasperated noise at the back of her throat.  "Do I trust him not to kill my partner?  Yeah.  Do I know that I might still have to kill him someday?  Also yeah.  Do I think there's a chance I won't have to?  Yeah.  Yeah, I do."  She scrubs a hand through her shaggy hair and pulls off her shades, giving him a clear look at the shadows underneath her eyes.  There's a twang of guilt, faint but still there: she's been burning the candle at both ends, trying to keep this crazy train afloat.  "Look, you think it's easy to make that kind of judgement call?  You think it's all black and white?  It's not.  I've probably killed more people than anyone downstairs, and I think you know that."

Her voice is still soft, not a whisper but a low, easy murmur, designed not to draw attention from the sharp ears outside.  And it takes everything Deacon has to keep his voice equally low when he says, "It's not really the same thing."

"Isn't it?"  She meets his gaze head-on.  "Whatever you've imagined I've done, let me tell you - it was ten times worse.  I've tortured people for information; I've tortured people to send a message.  I've killed civilians.  I've killed prisoners.  I've killed people who were starving, desperate, begging - sometimes, I killed people just because they got in my way.  And you know what?  You're still perfectly happy to make use of me.  So maybe, just maybe, we're neither of us qualified to determine whether or not someone is irredeemable."

For a minute Deacon can't say anything, can't even think past the roaring in his ears.  Sole just waits, with that same still patience she has in the field, the crack of the rifle shot still ringing in the air as she waits to see if her target's going to get up again.  They never do, of course.  Fixer's too thorough for that: two to the heart, one to the head, that's her style.

He wonders, for a long and aching moment, if she already knows.  And in the moment that follows that one, he realizes it doesn't matter.  He's going to tell her someday, anyway.  Who else could possibly understand?

And in the moment after that, he meets her gaze, nods, and returns to business.

"We're ahead of schedule on the upper-level builds, but the labs are slower going.  I think once your new friend starts getting her robots up and running we'll be able to shift more people away to the specialized work in the lower levels, and we'll be back on track for the deadline.  Plumbing's been going well, but the wiring is still something of an issue…"

[whatsseobb]

More Than Meets The Eye (Crystal x Gigi Fanfic) - Chapter 4

AO3 Link

[A/N: Thank you for patiently waiting for the updates. It’s still going to be slow for now but I’m trying my best to be quick with it. Thank you!

I hope you enjoy this fic and leave me your thoughts!!]

Synopsis:

Too bad that you couldn’t see See the girl Crystal could be There is more that meets the eye I see the soul that is inside~

Based from Avril Lavigne’s Sk8ter Boi but with different twists.

Chapter Four - Here’s To Never Growing Up  “Oh Gigi, you’re here too. What’s up with you? I watched your show back then in Chicago with Crystal and Lux and you are as graceful as always. Right, Crys?” The dark-haired girl, Daya, complimented Gigi as she dropped her hands to the side before fixing Crystal’s crooked jacket on top of her shoulder.

“Yeah” was the only thing that came out of Crystal’s lips as she stubbed out the cigarette on her hand before throwing it to a nearby trash bin.

Gigi looked at the two and gave them her kind smile wordlessly. She and Daya were not the closest in the bunch but they were at least civil with one another. It had been like that ever since they all first met and the two were comfortable with the silence they both shared. No one questioned it though since they would at least talk from time to time when they met with the group. They were not just the ones who had time nor made time to hang out outside their crew with just the two of them.

“The program’s about to start in a few minutes. See you inside?” Daya hooked her arm over Crystal’s as she waved the blonde goodbye before heading inside with the blue-haired girl.

Gigi’s eyes were locked on the back of the girl wearing the shimmering jacket, watching as she walked away with the vocalist. She let out a gloomy exhale as her head dropped, looking at the floor beneath her. She checked her phone one more time, looking at her contacts list until she reached the letter C. Her thumb hovered over a specific name before she pressed the lock button and proceeded back to the event hall.

 “Where have you been, Geege? I didn’t even notice that you went outside.” Jan asked as the taller blonde sat beside her. She grabbed her glass of water and took a sip, putting her phone on top of the table before turning to Jan.

“I got a call and answered it outside. Was I gone for too long?”

“Don’t think so. Who was the call from? Is it from someone special?” Jan muttered in a singsong-y voice as she nudged the girl beside her.

“I don’t have someone special.” Gigi matched her with a singsong-y tune as well, gaining a giggle from the smaller blonde.

“Not yet…” She teased as she fed herself some fries from her plate. “Anyway, I saw Crystal and Daya coming from where you came from. Were you with them?” The smaller blonde pointed her chin towards the entrance where Gigi walked through after she got some fresh air outside. She nodded her head as she stuff her mouth with some food, mirroring her friend’s action.

“Oh. I thought you two had the chance to talk,” said Jan. It had been a long time since the two had a time just their own or even just talk privately. After their high school graduation, most of them parted ways and only got to talk during special occasions. Gigi and Crystal were never given a chance during those special occasions to have a decent conversation. The blonde was somehow relieve that the skater girl even tried to have a small talk with her during their short moment outside the building, away from their friends. If it wasn’t cut off by Daya, Gigi thought she might have gotten out the courage to discuss things with the other girl. But the odds wasn’t in their favour that night… Or so she thought.

Her train of thoughts were broken when Daegen tapped her in the shoulder, before she wrapped her fingers around her petite wrist, pulling her to follow her. She was led onto the dance floor in the middle of the area, in front of the stage. It was now full of people, drinks in their hand, as they all gathered to dance to the song being played by the live band. As a privilege of knowing the band playing, the group of girls stood in front to show support to their vocalist friend. Gigi stood beside her friends who excitedly scream as if they were in a concert.

She didn’t even notice the program starting nor heard the host say his greetings. She was too preoccupied with her thoughts, especially with her missed chance with the sapphire-haired girl just a few moments ago. Questions clouded her mind about what she would say to the girl or how she was going to bring up the topic that had been bothering her all these years.

As if at war, her thoughts and the blasting music coming from the speakers were battling on Gigi’s mind, trying to dominate each other. They were all screaming inside her head as regret started to consume her. She felt dismay that she didn’t communicate immediately nor say the things she really wanted to say. It was all the things that she tried to suppress all these years, coming back to her as she saw Crystal once more. The image of Crystal in front of the stage, staring right back at Daya as she perform didn’t help Gigi at all. The tall blonde just stood there, motionlessly, as she watched her watch the other lady. There was a slight pinch felt on her chest, some sensation at the pit of her stomach that she can’t explain and tried her best to ignore.

Her body was being shook as her friends cheered louder when Daya called their group. “I dedicate this next song to my girlfriends! I love you all!”

The instruments started playing one by one, the drummer focusing on the beats, swishing and throwing his ginger locks back as he played the drum, some girls screaming at his beauty, the bassist strumming the bass guitar, looking at a random guy from the audience and giving him a wink which earned another loud shriek from the random guy’s group of friends, the one playing the keyboard locked her eyes at the instrument but would time to time glance at the audience, as the vocalist started singing.

[cue Here’s To Never Growing Up by Avril Lavigne]

Singing Radiohead at the top of our lungs

With the boom box blaring as we're falling in love

I got a bottle of whatever, but it's gotten us drunk

Singing here's to never growing up~

 The bunch of girls were singing along to Daya’s song, slightly jumping up and down as they rocked with the vocalist. They knew all the lyrics of the song as they were fully supporting their friend’s career throughout the years. It wasn’t as if they were forced to do it just because Daya was their friend and she was part of the band but it was due to their unspoken love for one another. They were really there for each other throughout the years even though they were miles apart.

The smaller blonde, Jan, was beside Heidi at the left part of the stage when she glanced to her right and saw the Persian girl looking down at her phone, probably checking up emails from her clients. She approached her slowly, taking her device away before leaning close to her ear to speak. “Since when do we work when we’re out in a party? Come on, have fun!”

“Well, I had a lot of unfinished work at home and this client has been bugging me all weekend.” Jackie responded, her face close to Jan as she whispered loudly over the music.

“Come on, it’s the weekend. Why are you letting them bother you? You should’ve closed your emails and left your laptop alone over the weekend. Get yourself some rest, girl!”

“Bu-“

“No buts. Come on, tonight is your off-night. You are free to do whatever you want. You, more than anyone in the world, deserve it.” Jan threw her hands to the air as she bopped to the band playing.

Jackie shook her head with a foolish grin on her face as she glanced at Jan standing beside her, lip syncing along the lyrics that the band was performing. She traced her face on her forehead, down to the slope of her nose, to her plump nude lips that were forming the words from the song. Looking at Jan kicked some unnamed yet eerily familiar feeling on her chest. She was caught off guard when the blonde beside her gave her a slight nudge, bumping her shoulder into her as she signaled her to just let loose and have fun.

The Persian swayed her head quickly as if trying to shake off the thoughts running in her mind. She wrapped an arm around Jan’s waist, pulling her closer to her as she threw her fist to the beat of the song, letting the melody flow through her, following the advice of the girl beside her.

  Monday After the High School Party, 2009

 The school’s dance troupe assembled at the dance studio near the gymnasium during their free period as they focused on their dance rehearsal for the upcoming dance competition. They were all still waiting for the choreographer to arrive and so they all grouped with their friends and did some warm-ups.

Widow, Jan, Heidi, and Gigi occupied the front corner of the room near the mirrors as they helped each other stretch their muscles to get ready with their rehearsals. It was the first time they met again after the party they attended last Friday night as well as the small one they had by the cliff with their new group of friends.

“Am I the only one who was reprimanded by my mother for staying up too late? I mean I informed her but she still got mad at me. Oh, poor Heidi.” The curly-haired girl dramatically said, placing a palm on her chest as she acted feeling bad for herself. The girls laughed at her, Jan even throwing her towel at her jokingly.

“My dad thought I was with a guy that’s why I went home late.” Jan rolled her eyes before glancing at her reflection on the mirror, fixing her blonde hair and tying it up into a high ponytail.

“What guy? You and a guy? I didn’t know miracles are real. Unless we consider Jackie a guy but that is very unlikely.”

“Excuse me, Ms. Drama Queen. I can get a guy if I want to. And, what’s wrong with Jackie? She seems great. I like being around her.” Jan shot her a playful look. Gigi’s giggle was silently heard from their corner as she watched her two friends banter against each other.

Heidi shrugged. “Well, I saw her earlier talking to this guy from our Math class. She seems to be flirting real well with him. They look cute together.” Unknowingly to Jan, her bottom lip slightly pushed forward into a pout after hearing what her friend mentioned.

“But seriously, I didn’t expect to have that much fun last weekend.” The shorter blonde commented, sitting down on the floor to stretch her legs.

“You sure did, Jan. The small tree by the cliff didn’t though.” Widow chimed in, helping Jan by slightly pushing her back closer to the floor.

“Oh gosh, I do remember that. Poor Jackie, she had to be the one to hold your hair back.” The curly-haired girl mentioned. “Hey, do you remember when you were screaming at this twig because you almost tripped?”

“Wait what? That’s funny.” The taller blonde held on to her tummy as she laughed at what Heidi shared, pausing to look at Jan and then continued on giggling louder.

“You didn’t see that? Where were you that time?” Widow asked as she stood up and helped the shorter blonde up as well.

“She was with that blue-haired skater girl.” Heidi said, nudging an elbow to Gigi.

The taller blonde’s eyebrows furrowed as she turn to look at Heidi. “Is that what Crystal’s nickname is?”

“Apparently. As I have heard around. I’m surprised you didn’t know. You two seem close though.”

Gigi’s face lit up a bit, a smile forming at the corner of her lips as she was reminded of that night. “She seems nice. She let me use her jacket because it was too cold. Didn’t you notice it was quite cooler than the other nights now?”

Her friends went quiet for a second before shaking their head. They all looked at the ballerina, concern surrounding the atmosphere around the four young girls.

“Hm? Is something wrong? Why are you all looking at me like that?” Gigi was faced with a worried look from Jan, a stern face from Widow and a tap on the arm from Heidi. She tilted her head to the side in confusion, trying to calculate her friends’ reaction.

“I’ve heard she’s always been caught in trouble ever since 7th grade.” Heidi was the first to speak up after a few seconds of silence.

“Did she offer you her cigarette? Did she give you anything other than the jacket?” Jan added, holding Gigi by her arms carefully.

Heidi chimed in, adding another comment about the sapphire-haired girl. “I heard she is always caught sleeping in class like she doesn’t even care. Plus her hair is quite weird.”

“What we mean is that… just be careful around her. She looks tough and is always in trouble. We just want you to be safe.” Their leader clarified, offering a kind smile towards Gigi’s direction. “I do think her friends are really good people. I’m just not sure about this one. Just be careful.”

“But I told you, she’s nice. She didn’t pressure me to use her cigarette. Don’t you worry, I can take care of myself. Plus she’s not as hard and tough as she appears to be.” A small pout pushed on Gigi’s lips as she remembered the thoughtful girl she met last Friday night. She was getting worried because of her friends’ warnings against the girl. It was consuming her thoughts, making her curious yet cautious of who Crystal really was. Gigi valued her friends’ words so much that she couldn’t take it off her mind. It didn’t help when Lux came into their rehearsal, holding a huge notebook. She was once reminded of Lux’ unusual and odd friend.

 At lunch, the dancers sat by the middle of the cafeteria. Gigi, Jan, Heidi and Widow were eating and chatting with each other when a tray dropped on top of the table followed by a bunch of girls sitting beside them on any seat they found vacant. The taller blonde looked up in surprise to see the sapphire-haired girl sitting across from her. They exchanged a small smile before Gigi looked away as she remembered her friends’ warning. She looked down on her food and continued to eat in silence.

“Hey bitches. How was your weekend?” Daegen said as she sat beside Heidi, putting her bag of food down.

“I wasn’t able to move the whole weekend. Our small party was awesome.” Crystal added.

The Persian girl stood by the edge of the table, clearing her throat. “What my friends meant was to ask if we can sit with you all today for lunch.” She met Jan’s eyes who motioned for her to take the seat beside her.

“Yes, of course! How have you been? Girl, that was a fun weekend. Thanks to you guys.” Widow complimented as she offered her juice box towards Lux when she noticed she was just eating a few slices of apples.

“Wait, where’s Daya?” The shorter blonde looked up to search for their other dark-haired friend who was nowhere in sight.

Crystal put down her phone and announced to the group. “Daya’s running late. She’s still with her band. They’re not yet done practicing.”

“Has she eaten anything? Earlier, I saw her running on the corridors because she was late for class.”

“I’ll bring her food later.” Crystal mentioned before she focused on her food. She glanced at the blonde girl in front of her, shoving her plate of cheese fries which she gratefully denied with a “thanks.” The blue-haired teenager just shrugged before offering it to the group.

Their table went silent as the team of football players passed by. A dark blond teenager muttered a small hi and gave a wave with his hand as he saw the blonde ballerina. Gigi looked up in silence before giving him a wave in return. Meanwhile, Daegen’s ex paused for a bit to talk to the pink-haired teenager but the girl was just looking at her friends and continued with her food in peace. When the guy walked away, Lux noticed Daegen rolling her eyes, letting out a soft giggle.

“Fuck him.” The pink-haired teenager muttered under her breath as she squeezed onto her sandwich a little too hard, the ingredients spilling slightly onto the table.

“Did he contact you after the party?” Heidi asked, patting her on the back.

“He tried but the damage had already been done. Plus, I don’t deserve that piece of shit.” The table echoed yeahs and cheers for their broken-hearted friend.

“Anyway, who was the Gigi?” Lux said, clasping her hands and resting her elbows on top of the table as she reminded her of the guy who approached them.

“Wait. Isn’t that Eli, the quarterback who accidentally flashed us with his gorgeous abs last football match?” Daegen asked, putting her phone down as she shoved some of her burger inside her mouth. Gigi nodded slowly, trying to remember that incident. “Wow. Didn’t know you’re friends with him. Is he single? Do you know his number?”

“So what happened to ‘I’ll focus with myself, no dating, and self-love first’? All gone?” Heidi’s comment gained loud chuckles from the group.

They all continued with their lunch, chatting a bit more about their weekends and their earlier classes.

 A few minutes before lunch was over, Jackie pulled out a small box from her bag. Lux, Daegen, and Crystal’s eyes brightened up as they saw what Jackie brought out.

“What’s that?” asked Jan as she pointed out to the small box on Jackie’s hands beside her.

“Well, it’s nearing Christmas and ever since first year, we’ve been picking names to exchange gifts with. Well, other than the small gifts we make each other every year. Do you girls want to join us? The more, the merrier!” The Persian girl exclaimed as she nudged Lux to get a paper to write down the names of the rest of the group.

“That would be fun!” The shorter blonde beside her clasped her hands together in glee as she watched Lux write down their names.

“So, we’re just exchanging gifts? Do we have to give a wish list or anything to the person who picked our name?” Heidi tilted her head to the side, curious at how their small Christmas even took place.

Lux chimed in. “Every year, we have a theme. Last year it was something sparkly. I got this one.” She pointed on the clip on her hair, a butterfly-shaped accessory surrounded by shiny glitter.

“What is this year’s theme then?” It was the first time they heard Gigi’s voice for that day, earning some surprised looks from the new friends.

“You talk? I didn’t know you have a voice.” Daegen commented, earning laughs from their table. Gigi giggled alongside with them. “I must still be drunk then.”

“This year we were thinking of something colorful or snuggly. Which one would you girls prefer?” Jackie turned to look at Widow, anticipating her to answer for her group. The dance captain looked around her friends before answering.

“Something colorful seems cute. Let’s have that for this year.”

“Colorful it is! Okay, thank you Lux.” Jackie shook the small box in her hands after the shorter girl put in the names of the members of their group. She opened the lid and passed down the box, watching her friends get excited for picking up names for their exchange gift. “Okay, I suppose this extra paper here is for Daya. Crystal, give this to her later. And I hope no one got their own name. Check your papers.”

Everyone checked the small piece of paper on their fingers, doing it discreetly while trying to hide it from the person sitting next to them. Eyes were shot across the table as they glanced at the person they picked.

Crystal opened the small piece of paper in her hand before folding it again. She glanced at another paper in front of her, the one who will have Daya as their Secret Santa. She secretly opened it up under the table. A small smile crept on her face before she kept her piece of paper inside her pocket. She looked at Daya’s paper once more before keeping it on her notebook, attaching it at the back with a tiny paper clip.

The name of the girl who now had the sapphire-haired girl as her Secret Santa was none other than Gigi.