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all-the-things-2020 · 7 months

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Continuing the Way - Chapter Three

Summary: Din gets a visitor from his past.

Rating: PG

The doorbell rang and Din instinctively glanced toward the drawer where he kept his blaster hidden. He took a moment to unlock it and slip the blaster into the waistband of his pants before he went to the door. With two curious boys in the house, he never carried a weapon on his person anymore, but there were several stashed around the apartment, just in case.

Right now, the boys were playing tauntaun races under the kitchen table, so Din felt comfortable opening the door. He immediately regretted it.

“Jado Isard,” he said as soon as he recognized the man standing in the hallway.

A broad smile crept over the man’s face. There were a few more scars than Din remembered, but it was definitely the mercenary turned Rebel soldier turned arms merchant that he’d crossed paths with several years ago. “Kandria was right,” Isard said. “It is you.”

“What do you want?” Din asked curtly.

Isard held up his hands. “Can I come in? You can search me, I’m not carrying anything.”

Din carefully patted down the other man before stepping aside to let him enter the apartment. He was reluctant to let Isard into his home, but better to have the man behind a closed door than standing in the public hallway. “Sit down,” Din said, indicating the chair closest to the door.

Isard laughed. His reddish blond hair was cropped close but his beard was as unruly as ever. “Nice place,” he said, settling carefully onto the chair. He did not fully relax, but neither did Din.

“Daddy?” Cabur called hesitantly.

Din flicked his eyes toward the boys, but kept his focus on Isard. “Yes, ad?”

“Need a go potty,” Cabur said, almost apologetically.

Isard laughed. “Go ahead, take care of the kid,” he said. “I promise I won’t do anything. Swear on my mother’s bones.”

Jado Isard was many things, but he would never disgrace his mother’s memory. Din sighed and gestured to Cabur. “Come on, son,” he said quietly. He nodded at Ad’ika, who was still sitting quietly under the table. The boy nodded back. He would keep an eye on Isard.

Din escorted Cabur into the ‘fresher and helped him use the potty. “Bad man?” Cabur asked quietly when they were done.

“Maybe,” Din admitted. “You and Ad’ika stay out of the way, okay?”

Cabur nodded. “Elek, buir.” Yes, father. He didn’t speak Mando’a as well or as often as Ad’ika did, but he knew enough. Din smiled. “Jate,” he replied. Good.

They returned to the living room, where Isard was still sitting awkwardly on the chair and Ad’ika was lurking behind the table leg, his huge eyes fixed on the stranger. Cabur scurried back to his brother, and Isard watched him go, his face showing his surprise as he noticed Ad’ika.

“What the hell is that?,” he asked, as Din settled back onto the couch.

“That is my son,” Din said evenly.

“No, the other one,” Isard said. “The green one.” He leaned forward to get a better look, and Ad’ika shrank back behind his brother.

“They are both my sons,” Din said.

Isard raised an eyebrow. “How many wives do you have? Kandria said she’d heard you’d married but not who … or what.”

“Just one,” Din said. “One of my sons is a foundling. The other is not. Even you’re smart enough to figure out which is which.”

Isard shrugged. “Doesn’t matter anyway. The kids aren’t important.” He made a dismissive hand gesture and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I need your help, Mando.”

“I don’t answer to that name anymore,” Din said. “I’m dar’manda now. You can call me Djarin. Or better yet, go away and don’t call me anything. I can’t help you; I’m done with that part of my life.” He stood up, looking pointedly at the door.

“But you’re the only one who can pull this off,” Isard said. He ran a hand over his face. “And you’re the only one left who hasn’t said no,” he admitted. “Come on, for old time’s sake, help a fellow out.”

“No,” Din said firmly.

“You don’t even know what the job is,” Isard said. “Let me explain …”

“I said no,” Din said. “Now get out of my house.”

Before he could take a step toward Isard, the door opened. Mariana froze in the doorway, her satchel halfway off her shoulder.

“What’s going on?,” she said, her eyes darting between Din, Isard and the boys, who were now easing their way out from under the table.

“This must be the wife,” Isard said. He stood up, a smarmy smile on his face and his hand extended. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jado Isard, an old associate of your husband.”

To her credit, Mariana didn’t take Isard’s offered hand. “If that’s the case, why is he telling you to get out?” Her eyes hardened, and Din felt pride swelling inside him. More than pride, if he was perfectly honest; tough Mariana never failed to turn him on.

Isard shrugged. “I made him a job offer. He turned it down. Simple as that.” He smirked. “I’ll be sure to tell Kandria you said hello; she misses you, you know.” With a lewd wink, Isard brushed past Mariana and left the apartment.

“You can tell me what that was about later,” Mariana said, shutting the door firmly behind Isard’s back. “And who Kandria is.” She gave him a pointed look that promised a reckoning later, then dropped her satchel on the table as she always did. “Right now, I want to see my boys!”

Cabur and Ad’ika rushed toward her and she knelt down to wrap them in a hug. “Get down here, Daddy,” she said, looking up at Din, her eyes much softer now. “Family snuggle time is definitely in order.”

Din dropped to the floor and embraced his family. He doubted that this was the last he’d see of Jado Isard, but for now, the threat was gone.

************************************************ “So,” Mariana said as she slid into bed next to Din. “Who’s Kandria?”

Din had already explained the reason for Isard’s visit, and a little bit of background on the man. A mercenary who’d joined the Rebellion but gone back to the underworld once it was clear he’d make more money there than in any legitimate business under the aegis of the New Republic. Din had bought weapons from him a few times and done a few side jobs for him when Guild jobs were in short supply.

Din traced his finger down her cheek. “Do we have to do this now?,” he asked.

Mariana tangled her fingers into his hair. He needed a trim and she made a mental note to book him an appointment with the barber. “Yes,” she said, “we do. So tell me who Kandria is or I’m rolling over and going to sleep.” She tugged at a lock of hair to let him know she was serious.

He sighed and laid flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. “Look at me,” Mariana said. Din turned his head slightly, his eyes still not quite locking on hers. “Who is she?”

“A contact,” Din said. Mariana poked him gently but firmly in the chest with her finger. “She was my go-between when Isard wanted to make a deal, or hire me.” He paused. There was clearly more to the story and Mariana stared him down until he went on. “She worked at a brothel on Hokua.”

Mariana leaned closer. “Was she more than just a contact?,” she asked quietly. “Don’t lie to me, Din, I can tell.”

“On occasion we had … business … that didn’t involve Jado Isard,” he admitted.

Mariana kissed his forehead. “But she never got to do this, did she?”

“No.”

“Or this.” She kissed his nose, then his lips. “Or this.”

“No,” Din said, taking her face between his hands. “Only you.”

“Okay, then,” Mariana said, before pulling back and flopping down on the mattress with her back to him. “Good night.”

She didn’t have to wait long before he was whispering in her ear. “You’re a horrible tease, Mariana Djarin.”

She rolled over, bumping noses with him. “I know,” she said. She kissed him again, winding her arms around his neck. “Don’t worry, I can’t be jealous of someone you knew before you ever met me. And I wasn’t exactly a blushing virgin when we got together, either.”

Din slid his arms down her back, his hands settling on her hips, pulling her close. “You never had a choice,” he murmured. “I did.”

“I had a choice when it mattered,” she replied. “And I chose you.” She kissed him again and there were no more words that night.

#star wars #the mandalorian #grogu #pedro pascal character fanfiction #Baby yoda #din djarin #din djarin x original female character #din djarin fanfiction

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capaimagines · 4 years

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bang chan - safe

Pairing: Mafia leader!Bang Chan x Reader | Genre: mafia, angst & fluff | Warnings: mentions of a break in, fighting, mafia themes | WC: 1.6k

Request: Bang Chan mafia leader where you and Chan are having a night in when he hears someone downstairs and goes to check it out and calling for backup when he hears you scream upstairs bc one of the attackers had you !! Your got7 mafia fic was amazing

Safety and security was the one thing Chan always promised you. He wanted to keep you safe at all costs. You had put all your trust in him that he would keep his word. Being a small town girl you really had no idea about the inner and outer workings of the mafia. For a while there, you truly believed that things like that were all fairy tales and stories parents would tell their kids to warn them off of the idea of gangs and such.

When you met Chan that had quickly faded. Even then he had kept you safe, you were just an innocent passer-by. You had moved to the big city to land a good job and make money for your family. You hadn’t expected to walk—quite literally—into the crossfire of Chan’s group and another group. One of the men from the other group had grabbed you, pressing the head of his gun into your temple.

You were trembling and Chan could sense that, within seconds he had stood up. He may be a mafia leader, but he never harmed someone who was innocent. Especially a girl as cute as you. He had shot the man in the centre of his head without hesitation. Of course he didn’t miss; he never did. You had fallen to your knees in horror, trembling and shaking with nerves and disbelief at what just unfolded in front of you.

Chan, being your knight in shining armor, took you back to their base and helped calm you down after reassuring you that he only wanted to help protect you and that he or his team weren’t going to hurt you. You two started talking more and more and outside of his work, he was just a normal boy also finding his way in the world. It didn’t take long before you two started dating and he had always kept his word. He was to always keep you safe. You never had to look over your shoulder or fear that you’d be snatched when you were on your own.

Tonight though you had asked Chan for a night in. All you wanted to do was eat junk food and watch movies while you cuddled with him. A typically normal boyfriend-girlfriend thing to do. He had happily agreed and you two were sat with a tub of ice cream between you as you intensely focused on the Disney movie playing on the screen. You were so focused you almost missed the sound of glass breaking. Almost.

Of course Chan had heard it. He always seemed to be on high alert 24/7. You couldn’t blame him though. His career path was more dangerous than most and he couldn’t afford to be caught off guard, but that’s exactly what was happening right now. He had sent everyone home for the night, wanting to just spend time with you.

“Stay here and have Hyunjin ready on speed dial,” Chan told you.

You nodded, quickly pulling out your phone as Chan seemed to whip a small handgun out of nowhere. That was something that took you some time to get used too. Weapons of any kind just randomly hidden around the large home. Chan slowly opened the bedroom door before looking back over his shoulder at you.

“Don’t leave this room or open the door for anyone. I’ll come back for you,” You gulped at his words before nodding, feeling the anxiety start to take over you.

Chan quietly closed the door and you quickly stood up to lock it. You hadn’t noticed with your shaking hands that you had pressed Hyunjin’s contact and were currently connected to him. You heard someone saying hello and scrambled for your phone.

“Hyunjin! Hi! Sorry, we heard glass breaking downstairs and Chan wanted me to—HEY!”

You whipped your head around as someone plucked your phone from your ear. You did not like being interrupted in the middle of a conversation. When you had a knife aimed at your throat though, you couldn’t complain too much. The man was significantly larger than you. You had never seen him before but with the crazed grin on his face, you were happy this was your first meeting, and last.

Being the girlfriend of a mafia leader didn’t leave you completely defenceless. You knew how to defend yourself if you ever had too, you had just hoped you would never have too. You eyed the man in front of you, the glint of the metal blade hitting off the light which caused you to gulp, trying to understand how the hell you were going to knock that out of his hand without getting cut.

“Sorry, pretty girl,” The stranger cooed and you swallowed down bile, “You’re going to have to come with me,” You stood up slowly, never taking your gaze off the blade.

You briefly met the man’s gaze and clicked your tongue, “I don’t think so. You’re not really my type,” You could visibly see the man startle at your response. He obviously thought you were going to be an easy target.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to die here with your pretty boyfriend.” He remarked that you could only scoff in response as you rolled your eyes.

“That’s not really an option either,” The man looked very confused at the small figure that was talking back to him. He wasn’t here to play games though. His orders were clear. Either he brought you back with him alive or killed you there. He made his move and you quickly ducked down, thankfully Minho had taught you a few little tricks with examining one's movements.

You moved, yet not quick enough that the blade grazed your shoulder. You hissed in pain and turned to narrow your eyes at the man in front of you. He looked shocked, yet again, that you were putting up a fight. He growled, coming towards you again and you didn’t get as lucky. His knife cut into your hand as you grabbed for the blade which resulted in a hiss from you due to the pain, jumping back and that’s when he wrapped his arm around your neck.

“CHAN!” You screamed as loud as you could. You were so pent up on adrenaline you hadn’t heard anything that was going on downstairs. Now, your ears were open and you could hear banging and grunting coming from down there. You had only hoped Hyunjin was smart enough to know he should bring the others.

Thankfully, you’re assumption that Hyunjin was smart because a few seconds after you screamed, the bedroom door was kicked open by none other than Changbin with Chan hot on his heels. You were struggling against the man’s hold in hopes to wiggle out.

“Let. Her. Go,” Chan looked deadly and Changbin’s glare was no better. You were close with all the boys, but Changbin was probably one you were closest to besides Chan.

“Sorry, pretty boy, I have orders so she’s coming with me,” You felt something press against your neck and you groaned, finally letting your hands fall.

“I can’t believe this is happening again!” Everyone around you seemed pretty shocked at your words. Here you were, on the brink of being kidnapped or dead and you were making comments like that?

You heard the click of Chan’s gun being cocked and closed your eyes. You had seen the very quick flash of silver hair outside the window, signalling that it was Felix. You weren’t the one dying today at least. It was going to be the barbarian that still had his hands on you.

“Last chance,” Chan stated firmly, “Let. Her. Go,” Chan’s voice was dripping with venom and his grip on the handle of the gun was iron tight.

The man only laughed and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. You inhaled a large breath and drew your elbow, swinging back as hard as you could. It was enough to surprise him and loosen his grip, which helped you to promptly slip away and scurry towards Chan. He saw the blood on your shoulder and the cut on your hand. His eyes darkened as he turned back to the intruder.

However, before he could pull the trigger, Felix graciously crashed through the window and tackled him. His hands were bound behind his back before he could even understand what had happened. You only smirked at the man as Chan ordered for him to be brought back to their base.

“I told you I wasn’t dying today, pretty boy,” You spat the words out and it seemed to anger the man but there wasn’t much he could do as he laid on the floor and hogtied.

Chan sighed as Changbin and Felix carried him out. He turned to you with a worried smile, immediately inspecting your hand, “I’ll come with you and let Minho patch it up. But I’m fine, Chan. Really. See?” You held his hand to your heart so he could feel it beating, “I’m right here, I’m breathing and I’m alive. Now let’s go! We just got this carpet and now my hand is dripping blood all over it.”

Chan could only chuckle as he gently guided you out the bedroom door and down to the car. Once he made sure you were safely settled in, he backed out and started driving.

“Are you really okay?” He asked after a few minutes of silence. You smiled and nodded at him then puckered your lips together before looking back out the window.

“Felix is going to owe us a new window by the way. That wasn’t cheap.”

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bokettochild · 3 years

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Day 4 - Trust Fall

Went with the prompt 'taken hostage' for this one, and I'm quite pleased. I might follow it up from another prompt on the list, but I quite like how it ended.

Suffer :)

There are many people who hate the Hero of Warriors.

It was a well-known fact, and something that had haunted him since the ends of the war, but he couldn’t exactly blame the folks who did. After all, it was for lust of the hero that Cia had killed so many, and there were families all across Hyrule who had lost loved ones because the hero had refused the affections of one lonely, corrupted woman.

Zelda had tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but that changed nothing; people had still died because of Cia’s lust, and still more had died because of his own over-confidence. So, when he walked the streets of Castletown and the people who wanted to thank him faded to the background as a single soul would stand and spit insults loaded with venom more poisonous than a deku baba, he would take their words and let them speak, never once challenging them, even when his men would protest and beg for permission to reprimand his attacker. Zelda had pleaded for him to stop, claiming that he lowered the moral of the army by not carrying himself strongly and with honor, but how could he rob someone of their voice when he’d already robbed them of everything else?

There was one upside to it all though; when Warriors met Legend, there was nothing the younger hero could say that could truly hurt him. Legend would huff and complain and tease and jab, but his insults were a gentle nudge in comparison to the hearty shoves into boiling lava that he’d seen from his own people, and he welcomed the verbal sparring with the other hero. It was nice to be able to speak back without having guilt rise in his chest, and he enjoyed getting to tease and bother the veteran hero in return.

In that manner, an unlikely friendship had formed between a hero who hated soldiers and a soldier who hated being a hero.

He was close to all of the others of course; Sky, Wild and himself would spend hours discussing their worlds and the systems of knights and training and the like. Time and Wind, his boys and the pride of his heart, would mess around with him and it warmed him body and soul to offer them advice or comfort after a long day (and having the two of them cuddle up when they thought no one was looking was an extra warm bonus on multiple fronts).

Four was- well, there was no words for the relationship he shared with the smithy. It was a relationship of exchanged looks and mutual silence. One of two brothers who knew each other as well as if they’d actually been born to the same mother, and who could read the others actions as if they were reading their thoughts. It was them flopping over each other and Four climbing onto his shoulders to reach things, it was him throwing the smithy bodily up towards high places and leaning on the top of his head when he was drained or feeling playful.

Wild and Hyrule were his baby brothers, the chaotic ones who he was helping to bring up right, the boys who needed a guiding hand and a firm voice to push them and guide them, but who reveled in warm hugs and teasing or encouraging words.

And Twilight? Twilight was his sparring partner, his closest brother and the one he’d probably end up socking in the face one day. There was enough said on that front. Legend very nearly made the same rank, except...

Except Legend was, truth be told, as much a kid as the others and despite their verbal battles, he didn’t think he could actually ever hit the kid for real, no matter how often he cuffed the pink head or pushed the short vet over in jest, he didn’t think he could ever cause the younger hero harm. Yeah, yeah, so maybe it was the big brother and father in him that said he wouldn’t live with himself if he hurt the kid, but it was also the soldier and captain that saw a reflection of every cocky recruit he’d ever trained and a certain mask wearing child in the vet’s painfully rare smiles and much more common snarky comments.

And he just couldn’t bring himself to hurt a kid in the first place.

No matter how much of an ass they were being.

“Seriously though, how have you not died?” Legend was scoffing, but the vet’s arms were wrapped tight around himself as the kid rolled his eyes. “I mean, one bokoblin? How is that the first time an enemy has ever grabbed your scarf?”

Warriors would have laughed it off with a tease about the vet’s lack of leg protection, but he could see the worry shining in violet hues and feel the tender bruising that wrapped around his own neck. He hardly remembered the last battle, adrenalin and the concussion had seen to that, but legend had been weirdly snappish with him since, yet simultaneously clingy in a way that was painfully uncharacteristic of their salty veteran. “Most monsters are just dumb.” He’d shrugged off at last, but Legend hardly looked contented, picking at his tunic and scowling at his boots as if there was something more he wanted to complain about or say, but he lacked the words to say it.

Oh goddesses, the vet really was like Mask, wasn’t he? All bashful worry and fussing disguised as insults and annoyance, but underneath just a kid who desperately needed the assurance that the people around him weren’t seconds away from death.

“I’ll be fine, you grouchy little bumblebee.” He scoffed, tugging at one of the vet’s long ears, just as he did with Time when the now older hero was getting to wrapped up in his head. “We’re in my world anyway and the monsters here are dumber than rocks.” Usually he’d just say ‘dumb as rocks’ but they’d met a talus in Wild’s Hyrule and he couldn’t honestly think of that phrase the same way since.

“Black blood makes them smarter.” Legend huffed, batting his hands away with a scowl, nose wrinkling up in an almost adorable manner as he sidestepped a swipe at his hair. “And I just fixed that thing for you, I don’t want to have to do that again.”

So much like Time had been, did the vet see it? Just like his middle kid and it was messing with his brain in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. How upset would Sky be if he gathered Legend in amongst his boys as well? The Skyloftian wasn’t particularly possessive of his descendants and he might not mind sharing responsibility over the vet. He’d have to ask, but only once he was sure Legend was out of earshot, the kid was barely tolerant of Sky coddling him, and even then, usually only when he was sleepy or scared shitless.

“Are you listening, Captain? I’m not mending that scarf again this week, you ass.” Legend flicked his ears, irritation at being ignored coloring his face with a scowl that quickly faded into surprise as a blue heap of fabric settled over his head and shoulders. Of course, the surprise disappeared too once Legend’s face was covered with the tail end of the scarf, and he had to grab the back of the vet’s tunic to stop him from tumbling to the ground as he tripped over the rocky path.

“What the heck, Wars?!” The teen squeaked, fumbling with the fabric as the captain let a laugh rumble up through his chest into his throat.

“You keep fussing about the scarf, yeah? Well,” He reached out to tug the loose end down, chest thrumming with warmth as the pout on Legend’s face beneath the scarf and a fierce blush. “So how about you keep it safe for me, just for a bit.” He shifted the fabric again, arranging it to lay better around the veteran’s thin shoulders. “You can give it back after the next battle, yeah? Then you’ll know it’s not damaged.”

The pink-haired hero rolled his eyes at that comment, but Wars didn’t miss how the kid nestled in amidst the blue fabric with a soft hum.

Oh yeah, despite all the teasing, it was clear Legend liked the scarf as much as his other boys. He hoped Sun and Sky didn’t mind sharing too much, because there was no going back now.

“Dramatic arse.” Legend huffed, but despite the vet tugging the scarf up over his nose and mouth he still saw the grin the lay beneath.

Somewhere behind him, he could hear Time and Wind exchanging whispers while Twilight grumbled something exceedingly rude and fond all at once.

“Should we split up to find supplies then?” Sky asked, pointedly ignoring Twilight’s comment as he addressed the group as a whole, earning a thoughtful nod from Time.

“Probably best.” The man hummed out. “Groups of three, Hyrule and Wind, you’re with the vet, Four and Sky, you’re with Wars, Cub, Pup, I want you two with me, if something happens I want a responsible adult on every team, as well as someone who knows this Castletown well.”

Agreement thrummed over them as they split up, Wind catching his party members by their hands and pulling them off towards the tailor and apothecary shops so Legend could restock on thread and fabric and Hyrule could gather more healing supplies. Time’s group turned the opposite way, heading off into the main market square so Wild could restock on food stuffs and a new haversack for the traveler as Hyrule’s had had a hole worn in the corner that even Four doubted he could fix. Warriors himself led his team towards the fletchers and the forge, with the intent of buying more arrows and getting Four permission to repair a few of their weapons.

The chatter of the town was cheerier than usual, and to his surprise, not a single person spoke to him beyond the occasional inquiry about directions or an apology or insult after bumping into them. It was like he was invisible, or very nearly, and even those who made a point of calling out thanks or insults only waved cheerily to him as if he was just another passing soldier.

At the smithy, the Master Smithy, Gaepak, blinked in surprise for a good minute when Wars had approached to ask for use of the workroom. “Gen’ral? Is ‘at yew?”

He cocked a brow at the question. “Yes? Is there a problem?”

Gaepak boomed a nervous laugh, motioning to his own short neck with a faint flush on his face as his ears twitched lightly. “’Ard to tell you apart from yer men wit’out that scaaf of yers.” The man apologized, and the apprentice at the blacksmith’s side nodded nervously.

He couldn’t help back slip into a disarming smile (although he had to fight not to slip into their heavy accent as well when he spoke). “Quite alright, gentlemen. I’ve just let it out to one of-”

“Yer boys.” the smith nodded knowingly, earning a snigger from their own short-statured smithy and a light chuckle from Sky.

Warriors flushed slightly. Really, the people of Castletown knew him too well. “Yes, one of my boys.”

“An’ a moighty fine father ye are.” Gaepak drawled with a grin. “Use the forge ta yer ‘eart’s content.” The smith added, moving back to his own workstation with a cheery wink. “Jist moind ye clean it up when ya done.”

Four had shouted something of a reassurance before moving to the offered work station with shining hazel eyes and fingers already flitting over the available tools to familiarize himself with them. In the meantime, Sky had shot him a knowing smile, eyes twinkling as the captain had flushed softly.

Four was deep into his work and the two of them had already finished a lengthily talk and a trip to the fletchers when Wind and Hyrule had burst in, heavy breaths heaving through the two and a healthy flush over two sets of rounded cheeks as wild eyes had turned to the two adults.

“Wind, you can’t bust into a forge! Four shouted over the clang of metal. “It’s dang-”

“Legend was kidnapped.” Wind blurted out, voice strained and barely holding onto the collected and controlled report method Warriors had drilled into all of his soldiers during the war. Four’s hammer froze mid-air as the three had whipped around to face the two younger heroes, both knights stiffening instinctively as all laughter left their faces.

“What happened.” Warriors demanded, stepping forwards, jaw set and eyes hard as he met the sailor’s wavering gaze.

The aura of peace faded in instants, and soldier met the eyes of soldier as Wind snapped a neat salute. Unnecessary, yes, but trained into the kid by the other soldiers and probably a comforting sort of habit to revert to in the moment (Warriors felt the same about standing at parade rest as he listened to the kid’s report). “We were just entering the apothecary when a couple of folks approached Legend outside the door. He waved us inside to do our business while they talked, and Hyrule and I did as he asked. We gathered the needed supplies- that doesn’t matter though- the point is, when we were at the counter ringing up-”

“There was shouting outside!” Hyrule interrupted, fingering the strap of his faded satchel. “We thought it was just Legend being Legend, you know how he is but-”

“But then there was something of a scuffle and some bangin-”

“- and when we finished at the counter, because the man wouldn’t hurry up and refused to let us leave ‘till we’d been rung up-”

“Legend was gone!” Wind exploded, eyes shining with near panic as they met his own.

“Where were you exactly?” Wars demanded, mind already flitting across the list of people who were likely to have taken the vet. There weren’t many people the kid would have interacted with here, especially not alone, and saving the soldiers he’d accidentally embarrassed a couple of switches back (kid needed to wear some pants if he didn’t want to mistook for a girl) there wasn’t anyone he could really think of that would have cause to try anything. Sure, Legend’s winning personality might earn him a blow to the face from some of the rowdier townsfolk, but at worst he’d be left on the street on in an alley with a bruised face and a fractured rib or two, not taken away entirely.

As he considered, Four was already tidying up behind him only to have Gaepak wave them off with a worried look. “Moi boys will see to this ‘ere mess, don’t botha. Yew got a kid missin’ you go fetch ‘im, goodness knows Gen’ral that yew don’t need to be suff’rin’ that again.”

It was a bitter reminder, but he’d nodded his thanks all the same and grabbed ahold of Wind’s hand as he led the charge back into the street, Hyrule and Sky tagging along as Four made arrangements to come back later for the still cooling weapons before scampering out after them.

Searching Castletown’s streets would take hours, but after they’d run into one of his men, Bav, he’d filled the soldier in on the situation, and hardly had the words ‘my kid’ been out of his mouth before the other was nodding and agreeing to get the rest of the squadron to search the town. They’d found the others not long after, and the trio had dropped everything (even Wild’s slate for a hot second) to come rushing after them, their now two groups weaving in and out of alleyways and streets.

“Your wife?” A painfully familiar farm-wife had tutted. “First your poor daughter and now your poor wife. I’m sorry, luv, but I haven’t seen a thing.” Wind had crooked a smile at the groan Warriors had barely stifled as he led their group away, Sky and Hyrule both staring at the duo in confusion as they pressed further into the crowd.

Continued asking had brought up nothing, and after hours of trotting through the streets in a growing panic, Sky at his side and Hyrule nearly fluttering along with them, they’d finally been pulled aside by one of the soldiers and made to sit down in a guard-station long enough to drink some water and be caught up on the soldiers’ findings.

“Nothing yet, General Link, but we’ll keep looking. Until then, you should take a rest-” He’d moved to protest only to be cut off by a frown from one of his mates. “You’ll be run ragged by the time we hear word, and if the scamps intend harm of any sort, you’ll be in no state to help.”

He’d had to agree after that, but it hadn’t stopped him pacing while Sky held the other two close, rocking them softly and humming soft reassurances to the two smaller heroes that he’d bundled in his cape. The other four joined shortly after, Time demanding that Bav tell him what was happening and Twilight bundling over to grab Hyrule from Sky and curl up around him, the rancher’s nose buried in Hyrule’s curls as Four had settled between him and Sky, the smithies callused hands gently rubbing both their arms as he murmured soft reassurances to the others.

It was Wild that pulled him down to rest, flinty blue eyes sparking dangerously as the kid pulled him down to the ground and thrust something edible into his hands. Vaguely, he processed eating it, but his mind was too lost in spinning to take note if it was hot or cold or even what it tasted like.

When word finally came, it was with Bav’s face drawn and the entire guard having had to leave the post in wake of the nervous energy that flowed out from the exhausted heroes.

“Well?” He’d snapped to his feet, jostling Wild on accident as he did so and making the kid nearly toppled over with his sudden movement.

“An ultimatum, General.” Bav replied, clipped and carefully emotionless, even if there was pain in his eyes. “It’s addressed to General Impa, but-”

The note was snatched from waiting fingers before the other soldier had a chance to finish, and he was already breaking the seal as the man stepped back with a shake of his head and a murmured ‘poor man’.

The text that stared up at him stank, copper assaulting his senses as looping crimson script stared mockingly up at him. “General Impa,” The note read. “We have in our possession your branded puppet; the ‘hero’ of the war. We write to you now with a warning; should Hyrule and her queen not repay the debt owed to those fallen and forgotten, he will not be the first to pay the price.

“Repay that which is due, and release the prisoners who you hold unjustly under the claim of treachery. If this is done, your ‘hero’ will meet a kinder fate, and we may even allow you access to the corpse.”

The note was left unsigned, save a spattering of blood over where the signature ought to have been.

“A threat.” He choked, furrowing his brow and shaking his head. “It’s only a threat.”

“I wish, sir.” Bav’s eyes were downcast. “But they sent this as well.” A bundle, already unwrapped by the soldiers was offered to him. “But based on your description, that kid- I'm sorry, Sir.”

Trembling fingers tore aside the stained brown paper as he stared at the contents within.

A blood-soaked blue scarf stared back up at him.

#whumptober 2021 #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu warriors #lu wind #lu sky #lu legend #kidnapping #dad warriors #warriors' scarf #scarf #idiot writes angst #idiot writes whump #will I follow this up later?#who knows!#until then #draw what conclusions you please #about what's happened to legend #i have no regrets

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thekillingjoke-haha · 4 years

Text

Prime Time,Bitch!

Tagged: @spnquotebingo the keep reading function is messing up for me

Sam said he was locked up tight in the dungeon. He was never locked in with her. She was locked in with him. The hunter becomes the hunted with no where to run.

Warning: Mature Language,Blood,Gore,Character Death?

-"Thoughts"- (they are red for those who can see)"Quotes" 'Reading'

"I'll be right back. This demon side is fighting to stay in control. I just need a few more pints of blood." Sam said as he slung a bag on his shoulder. "Yeah I got it get some food to!" Y/n said with a smile as she walked him to the impala. The roar of the engine rumbled as she waved him off going back inside what she didn't know was Dean knew that Sam just left and a chilling smile grew on his face.

Y/n popped popcorn as she sat in her room a horror movies playing as she got comfortable. A scream came from the movie drowning out the sound of the dungeon door opening up. The youngest Winchester laughed as a girl tripped over nothing her and Dean always make fun of them they had no real reason to hit the ground so they should get right up. This made her slightly sad. Was Sam going to fix Dean or was it already to late for him? Shaking off the thought the killer was about to crush the women's skull when the power cut out,but the red emergency lights didn't cut on yet which was weird. "God damnit." She grumbled getting up and grabbed a flashlight and went to the breaker to fix it walking right past the open door. Flipping the switch the normal lights don't turn on only the red ones and she turned around to get her phone to call Sam when she dropped her flashlight. Y/n gazed at the empty chair in the center of a devils trap she took off running to her room,but paused he knew she would run there for her phone and Dean or the demon he's become won't let her get help. She changed course to Sam's panic room to hide.

"Oh N/n where are you? I miss my little sister don't you miss me?" A metal sound of something dragging on the floor made her tense. Thinking of all possible things it could be of how she's going to die.–'It could be a bat,but we don't have any metal ones in the bunker. Maybe a sledgehammer,but that would have ment he when into the garage and the power going out would have locked everything.''– Her eyes widen as she released what it was he must have been carrying around she was sharpening it with the rest of the blades earlier that day."Have you figured it out yet? I know how you think when a horror movie is playing you see ever scenario before the movie can catch up. No wonder Sammy says you cheat at Clue!" Dean laughed as he seemed to wander to each room. The sound of wood splitting as he yelled "Here's Johnny!!!" It seemed so much worse that Dean was the evil this time a normal demon would know her so personally this seemed almost cruel him quoting films they watched together. "What to clichés? I admit the axe is old school."

The panic room the size of a cubbie it was so small,but just big enough I could calm down and think properly. Looking up another version of myself sat in front of me...my conscience. I could speak,but she could she's in my head after all. –"You can't run. There's nowhere to go doors locked down the moment the lights went."– I saw a illusion of myself running through the halls just to hit a corner and get a axe to the chest before it faded away. –"Can't go for your phone or your laptop he probably broke it the moment he noticed you weren't in your room."– I saw myself creep into my room just to see a shattered phone and my laptop with a cracked screen buffering to open instant messenger to text Sam. The laptop was slammed shut on my fingers causing some to break and get sliced by the glass looking up the sick grin of the Demon caught my eye before the axe ended that path. –"The burner. The one in your dresser Dean doesn't know about it so neither would the demon.Get it and get back here as quickly as possible. "– It was settled call for help. Listening for any foot steps I creep out of the hiding space a faint whistle going off down one of the many halls way from my room. Sneaking down the hallway staying low I get to my room where the door is torn to shreds as I open my drawer and fish out the phone. Going back down the hallway I get back to Sam's room and immediately call him.

"This call has been forwarded to a automatic voice message at the tone ples–" Hanging up I call again and again with no answer. At this point help was no longer a option. The whistling seemed to get closer and I rushed to the panic room until I paused. –"A enclosed space in a closet. There's not much space to move around if he finds you there your done for."– I back away slightly. –"Behind the door offers a easy place to hide and get out,but if he does the same to Sammy's door he did to yours it's not much of a hiding spot then."– A axe goes through the door creating a massive hole and Dean peaks inside and sees the white of you tank top in your (f/n) flannel. The door was whole again as I looked around the sound of metal getting louder running out of time. –"Under the bed allows you to see him without him seeing you,but like the panic cubbie not a lot of wiggle room if he hears you your done."– It was too late running to the metal door of the panic room she slams it shut not to loud to sound like she's trying to hide it,but just loud enough for the demon to register it. Sealing it shut I slip under the bed and wait for the time to get out and hopefully find a weapon.

Boots walked into the room turning to the closed closet. "Oh N/n!~ There's only so many places to hide in such a small room. Did you really think I wouldn't hear that heavy ass door close?" He chuckled darkly as he opened the closet and went to the small door. Dean tried turning the wheel to unsealed it,but it seemed to dawn on him that it could only be opened from the inside. With a huff anger he began pulling the brick of the wall started to bend outwards and crack. I was glad I wasn't in there. Going to slip out from under the bed while he's distracted the burner phone rang its annoying ringtone. Not even bothering to stop it I rush to get out faster,but a firm grip caught my ankle and dragged me out. Turning onto my back Dean stood their his apple green eyes staring at me. "Found you." He lifted up the axe having let go of my ankle lifting up my feet I put as much strength as possible into kicking his stomach. The demon was knocked back into the closest hitting the ground. Unfortunately axe still in hand. Stanfing up I ran leaving the phone behind. -"Sam took Baby so the trunk armory is out of the question. The garage has so pretty handy tools too bad that it was sealed along with the front and only entrance. Kitchen has knifes none that can hurt him,but just enough to slow him down. Library demon blade was in there last you checked,but Sam could have grabbed and put it on a high shelf."– Too many options and the kitchen was closer so that was the first stop grabbing a knife I held it tightly as a stalked slowly to the Library to see if there were any supernatural weapons.

The library was dark and the red lighting barely lit up the large room. "Would you like to play a game?" Dean mocked in a deep voice as he went around the bunker his voice echoing no real pinpointing where he is. I can't call Sam and prying to Cas hasn't worked meaning Dean made angel banishing symbols in most of the rooms. Y/n was getting desprit the bunkers massive size most of it was unexplored by them so being lost in a underground maze b wasn't the best option. "Are you scared yet Y/n? Well be afraid. Be very afraid. I'm what goes bump in the night sweetheart! Never thought the Winchester’s downfall will be by the hands of the oldest. What a twist!!! Right?" Dean yelled turning to the table I saw the supplies I cleaned with,but the weapons were gone and a note was left on in their place. 'Hey Y/n I put the weapons back into the trunk for tomorrow's hunt so you wouldn't have to...you're welcome and your blade was just sitting on the table so I put it up. ~Love Sam' I wanted to cry oh chuck nothing can save me in this buncker Bobby was sending us gallons of holy water next week because we were low...all rooms were demon proof,but he seemed to be a exception now,so no calling Crowley either.

Turning around the library doors open and I duck behind one of the many shelves. "Welcome to my nightmare!~" He said with a chuckle that bounced from every wall. Dean knocked down books and destroyed anything in his way while he looked around. Crawling on the ground I go to leave when the sound of something whooshing in the arm made me drop like a bag of rocks. The axe meet the shelf and I gazed at the red illuminated face of my brother eyes now black and demented. Laughter bubbled out of his chest as he mumbled. "Carful dear wouldn't want to lose you head." Yanking the axe free many books tumbled down. Taking the kitchen knife in hand I slash his calf and go for his thigh when the knife is flung out of my hands. "You little bitch!!!" He hissed now holding the knife and showing it into my stomach. A silent cry came from my lips bot to give him the satisfaction of my screams just yet. I look up at him and just past his head where I couldn't normally reach was the handle of my blade peeking over the shelf.

I begin to giggle and it turns into fits of laughter. Black eyes flicker back to confused green ones. "What's so funny?" I catch my breath as I lean up slightly. "You picked the wrong place to corner me. Wanna play?" Grabbing his knee and pulling it buckled under him causing Dean to hit the shelf letting the blade fall freely. Reaching out I catch it "Let’s play." Stabbing upward into his stomach the same place the knife was lodged in my own stomach. He howled in pain as I removed the blade and ran keeping pressure on the knife wound as I turned corners just to get away. -'He played with your head play with his. The intercomes...a good distraction can lead him away and let you get the jump.'- I hurry to the intercoms not before making a pit stop.

Demon!Dean POV

I growl at the wound on my body the little shit stabbed me. This makes killing her so much easier then she can be just like me. Grabbing the axe I stomp through the bunker. "What a excellent day for an exorcism." Her voice sounded through the speakers now I know were she is. "Would you like that?" I said aloud with a grin. "Intensely." Y/n said trying to make her voice horse before the clipping sound of the intercom stopping rang out before being replaced with a creepy melody that always scared her. "There was a crooked man. He walked a crooked mile he had a crooked six pence upon a crooked stile." It went on with childish like tones until it got further in the song it was so god damn loud though. "The crooked man stepped forth and... rang the crooked bell and thus his crooked soul... spiraled into a crooked hell.Murdered his crooked family... and laughed a crooked laugh." My ear drums almost burst at the loud deep voiced scream ears still ringing I didn't register the blade being driving into my sholder flinging her back I turn around as she's running down the narrow hallway taking the axe with both hands throw it straight and the axe hit her almost dead center in the spine. The audio cut off after the song and I stood over her. Y/n had her face turned coughing up blood I definitely hit her lung. "Thanks for catching it for me." I smile as I heavily put my foot on the small of her back pulling the axe out. She screamed out it was mildly gurgle from the blood. Turning her over my little sisters eyes shined with unshed tears. "Oh,no tears,please. It's a waste of good suffering." I said with a small whipping the few that slipped by she whimpered Sam's name and I grew frustrated. Lifting the axe again. "Looks like you couldn't make the cut,N/n. Just another extra that stuck around for too long." Dropping the axe down it went into her chest the creaking of her collar bone and sternum were whispers compared to the blood curdling cry. They soon died out as her skin paled and her breathing stopped she'llmake a strong demon. "See you soon." Taking the axe out I begin to drag her body.

The lights in the bunker cut back on meaning Sammy was home. Having placed her perfectly in the chair I was tied to I wait until he finds her standing next to the door. "Y/n?! Y/n!?" He yelled most likely having gone to her room rushing the the dungeon his heavy foot steps abruptly stopped. "Oh God! Y/n come on!" The moose of a man rushed in the room cradling her face in his hand. "You were too late, Sammy. She called your name before she went,but I guess five missed calls wasn't enough for you to rush home. N/n fought for so long waiting it out just for you to never show." I said closing the door as he turned to me standing infront of her corpse. "You didn't make things easy on her. I mean you took all the weapons and put the only thing to defend herself on the top shelf...like keeping the cookie jar way from a child. In some way you killed her before I could." Lifting the demon blade that had his own blood on it. I stalked towards him cornering him in the room. "Sure you won't give me a good chase,but woah she wore me out." Holding the blade to his throat when a gun shot fired and a sting hit my arm causing me to drop the knife.

Y/n stood colt in her left hand the axe keeping her up in her left. "Demons always so sure that what's dead is dead and can't be undead. Ever heard of a pulse jackass. " so distracted that she was alive Sam was able to restrain and she held a handful of bags of blood. "Let's get this over with." She bagan to inject me and I felt myself become mire human and I started thrashing hard. With the last vile in hand she looked into my eyes. "You should be dead." I hissed as she pushed the needle in. "Sorry. I'm into survival."

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A/n This is the last one in round one of the Spnquotebingo and I ended with a dozen quotes.

Title: "Prime Time,Bitch!" Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors

"Here's Johnny!" -The shinning

"Would you like to play a game?" - Saw

"...be afraid. Be very afraid"- The fly

"Welcome to my nightmare."- Nightmare on Elm Street

"..lose your head." Alice in Wonderland

"Wanna play?"- Child's Play

"What a excellent day for an exorcism...Would you like that?....Intensely." - The Exorcist

"There was a crooked man. He walked a crooked mile he had a crooked six pence upon a crooked stile." It went on with childish like tones until it got further in the song it was so god damn loud though. "The crooked man stepped forth and... rang the crooked bell and thus his crooked soul... spiraled into a crooked hell.Murdered his crooked family... and laughed a crooked laugh." - The Conjuring 2

"Oh,no tears,please. It's a waste of good suffering." - Hellraiser

"See you soon." - Coraline

"She called your name before she went,but I guess..." -Hadestown

"...what's dead is dead and can not me undead." -Jacksepticeye (DBD playthrough)

"I'm into survival." ‐Nightmare on Elm Street

#spnquotebingo #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #winchester!sister #winchester!reader #demon!dean #horror movies #horror quotes #Dean winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x sister!reader #castiel #crowly #hunter being hunted

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fettsvette · 3 years

Text

Never Worn White (Part Two)

Cloud City, Bespin. Boba Fett is on the hunt for a casual fuck before he cashes in on Han Solo’s bounty. You’re a naïve virgin, saving yourself for an adolescent fantasy… and it just so happens that he’s in town. Upon encountering the object of your infatuation though, you didn’t expect he’d be so willing to help you out.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader Words: 6.8k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Loss of virginity and unprotected sex

Can be found on Archive of Our Own here.

Mando’a terminology

vaar’ika - little runt

nehutyc’ika - feisty one

cyar’tomade - fans

“Your boyfriend’s at the Atrium.”

The words were like a lightning strike through the very fiber of your being, your whole body vibrating, no matter how teasingly and sarcastically they were meant. Your head jerked up so fast from the holopad screen you’d been gazing at that you felt as if you had just given yourself whiplash, and your blood pressure instantly skyrocketed, leaving you feeling light-headed and dizzy. Your roommate grinned lecherously at you, their eyes glinting mischievously. They were one of the few people to know about your feelings for Boba Fett, and it was obvious now that they were torturing you, feeding you false information and getting your hopes up just to watch you fluster and squirm like a giddy schoolgirl. Of course, they didn’t know the extent of your infatuation, and what you were planning if you ever happened to cross paths with the infamous bounty hunter during his unprecedented stay in Cloud City. You didn’t intend to allow them to find out, either.

“...What are you talking about? Stop it...” You replied faintly, gazing up at them dumbly from your perch on the couch, uncrossing your legs and attempting to knead the life back into the prickling muscles. Your gaze drifted to your hands as you did so, trying futilely to get them to stop shaking just so your flatmate didn’t have something else to rib you over, and then skirted over to the wide window looking out over the city. Neat rows of transports crisscrossing in every direction lined the nighttime sky, carrying Cloud City’s citizens and tourists alike to where they needed to go. You couldn’t help but direct your vision towards the vicinity of the entertainment district, its bright lights plainly visible from your apartment. The Paradise Atrium was only a short distance away from your apartment on Figg Avenue, even closer than the landing bay where the Slave I was still docked. There was no way. It was too good to be true, simply meant to be. He was coming closer and closer to you.

“I’m not kidding. Boba Fett’s at the Paradise Atrium, right now . I had to stop there on my way home to drop off a couple containers of glitterstim my boss owed the slimeball that owns that place, y’know? I walked in and he was literally right there in the cantina, just sitting at one of the booths in the corner… the ones they always reserve for the really top-tier VIPs.” They explained seriously, and you envisioned the layout of the lounge in your mind, an establishment you had visited quite often. Your thoughts brought you to the very rear of the adjacent and aptly-named Paradise Cantina... into the recesses of a shadowy booth, where sat an imposing figure in a battle-worn suit of Mandalorian armor, reclined against the plush backing of the stall, legs spread almost obscenely wide. His codpiece was mysteriously absent, and you could see everything . He beckoned you closer with the twitch of a gloved finger ...and you shook yourself from your reverie, acutely aware that a cold sweat had started collecting on the back of your neck. You fought the urge to slap yourself across the face, the imagined mercenary still calling to you from your subconscious.

“Okay, okay… crik. Are you absolutely sure it was him?” You pleaded desperately, and your roommate openly rolled their eyes in your direction, shaking their head incredulously. You needed to be sure . You’d heard of the Fett imposter Jodo Kast, and even though the presence of the Slave I on-world was an immediate indication that the visitor was the real deal himself, there was still a niggling disbelief in your mind. This just could not be happening right now.

“Of course I’m sure! Kriff, how many Mandos do you think are just walking around Cloud City? Beefy-looking buckethead wearing green scrap metal, more weapons on him than stars in the sky. Poor kid they had serving him was terrified, the guy was shaking so bad he almost dropped a whole tray of brinebrew on the graysuits that were in the booth with him. And - okay, are we just going to ignore the fact that I called Boba kriffing Fett your boyfriend and you didn’t even blink? Honestly, I really can’t believe you sometimes…”

You didn’t even wait for them to finish. The fact that there were apparently high-ranking Imperial officers meeting with this mystery man was all the information you needed for any seed of doubt in your mind to be crushed. The holopad fell from your hands to land screen-down on the floor, entirely forgotten. Leaping up from the couch and power-walking towards your bedroom on tremulous legs, you flung the door closed behind you and hurriedly began rooting through your closet, looking for something halfway presentable to change into. You stripped yourself of your sweatpants and ripped t-shirt, having instantly settled on a glittering shimmersilk dress that you’d impulsively bought as a present to yourself after your last pay raise. You paused as you pulled the thin material over your head, debating whether or not to put on a bra before you dressed any further. With a curt sigh at yourself, you continued to slip your arms through the straps, smoothing the bunched fabric over the swell of your breasts. There was no point in bothering with one of those itchy, lacy garments you owned, that only you had ever laid eyes on - if all went according to plan tonight, your bra would just be coming off sooner rather than later anyway. You bent to slip your bare feet into a pair of plain black flats - you’d considered heels for a brief moment, but decided against them on the off-chance you had to make a quick getaway - when you were interrupted by the bedroom door colliding with the wall as it was unceremoniously flung open.

“...And just where the frozz do you think you’re going wearing that ?” A disbelieving voice intoned harshly from the doorway, and you looked up to see your roommate blocking the light flooding in from the living area, a panic-stricken expression written across their features. You paused, your arms hanging limply at your sides, staring determinedly back at your roommate, whose face was beginning to reflect a dawning sense of horror and understanding.

“ Out. ” You answered in a bland monotone, snatching your handbag off the bed and peeking inside of it, making sure that the keycard to your apartment door, as well as your credit chip and a healthy pouch of physical Imperial credit coins, were tucked away safely inside. Your roommate strode forward, grabbing your forearm and squeezing tightly, causing you to wince as they forced you to look them in the eye.

“Out where ?”

You didn’t reply, your plans already dangerously close to unraveling. Your roommate’s grip tightened to the point of pain, and you were stunned to see that their eyes had filled with tears of fright. You knew you should feel guilty for putting them through this sort of duress, for worrying them to the point of weeping over your safety, but the only thing you found yourself feeling was a sort of grim pleasure. The fact that someone you had grown so close to in your years of living in Cloud City, a creature you considered to be one of your closest friends, could be frightened to this level by the thought of you becoming somehow entangled with the notorious Boba Fett, did nothing but give you a sick sense of satisfaction deep in your gut. It heightened the swirling arousal that was already building deep in the pit of your belly, fantastical images of what this night’s adventure could possibly bring already brewing in your mind. Your roommate finally loosened their vice grip on your arm and shook their head unbelievingly, backing away from you as if you were tainted.

“Oh, stars … I know what you’re thinking. Please don’t do this. This isn’t some game of Droids and Guards, you fool, he’s dangerous .” They begged, seeming nearer and nearer to tears with every word.

“Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to get myself into a situation I can’t handle, I just… I just want to see him.” You adjusted the strap of your handbag on your shoulder and heard the childish, lovestruck pleading in your voice. You hated yourself for it, for letting yourself get this much in a tizzy over a mere man - but this truly wasn’t just a man, was it? You could very possibly wind up in bed with none other than Boba Fett by the end of the night, if the galaxy was kind to you. He was going to be the first to ever claim you - as you pushed past your roommate and headed for the door, you were certain of it. This was your darkest, deepest fantasy come true, something you had been pining for and secretly dreaming about since you were old enough to even fathom the concept of sex, of virginity. Boba Fett was the only man you’d ever thought about giving yourself to for years now, and this was quite possibly your only chance. There was no turning back now.

“Didn’t you hear me say that he was surrounded by Imps?! High-ranking Imps ! He kills people for money! He’s here working for the Emperor, I know it, and that big brute Vader’s still lurking around -” You held up one hand to silence them, and to your surprise, they immediately stopped, wild-eyed and staring at you imploriously, hands raised above their head. You had never seen your friend this keyed up, this stricken by concern for your wellbeing. It felt strange to say, but other than mynocks in your stomach from thinking about how the rest of the night could go, you didn’t understand just what this panic was all about. You weren’t stupid enough to interrupt important Imperial business, and it wasn’t like Lord Vader himself was going to be sitting at the bar, nursing a drink - right?

“Just… don’t wait up for me tonight. Okay?” You quietly begged your friend, your voice sweetly soft and as neutral as you could manage. A long moment passed between the two of you, no words spoken, just gazing into each other’s eyes. Several beats passed in silence, only the traffic outside interrupting the heavy tension that filled the room. Your roommate was the first to break, their shoulders sinking, defeated. You felt a new burst of energy and smug satisfaction, but couldn’t help but feel somewhat remorseful at your reaction towards their obvious distress. The feeling passed quickly, however, when your roommate bowed their head, the ghost of a smile on their lips as they clucked their tongue and shook their head at you.

“Dank farrik… you’re a real pain in my ass, you know that? ...But okay. You win.” They sighed. You kept your expression even, although you were screaming with joy on the inside, and were about to reach out to embrace them, when they took a step back and pointed in your face. You felt yourself going slightly cross-eyed, following their finger down the bridge of your nose, and had to stifle an ill-timed giggle. “But if you’re not back by sunrise, I’m contacting the Wing Guard and reporting you missing, and I’m going to tell them who you were trying to meet up with. I’ll get Baron Calrissian and the Alliance involved. Don’t think I won’t.” They continued, and your heart skipped a beat. You certainly weren’t expecting that turn of events, but weren’t exactly surprised either. With how sympathetic your roommate was to the Rebel Alliance, especially concerning the events of the past week and the installation of what the locals were beginning to call the ‘Iron Blockade,’ it made sense that they would threaten you with action involving the Rebellion, even if it was just out of concern for your safe return. It wasn’t that you didn’t support the Rebels yourself - their crushing blow to the Empire in the form of the destruction of the Death Star had reinvigorated your hope in their cause, especially after the horrific obliteration of Alderaan - but the purely selfish, immature side of you wondered what would happen to Boba Fett if the Rebellion were to come out the victors of this current Galactic Civil War. He was one of Vader’s most loyal hunters, and you had a feeling that the Rebels wouldn’t smile kindly upon his transgressions against them. Especially since one of their most famous generals, Han Solo, currently had a bounty on his head large enough to buy an entire spice mine, and it had been speculated on the HoloNet that Fett was one of the many mercenaries attempting to cash in on this coveted prize.

You walked past your roommate without another word, slipping past them in the doorway of your bedroom, and padded easily across the living area carpet, knowing now that they’d had put their last word in and would no longer attempt to stop you. Settling your hand upon the doorknob leading into the hall, you were about to let yourself out into the night when you heard the Aruzan softly call your name, and you turned. They stood in the center of the room, smiling sadly, arms folded across their chest, a look of intense worry upon their face as they watched you exit, hoping they would find you back home in the morning. Their last words to you rang in your ears as you made your way across the night sky in the space taxi that would deposit you right on the steps of the Atrium.

“Good luck.”

You stepped into the main lounge of the Paradise Atrium and instantly felt incredibly out of place, and exorbitantly underdressed despite the expensive shimmersilk you had draped yourself in for this special occasion.

The room was filled with regal-looking creatures from all over the galaxy - a large group of Twi’leks sat on a couch in the far corner, smoking from a hookah and emitting large columns of purple and green smoke through their nostrils in between bouts of gay laughter, and a company of important-looking Nothoiin congregated around the elaborate carbonite sculpture placed in the center of the room. You’d attended gatherings at the Atrium many times before, but you’d never been in the presence of so many upper-class individuals. You wouldn’t be surprised if just one of these creatures was currently carrying more credits in their pockets than you would ever see in your entire lifetime. Not to mention, there were several armored stormtroopers, their white plastoid suits gleaming in the artificial light, holding sentinel near the staff entrance at the rear of the room, a sight you’d never seen here before. Something was definitely going down in Cloud City, and you had walked right into it. That realization alone made you want to sink into the floor, and what made it even worse was the fact that there was no sign of Boba Fett.

You had crept into the Atrium as discreetly as you could, almost on tiptoe, and in hindsight you weren’t exactly sure what you had been expecting. Had you thought that you’d walk in and Fett himself would have been standing there, awaiting your entrance like a prince from ancient myth, on call for his princess’s arrival at the ball? Heart hammering wildly, leaning against the wall for support, you had scanned the room twice, then thrice over, looking for a flash of green, a swirl of cape, any indication that he was present, only to come up empty. He simply wasn’t here; at least he wasn’t anymore, if he ever had been in the first place. As much as you loved your roommate, and despite their almost violent reaction they’d had to the knowledge that you were - at the very least - trying to meet Boba Fett, it wouldn’t terribly surprise you if they had been pulling your leg all along. You’d trudge back into your shared apartment, dejected, and your roommate would be there, grinning smugly, lecturing that the moral of this story was to never seek company with strange men.

Gazing around the room once more and seeing no sign of Fett, or at the very least, the Imperial graysuits that he’d apparently been here meeting with, you found yourself almost embarrassingly heartbroken. You’d banked so much on tonight, only for it to wind up being a missed chance, if not a complete fake-out. You refused to give your roommate the satisfaction of heading straight back home, though, so you figured now was as good a time as any to drink your sorrows away at the bar. The Paradise Cantina was adjacent to the Atrium and contained a half-moon bar as well as several comfortable private booths, and you sidled onto one of the stools at the center of the console, directly in front of the bartender, a distinguished-looking Bothan who eyed you dubiously.

“Anything I can get for you, kid?” He asked gruffly, polishing a glass and looking you up and down, feeling you out. Although you had lounged with friends at the Atrium, even attended a few workplace parties there, you’d never really been a patron of the bar, and you felt the clientele ogling you suspiciously. It obviously wasn’t an ordinary occurrence, to see a scantily clad young woman sitting alone at a high-class bar, and the various eyes on you made your skin crawl, although you did your best to ignore the unwanted attention.

“Just a Jedi Mind Trick, please. Make it a double” You replied softly, keeping your eyes down, tracing your fingernail against the wood grain of the bar. You heard the Bothan snort, probably amused at your choice of such a strong drink right off the bat, doubting you could hold your liquor. The way you saw it, though, you’d rather spend the rest of the evening getting shit-faced here than simply slinking off home alone, to wallow in bed self-despairingly.

The bartender had just set the triangular container full of bright blue liquid on the counter in front of you when a door you hadn’t noticed on the far side of the room slid open, and a figure stepped out. A hush immediately fell over the room, which had previously been filled with glasses clinking, quiet conversation and laughter, and a holographic jizz band being broadcast. You didn’t bother to look over at first, too absorbed in your own self-pity to care, picking up the glass and knocking the entire drink back in one gulp, leaving the edges of your mind slightly blurred.

That’s when you heard the spurs.

Kshnk. Kshnk. Kshnk.

At first you assumed it was solely a figment of your imagination, an effect of the alcohol being absorbed into your system, until you realized that the room had gone silent, that even the hologram of the band had ceased playing. You looked up at the bartender, but he was staring over the top of your head, paused in the act of refilling another guest’s stein. The jangling sound filled your ears until you could hear nothing else, not even the sound of your own breathing, and a chill went down your spine. You were clenching your empty cup so tight that you were surprised it didn’t shatter in your hand. Gingerly, you turned around to acknowledge the cantina’s newest arrival, your stomach rolling with anticipation, your blood singing in your veins, your heart pounding like a gigantic drum sitting in your chest cavity. You looked up.

And there he was.

Boba Fett.

He was shorter than you expected.

You felt a near-hysterical giggle rise in your throat as the realization crossed your mind, that this was your very first thought upon seeing the man you’d envisioned fucking you time and time again - in person, finally. The laughter died in your throat as he turned to cross the room, only several meters away from you, and you got your first real look at him.

Stars, he was beautiful .

Boba Fett walked slowly, methodically, with more purpose than you had ever seen another creature move, even though it seemed his only motive at the moment was to find a place to sit down. The dented helmet that concealed his features didn’t break its steady gaze straight ahead even once as Fett crossed the room, even though every eye in the cantina was locked to him. There was no way the man didn’t know that he was currently the center of attention, the reason for the palatable silence in the air, and it was quite obvious that he didn’t care one parsec. The green armor he wore was littered with scrapes and scars and dents, but still shone in the low light of the bar, as if it had only just been waxed, and you shivered at the thought of getting to press your bare chest against the battle-flecked breastplate. A ragged cape was tossed over one shoulder, and your eyes were drawn to the string of inexplicable numbers glowing out from an interface on the right-hand side of his armor, and to the strange symbol mirroring its position, a stalk of grain framed by a bright red drop of blood and what looked to be lettering in a language you didn’t recognize, directly above his heart. There were several long braids of multi-colored and variously textured hair thrown over the opposite side of his shoulder plate, the sight of which sent another delicious chill up your spine. You knew you should be repulsed by the sight of those trophies of war alone, but it served as a confirmation of something you already knew - this man was dangerous . There was debate on the HoloNet as to the origin of those braids - some who’d been following Fett’s career, as you did, were adamant that they were made of the scalps of Wookiees he’d killed; yet others claimed they were the braids of Jedi Padawans he’d hunted down at the request of Lord Vader himself. Your eyes flitted downwards to below his waist, heat flushing through your system. The greenish codpiece was just as battered as the rest of the armor - even more so, upon a closer look. Judging by the craggy yet shallow indentation located almost in the dead-center of it, some unfortunate soul had made a last ditch effort to save themselves by taking a shot at what they must have thought was the most vulnerable area on Fett’s body. They had obviously been wrong, and you were grateful for it.

Almost seeming to move in slow motion, the bounty hunter passed directly by the bar, and you could have sworn you could sense his body heat even from several meters away, could smell blaster smoke and blood on him. As repulsive as those scents should have been, reminiscent of battlefields and death and suffering, you felt almost soothed by the thought of being able to press your face to the rough cloth that held the Mandalorian armor together, breathe in those aromas as deeply as you wished, a smell that was so distinctly him . You focused your gaze on Boba Fett once more just in time to see him settle himself at a raised table in the corner, reclining back casually. He seemed to finally notice that all other movement and conversation in the cantina had ceased upon his arrival, and his helmet swiveled first to the left, then to the right, making direct eye contact with several goggling patrons, who uneasily turned away under his gaze. Fett’s visor then turned in your direction and your heart walloped frantically in your chest - ‘ has he noticed me?’ - but it became obvious quite quickly that he was looking past you, straight at the Bothan behind the bar, who regarded Fett for a long moment before offering him a grudging nod. Almost as if this were some sort of cue, the holographic band started up again with a lively rendition of ‘Sugaan Essena,’ and the muttered discussions, tinkling of glasses, and laughter resumed. The clients of the Paradise Atrium and Cantina seemed eager to forget that the deadliest bounty hunter in the known galaxy was seated in their midst. Fett, however, had cast his gaze to the city outside, watching the rows of traffic track across the nighttime sky, gloved hands resting firmly on his knees, deep in thought.

You watched out of the corner of your eye as three young Zabrak women wearing matching skin-tight baffleweave bodysuits made a beeline for Fett’s table as soon as the atmosphere had settled down, obviously over-eager for their chance to flirt with danger. You sniggered when the armored figure sent them away with a wave of his hand before they even had a chance to close in on him, watched them turn tail with their heads down almost as quickly as they had first come. You tried to ignore the coiling pit of unease in your belly as you considered moving forward with your plan, despite the fact that it seemed for all intents and purposes that Fett did not want to be bothered. You continued to watch the man as his attention was drawn back to the outside world. ‘ Oh, hell. You only live once, right? What’s the worst that could happen, he tells you to kark off?’

“Hey… would you send a drink over to that table in the corner? Whatever he usually orders when he comes here.” You waved the bartender over, pointing a thumb over your shoulder at Boba Fett, jerking your chin in his direction as well for emphasis. You were trying to play it cool, sending a drink to the table of one of the most bloodthirsty men in the galaxy, but you were sure that the bartender could see your hand shaking as you made the request. The tall Bothan looked at you as if you had asked him for a diamond-encrusted barrel of Coruscanti bitters, straight from the Emperor’s private reserve.

“...You sure about that, kid? You do know who that is, right? Boba Fett’s one tough customer. You’d be better off not messing around with that barve.” He leaned down towards you, warning you off as if you were a child, trying to play with the older kids who would only include you in their games if it meant beating you within an inch of your life. You nodded, looking back with what you hoped was a steely determination.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

The Bothan looked at you for a moment with great pity, as if he were gazing upon a creature that had just consigned itself to its doom. Heaving a sigh that quivered the fur lining his muzzle, the bartender turned and started preparing another drink.

You couldn’t even look as the liquor was brought across the room by one of the ornate serving droids that wandered the cantina. You kept your head low, jiggling one leg on the stool beneath you, digging your fingernails into the glossy wood that encompassed the top of the bar. The minutes seemed to tick by excruciatingly, and you were overcome by the notion that maybe you should leave, get up and bolt when you still could, escape before Fett was aware of what fool had sent him the drink, go home to bed and forget any of this had ever happened. But too late - just as you were beginning to shift in your seat, to lean in the direction of the doorway and gather up the momentum to run, the bartender cleared his throat, causing your head to pop up at the sudden noise. The Bothan looked you in the eyes and did nothing but give you a subtle bob of his head, watching a point across the room. You followed his eyes, and stopped dead in your tracks.

Boba Fett was staring at you.

Openly leering at you was a better term for it, his entire body turned in your direction, lazily slumped in his seat, his legs spread comfortably wide. Kriff, this was just like your daydream. As soon as he was sure that he had your attention, and as if he had read your mind, one hand rose from its spot resting against the ample meat of his thigh, and two deft fingers hidden under an off-white glove of bantha leather beckoned you closer with a quick curling motion. It was an action that whispered, ‘ Come hither, my dear. Let’s play.’

Your stomach lurched and your vision suddenly filled with black spots, and you bit down hard on your lower lip, the quick pain bringing you back from the brink of passing out. Your eyes refocused, the dark points fading away, and there he still sat, his position unchanged. He was waiting for you to come over. You looked back at the bartender for guidance - by now you were sure he had seen this song and dance played out here many times before - and the Bothan gave you a roll of his deep-set dark eyes, and a noncommittal shrug. He’d already written you off as another casualty, the sad result of human naïveté in the face of the galaxy’s bloodthirstiness.

You rose from your stool on legs that felt as if they were made of bacta, your feet seeming to glide across the floor of the Atrium, bringing you ever closer to Boba Fett. The cantina patrons seemed to part like a sea for you, and you didn’t give a womp rat’s ass if they were staring, whispering about you. Your eyes and thoughts belonged only to the helmeted man who had beckoned you closer, and whose parted legs you were standing almost directly between when your long walk ended. You were so close that you could see yourself reflected in his blackened visor, dumbfounded. You were visibly trembling, and you could feel Fett’s body heat rolling off him, soaking into your own legs as you stood before him. It took you a moment to comprehend that he was waiting for you to speak, for you to make the first move.

“...You’re here for Han Solo, aren’t you? Everyone knows you two have a rivalry and that you’ve been after him for ages now, and he’s here, and you’re here, and that can’t be a coincidence, right? It’s like -” The words rushed from your mouth in an excited torrent, and you were fully aware that you were babbling at him, but you couldn’t stop yourself if you tried. Every nerve-ending in your body felt sparked with the fire of a planet’s core, you were absolutely thrumming, and you didn’t care whether you sounded like an idiot in front of this man who you’d lusted after for ages, just as long as you were talking to him, that you had his attention. Mercifully, Fett’s palm came up, the same move he had used on the Zabraks earlier in the night. You stopped mid-sentence, your mouth still hanging upon, your eyes wide.

“I’m here on business. What exactly that pertains to is none of your concern.” The reply was smooth and unhurried, and he didn’t even look at you. Boba Fett seemed much more concerned with what was going on outside the Atrium’s walls, his line of sight falling past you, towards the lights of the Administrator's Palace. Where Han Solo probably was, if the rumors of him being Leia Organa’s consort were true. So you were right. Even if he wouldn’t admit it in words, it was almost like the bounty hunter was showing you. At least, that’s how you chose to take it.

“...Oh. Okay. ...Fair enough, I guess.” You cautiously replied, unsure of how to proceed when he offered no further conversation, and cringed inwardly. Stars , you were truly awful at small talk, especially with handsome men. No wonder you’d never gotten laid. Fett’s helmet snapped towards you like a sharp cut with a blade, his restraint with your dallying almost nonexistent, and you felt yourself flush hotly as you realized you’d just been staring blankly at him the entire time, drinking him up just as greedily as any Hutt would look upon a dancer. There was no way he couldn’t tell your intentions, and your confidence and excitability wavered.

“So what exactly is it that you want from me, girl? I don’t have the time nor the patience to be followed around and gifted tokens at bars by starry-eyed brats. Say what you will, or I’ll have you removed from my sight. Now .”

There was ice in his voice, and you found yourself slightly afraid for the first time. The idea of Boba Fett growing angry with you was not something you wanted to experience. You had to say your piece now, or risk losing what you wanted forever. You balled your fists so hard that you were sure your nails were cutting through the skin of your palms, but you stood your ground. You weren’t going to let Fett intimidate you away from what you wanted of him, not now. You were too close.

So you told him, blunt and straight to the point.

“I’ve never been fucked. I want you to be my first.”

Fett’s form stiffened in his seat, the gloved hand that had been nonchalantly resting on his thigh almost imperceptibly gripping the hard muscle beneath. You didn’t notice, nor were you able to sense the fact that he was holding his breath.

Despite the extraordinary self-control Boba Fett had cultivated over every aspect of his functions during his decades of bounty hunting, he felt his cock twitch involuntarily within the confines of his flight pants. He’d encountered plenty of cyar’tomade across the galaxy over the years, desperate creatures of all types looking to spend a night in his company just for the later bragging rights, others looking to fulfill some sort of bizarre erotic fantasy - he’d taken up plenty of those offers, and turned down even more. Boba Fett was a man who enjoyed sex, and he made no secret of the fact that he had been scoping the lounge for a prospective bedpartner after the meeting with Lieutenant Sheckil and his graysuits. That wretched smuggler Solo had a date with a carbonite chamber tomorrow evening after he and Vader’s planned ambush at the Administrator’s Palace in the morning, and Fett fully intended to vent some excess energy tonight before finally collecting on the barve’s hefty bounty. It was back to Jabba’s afterwards, and more bounties to collect on, and even less downtime. Fett enjoyed his life of solitude, practically thrived on it, but still… he was only human, and he had his needs.

What he hadn’t expected was being cornered and propositioned by a willing and eager virgin. And such a pretty thing, too. This was a first, and he had to admit he was already getting hard at the thought of teaching this naïf how to please a man, to be the one to take her like nobody had before, to show her just who exactly she was dealing with.

“ Well … aren’t you a bold one.” He finally exhaled, still avoiding any semblance of eye contact with you, his focus seeming to be on stirring the cubes around his drink. You swallowed thickly, watching Fett’s index finger push the straw back and forth. He hadn’t touched the drink at all, but you didn’t care. You wanted that finger in your mouth, down your throat, glove and all, but shook yourself from the daydream when it occurred to you that Fett was watching, waiting for a response.

“I’ve found that fortune favors the bold.” You pushed yourself into the chair opposite him, trying to conceal how badly your legs were wobbling. You had waded chest-deep into completely unknown territory, and you felt as if you were going to faint at any moment if you didn’t take a seat. To emphasize your point, you reached out and grasped the drink you had sent to his table just minutes ago, tipping your head back and draining half of it in one swig. Your head swimming from the sudden rush of hard liquor, you settled the container back on the polished wood and steadied your gaze on the bounty hunter. Fett cocked his helmet at you, an amused snort emanating from underneath, a static edge to it thanks to the vocoder that helped conceal his voice. He laid his forearms on the table, leaning his upper body forward towards you, the posture of a gossiping schoolboy, mocking and insolent.

“And what makes you think I’d want to be the one to break you in, vaar’ika ?”

He almost purred the question, sickly sweet. There was no outright malice there, no, but he was teasing you; you could hear the laughter in his voice. You could tell he thought you were nothing but a stupid little girl who didn’t know what she was getting herself into, and it shamed you into silence. You felt your throat tightening, your eyes starting to burn, and you begged yourself, ‘ Don’t you dare start crying and prove him right. You know what you came here for. Don’t you dare. ’ But it was much easier said than done, and your attempt to coax yourself out of this panic only seemed to deepen it. You came this close to fulfilling your fantasy, you could have practically reached out and touched it, but it all had to fall to pieces because you were really nothing but a blubbering baby. You weren’t worthy of being with Boba Fett, and it had been a pipedream to think so even for a moment.

“I… I-I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking , coming here. I’ve made an ass of myself and I’ve completely wasted your time, I’m so sorry -”

Your eyes brimming with embarrassed tears, hot and heavy on your lashes and threatening to spill over at any moment, you ducked your head and pushed the chair out as quickly as you could, moving to brush past the still-seated bounty hunter and make a break for it out into the cool night air. With a harsh gasp, you felt yourself suddenly being jerked back by the elbow, almost stumbling with the force of the pull. Boba Fett’s gauntleted hand was gripping your arm in an iron hold, the black void of his visor locked onto your face. There was no way to tell, of course, and you couldn’t say how you knew, but you could have sworn he was smiling at you.

“ I didn’t say no , little one . Tell me again what you want of me.” Fett intoned evenly, but not unkindly, releasing his hold on you. To your shock, he ran his hand down your arm as he let you go, and it almost felt - of all things - reassuring . Arousal pooled to your core so quickly at Fett’s surprisingly soft touch and tone that it took you a few extra moments to even register what he had said.

‘He didn’t say no. It wasn’t possible. Does he actually want to? ...And he called me ‘little one.’

You could have died then and there, on the plush carpeted floor of the Paradise Atrium, but your words found you, every ounce of courage in your frame flooding through your veins at once.

“Take me back to your ship. Let me give myself to you. I want to be yours tonight… only yours. Please .” You laid a trembling hand on his wrist, still expecting to be violently brushed away, told to back off and go home if you knew what was good for you, threatened with disintegration or a blaster shot to the chest or something . But the harsh gesture or violent threat never came. The scarred green helmet tilted downwards to regard your fingers clutching at the armor, and after a quiet beat, Boba Fett’s gaze returned yours. Although you couldn’t see the eyes hidden behind that dark, T-shaped visor, you could feel them burrowing into your very soul, sweeping over you greedily, like a prize to be taken. Shivers rippled up your arms and your stomach rolled, but you weren’t afraid. Not anymore. Silently, you withdrew your fingers, letting your hands fall limply to your sides, and Fett nodded, seemingly satisfied with your plea.

“As you wish, nehutyc’ika. Come, then.” With that, Boba Fett stood in one swift motion, and held one palm out for you to take, open and inviting.

You felt as if you’d been kicked in the chest. You were instantly sober, any trace of alcohol from the night’s earlier wallowing fully flushed from your system by the influx of adrenaline currently screaming through your body. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and for a brief moment you wondered if he was playing with you, if this were some sort of sick joke, but you knew in the deepest recess of your heart that it wasn’t. He was serious. He’d made a career out of not backing down on deals. Boba Fett was a man of his word.

So you took his hand and let yourself be spirited away into the night by a figure from your best daydreams, and from other creatures’ worst nightmares.

#boba fett #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x reader

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insane-control-room · 3 years

Text

Control's Year of Writing

this has been one hell of a year, esp for my writing! i kinda averaged (only 30k more than last year) but heres to hoping that 2022 will bring inspiration to us all! sendin out much love and hope to everyone <3

Total Fics: 168

Total Words: 344,100 (approx. 1,230 pages)

Thank you all for reading! My inbox is always open for requests and if you wanna chat!

NOTE: the highlight list below does not account for series; and that's where the numeric incongruence will be!

January

fics: 6 words: 7,000

highlight: Found Rhythm

“Because I’m less of a, hm, asshole?” Murdoc dryly questioned. 2D laughed again; “No, ‘cause you’re changing. Slowly, yeah, but changin’. We’re all here for you, Muds. Well, Russ might still be more miffed than me and Noodle, but he’s here for you too.”

February

fics: 4 words: 4,750

highlight: Tick Talk

“You know what would happen if I drop this little thing?” Henry asked, swirling around the cancer stick, making smoke trail after his steady hand. Thomas moaned in anguish, curling in on himself once more. “Onto these patches of gas?”

“God, please, no,” he whispered. “No….”

“You do know, Mr. Rekowicz. You know…” Henry squatted next to him as well, glad to see the man’s sharp gaze fixated on the glowing cinder dangling precariously from his fingertips. “So well.”

March

fics: 3 words: 3,500

highlight: Returning the Favor

Spy left shortly after, trying to hide his worry. Engineer was curled up on his bed, and he could care less about the blood getting onto his sheets. He gave him the chocolate and worried about how else to heal him up. He was not good at field medicine, and Engie needed help, help he could not give.

April

fics: 4 words: 8,200

highlight: Yet Another Found Family

SCP-5031 was a testament to that, and the entire unit over the being was very proud, and Dr. Stanley was especially prideful of their progress. They still had an old portrait that 5031 had drawn of what they fondly referred to as ‘the family’ tacked up on their fridge, even though 5031 was much better at art now, Stanley held this one closest to their heart.

May

fics: 3 words: 4,500

highlight: Dark Humor

Air rushed in and out of his nose, burning cold and bloating thin. His jaw was rigid, a firm scowl hiding teeth barred tighter than they had been locked in a very long time. Whatever had been in his mouth had fallen out, jaw slack. He could hear nothing at all aside from the functions in his own body, the silence amplifying that quiet clicking flow of blood, and,

Ha,

June

fics: 3 words: 6,800

highlight: Coming Home (to You)

All he wanted at the moment was to go home. He used his Afton Robotics employee bus card, not trusting his rather impaired senses to take him to the residence. Arriving, he checked the mail (junk), watered the plants (lilies), breathed the air (crispy like a brand new chip, and thus not good, because he wanted to sleep), and after these steps were complete, he slipped inside, careful not to make noise.

July

fics: 4 words: 5,200

highlight: Jerk in Shining Armor

Reynauld’s brain processed the information longer than it took for Baldwin to actually land a hit. Dismas could practically hear the grindstones turning in his head, and it made him chuckle again.

August

fics: 20 words: 26,050

highlight: Poison

“Whoa, whoa, settle down there, little Miss Mann,” Spy and Scout almost cried out of relief, as Engineer came in without a single weapon aside a fancy looking wrench. His overalls had been hastily pulled over his t-shirt pajamas, and the bit of grease on his face told of a man who had repaired his machines before going on out. “Let’s talk this out like civilized folk.”

September

fics: 8 words: 21,100

highlight: Dark and Deep

Because unlike those, they who had been escapes, the sea was a calling to more. Tempting him to go further than he could. Asking in a laugh, why not? Why so scared? There is more to learn! More to find! Secrets undiscovered and paths untaken, chasing a dream until you cannot even take in another breath, do you not do that all the time in any regard? Come on, Joey, this is you, your passion, your life, and there is no use in denying it.

October

fics: 81 words: 53,800

highlight: I can't decide ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ so here is a link to all of October!

BaTIM Highlight: sapping

Perhaps eating only salty food for… however long he was here was a horrible idea. Then again, he had not been thirsty until now, until the angel’s domain. Where she ruled with an electric ink fist and a green brown filled syringe. He came to dread her approach more than the Demon’s, even though she never outright attacked him for any reason whatsoever.

Dark Deception Highlight: Risu Minutiae

She darted off, and Evans got hit with a whiff of nostalgia. He smelt the rubber on asphalt, cigarette smoke off to the side, he heard the laughter and childhood, and he realized he loved Tammy Houser. His poor eyes watched her dash all over, and she blazed innocent trails with laughter. She was so sweet, so worried, and she needed a bit of love in her life. Evans scolded himself, despite knowing that if he could adopt the world’s entire population of children, he would do it in a heartbeat.

Misc. Highlight: toss

The fallen king of the Constant stared at him, heart hammering hard enough to color his face, though it had paled significantly at the threat. His eyes darted all over Wilson’s face, and then came to rest on the ocean as he forced his mouth open, Wilson’s hands tightening gradually and a proverbial timer.

November

fics: 11 words: 16,750

highlight: The Gull's Call

“We’ll do it together,” Henry echoed, pulling him close into a hug, sitting down on the shore of Manhattan beach “We’ll do this all together.”

December

fics: 16 words: 18,300

highlight: Buckets of Fun

“Yes, you should have,” Sammy replied, and then kissed Shawn, to the surprise of all three of them. “... happy new year.”

Thomas burst out laughing.

#year of writing #control art #compilation #writing #writers on tumblr #batim #dark deception #darkest dungeon #don't starve #fnaf #scp foundation #tf2 #gorillaz #the medium

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skystarchild123 · 3 years

Text

Beeduo Doomed Friendship Fantasy AU — Prince Ranboo, Fae Tubbo

Cw: major character death, descriptions of fantasy violence

(I kinda wanna write this up as a fic at some point but I’m currently working on another project and don’t wanna have multiple going on at the same time so I’ve dumped the general plan of the story here. This plan isn’t final and I’ll probably after a few things if/when I do get around to writing it)

The story opens with a boy and his brother — Tommy and Wilbur — trekking along a trail on their way to a village on the other side of a forest-covered hill. They stop at a brook overlooking the woods and farmland below where a weathered statue of a boy holding a bouquet of tulips and alliums stands over the water, mossy and aged. Tommy asks who the figure is and Wilbur, being a travelling musician, gets out his guitar to tell the tale of how the statue supposedly came to be:

Ranboo was a prince of these parts long ago, living in the castle still visible in the distance (although now it only stands in ruin). He was descended from an ancient magical people known as the ‘Ender’ on his mother’s side, bearing a split appearance — half human, half Ender. Being half-Ender, he had been blessed with unbeatable strength but only when he entered the ‘Ender-Walk’ state (think of this as what ‘furor’ is to classical mythology), which was feared by the people because it was an ancient magic related to the fae. One day, the prince went hunting in the forest and got separated from his party, riding deeper and deeper into the thicket. As the mists rose, he caught sight of a golden goat climbing the hillside and decided to pursue it.

He tracked the goat even further away from the beaten path but ended up losing it at the banks of this brook. He did however see a beautiful flower bed of alliums and pink tulips nearby, deciding to pick some before he left. Little did he know that these were the sacred flowers of the fae. As he departed, a swarm of crows settled in the trees, watching him all the way back to the castle.

For some reason, the flowers never wilted. The prince kept them by his bedside. He also told his council of the golden goat to much interest. Some wanted to go and find the goat to capture it but the prince turned down the idea since he’d lost it. As he went about his days, crows settled in the rafters of the castle, much to the annoyance of the servants.

One day though he rose early and looked towards the misty forest. To his surprise, he saw a flash of gold at the edge. Immediately he dressed, grabbed his bow and ran to the forest. However, he once again could not find the goat. There were however tracks leading back to the brook. He rode out until he reached it again.

Here he found the goat by the water’s edge. Before his eyes, it transformed into a boy with brown hair, gilded horns and a beautiful golden tunic. The prince was star struck by this magic and immediately dropped his weapons, for now he realised this brook was a sacred place.

The boy asked him why he picked the sacred flowers and Ranboo apologised. It turned out this entire space was sacred and the boy wanted to make sure it was safe. He was also interested in the prince, having never met a half-Ender before (the Ender were a dying people. These days they are said to be no more than the stuff of legend).

The prince ended up spending the whole day at the brook until the sun was dipping over the horizon. He learned the name of the boy, Tubbo, as well as of every small creature of the pond — the sacred space which the boy guarded. He also learned that Tubbo was very lonely. By the end of the day, he promised to come and visit often, having started the beginnings of a friendship with the spirit.

Ranboo lived in a kingdom which was afraid of the fae and spirits. Therefore he could not tell his council, his guard or even his closest attendants about his secret meetings with the spirit in the forest since he wasn’t trying to kill or capture it. He oftentimes slipped out at the brink of dusk, travelling under the cover of night to talk to Tubbo by the water, in the woods or among the flowerbeds. Over time he came to know the fae of the forest. The boar-headed warrior. The flower sprites. These spirits usually roamed the deepest reaches of the forest, though they could also be summoned through the waters of the brook with the recitation of a summoning spell. There was also the crow king who lived high up in the mountains but sent his crows to watch over the activities of mortals and spirits alike. He came and went as he pleased, bound to no spells like the other fae were. The spirits became Ranboo’s friends, though Tubbo soon turned into his best friend. You see, Ranboo was also rather lonely in the castle, with no one to really call his friend, especially no one of his age. Although Tubbo was a spirit, immortal, he felt as though they understood one another.

One night, however, the guard Dream caught Ranboo sneaking away and followed him into the woods. The guard ended up being stopped by the boar-headed warrior, who warned him to turn away if he wanted to live. Dream did, however he planned to return to the forest with silver chains to trap the fae, as he believed the fairies were spiriting the prince away.

The next morning, Dream returned and found the golden goat, Tubbo, sleeping in the shade of the trees. He captured the goat and dragged it back to the castle as proof that there were spirits in the forest.

When the prince tried to rescue Tubbo, it only solidified that his mind had been ‘corrupted’ by the spirits. He was immediately locked in his room under heavy guard, a witch (George) being called in to cure him of his corruption. Meanwhile the council and Dream decided to free the goat, following it as it ran away in hopes that it would lead them to the other spirits so they could kill them. Setting the goat free, it fled and they followed close behind.

The prince ended up winning the pity and favour of the witch by promising him the unwilting flowers on his bedside table (they were magic, after all) and more flowers from the sacred field if he helped him escape. The witch then used his powers to put the guards to sleep and the prince was soon tailing the others on horseback. At the same time, crows were already delivering news of the conflict to the crow king.

The goat came back to the brook, transforming into Tubbo. He peered into the waters to summon the other spirits to his aid, as the silver chains had burned him badly, the skin on his wrists and ankles where the chains had been was already crumbling to a stony texture and he himself could not fight. As the crow king and boar-headed warrior arrived though, the humans arrived with their silver weapons. Soon a battle at the brook broke out, trembling through the forest as the night drew on. Closer and closer the prince came but soon he could see nothing, for a heavy fog engulfed the hillside.

By the time he found the brook, the crow king and the boar-headed warrior had dealt with all the humans and were about to kill the prince too, however Tubbo saved him. He also convinced the other spirits to go to the otherworld, arguing that enough blood had been shed at such a sacred place (plus Tubbo hated seeing death and violence so close to his home) and the otherworld needed overseeing now due to the impurities. The other spirits therefore returned to their domains.

As the sun rose, Tubbo went to gather the flowers for the witch at Ranboo’s request. The prince remained by the brook to bury the fallen humans off the path. The two planned to reunite at the break of dawn. Just as the sky was lightening though, the boy came back to the brook on the far side of the river. Little did he know that Dream was still lurking, half dead but with one last weapon: a silver-tipped arrow.

The boy was shot in the back with Dream’s silver arrow while crossing the bank towards Ranboo. The silver pierced his heart. The two shared a horrified glance, then the boy smiled. He murmured one final goodbye through tears, then turned to stone at the edge of the brook, petrified, smiling and holding the beautiful flowers.

In a fit of despair, the prince fell to his knees and hugged the statue, begging it to come back to life. Dream tried to get him to come home to the castle but he refused to move. Something snapped inside Ranboo — his Ender heritage let loose in a flurry of rage, entering the Ender-Walk. He attacked Dream, drawing his sword and lunging at the guard with all his might. They fought, and eventually Dream was seconds from death. However, just before Ranboo dealt the killing blow he saw the peace in Tubbo’s petrified face. This brought him to his senses; he didn’t want to disturb the sacred brook anymore. He let Dream live, though the wounds the guard received would forever stay with him. Ranboo returned to the statue, laying down his weapons and kneeling before it. Even after a whole day he would not move. Eventually, Dream left the glade but let a single horse stay for when Ranboo came to his senses.

After three days of not moving, letting himself grow hungry, thirsty and exhausted, sitting in front of the statue, thinking of how if the two of them had never met this would never have happened, the goddess of death herself ascended from the otherworld, having been called upon by her husband the crow king. She promised that the spirit of Tubbo would forever remain in these lands in the wind, in the water and in the trees. She also promised that those who brought about his death would suffer eternal punishment in her domain. For now though, Ranboo had to return to his kingdom. He had to live.

After a long talk, the prince finally agreed to go home, plucking a bunch of alliums and tulips from the sacred field and placing them in memory beside the statue, with a few more for the witch and one of each flower for himself. This is why the allium and the pink tulip are said to be the patron flowers of the land to this day. However, because the spirit of the brook had turned to stone, the magic of the glade seeped away and it became just a regular part of the forest.

Wilbur’s story finishes and Tommy is saddened by the ending. Wilbur reassures his brother that it’s just a story, an old local myth, and no one really knows how the statue came to be. Perhaps it is completely true? Perhaps it’s all made up. It turns out the two have spent the whole day by this brook. They continue onwards and make it to the next town by sundown. While looking for the inn, they run into two boys who help run the local flower shop. These boys match the descriptions of the boys in the story, though they are both human. They seem happy and offer Tommy a bunch of alliums and pink tulips because he still looks sad. This lifts Tommy’s spirits.

(This idea came from Tubbo talking about the ‘pond’ at the outpost coupled with all those Ender prince Ranboo hcs I’ve seen floating around. I liked the idea that Tubbo was the spirit of this pond who looked after it and all the little creatures within. However I also then had the lovely idea to make it a tragedy coz I’ve never really come up with one before but I love the idea of a doomed friendship. I decided to make it play out like a fairy tale, hence the prologue and epilogue is Wilbur telling Tommy a story. Also, because I’m a sap for a twinge of hope at the very end, you can imply that perhaps Tubbo and Ranboo reincarnated as humans in the village and can now be friends together, though I’d never specify if that really happened or if it’s just a coincidence that the flower boys look similar to how Wilbur described Tubbo and Ranboo.)

#cw: death #cw: violence #mcyt #tubbo #ranboo #beeduo #bee duo #fantasy au #dream smp #philza #technoblade #niki nihachu #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #trixtin #prince ranboo #spirit Tubbo #doomed friendship

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fuchsiagrasshopper · 4 years

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Contending the Flame V

Author’s Note: Chapter 5, things take a turn for the dramatic and a bit angsty here. I really am having fun getting reacquainted with this story, and I have a lot planned for future chapters and an ending. Thanks for being such a wonderful audience, your feedback is always appreciated!

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word count: 2307

Warnings: Master/Servant dynamic, mentions of suicide attempt, blood, angst

Ivar was exhausted as he propelled his way forward through the city streets. He had opted to stay up on the walls with his warriors through the cold night. It had served to enliven the men into a frenzy to have his presence, but he had only done so out of avoidance.

As the days went by, it seemed his little nun had less to say to him. The truth of the priest's death weighed heavily on you, and you carried it around like a sickness. You had lost your desire to argue or even to spare a simple word. Ivar was disappointed. He had given up trying to teach you his language when you had refused to repeat everything he taught you. The only way he could spurn a reaction out of you was to address you as Ólaug, but even that enjoyment had waned.

Thoughts of revenge against Lagertha were never far from his mind, nor was Kattegat. The heathen army was not destined to stay in York, but while Ubbe and Hvitserk were fixated on settling in on Saxon farmlands, Ivar had other ambitions. He was torn by the enticing idea to travel and become a conqueror, or return to Norway and have his revenge for his mother's death. His brothers looked to have abandoned that notion, leaving him alone and frustrated with his hatred. They would say it was because they did not want to fight with Bjorn, but Ivar knew it was that they didn't love their mother as much as he had.

Ivar did not like feeling so lost. It made him feel like a boy again, only now Floki wasn't there to give him guidance. He was certain he was fated to cross paths with the rangy lunatic one day, but what madness would lead them back together was not foretold. Without Helga, Floki had become as empty as a horn with no mead. Ragnar had vanished for ten years, yet Ivar could not recall his mother ever being heartsick over his absence. Not all love was meant to last.

The concept of love and marriage was something he had been considering more often as of late. As a leader to his people and a son of Ragnar, it would be expected of him to have a wife and heir. Ubbe was already married, and Hvitserk likely had fathered a brood of children he didn't know about. Where did that leave him? Even if he took a wife, it wouldn't be long before the people would speak about the lack of an heir. Ivar did not consider himself to be nurturing, but for his own children, he would have tried. Now it seemed impossible that they could ever exist.

"Ivar."

He was broken out of his dour thoughts by Hvitserk. It took half of his own stride for his brother to catch up to him. Even with the braces and crutch, his mobility was limited, but he chose to take the muscles he had built as a victory. Though his legs were useless, they no longer hung from his waist like gnarled tree branches. They almost appeared normal, except that they couldn't bear his weight.

"You have news," Ivar guessed to Hvitserk, who had slowed to match his pace.

"Our scouting party has returned with word that the Saxons have made camp south of here. They don't appear to have a plan of attack yet. Maybe now is the best time to negotiate for land when we have the advantage."

Hvitserk's tone was pleading, and Ivar was sure he could get him to grovel with the right persuasion.

"Yes, we have the advantage. So why compromise our position for negotiations that will end in rejection," Ivar said, and he delighted as Hvitserk's face fell. "The Christians do not want us here, brother. If we want land then we'll take it."

"At least let me or Ubbe go. We don't have to give up our position behind the walls, but we can send one of us to negotiate, as a son of Ragnar."

"And risk losing a brother to the enemy? No, that would be foolish and I would appear ill-advised," He said, rounding the corner towards his room with Hvitserk following.

His intention hadn't been to return to his chamber, but with Hvitserk's desperation and his lethargy, fate had brought him back to the familiar door. Thoughts of sleep were welcome, even if he detested retiring during daylight.

"This decision should be made with all three of us. We need to sit down with Ubbe first before anything is final," Hvitserk said, not abandoning his cause.

Ivar let out a sigh before casting a long look at his brother. This was important to him, and to Ubbe. He didn't want to continue to have strife with his brothers, even if they didn't share the same aspirations for the army. "I agree."

"Really?" Hvitserk's mouth hung half opened as if awaiting another argument. "Well...then let's do that."

"Yes, fine." Ivar waved his hand, hoping to banish him from his sight.

Opening the door to his room, he had hoped Hvitserk would take the hint to leave, but instead, they were met with a startling sight. The air stung with the smell of copper, and there was Ólaug, on your knees weeping. The stone floor before you had a puddle of blood, enough to fill a large pitcher, and you were clutching your left wrist. A gash had been cut there, and lying on the ground next to the blood was the weapon. It was a broken piece of a clay plate.

Ivar threw his crutch to the side and dropped to the ground in a heap of twisted bones and metal. His braces were heavy, but he managed to crawl to you quicker than he would have walked. Ignoring any proper thoughts of decency, he pulled you to him to inspect the damage.

"Get a healer, now," He shouted to Hvitserk who had stuck to the doorway, disturbed by what he had witnessed. The order got him moving, and he disappeared to fetch a healer while Ivar tried to stanch the bleeding with his larger hand over yours.

"You stupid Christian, look what you've done," Ivar hissed. He was sitting in your blood, the warmth seeping through his trousers. Your back was held tight to his chest while he tried to keep from jostling you around.

"Forgive me," You uttered over again, and Ivar knew the words were not meant for him.

This was the closest you had been together since the first night you had spoken. You were still devoted to your weak God, and Ivar wasn't certain you had even taken heed of his proximity. To take one's own life was cowardice, and he couldn't understand what had driven you to act on such an impulse. You were pitiful, in need of comfort, and he was enraged. After the courtesy, he had shown you this was how you chose to escape him. His hand clenched tight on your arm, his nails biting into flesh until you whimpered.

Just as he contemplated finishing the work you had started, and it would have been simple to take the clay shard to your throat, Hvitserk returned with a healer.

"You need to move, Prince. I must see what I'm dealing with," said Audhild. She was their most senior healer, a broad woman with wiry blonde hair and shrewd green eyes. With skillful hands, she tended to battle wounds, not Christian thralls. If she had any grievances about being summoned, she hid them behind a stern face of practicality.

Ivar passed you over to Audhild. You had grown cold and quiet, ceasing your own utterances to your God. Hvitserk was at his side with a hand and his crutch to lift him off the floor. The first thing Ivar sought once he got back on his feet was the bucket of tepid, clean water to wash up. He had been covered in the blood of his enemies before, but when his hands hit the water and darkened it to a murk, he felt a strange sadness.

"What happened to her hair?" Hvitserk questioned, coming to stand at Ivar's side.

"She did that to herself," mumbled Ivar. He wasn't in the mood to entertain all of Hvitserk's questions. "Just more Christian nonsense."

"It could have been worse," Hvitserk intoned in a low voice. "At least she didn't keep this hidden and try to kill you in your sleep."

Ivar looked at the jagged piece of clay in Hvitserk's hand before resuming his wash up. He couldn't make out his own reflection through the filth of the water, but he could feel the frown on his face. The thought had never crossed his mind, and he was certain it hadn't crossed his nun's either.

"No, she would never risk the wrath of her God by murdering me," He said, drying his hands on a rag.

"You sound confident." Hvitserk's tone lacked the same strength.

"Yes, here we are," He quipped, tossing the sodden rag at his brother. "This isn't my blood that was spilled."

Hvitserk set the rag aside, along with the makeshift knife. He seemed prepared to argue further but was interrupted by Audhild. She had far less blood on her hands and appeared satisfied with her work.

"The cut was not deep enough to be fatal. A part of her must have wanted to live," said the healer.

"No, it was fear of her God. Sinners go to Hell." It was utter nonsense that kept you alive, he was certain of it.

Audhild's eyes crinkled to a squint, unsure what to make of this information. "Well, her wound will heal, but she'll need to eat and drink to replenish what she lost."

Ivar peered passed Audhild to his thrall. You were whiter than your old virginal robes, and your head was bowed. Except for the rise and fall of your chest, you were still like a statue. He had no kind thoughts towards you at that moment.

"Take her to the kitchen to be fed. She can remain there with the other thralls," said Ivar, turning away.

Hvitserk perked up at the remark and came forward. "You aren't keeping her?"

"No, I have no use for a cowardly slave."

While Hvitserk looked alarmed by his callousness, Audhild appeared thoughtful. "Excuse me my Prince, but before you make that decision, might I inquire about her usefulness? If she was a nun prior to this, then she should have skills to aid me. They tend to their sick and dying, not to goats and pigs."

"Fine then, you take her," Ivar huffed. "Just get her away from me."

Audhild said nothing more, taking her dismissal as she went to collect you from the floor.

You startled from the healer's touch on your shoulder but stood up when you understood you were being ordered away. Ivar fought the need to watch you depart but surrendered to the urge at the last moment. You were looking back at him also, curiosity alight in your sad eyes. And there was fear also. You broke the gaze that lingered between you both, following Audhild out of the room.

"Why did you do that?" Hvitserk asked the moment they were alone.

"I already told you," Ivar bit back, in no mood to have to explain his rationale to his slow-witted brother. "Go and fetch Ubbe. I want to hear what plan you think you have to negotiate with the Saxons."

Hvitserk took on a concerned frown. He must have known there was little hope for their plan of a sit down with the Saxons now. Maybe he wasn't as stupid as Ivar assumed.

He trudged to the door, halting once he got to the entryway to get the last word in. "I have seen these nuns do this before. You shouldn't have been so quick to release her, brother. Something must have happened to make her act on impulse like that."

Maybe something had occurred to spurn such a reaction from you, but at the moment Ivar could not see through his fury to consider such possibilities. You had tried to use death as a means to escape him after he had shared parts of himself with you. He told you of his parents, and you had spoken in kind of your own. By granting you those stories, he had allowed you to know him. It was more than he had given to another in years, and this was how he was rewarded. The Gods were not smiling down on him today.

"I'm not like you, father," He said aloud, with the hope that his words would reach Ragnar in Valhalla. "I can't befriend a Christian."

He staggered over to the abandoned washbasin. It would need emptying by another thrall now. The broken clay shard remained atop the soiled cloth, and Ivar felt it in his hand. His rage had peaked, and he squeezed the piece of clay until it drew blood from his palm. When the sting of the blade ceased, he pitched it across the room, shattering it to pieces.

The silence in the room made it impossible to ignore that he was alone once again. Ivar collapsed onto his pallet of furs, braces still intact on his legs, and the exhaustion returning along with this new hurt squeezing his chest. He was tired of being let down by others. No one ever remained at his side.

Hvitserk was wrong. He couldn't keep you after knowing you would rather die than be his thrall. Lying on his side, Ivar could see the dark stain of your blood on his floor, and he turned away. Yes, he was better off without you tearing everything he had built apart.

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#ivar x reader #ivar x you #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings #vikings ivar #history vikings #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok #ivar imagine #ivar ragnarsson imagine

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princesslocket · 3 years

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Nosaichi Family x Genshin Impact

Background Template provided by @Yumisarat on Twitter

If anyone's interested in seeing them separated, here you go~

((This AU has changed a bunch of times since it first came into being. Originally it was going to start with Nosaka & Ichihoshi living in Inazuma and forming an adventure team at the age of 16. But then a whole bunch of things started popping up and yeah... What you're going to read is subject to change at any time but for now I hope you like the current story for this AU. Please Note this AU is mostly based on Theories! I'll leave links to the theories as the AU progresses)).

(Theory 1 - Khaenri'ah + Teyvat Time Difference) Nosaka & Ichihoshi are both from Khaenri'ah, both of which had just barely escaped the destruction of the nation by having been teleported away by a mysterious figure welding an more mysterious power -- The two of them would then grow up in Liyue under the care of The Liyue Qixing. They each gain their visions several years after the other with Ichihoshi being the first. He gets during a fight when a group of treasure hoarders attempted to gang up on a traveling merchant he was accompanying to Mondstat. Nosaka gets his vision three years afterwards while in the face of almost certain death on his way to meet up with Ichihoshi just a little ways out of Liyue. -- For a time they venture around the 7 nations of Teyvat until a lil someone is born (Mitsuka). Following this they decidedly settle down in Inazuma to raise Mitsuka for the first few years of her life. Unfortunately for them this was also around the time Bal (the electro archon) had ordered a ban on visions in Inazuma. And since Mitsuka was still young and defenseless they didn't feel right giving up their visions so they escaped to Liyue. where they wouldn't have to worry about the possibility of having their visions taken from them. -- Fast forward a few years and now Ikuto & Shinzo are in the picture. None of the kids are blessed with visions for several years until one day they all show up with one, much to Nosaka & Ichihoshi's surprise. Apparently Mitsuka had been keeping a vision in secret (having resonated with an electro one months prior when she was out with a friend). Ikuto & Shinzo on the other hand had got theirs that very day while encountering what they assumed to be four sleeping ruin guards. From here Nosaka & Ichihoshi would start to train their kids outside of Liyue how to properly use their visions. ((Although she was the oldest, Nosaka & Ichihoshi kept their eyes closest to Mitsuka due to her having a vision from a god who wasn't supposed to be handing out electro visions anymore)). As time went on their kids continued on their own paths to find happiness in Liyue. Mitsuka & Shinzo would practice fighting with fake weapons with Nosaka while Ikuto and Ichihoshi would watch from the sidelines, going through various books in search of something Ichihoshi wouldn't tell him.

For now this all I have to offer on the AU. I'd like to think that by the time Mituska reaches age 16, she goes off to adventure with Xianghua (another OC fankid) while Ikuto & Shinzo form their own adventure team to venture off a few years after her (since they'd be 14 & 11 when she'd be 16). ALSO throughout the years the Nosaichi family would go out "fighting together" but it was mostly Ichihoshi & Nosaka doing all the fighting since they didn't want the lil ones dealing with "grown up stuff" just yet. Side Note Ikuto had started off using a bow but gave up on using it 'cause he had terrible aim and the catalyst felt easier to use... He probably has the most lore tbh. I might post more about him later on but for now this was it. I hope you all enjoyed it and look forward to seeing future updates on this AU.

#nosaichi #inazuma eleven #genshin impact #au #just thought this would be fun to draw #nosaka yuuma #ichihoshi hikaru #nosaka hikaru #mitsuka nosaka #ikuto nosaka #Shinzō Nosaka #i just think they're neat #was gonna shade this but csp kept crashing #might try to fix this later #ocs #my oc #locket art #my art #crossover

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laurelsofhighever · 3 years

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Almost two years after civil war nearly tore Ferelden apart, Alistair has settled into his role as king despite the cost of the victory. Having come to Orlais to lead trade talks with Empress Celene and representatives from the Free Marches, he hopes to build a stronger future for his people. But grief and guilt still haunt him, the expectations placed on his shoulders cut deep, and to top it all off, there's a stranger in the Winter Palace with the power to shatter his world once again.

CW: mild gore

The light burned low in Alistair’s room, wobbling as the hearthflames sifted moodily through the dying embers for fuel, outcompeted by the gleam of Sevuna through the large windows that overlooked the formal gardens of the Winter Palace. If he had cared to, he could have spoken the command to wake the lyrium glowstones dotted around the room, but he preferred the silence. In the brooding dark, he could look out at the frozen splendour of the grounds, with its hibernating fountains and spears of topiary, and his thoughts could chase themselves in circles at their leisure.

How could the world have tilted so far sideways in such a small span of hours? If he turned inwards deeply enough, a molten core still burned with the anger of being lied to, but the surrounding fire had been doused almost the moment Rosslyn had stepped back into the ballroom, vanishing as the realisation of his own stupidity came crashing down around him. He had lost her. Again. That she was alive, and somewhere within the labyrinthine decadence of Halamshiral, tormented him as much as it made him breathless with joy.

She was alive. But she was also out of his grasp, with no one to blame but himself. His hands flexed against the window frame as his memory spat back the things he had said to her, accusations and disbelief and the promise that he could never hate her turned around not a moment later to be flung in her face.

You aren’t who I thought you were.

And yet, how could he doubt her identity when she had taken the blow with such grace, and pinned him with the steel in her eyes as she left him to the frost. Fear had gripped him then, more tightly than the idea that she had spent two years laughing at his grief; he watched her retreating back with her gaze a haunt of tacit pain, and only the jolt from his reawakened sense of politics had kept him from going after her.

Someone had to be coercing her, and in order to sneak her into the Orlesian court under a false name, whoever it was had to be powerful. Revealing her might only put her in more danger, even without the less than favourable reaction that could be expected from Celene. Not since his soldiers, digging through the ruins of Ostagar, had presented him the battered remains of the falcon helm had he felt such a bottomless drop to his stomach, such a bleed of strength from his legs. When he had staggered back from the terrace his shock had excused him from the rest of the party, but such an early night had so far only given him a better opportunity to berate himself. He doubted sleep would come for him before morning.

A chill whispered through the thin fabric of his sleep clothes, drawing him from his reverie. Confused, he glanced to the fireplace, where the flames burned low but undisturbed, and then to the rest of the dark room. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a slight billow in one of the curtains, from a draught through a window he was sure had been locked.

One of the shadows moved.

Before he could cry out, the assassin flashed out a hand, and a glitter of sharp powder caught in his lungs, stinging his eyes and choking his breath so that instead of a shout, only a dry rasp emerged from his throat. On instinct, he snatched up the closest curtain to foil the glint of the blade lunging for his stomach and flung it out as far as he could, already thinking about the dagger he kept within easy reach on the bedside table. The tearing fabric behind him told him he had little chance to reach it. His limbs wouldn’t move as they should. He had to hurl himself across the bed, with a whirl of dark velvet in the air above, throwing pillows and anything else his hands could scrabble at for distraction, before his fingers finally closed on the dagger’s hilt and swept it up in an arc that drew sparks from the assassin’s descending blade.

He tried to shout again as he kicked out and rolled away, savouring the muffled grunt he got for the effort, but only until he managed to right himself. His strength was slipping, adrenaline giving way as the effects of the powder worked into his blood. Desperate, he staggered behind one of the many overstuffed chairs that littered the room, knowing it would do little good. The smirking porcelain mask, floating like a phantom above the assassin’s dark clothing, had blocked the path to the door.

Waiting for the drug to take its full effect.

Then something else moved in the darkness. In the heartbeat it took for the assassin to follow the flick of Alistair’s gaze, a second figure leapt out from behind the bed to collide bodily with the first. The momentum of the blow threw the assassin into the nightstand hard enough to send the water jug shattering to the floor, but not enough to knock them down. As Alistair watched, the white porcelain flashed, turned, lunged forwards – and stopped, impaled on the stranger’s blade.

Even with a blank, black mask disguising her features, Rosslyn could not be mistaken. She straightened as her opponent convulsed in one last gurgle and slid off the end of her sword, impassive but taut as a drawn bowstring, radiating a cold fury that froze Alistair worse than the draught blowing in from the window. He swallowed. If he could just get to her, reach out –

“Your Majesty!”

He turned too quickly at the crash of the door and had to catch himself on the chair to avoid collapsing completely. In the confusion as his guards poured into the room, weapons drawn, he lost sight of Rosslyn, with only a current of air at his back to follow her passing.

“Your Majesty, are you alright?”

He tore his gaze away, from how she pressed herself into the side of the chimney and the frantic, pleading shake of her head as their eyes met. “Uh…”

“What happened?” Morrence demanded. She had already sheathed her sword and was kneeling to examine the corpse.

“I –” Even that small attempt at speech left him coughing. His eyes watered as he tapped his throat and managed to rasp out the word assassin. “Caught me by surprise. Got lucky.”

“Hm.” His guard-commander drew a dagger from her belt and used the tip to lift the porcelain mask away from the assassin’s face. The slender features and scraggy attempt at a moustache hardly made Alistair feel better, but before he could dwell too deeply on the age difference between him and his would-be killer, he caught Morrence peering at the blood trail leading away from the body.

He shifted his weight to block her line of sight.

“Looks like he got in through the window,” one of the other guards called from across the room.

“I want someone out there now to see where he came from,” Morrence ordered. “And alert the palace guard that there’s been an attempt on His Majesty’s life. It could be whoever’s responsible wants to try for the empress as well.”

Both the look on her face and the sullen note in her voice conveyed her suspicion about Celene’s role in the whole affair, the hope – on the slim chance she wasn’t behind the attack – that the assassins creeping into the empress’ chamber were having more luck. Even more than Alistair, she had found Orlais unwelcoming. Dismissed as both a Fereldan and as someone with obvious elven ancestry, her temper had been hanging on rather a fine string ever since crossing the border.

“Either way, it sounds like all the excitement is over for me,” Alistair huffed, flashing a brittle smile at the improving quality of his voice. “What a shame, I do so love being the centre of attention.”

“Your Majesty, this man was killed with a sword.”

He quelled the urge to glance behind him. “Was he? It all happened so fast – are you sure?”

“And yet there’s no sword in this room,” she pressed, rising from her crouch. “I still have yours right here.”

“What are you suggesting, Guard-Commander?”

Her eyes narrowed at the uncommon use of her title. “It would be a good idea to make a thorough search of these rooms in case of accomplices.”

“What? No, I don’t –” He coughed, fixed his gaze on a mountain in one of the tapestries so he wouldn’t give Rosslyn away – “That won’t be necessary, surely? Can’t you just take the body, maybe put a towel over the bloodstain?”

“Your Majesty –”

Sensing defeat, he sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. “Look, it’s been a long day of disappointments, and someone just tried to kill me, if you didn’t notice. I really think if there’d been an accomplice they would have jumped out of the wardrobe while I was occupied.”

“You take your safety too lightly,” she protested. “At least let us get you checked over by a healer.”

“A good night’s sleep, that’s what I need.” He tried to smile again, to hide the lurch in his stomach at the idea that Rosslyn might disappear again if he gave her the opportunity.

“But –”

He held one arm out, the other firmly supported on the back of the chair. “Look at me, I’m not even injured. And whatever got thrown in my face, it’s wearing off. If you don’t take that body away right now and leave me to rest, you can be the one to tell Élodie why I spent half the night being prodded at by Wynne instead of getting my beauty sleep.”

For a long moment, he worried she would insist anyway, but at last she turned with her fingers tight around the hilt of her own sword, and he knew this particular battle was won.

“Fine,” she bit out, and nudged the assassin’s body with her boot. “With your permission, I’ll have Leliana take a closer look at this for any clues about just who might have wanted to kill you.”

“Good idea.”

“One of us has to have sense.” She sighed. “Allers, get over here and help me, would you?”

The guard still standing by the door saluted and stepped forward to take the assassin’s legs, while Morrence hefted him up beneath the shoulders. Shuffling and cursing, they hauled the body through to the next room, while Alistair kept up his smile and eased around the chair to block their view as much as he could, despite the pins-and-needles starting to shoot up his legs as the drug wore off. When the door finally clicked shut, he allowed himself to sag and turned, only to find Rosslyn leaning against the chimney, head bowed forward, a picture of exhaustion that pulled at something unpleasant deep within his chest.

“Rosslyn –”

“Thank you,” she interrupted. “For not revealing me.”

“Thank you for saving my life,” he replied, but the smile died on his lips. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if his legs were strong enough yet to cross the distance between them, or if she would even want him to. “That poison powder has a kick.”

“I remember.”

So did he. The night after they met in the mountains on his return from Orzammar, the first time he truly feared for her life, when had had so much left to tell her.

“It should wear off soon,” she said, pushing off the wall, her eyes still on the floor. “With no permanent damage.” She paused. “He would have killed you.”

“Then I guess it’s lucky you were here.”

No response. She half-turned to him as if to reply, but not far enough to meet his gaze. Instead, her eyes caught on her hands, as if she hadn’t yet noticed the assassin’s blood coating both them and the length of her sword. There lay the last piece of evidence carving away the doubt that it really was her; Talon’s blue-gold colour shone through the gore as it cut the light, the runestone in the pommel winking with power.

“There’ll be a guard outside the window soon,” she started. “I should –”

He staggered towards her. “Don’t. Please don’t go. What I said before – I couldn’t bear to lose you again.”

“What if I’m not who you think I am?” she replied, every word laced with sudden venom. For the first time, she looked at him, not bothering to hide the hurt within the depths of her glare.

“How could I mistake you?” he asked her, or himself. “How could I not recognise the woman who –” His throat wouldn’t work, though his mind screamed what he wanted to say. “I haven’t been able to stop wondering if it was a dream, if I really could be that much of a fool, but I was. I am. You could have let me walk away and I would have deserved it, but you didn’t, and I…” His laugh tasted bitter, and his eyes stung as he dared to edge the distance between them. “It’s crazy, right? Two years of wanting to see you again and the moment all my wishes came true I drove you away. I am so sorry, just – please, don’t go.”

Shrinking away again, she turned her eye to the tapestries, to the fire, to the blood on her hands that gleamed black in the low light, until the silence had stretched for so long it left a ringing in his ears and made his mouth dry, but he didn’t dare move. Finally, she wrapped her arms around her upper body with Talon held carefully to avoid its edge, steadying herself with a breath.

“I didn’t exactly make it difficult for you.”

Hope flared. As before, he approached her with halting steps as if she were an apparition likely to disappear, only this time he reached out to her in full knowledge that she wasn’t, that this encounter really wasn’t some Fade trick or conjuration. Her hands still held the cold of the Harvestmere night, the blood tacky against his skin, but she returned his grip with fingers that bore the callouses he remembered, the ones born from her dedication to her training, and when he breathed her name again she met his eyes with that fathomless winter grey he could spend hours studying without boredom.

“Come here,” he offered gently. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She followed him through to the suite’s tiled salle de lavage without complaint and watched him turn the taps. “I can manage.”

“Of course.” He tried to smile. “I didn’t mean to… well. You’ll need a new shirt, though, since that one’s got blood on it. I’ve got – I mean, do you want to borrow one?”

She froze with her hands running a cloth under a cool stream of water. Silence pooled like marsh fog between them, where the memories ran thick; once upon a time, his shirts had been her nightly attire, borrowed, and then naturalised to their new owner until her scent clung to the cloth even after he managed to steal them back, until it was the only thing he had had left of her. He shoved a hand backwards through his hair and coughed away the unpleasant rise at the back of his throat, made worse by the aftereffects of the powder.

“You don’t have to if you’d rather keep that one – it is quite nice, now that I’m looking – not that I’m looking – but it’s really the least I can do after the whole saving-my-life thing.”

“I’ll take the offer,” she told him with perhaps a shade of her familiar wry amusement. “Thank you.”

“Great! I’ll, uh… leave you to it, then.”

When she emerged from the washroom a little while later, he had stoked the fire and lit the glowstones, and found a spare blanket to soak up the bloodstain on the floor. He startled from his rummage through his drawers for a shirt to find her still rubbing at imaginary specks of blood in Talon’s hilt, the intense concentration in what he could see of her face throwing him back to old nights on campaign, when they would sit knee to knee, cleaning their equipment as an excuse to spend time in each other’s company.

“What’s so amusing?” she asked when she caught his expression, finally satisfied enough to sheathe the sword and throw the cloth onto the corner of the bedside table.

He turned away to hide the flush of heat up his neck. “Nothing, I just recognise that look on your face.”

“I don’t have a look on my face.” But she touched her fingers to the mask nonetheless, as if to check it was still there.

“If you say so,” he answered, grinning, and held out his least wrinkled shirt. “Here, this one shouldn’t smell too bad.”

The corner of her mouth ticked upward as she took the garment from him, but it faded into uncertainty when she glanced between it and the tunic she already wore. With an apologetic look over her shoulder she turned away, hiding herself from him as she started on the fastenings that kept the mask over her face. He tried not to let the action sting. Two years before, he might have helped her change – or hindered her, if they had time – and more than anything else so far this evening, the idea that she might not be comfortable in his presence cut deep, reminded him just how far the gulf between them had grown. He ought to respect her privacy, and tried to, but as she drew the tunic over her head the swish of the fabric caught his eye, and the sight of her held it.

Her scars were the same. The white starbust on her left shoulder from the crossbow bolt he had pulled out with his own hands on the night they first stumbled into each other; the small leaf-shaped depression below her ribs where Loghain’s sword had pierced her back. He knew them, by sight and touch and tongue, but the canvas upon which they were painted now sent a lance through his chest. What had she suffered to become so thin? How did she still endure, when he could count her ribs and see every strand of wasted muscle working beneath her skin? He had added to that pain. His gut churned with the guilt of it.

Before he was aware of moving, he had crossed the space and wrapped his arms around her waist almost before the new shirt had settled, burying his face into her neck and hating how she tensed.

“Alistair…”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her shoulder, hoping she wouldn’t pull away. “I’m sorry for everything. Everything you’ve been through. Everything I couldn’t protect you from.”

She drew in a breath and let it go, laid her fingers over his. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“The things I said tonight were,” he insisted. “You deserved better. All those vile things – it was unforgivable.”

“And yet you appear to be asking forgiveness.”

She broke his embrace, just enough to turn in his arms, and this time as she looked up at him, without darkness or resined paper to hide her features, he forgot to breathe. The familiar, teasing curl of her mouth drew him in, but he stopped, and brushed a hand along her cheek instead. How many times had he wished for just one more look, bargained his entire kingdom to the dark for one more moment to admire the straight line of her nose, her high cheeks, the way her fine lashes fanned against her skin and perfectly framed her eyes?

“Alistair?” she prompted.

“What?”

“You were staring.”

“Oh! Well…” He resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck. “The clockwork’s a little rusty – you know how it is. I forget to wind it up. Ah.” He swallowed, dared to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “I don’t suppose you’ll forgive me for that, too? I remember you being very forgiving.”

She chuckled. “Do you?”

“Very clearly. You’re the most merciful person in Thedas.”

For an instant, he watched a retort dance on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back and dropped her gaze to the middle of his chest, and he started forward to ask what he’d done wrong.

“You left me,” she said, before he could open his mouth. “On the morning of the battle I woke up and you weren’t there. Why?”

He flinched away from the quiet, even tone of her voice, as if she had shouted instead. There was no answer he could give beyond an admission of cowardice, nothing that would excuse it.

“I have regretted that every day,” he told her. “I couldn’t face that being the last time I would see you, I was terrified I’d change my mind. I wondered, after, if that was why…”

“You think I went and faced the Nightmare out of spite?” she checked.

“No! I mean… Sometimes. In the beginning, I was so angry, but you would never stand by while you could help. I should have known better than to try and make you.” His memories from those early weeks without her existed in a haze of vitriolic self-destruction, recalled only as flashes where he cast blame at anyone who dared come near him, until even Cuno was banished to the kennels after pacing one too many times from room to room, searching for the mistress who had not come home. He had begged the mages to help him, to offer him some hope that she lived, and now before him stood the proof that he should have tried harder.

Cool fingers laced tentatively with his. “I should have let Morrence lead the cavalry.”

“You saved us all,” he insisted, but sighed and looked away, because the wound still throbbed. “And you deserved more from me.”

“I promised you I would stay behind.”

“Shhhh…” Weary to his bones, he pressed a kiss against her forehead. “It’s alright. You’re here. And I should have known that not even death could ever stop you. It probably took one look at that glare of yours and decided to turn tail.”

The comment earned a brief, wet chuckle as he pulled her close, and left in its wake a more comfortable silence than those that had gone before, a relief and a comfort, taming the shadowy beast that since Ostagar had clawed its way through his mind and body both. That Rosslyn now clung to him too opened a new, bright kind of pain beneath his ribs, clean and healing where before his wounds had festered. He never wanted to let her go.

“I did everything I could to get back to you,” she said after a long moment. “I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you sooner.”

“It’s alright,” he whispered, with another kiss to her forehead as if reassuring nothing more than a bad dream. “It’s alright.”

He trailed the declaration down the side of her face, his lips brushing over the lid of an eye, her cheek, the very corner of her mouth, while her hands curled slowly into his waist and the back of his neck. At the last, she turned her head and his mouth found hers of its own accord, instinct more than effort that sent sparks to the tips of his still-numb fingers.

“Say you’ll stay with me,” he breathed, not daring to pull away. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t,” she promised, and leaned forward again.

“Wait, does that mean you won’t stay or you won’t go?”

The sound of her laugh made him giddy as she pushed into him, rising onto her toes so the arms around his neck could pull him into a deeper kiss. Any caution urged by the overwhelming shadows still ranged against them fell to the press of her body against his, the beat of her pulse under his thumb and the whimper that slipped her throat as his hands wandered.

And yet even here in such a perfect moment, responsibility nagged at him. The gaudy porcelain clockwork on the mantelpiece chimed the early hour and drew them apart, flushed and breathing heavily and still joined by the gentle brush of fingers over each other’s skin. He had meetings to attend in the morning, and Élodie’s wrath to face if he spent them trying to hide yawns behind his hand.

“We should go to bed,” he murmured, with a rush of longing and doubt so strong his head spun. “To sleep! Not for anything nefarious. I mean –”

Breaking into a smile, she stopped him with a swift kiss. “You’ve never been nefarious in your life.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You should know… I don’t sleep much these days,” she admitted. “Not since I came back.”

He stroked his thumb over her cheek, at a loss for how to comfort her. He didn’t want to pry.

“Don’t worry about it. Perhaps this is what I’ve been missing.”

“You say the nicest things,” he replied, to cover, and brought the back of her hand to his lips.

In the few paces to the ridiculously ornate canopy bed, his heart thundered, stalling his breath with memories of the nights he had spent wrapped up with Rosslyn nestled against him, and after, even more nights when the place at his side lay cold and empty. He bit down on the urge to tell her sleep would likely elude him too, for fear of waking to that nightmare again, even as his heart ached with the stilted atmosphere between them, the experiences that had pushed them apart. His body responded to hers in a way it hadn’t for longer than he cared to think, automatically and carelessly, but reaching for her now felt like reaching across a tidal strait too deep to swim, close enough to hear her voice and see her waiting on the far shore but unable to cross the gap. But he would not push. The day he had spent with her in the meadow high in the Frostbacks loomed in his mind, when she had told him of her lacking desire and the fear that to others it would not matter, and the promise he had made to never be that person to her which still held true.

It didn’t mean he had to be tired of kissing her. They had two years to make up. Every line of muscle yearned towards her as he turned and found her still behind him, not an apparition, her hand warm in his and her breath soft and sweet across his face. He felt her smile as he leaned down to her, and then the jolt in his blood when the tip of her tongue darted out over his bottom lip.

“Does that convince you I’m really here?” she teased.

He bumped his nose against hers. “Just about.”

Humming her satisfaction at the response, she left him to sit on the edge of the bed, smirking as she lifted one leg across the other. “What, you don’t expect me to go to bed in boots, do you?” she asked when she noticed his frown. “I’ll get mud all over the sheets.”

“As much as I’d love to explain that one to the servants…” He shrugged as he knelt and waved her hands away from the buckles. “Let me do that.”

“I’m perfectly capable –”

“I want to see if you’re wearing embarrassing socks.”

The brief chuckle earned by the remark drew his eyes upwards. Rosslyn watched him, her head tilted in a wistfulness that reached down through her fingers as she twined them into his hair.

“You’re staring again,” she noted.

He turned to kiss the inside of her wrist. “Must be the view.”

“Hm. Get back to it, Your Majesty.”

Smirking, he did as he was told and set to the straps, content to go slowly, working his way down her calf. The boot slipped off her foot with a minor tug, accompanied by a sigh from above. She had lain back to gaze at the canopy of the bed while he worked, entirely at ease, and the normality of the whole scene eased a sigh between his lips.

“I’m disappointed in these socks,” he informed her as he started on the second boot.

An answering hum of laughter. “I will endeavour to do better next time.”

“Good.” He stayed on the floor a moment longer, kneading his thumb along the lines of hard muscle between ankle and knee until she relaxed under his touch. When he finally moved to join her on the bed, her head lay propped on one arm, her eyes warm as he settled at her side and laced his fingers into her free hand.

“Is that better?” he asked.

“Mostly.”

“Oh?” He quirked a brow. “And what would make it all better?”

The corner of her mouth tugged into a smile as she untucked her arm from behind her head and rose onto one elbow, closer to him, and his eyes fluttered shut with the gentle fingertips she traced along his jaw.

“Just this,” she murmured, and tilted forward to kiss him, long and sweet.

When she finally pulled away, the lack of her froze his skin as if he had turned from a campfire on a cold night. He followed after her, pressing his forehead to hers and curling his hand around the precious shell of her ear. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” She paused. “This beard, however…”

He jerked his head back, one hand already flying to his chin. “What’s wrong with my extremely manly beard?” he demanded.

Laughing, she scooted around him so her legs no longer dangled off the edge of the mattress and did not answer, preoccupied instead with unbuckling Talon from her waist. He noticed she laid it still within easy reach as she peeled back the covers, but he pushed down the twist of pain caused by the implication in favour of a more pressing matter. He followed her up the bed.

“Teagan says it makes me look distinguished, you know.”

“Teagan’s never had to kiss you with it,” she retorted. “Or at least I hope not.”

He frowned as he settled next to her under the covers, on his side with his chest tight and heart dancing for her closeness. Their legs tangled together. As his hand found its old place on her hip, it awoke every forgotten habit his mind had sealed away, like a limb released from a tourniquet and allowed to move again, and when her arm slipped up to rest in a loose embrace, a sigh painting her lips, he never wanted to move again.

“I haven’t kissed Teagan,” he told her. “I haven’t kissed anyone.”

Damn those grey eyes. The intensity in them could turn a charging horse, or reduce a hardened criminal to gibbered pleading, and Alistair doubted he turned away fast enough to hide the well of loneliness that had eaten away at him for so long – perhaps stoppered now, in her presence, but still aching like the echo in an empty cave. Her touch burned on the side of his face as she sought to comfort him.

“You really don’t like the beard?” he checked, before she could speak.

“You mean these boar bristles?” she asked gently. She stroked her fingers along the edge of his jaw and the unexpected shiver it sent down his back made him want her to do it again. “The overall effect has… a certain charm. Perhaps it’ll grow on me.”

“I certainly hope not! The beard can stay on my face, thank you – but I’ll let you borrow it whenever you like.” He pulled her close, forgetting his earlier caution in her giggle as he held her face and rubbed his stubbled cheeks all over hers as if he were a cat, kissing where his lips brushed skin, until her hands twisted into his hair and they had turned so she was beneath him, wrapped in his embrace with her hair coming loose from its pins across the pillow. She bared her neck to him and he obliged, rediscovering the trail that led along her pulse as her breath turned to gasps and her hands fisted in the collar of his shirt.

But she wasn’t free, not yet. Even as he nipped at her skin and soothed the bite with his tongue, she drew his head up to bring his mouth to hers again, seeking comfort, the frayed ends of their connection severed at Ostagar. He embraced her tighter and at the sound of her name she turned his head and kissed along the exposed length of his neck, the juncture of his shoulder. Eventually they lay wrapped together like tree roots, quiet, lost and found without the need for words.

“Staying here won’t affect your mission, will it?” he asked when he again trusted himself to speak. “You won’t get in trouble?”

Silent, Rosslyn shook her head.

“Tell me about it.” He pulled back. “I want to help, whatever it is.”

“Alistair…”

“I’m serious.”

Defeated, she huffed and pushed him onto his back before tucking herself down against his chest, shuffling until she got comfortable. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” he replied. “Who’s behind it? Not just anyone could keep you on such a tight leash.”

She tensed. “It’s Flemeth.”

“You mean –” The nerves at the ends of his fingers tingled like they had been dipped in hot water after coming in from the snow. “Flemeth Flemeth?”

“She’s the one who pulled me from the Fade. If not for her, I’d still be there.”

The reminder settled like lead in Alistair’s stomach. He curled his arm more snugly about her waist, as if that alone might keep her from being dragged back into the formless world beyond the Veil, to face demons and who knew what else. To turn his mind from the image, he set it the task of wondering what an all-powerful swamp witch might want with the glitter of the Orlesian royal court.

“It’s something to do with Morrigan, isn’t it?”

Rosslyn glanced to him. “You know about her?”

“I met her this evening,” he said. “Very like her mother, though I don’t think I’d dare say that to her face.”

“She has possession of an artefact, an enchanted mirror that acts as a portal to… somewhere, or something. Some ancient elven magic. Flemeth asked me to destroy the mirror before Morrigan can work out how to use it.”

“I wondered why Celene was bothering to keep the templars off her,” he mused. “Ancient magic the world has never seen could be powerful in the wrong hands.”

She hummed her agreement. “And as far as Ferelden is concerned, you can’t get much worse than Orlais.”

“No, you can’t. No wonder you didn’t want to be found out.” Discovering the supposedly dead Queen of Ferelden sneaking about the halls attempting to thwart the schemes of a political adversary would have lit a flame to the waiting pyre of Orlais’ warmongering nobles – could still, if Rosslyn were caught. Celene had made her intentions towards the Fereldan Crown very clear, first by housing Alistair in the Emperor’s apartments under the guise of having nowhere else fit for his entourage, and then by having him attend her and her proxies all evening, her charm a militant campaign of flattery he had no doubt could turn sour the moment she found herself upstaged. And that was without the threat of an ancient weapon held like a knife above the heads of his people.

“I can hear you thinking,” Rosslyn mumbled into his side.

“Not so much of a rare occurrence these days,” he told her. “Kings who are fools don’t tend to last long.”

She pushed herself up onto an elbow and turned to face him properly, palm flat against his chest. “You were never a fool.”

Celene posed a threat. He had no explanation for Rosslyn’s presence, and no way to protect her should the empress discover her purpose in Halamshiral. If she did not succeed, Flemeth might not release her, and Ferelden might suffer an Occupation more ruthless than the last. And yet…

“You do know I’m not letting you go again, right?” he asked though the sting at the corner of his eyes. “You’ll have to stay with me forever, and we’ll have to stay here in this bed because I never want another moment without you.”

Quiet, she leaned forward to stroke his cheek. “There are worse fates.”

“Good.” He cleared his throat. “Glad we sorted that.”

There was a long silence as she curled into his side again, punctuated only by the command for the glowstone to dim. In place of words, their hands found each other in the darkness and chased random patterns from fingertip to wrist in slow arcs, reassuring touches that gave a focus beyond the disinclination for sleep. For Alistair, it was the lingering fear that Rosslyn might vanish as soon as he closed his eyes, the desire to savour having her warm and heavy against him. They had a whole lifetime for sleep, endless days where he wouldn’t wake and have to steel himself to brave the emptiness on the other side of the bed. At least, so he hoped, if she wanted it too.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #king alistair #king alistair theirin #alistair theirin #alistair x warden #alistair x cousland #cousland #f!cousland #rosslyn cousland #the falcon and the rose

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carelessannie · 3 years

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here’s the second part of my winteriron mermay au! enjoy!

while we’re devoting full time to floating chapter two: boy you better do it soon

Rating: M (for now) Word Count: 6.8K Relationships: Tony x Bucky Warnings: Smut adjacent (unintentional sex toys), sexual tension, profanity, kinda drug/alcohol use Read on AO3 Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

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His eyes blink open slowly. It’s strange to wake up without a blinding headache. Actually, it’s strange to wake up without any pain. And with the sun shining in his face.

To his left, he sees a small form on the water’s surface. In his mind’s eye he knows the form is familiar, knows that there should be someone inside— but it slips quickly, evading his memory as the dark form fades over the horizon.

Tony shakes his head. He smacks his lips.

Where is he?

First of all, he’s definitely not in the ocean. It seems like he’s resting on some type of rock formation, with just his tail hydrated in the water. Interesting. He seems to be inside a cove, the shelter working wonders to hide him from the mid-afternoon sun.

Secondly, he’s alone. He never travels alone, especially not to the shore. It hurts to try and remember, but reality slams into him like an orca whale. Rhodey and Pepper. The exploration to colonize. The fucking Tiger Sharks, dammit! Tony’s tail slaps the surface of the water in frustration, and he lets his body slip into the shallow pool.

He hopes the sharks didn’t get his friends. The memory of the fight is hazy at best, but he knows he shouldn’t be feeling this good afterwards— he’s pretty sure he got hit at least once. There are no scratches or bruises anywhere on his body, and it’s confusing that he doesn’t even have a headache.

That’s a problem for later, though. Now, Tony needs to find his friends— or, what remains of his friends. He swims out of the cove and down, through the reefs. Fish seem to be tentatively peeking out of their hiding spots, and he follows the empty spaces to trace the path a shark might have taken. He whistles, sharp and quick, to try and map out the figures in the surrounding area, and is satisfied when his call is returned with a low chirp. Thank the sea.

“Rhodey!” he hollers, pushing through the crowded reef, searching wildly for his closest friend, his faithful number two. As Tony breaks into the clearing, he freezes at the sight in front of him.

Rhodey and Pepper are swimming territorial circles around all three Tiger Sharks— and, from the looks of it, all three are dead.

“Tony!” Pepper notices him first and beckons him closer. When he swims up, she throws her arms around his neck, sobbing briefly into his shoulder, before reeling back and lightly slapping his arm, “How dare you worry me like that! I was sure all we’d find were scales— how did you get away?”

“I…” Tony tries to remember, he really does, but the only things coming to mind are brilliant blue eyes, an ethereal glow, and a deep, alluring voice, “I think someone saved me. But, by the time I woke up, they were gone.”

“You didn’t recognize them?” Rhodey swims closer, looking him up and down, inspecting for injuries.

“No, I don’t… I don’t think they’re part of the Kingdom,” Tony murmurs, reaching up to subconsciously play with his signet ring. His memory is usually so sharp, it’s strange that—

“Holy shit, Tony— look!” Pepper interrupts, pointing at his chest. He looks down, but all he can see is a slight illumination around his sternum.

“What—”

“Stay still,” Rhodey snaps, gently lifting the ring off of his skin. Pepper reaches in to trace a delicate circle on his chest, and both of his friends look awestruck. And afraid. He tries to crane his neck and see, but all he notices is that the glow fades the longer the ring is kept from touching his body. Rhodey hums, thoughtfully, “Seems like the ring is enchanted. I haven’t encountered a witch in ages— but I guess one came out of hiding to save you.”

“I guess. Pep, do you have a mirror?” The longer Rhodey holds the ring, the tighter Tony’s chest feels. He plucks it out of Rhodey’s hand as Pepper pulls a mirror out of her satchel, turning it around so Tony can take a look.

His signet ring lays in the center of his chest, a steady weight, and radiates a faint glow. It’s more concerning that, surrounding the ring, there’s a few inches of light emanating from under his skin. Tony reaches up to trace it— the gold ring and blue haze, so similar to the eyes he remembers saving him. Still, nothing hurts, and Tony pushes the mirror away.

He ignores their concerned looks and starts to tie up the sharks, concentrating on getting them back to the Kingdom before any larger predators arrive to investigate. After a moment, both of them swim down to help him, shouldering the bodies and heading back towards the Kingdom’s butcher.

It’s a few more minutes before Tony breaks the silence, giving his friends a break, “So, uh… do you think I’ll be a lanternfish forever?” He throws them a smirk and laughs at Pepper’s exasperated sigh.

Rhodey bumps into his shoulder, “You have trouble blending in as it is— at least now we’ll be able to keep track of you… in night clubs.”

Tony gwuafs, offended, and shoves at Rhodey’s shoulder. With everyone happy and laughing, it’s easy to forget about his mysterious savior and the inevitable conversation he’s going to have with his father later on. They head straight for the butcher when they enter the city, several citizens cheering and praising their kill. Tony knows he’ll get the credit for it, even though it was Rhodey and Pepper who slew the sharks, so he takes off as soon as they drop the bodies, heading to the castle to see the King.

---

Hours later, Tony sits at the far perimeter between two sentinels, staring out into the open ocean. The nocturnal fish have emerged, sending an eerie glow onto the city as the lights dim, throwing the Kingdom into gentle darkness. It does nothing to soothe Tony’s anger.

He takes Pepper’s satchel, full of rocks and shells and other samples from their journey, and dumps it over the side of the wall. Useless. It’s almost as if his dad doesn’t even want to explore anymore, just sending Tony out to keep him distracted. And he knows that’s probably the case, he’s not stupid, but he can tell there’s something deeper his dad isn’t telling him.

Well, fuck ‘im. Tony’s more than capable of figuring it out on his own.

For now, he stares out into the distance, throwing a silent Tony pity party.

There’s movement in the distance. At first, Tony thinks it’s debris. It’s not uncommon for items to fall from the surface— but this object suddenly twists, and he sees… shit, he sees arms. Fuck. It’s a person.

“Stay alert,” he instructs the guard on his right, “I’m gonna check it out.”

Tony takes off into the dark, distantly aware that one of the guards is hot on his tail, and heads straight for the figure still drifting towards the ocean floor. He slows down as he approaches, thankful for the light in his chest that illuminates his surroundings. When he gets to the spot, sand is settling in a cloud around where the figure landed. It takes a moment for everything to clear, and Tony waits patiently, the guard at his side prepared with a weapon.

It’s a man. “Holy shit,” Tony breathes out, swimming closer to the limp body stretched across the sand and rock.

“Be careful, your Highness,” his guard warns, and Tony waves his hand in dismissal.

The man landed facing away from him, giving Tony a good view of strong, muscular shoulders and wavy, shoulder-length hair, half tied back behind his ears in a small knot. His back rises and falls, expanding with slow breaths that reassure the man’s gentle sleep. He leans over and pulls on his shoulder, carefully turning him onto his back.

He’s absolutely gorgeous. Lips slightly parted and turned down in sleep, his face is utterly serene. His lashes are dark and cast a delicate shadow over sharp cheekbones, sprinkled with a tasteful amount of scruff, not quite enough to hide his full jawline and smooth, tanned skin. Tony can’t help himself— he reaches down and cups the man’s jaw, brushing his thumb over full lips and wishing he could look into this man’s eyes.

With a gasp, the man jerks awake, and Tony gets his wish. Deep, electric gray eyes bore into his own, the handsome face overtaken with shock and confusion as he bolts upright, pushing Tony away and looking around frantically.

“Hey, hey— it’s alright. You’re okay, please don’t panic,” Tony tries to calm him down, sighing in relief when the man turns his focus back on Tony, still looking desperate and confused, “My name’s Tony, you’re outside Howard’s Northern Kingdom— can you… can you tell me your name? Where you came from?”

The man shakes his head. He’s shaking slightly, and Tony watches as he runs his hands over his chest, his hips, and his silver and crimson tail— as if grounding himself in the present. Tony understands and gives the guy some space.

He hates the devastated look in the man’s stunning eyes, but is grateful when he croaks out, “The… the Northern Kingdom? Under water?”

Tony snickers, motioning around, “For now, yeah— that’s where sea life generally lives.”

The man nods, a little too quickly, “Right, I… of course, right. My name…” he grimaces, as though it’s painful to remember, “I’m James, but… but people call me Bucky.”

“Bucky,” Tony repeats, liking the sound of this stranger’s voice, somehow familiar, “I’m Tony, and King Howard is my father. Unfortunately, before I can help you out, I’m gonna need to know why you’re here, or where you’re from,” he gestures to the guard behind him, “otherwise this guy’s not gonna let you come home with me.”

Bucky’s smile is a revelation as it breaks over his face. Tony feels something twist in his chest as he ducks his head, looking up at Bucky through his lashes and watching the other man’s cheeks flush pink in delight. Oh, Tony likes this a lot.

“Well, I’m… I’m from…” the smile falls from Bucky’s face as he concentrates, a painful grimace maring his features again, “The Kingdom of Brooklyn, and my brother is the King. His name is Steve. And I… I don’t know why I’m here,” his brow furrows and a small whimper leaves his throat as he concentrates harder, and Tony has to stop it.

“Hey, Bucky? Please don’t— don't’ hurt yourself, okay?” He grins in approval as Bucky relaxes, “We can work on it, sweetheart, for now, what you’ve given me should be sufficient. I’ve never heard of Brooklyn, but if you’re a Prince and not one of our enemies, our King shouldn’t have a problem with offering you temporary residence.”

“I… okay,” Bucky agrees, looking down at his hands, “I don’t want to impose.”

Tony holds out a hand and pulls Bucky along with him. They swim back through the gate and into the city— most families are already tucked into their homes for the night, so no one sees them on their way back to the castle. Bucky looks absolutely stunned, barely talking during their journey, and it amuses Tony to no end. Obviously whatever Kingdom he’s from is small and underdeveloped in technology and population.

They travel shoulder to shoulder, and Tony can’t help but feel a familiar warmth when their arms brush against each other, the ring around his neck pulsing brighter. It seems like Bucky notices it too, but the expression on his face is difficult to read.

“So this is a weird question,” Tony starts, fiddling with the ring as he studies Bucky’s face. The other man smiles encouragingly, so Tony continues, “have we… met before? Like, specifically earlier today?”

Bucky stops suddenly, looking at Tony as if he’s actively growing another tail. For a moment his face looks surprised, filled with recognition, but it quickly disappears as Bucky hunches over and lets out a pained gasp, clutching desperately at his head. Tony has no idea what to do— and in panic, he pulls Bucky closer, wrapping the larger man in his arms.

“Shh, I’m so sorry,” Tony whispers, trying to soothe away the pain. Bucky is trembling like a leaf in his arms, and he’s helpless to do anything about it. He’s also aware that they’re drifting in between several dwellings, and Tony needs to get them inside, soon.

Soft, red-rimmed eyes blink up at him, and Tony brings up his hand to push a few wayward strands of hair out of Bucky’s face. Even upset and in pain, this man is flawless. He sniffles and blinks a few times, struggling to turn a reassuring smile up at Tony.

“T-thank you,” he murmurs, face flushing pink again in embarrassment, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everything is… familiar. But I can’t remember you, I’m sorry.”

Tony clicks his tongue, following the blush with his fingers and enjoying the close press of their bodies, “It’s okay, Bucky— we’ll figure it out.”

---

They make it back to the castle in one piece, and Tony knows it’s going to be best to present his guest to the King immediately. He knows his presence isn’t welcome due to the argument earlier in the evening, but the consequences will be worse if Tony tries to hide what he’s found.

The two of them wait outside of the King’s rooms as a steward leaves to announce them to his father. Tony tries to fill Bucky in on procedures, but it seems his guest is already familiar with a number of expectations and etiquette.

“Oh, and remember to tuck your tail as well. And if he tells you to be informal, he really means you can call him ‘Your Grace,’ not to call him Howard. He’ll hate that.” Tony rambles, listing off everything he can think of.

“Wait,” Bucky stops him, “tuck my… tail? Why?”

Tony chuckles, backing up slightly to face Bucky. He looks around to make sure no others are watching— it would be improper for the Prince to bow, even in jest— and when he’s satisfied that the coast is clear, tucks himself into a formal bow.

“Oh,” Bucky breathes, and Tony unfolds himself, his smile erased completely by the intensity in Bucky’s eyes. Fuck. “That’s… that was…”

And then smoothly, gracefully, Bucky mirrors his bow, curling his tail forward, dipping his head, and crossing one arm over his chest respectfully. Tony is speechless. The show of respect— even casually— from this breathtaking man, has him breathing deep to keep his desire at bay.

It seems as though Bucky’s having a similar problem. As he unfolds from his bow, Tony can see his pupils blown wide, the scales around his groin flushed pink in arousal. Tony can bet his own scales look the same, and tries to laugh, tries to calm them down as he backs away slightly. It won’t help either of them to see the King looking like this.

Of course that’s the moment the King’s steward chooses to return, giving both of them a disapproving once over before opening the door wide, “His Majesty will see you in his library.”

Okay, not the worst then. If Tony was in deep shit, Howard would just see them in the drawing room. At least Tony likes the library.

He leads Bucky down the hall and into the library, hiding a smile at the awe clearly written on Bucky’s face. He takes a second look, trying to view his father’s library with fresh eyes, but has trouble when his gaze keeps landing on the handsome man swimming next to him.

Howard is reclining near a window, absently eating a few fermented algae— his usual method of winding down from a difficult day. As the King looks their way, a piece of algae still in his fingers, Bucky dips into a formal bow. Triton, he looks good like that. Tony dips his head, informally, and both of them straighten up a moment later.

“What is it, Anthony?” his dad sighs, putting the piece of algae on his tongue to dissolve. Tony suddenly feels parched, but holds his arm out to present Bucky regardless.

“An hour ago, as I was watching the border of our Kingdom, a figure fell from the surface. I went to investigate with a guard, and we found James, here, unconscious and unarmed. James claims to be a prince from a Kingdom called Brooklyn, with a King named Steve, and is seeking asylum until he can resume his travels. His mind is damaged, and I wish to extend my care and hospitality towards him for the duration of his stay.”

The King looks at both of them, his face refusing to give anything away, but Tony knows from experience that he’s much more perceptive than Tony gives him credit for. He crosses his arms and addresses Bucky, “Prince James, then,” he says, testing out the title, “if not hostile, what are your intentions towards my Kingdom and my son?”

Bucky ducks his head and nods, “My intentions are to know your Kingdom and know your son, if he so desires, Your Majesty. I am healing and recovering my memories, and once I’ve reclaimed my original destination, I shall depart immediately.”

Howard nods, satisfied with this answer. He points to the small pail on his side table, “Anthony, would you bring your… friend a refreshment?”

Tony spares Bucky a shrug and swims over to the chilled container, lifting it slightly to scoop out a small bundle of algae into a glass, trapping them quickly with a lid. He grabs a few for himself and makes his way over to where Bucky floats, his eyes wide and curious as Tony hands over the refreshment.

Bucky looks down at the cup in his hands, obviously and adorably lost. Tony glances over at Howard— his dad looking between them in amusement— and touches Bucky’s shoulder, catching his gaze and motioning for him to follow Tony’s example.

Reaching into his glass, Tony fishes out a piece of algae, showing Bucky how it sticks slightly to his finger. Bucky copies him, and grabs a smaller piece in between his forefinger and thumb. Tony wishes he could feed the bit to Bucky himself, place it on his tongue and feel his pretty pink lips suck it from his hand.

Instead, he quickly places it on his own tongue, humming happily as the sweet and sour algae dissolves, sending a warm shiver down into his belly, clearing his head and heating him up from the inside out. Damn, his dad always has the best shit.

He turns his attention back to Bucky, watching intently as he follows suit and places the morsel in his mouth. His eyebrows shoot up, he looks down at the cup in shock— as if the remaining algae could provide some explanation— and then, to Tony’s dismay, Bucky lets out a guttural groan, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as his cheeks hollow out, lips curling tight around his fingers while he sucks them clean.

Tony is having something close to a stroke, and his dad is laughing loudly in front of them, obviously finding Tony’s distress amusing. He’s going to commit regicide, and it’s going to be slow and painful and bloody.

He overcompensates by taking the lid off his glass and throwing the rest of the algae back, breathing deep as the sensation hits him all at once. As he sways a bit in place, he catches Bucky staring at him in amusement.

“Anthony,” his father sighs, shaking his head in annoyance, “do whatever you must. He can stay… in your rooms, primarily. Or in the guest lodging— as long as you have security on him at all times. Get Jarvis to set up residence wherever you’d like, Anthony. Just don’t let me hear it, and don’t let me see it.”

Bucky is frozen with another algae halfway to his mouth, flushed red and eyes wide. Tony is convinced that flustered is his natural state. Before his dad can embarrass them further, Tony takes Bucky’s hand and excuses them, swimming quickly back down the hallway.

He doesn’t stop until they reach his rooms and slam the door. They’re already cackling before they hit the nest, and Tony can’t catch his breath. He rolls over and tucks close into Bucky’s side, enjoying how his chest shakes as they laugh together.

“What the fuck did I just eat, Tony,” Bucky wheezes, and Tony loses it again, ducking his face into Bucky’s neck and sobbing into his skin.

“Fer… fermented algae, baby.”

“I— I can’t believe… it tasted like…” and Bucky’s voice cuts off, his body stilling. Tony looks up to see what happened, and Bucky is staring straight forward, unmoving. Frozen.

“Bucky? What did… what did it taste like?”

“It. I can’t…” And again, Bucky’s face contorts, breath stuttering as his hands come up to cradle his face, sighing in pain. Tony immediately pulls his hands away and replaces them with his own, massaging his temples until he’s met with deep, gray pools of sweet relief.

“Don’t push it, honey,” Tony purrs, resting his body gently on top of Bucky’s, rubbing their noses together and blowing a few bubbles, making Bucky giggle and relax. He lays his head down on Bucky’s chest, before realizing how close they are together— and how little they’ve actually gotten to know each other.

“Dammit,” he curses, pushing off of Bucky’s chest and floating away, “we don’t— shit. I don’t even know you. You have no idea who you even are. I am so sorry, I just fed you an unknown substance, oh seas,”

“Tony, it’s okay—”

“I’ll get you your own room, I promise. You don’t have to put up with—”

“Tony! Hey,” Bucky swims off the nest and presses him up against the ceiling, pinning his shoulders and staring into his eyes, “I remember who I am, I just can’t recall where my home is. I know the name of my brother, and my best friends. I have a…” small grimace, “pet named Alpine. I’m a scientist and a Prince, and I’m almost completely convinced that I’m—”

He pauses, a familiar blush traveling down his chest and filling his cheeks. Tony blinks down at him, “That you’re what?”

“That I’m already, irreversibly infatuated with you.”

Tony feels the ring around his neck pulse, bright and hot on his skin, as if agreeing with the sentiment. He wants to respond, really does, but everything is too new, too important. Bucky is too important.

They’re close, though. Tails brushing together, bubbles of air mixing and joining in front of their faces. Tony can hear his own heartbeat, frantic and longing for the man in front of him. Bucky reaches up, acting as if he wants to touch the ring, but he hesitates. His fingers flex, his eyes blink rapidly, and then he’s reaching into Tony’s hair, pulling on strands tenderly and cradling his face in strong, sure hands.

And Tony just melts in his palms, an absolute jellyfish for this mysterious stranger. The tension between them is heavy, thick and magnetic. He drifts into Bucky’s space and tries to watch for a sign, any sign, but his eyes are closed— when did his eyes close? And then their scales rub together, catching and pulling, tearing a desperate moan from Tony’s lips. There’s a hand in his hair and eyelashes on his cheek, and their lips— their breath—

“I can’t,” Tony whispers, forcing his eyes open to watch Bucky frown in confusion. “I’m sorry, I’m crazy about you, but you deserve…” and he can’t remember, right now, everything that Bucky deserves, but he knows it’s a lot.

“Oh, I… Okay. I get it,” Bucky nods, devastating resignation taking over his handsome features, “I’m not… I can’t…”

“Can we just sleep? Talk and spend the day together in the morning?” Tony suggests, like an adult. Bucky nods, suddenly yawning and glancing up at Tony sheepishly.

“Sounds perfect, Anthony,” he smirks, chuckling again as Tony swats at him playfully.

It only takes a few minutes to set up a guest room for Bucky, fit already with a flawlessly woven nesting kit and other amenities. Tony even makes sure to include a pail of chilled algae, ugly laughing when Bucky discovers it by the dressing mirror.

The next day comes soon enough, and Tony has enough sense to cancel his engagements, asking his steward to clear his schedule and plan a tour of the kingdom for the two of them.

Before Bucky wakes— Tony assumes he’s still asleep in the guest suite— he has the royal gardeners collect fragments of coral and deep sea sponges to present to his new… friend. He asks for crimson and gold, colors not only of Tony’s scales, but also of Bucky’s as well.

When the arrangements arrive, he spends a few minutes weaving them together with a few ties from his nest and small strands of his hair, intimate details that he’s sure Bucky will love.

He waits in his living space for Bucky to join him. The windows are thrown open, letting a gentle morning current sweep through, and Tony sits with the coral and sponges draped over his arms. And he waits.

After a few minutes, he’s done waiting. He calls his steward to check on Bucky, and watches as the boy disappears down the hallway. There’s a knock, the faint sound of the door being opened, and then low, urgent voices. The steward swims back to him, looking guilty.

“He sends his apologies. He says that he’s not used to rising without direct light, and missed the wake up call completely. He should be around in a few moments, sir.”

“Oh, yes— that’s fine,” Tony places the arrangement in front of him and dismisses the steward, choosing to pick on the assorted breakfast foods instead.

It’s only a few moments before Bucky joins him, looking absolutely delicious and well rested. He sits next to Tony— very close, actually— and takes a suspicious look at the meal prepared for them.

“It’s… fish? For breakfast?”

Tony’s surprised again by his confusion, “Yes, honey, we generally eat fish for breakfast. If you’d like, I can have the cook crack you open a few clams instead? Oh, he makes the best sweet clam mix— it’s to die for,”

“No, no that’s fine,” Bucky waves his hands, reaching for an assortment of fresh eel instead, “these should be… these should be good.”

Tony watches in glee as Bucky slurps down the eel, grimacing and gagging slightly when it hits his tongue. He hides a smile when Bucky sits up straighter, obviously testing the flavor on his palette, before turning to Tony and putting his hands on his hips.

“Okay, but… why was that so good?”

Tony splutters, “You ass! You had me fooled— thinking you didn’t like fish for breakfast, like a fucking lunatic.”

Bucky chuckles, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. For a moment, he looks so lost and confused that all Tony can do is urge him to eat more fish, shoving three or four more plates in his face.

After they finish eating, Tony picks up his arrangement, feeling like a guppy as he hands it to Bucky, waiting for his reaction. Bucky— seas bless him— gives him a lopsided smile, holding the coral and sponges like they’re about to bite him. It’s confusing.

“Thank you, Tony. I’m not… I’m not supposed to eat it, right?”

“What?” Tony chokes, throwing his head back in laughter, “no, honey. It’s a gift. To admire. From my gardens.”

Bucky’s eyebrows draw close as he concentrates, something from his memory probably slipping away again, so Tony takes the arrangement from him. He sets it on the table, perfect decoration for the room, and grabs Bucky’s hand, leading him out of their rooms.

“Let’s go,” Tony urges, giving Bucky a reassuring wink as they head into the city.

Their day is incredible. Tony had no doubts before that the two of them would get along, would laugh and talk and joke as naturally as breathing. He’s proud of his Kingdom, too. Welcoming Bucky and treating him like a Prince— draping chains of flowering wildlife around his neck and offering them both assortments of salted meats— shark and squid and flounder— and dozens of fine jewels and beads.

If Tony purchases a number of those jewels for Bucky, it’s no one’s business but his.

He’s enraptured by the way Bucky experiences things. He’s always gasping and blushing as if each moment is special, new and unique, instead of normal and mundane. Tony feels drunk on it. He wants to spoil Bucky rotten, hoard all of his reactions to himself and make sure Bucky is always smiling like this— happy and soft and warm.

So Tony might be a little infatuated as well. He’s not supposed to fall in love this quickly, especially not with a stranger, but he feels inexplicably drawn to Bucky, as if by fate.

The days after pass similarly. Even when Tony has to resume his responsibilities, they still spend most of the day together— Bucky helping him delegate and problem solve issues in the Kingdom.

There are some bad days for Bucky— when he tries to remember too much and ends up with headaches that won’t go away. It’s especially bad when Tony leaves with Pepper and Rhodey to explore near the surface. Bucky refuses to go with them and spends those days in his room, clutching his head and sleeping restlessly. Tony thinks he may have repressed trauma that’s related to the surface, to the day Tony found him, but without access to his memories, it’s hard to know for sure.

Even with a few bad days in the mix, most of the time they spend together is indescribable, and, after only two weeks, Tony already has the crown jeweler fashioning traditional courting gifts for Bucky.

He whistles on the way to pick them up, swimming faster than usual, and even doing a few twirls when the excitement is just too much. As he inspects each piece, he knows the smile on his face is ridiculously wide. They’re perfect. He can’t help but imagine Bucky wearing each item, draped and adorned with metal and jewels and his family crest.

Bucky’s lounging in the garden when Tony finally finds him, admiring the array of coral on the south side of the palace. His hair is tied back— half up half down, framing his face beautifully— and he looks up when Tony swims into view.

“Hey, honey,” Tony greets, silently hating himself for being so soft around this man, “do you have a minute?”

“For you, I have all the time in the world.”

Tony ducks his head, the warm twist in his chest pulling him towards Bucky, and he watches the other man swim over from under his eyelashes. Once Bucky is in front of him, Tony hands him the box, looking at his face patiently for a reaction.

He turns it over, and looks at Tony, confused. “What’s this?”

“Oh, sorry,” Tony touches the lid, trailing his fingers over the crest engraved there, “it’s um… they’re traditional jewels I had crafted… for you.”

Bucky still looks unsure, “Okay,” he says, toying with the clasp on the box, “is there a special occasion, Tony?”

Tony just shakes his head, giving Bucky a reassuring smile, “Just open it— you’ll see.”

He gets a small smile in return, and Bucky lifts the lid, revealing the intricate set of jewels— chains and cuffs and clamps, all symbolizing Tony’s intent to court Bucky.

Unfortunately, Bucky looks absolutely horrified. He extends his arms, pushing the box away, and looks up into Tony’s eyes, “I… what the fuck, Tony?”

“... what?”

Bucky puts the gifts back into Tony’s hands and crosses his arms, “I’m sorry if you misunderstood our relationship, but I’m not… interested in this. I don’t want this. At least not yet.”

“Oh,” Tony is shocked still, gripping the box tightly in his arms, “I just… I thought we were…”

But Bucky is shaking his head, “I like you, Tony. I’m probably even falling in love with you. But I’m just not into that. I have a few friends who are, but we’d have to be… I don’t know, married or something, before I’d want to talk about that.”

Tony looks down into the box, suddenly confused, “Bucky, what do you think I’m trying to do?”

“Those are… aren’t those—” Bucky flushes, all the way down his chest and bites into his lip, “— like… for sex?”

What?

“No?” he is so confused, and a little offended. Why would anyone use these things for sex? Sure, they can be sexy, but—

“Tony, in what other context would I wear these?” Bucky pulls out a strand of jewels connected together with a chain, two fasteners at the ends to hold them in place.

“You’d wear them when we go out.”

“Tony! These are nipple clamps!” Bucky shakes them a little bit, trying to emphasize his point. Tony, for his part, doesn’t see the issue.

“Yes? But they’re traditional, not sexy.”

And then it looks like something dawns on Bucky— his face lights up and he chuckles, dropping the jewels back in the box and reaching forward to touch Tony’s face, tenderly scratching behind his ears.

“Tony— I need you to tell me, as if I’m a child and have no idea what’s going on, exactly what these gifts mean.”

And then Tony gets it. Wherever Bucky’s from, he’s never seen courting gifts like these. Damn, he’s such an idiot.

“They’re family jewels, forged with precious stone and metal, to create the traditional set of courting gifts presented by a royal family member to their potential spouse. Or consort, I guess. But yeah, it’s… I’m basically asking if I can court you, officially. And if you accept them and wear them in public, it’s a symbol of our relationship and eventual engagement.”

“Fuck,” Bucky curses, still playing with Tony’s hair, “yeah, yes— I’ll wear them for you. I’d love nothing more than to be yours, Tony. I just… do I need to give you something in return? For you to wear?”

“Actually, half of those pieces are for me,” Tony replies, pressing his cheek into Bucky’s hand. “If you’d like, we can try them on?”

“Sure, darling, let’s go try them.”

---

Tony can definitely see now why Bucky would think these jewels were made for sex. They lay each item out on Tony’s dressing table, organizing them neatly, and Tony has Bucky float in front of him, keeping his arms outstretched in front of the mirror so he can adorn Bucky with each jewel.

“So, first is the necklace— set with gold and twenty-five rubies,” he explains, draping the necklace around Bucky’s neck and clasping it underneath his hairline. He can’t resist, and places a delicate kiss on top of the clasp.

“Next is the belt,” he says, bringing his arms around Bucky’s waist to set the belt just above his scale-line, “usually these are more feminine in design, but I’ve had a larger crest engraved to rest over… well— let’s just say it implies masculinity.”

Tony busies himself with fastening the belt around Bucky’s waist and ignores the laugh he gets. He straightens up and hooks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder—

“Shit, you look beautiful.”

Bucky gives him a shy smile and turns his head to look into Tony’s eyes. He could get lost in those eyes, drowning daily in pools of ocean blue and gray.

Tony clears his throat and pulls back, “Okay, next we have, uh—” Triton, “the chest piece.”

He doesn’t even bother explaining this one, focusing on attaching it and quickly moving on before he can embarrass himself. Tony brings the chain around, holding it in place in front of Bucky’s chest. Unfortunately, his nipples are soft and there’s no visible place for a hold. Tony huffs and uses his left hand to reach out, lining up steadily, before quickly pinching Bucky’s nipple.

“Shit!” Bucky curses, looking down in surprise, but Tony is fast— attaching the first clip before Bucky can react. He keeps up a string of curses, gingerly touching the left clamp, and Tony uses his distraction to attach the second clip to Bucky’s now straining and hard right nipple. He backs up a bit to give Bucky space, waiting for the other man to calm down until he stops cursing and curiously touches the chest piece.

Bucky looks divine. Each chain floats lightly, reflecting light and casting shadow onto his pink skin, darker than usual due to residual embarrassment. Regardless, seeing Bucky in his jewels and colors is doing something to him.

“Only a few more,” he murmurs, picking up the wrist cuffs and motioning for Bucky to extend his arms. Bucky still looks overwhelmed— a mix of anger and confusion and arousal, probably— but Tony slips the cuffs on, fastening them snugly, and hooks a few rings around Bucky’s fingers, attached with delicate chains.

“Tony—” Bucky breathes, twisting his wrists to admire the jewelry. Tony’s determined to finish this, so he ignores his impulse— to touch and touch and touch and touch.

The last items are a set of jewels for his ears and a head piece. “Can you move your hair, Bucky?”

When Bucky obliges, Tony goes to thread the jewels, only to notice that Bucky’s ears are perfectly smooth. He feels around just to be positive, and Bucky giggles a bit at the sensation.

“So, we have a bit of a problem,” Tony backs up, showing Bucky the ear jewelry.

“Oh.”

“— if you don’t want to wear them, I won’t ask—”

“No, I…” Bucky feels around his own ears, pinching and tugging the lobes, “is there a way to fashion them with clips, like…” he motions to his chest, refusing to meet Tony’s eyes.

“Yes! Here, it shouldn’t be a difficult change, either,” Tony swims to his main doors, handing the jewels to his steward with a quick word of instruction for the craftsman. He swims back to see Bucky admiring the headpiece.

Tony takes it from his hands, giving him a reassuring smile, and Bucky dips his head forward. With perfect access, Tony lays the headpiece over Bucky’s dark waves, securing it behind his ears with two pins, and adjusting the chains and jewels to lay perfectly across his forehead.

It’s too much. Tony lets out a shuddering breath, finally finished with the gifts, and leans his head against Bucky’s, closing his eyes and holding on to Bucky’s shoulders.

“You look gorgeous, Bucky. I can’t believe you’re wearing my colors… that you’d agree to this.”

He feels a light touch on the back of his neck, and holds on tighter. Bucky pulls away— causing Tony to open his eyes, following his movement— and he draws Tony closer, dotting a kiss to his temple. They stay like that for a few more moments, enjoy the closeness and warmth, before Bucky chuckles and drifts away fully, turning back to the box.

“Alright— now how do I put these on you?”

Bucky holds up two cuffs, identical to the ones he put on earlier, and tilts his head. Tony grins and extends his arms, guiding Bucky gently in how to slip on the cuffs, tighten them, and attach the rings. When they’re fastened, Tony is captivated by the sight of both pairs of jewels shimmering in the light, practically shouting their attachment to each other.

The final pieces for Tony to wear are a necklace— similar to Bucky’s, but with a space for the signet ring around his neck— and a matching sash and belt. Bucky helps him put them on, and soon they’re floating and facing the mirror, mouths agape.

“Absolutely perfect,” Bucky murmurs, eyes never leaving Tony’s in their reflection.

Tony inhales slightly, “I know, the jewels are stunning.”

“No, darling,” Bucky turns him and looks down into his eyes, “it’s us. We’re a perfect match.”

He can’t help but smile, his stomach twisting with affection as he loops his arms around Bucky’s neck, pulling them close enough that their bodies are touching, tail to shoulder. Bucky gasps, the motion pulling on the chain across his chest, and suddenly all Tony can think about is getting his mouth on this man, wringing every drop of pleasure from him, watching him come apart with Tony’s name on his lips like a prayer—

“Your Highness, my apologies, but the King would see you in his drawing room.”

Tony laughs— unbelievable, “Tell the King I’ll see him within the hour,” he answers, never taking his gaze off Bucky, his dark, deep eyes, shining like the sea—

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but the King insists on your immediate attention.”

“Shit,” Tony curses, letting Bucky go and turning to follow the steward from the room. He looks back, giving one last promise, “I’ll be back in a moment, I swear,” before disappearing out the door, heading down the hall to meet his father.

#winteriron #tony x bucky #bucky barnes #tony stark #mermay #starkbucks #tony/bucky #mermay 2021 #fluffy awkward cute boys #mermay au #mer!tony #mer!bucky #wip update #i haven’t edited this so i’m sorry if there are errors #i’ll do that later

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hailbop1701 · 3 years

Text

Chapter Four: Damn Kids...

Chapter four is here guys! I'm so happy you're enjoying the story because I've been having a lot of fun writing it! I want to say thank you again to @dw-writes for being an amazing beta! You are freakin' awesome and I love you.

-H❤🖖

Hollow Castle Masterlist

The trek to medical was a long one. They were no longer in easy territory; Reaper couldn’t help but compare it to one of those old games he played as a kid. Shaking his head, John led the team through the halls at a snail’s pace. The corridors went from decorated and vibrant to the stark clean white of a medical facility.

‘Well, I suppose they were clean at one point in time,’ John thought with a tired sigh.

Chekov, who had managed to keep up with John’s fast pace, looked up from his PADD. The kid blanched at what was in front of them. Wrinkling his nose, John and his finer sense of smell could definitely confirm that the walls were covered in blood and feces. Not to mention the bits and pieces of people that had been discarded and left behind to rot.

Chekov swallowed thickly, looking green around the gills. John was impressed; the first time he had ever seen anything like this he threw up. Twice. Though that was two lifetimes ago.

Pausing, John nudged Chekov gently. “Breathe through your mouth,” he advised and the boy did just that. Tilting his head to the side, John looked over his shoulder to check on the others,

“Jesus,” Lawrence muttered, covering his nose and mouth with a gloved hand.

Bitar sidled up next to him, eyeing the mess ahead of them with a slight grimace on her face. “I think God left this place a long time ago, Gabe,” she whispered with a shake of her head.

“Damn,” Jim whispered from John’s left, his eyes wide, his face growing pale. Pressing his lips together, Jim cleared his throat. “We, uh, getting closer to the signal, Pavel?” he asked quietly.

The young Russian nodded, gripping the PADD tightly in his hands.

John moved forward, making sure to keep only a couple of feet ahead of the group, far enough to take the brunt of an oncoming attack, and close enough to run back if he really needed to. He gave each room they came across a quick check. Poking his head into what looked to be an empty exam room, John stopped short. Frowning he stepped further into the room with his weapon raised.

“Bones?”

John grunted, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the trail of blood dripping down from a ventilation shaft. He twitched ever so slightly as Jim moved into the room cautiously. “What do you got?” he asked quietly.

Reaper moved around the exam table. Kneeling down, he pulled a knife from his boot.

A gagging noise erupted from behind him. “What the hell - what is that?” Jim groaned, turning away from the bloody mess on the floor.

John took the knife and moved around the bits of what used to be the remains of a human torso. Open and practically cleaned out, upon closer inspection, John noticed something odd. Leaning closer, he saw bloody footprints leading from the body and up the wall where they disappeared into the vent. They were small, almost childlike. His stomach dropped, ‘oh I’m not liking this at all.’ he thought, grinding his teeth. Standing abruptly, John grabbed Kirk’s arm and led him out of the room,

“Human torso. Fresh, we need to go,” He growled out, sending Kirk stumbling forward into a bewildered away team. His inner “Red Alert” system had been going off throughout this entire disaster, and it had just gotten louder. He was kicking himself. He’d figured that his raised hackles were due to the situation but no. That wasn’t it at all. They were being watched, hunted. Cursing under his breath, John looked over at Jim, who had a concerned and questioning gaze. Pressing his lips into a line, John urged everyone onward. “We’re being watched,” he whispered to Beckworth and Kirk. Both men tensed at his words. “We need to keep moving.” he barked, raising his rifle again.

They moved quickly and quietly down the corridor leaving bloody boot prints in their wake.

Three rights and a left turn later, John skidded to a stop. Low growls and the smell of death made him freeze at the corner. Holding up a fist letting the others know to stop, John, without saying a word, looked back and tapped his ear, then pointed to the corridor they needed to go down.

Beckworth nodded then gave a silent order to his two subordinates, “Cover the rear.”

Peering around the corner, John spotted half a dozen infected. They were in a sleeping state, standing on their feet like horses, hibernating until a fresh meal caught their attention. Frowning, John bit the inside of his cheek. His mind churned, trying to come up with the best way to deal with the block in their path without the others coming to harm or alerting every demon and its mother to their location.

Reaper let out a frustrated huff. He glanced over his shoulder at Jim and scowled, showing the captain his displeasure.

Kirk grimaced and mouthed, “That bad?”

John looked back at the milling group of demons, then back at Jim. The look he gave his friend was clear: “I can do it but it’s gonna cause problems.”

He beckoned Beckworth over and let the security officer take a peek at what was around the corner. Henry looked at John with almost startled eyes. “And you’ve dealt with these before?” he asked, voice barely above a hissed whisper.

John shrugged. “Sort of. These are a new breed and made up of several different species. Some will be more difficult than others.” His murmured explanation made both Beckworth and Kirk wince. Reaper chewed on the inside of his cheek again, his mind made up.

Beckworth looked at him with a glint in his eyes. “You have a plan?” he asked. John shrugged, “I figured I’d do what Jim does. Wing it and hope it works. Hunker down in there,” he whispered, jerking his head in the direction of a door closest to them in the crowded hall.

Jim gave him a teasing glare before his face became serious. “You’re not going to seriously fight those things on your own, are you?” the captain hissed and Reaper gave Kirk a raised eyebrow that clearly said, “Yes and there is nothing you can do about it.”

Jim set his jaw and his mind raced as he tried to think of other options but there weren’t any. Cursing, Kirk looked down the corridor again and then at John. “Damnit fine. Don’t die or I’m gonna be pissed,” he growled while pointing an accusing finger at his friend.

Reaper gave a short nod. He looked over at the rest of the group who had been silent but were aware of the new plan. Taking a deep breath, John let Jim settle behind him, ready to lead the group into the cover of what looked to be a large supply room.

Taking a deep breath, John pulled a grenade from his belt. Pressing down on the button, he heard a faint beep and hum. Waiting for a breath, he tossed the grenade into the center of the small horde. Holding Jim back, John ducked his head just as the grenade went off. The ‘boom’ rang in his ears as it shook the walls around them.

“Move!” he shouted as he rounded the corner with his rifle raised. The demons, or what was left of them screamed and howled at John with rage. Without missing a beat he fired. The lower demons fell in bursts. The two knights roared and raced forward, ready to tear Reaper apart. He was ready for them.

Fixing his stance, John took a deep breath. His first thought was, ‘Fuck this is gonna hurt,’ his second was, ‘God I hope these guys were human.’

No such luck.

One barreled right into him like a linebacker. John’s breath wheezed out of him like air from a balloon. Upon closer inspection, he saw that the monster who sent him flying was green. Orion.

‘Fucking fantastic.’

Reaper collided with the supply room door with a painful bang, his beloved rifle sent flying. Pushing the pain away, John, in one motion, shot to his feet and pulled his handgun from its holster. Firing three shots, he managed to make the turned Orion stumble back in surprise. This gave him time to clock the other knight - who was currently trying to pull a pipe from the bloodied corridor wall - and decide his best course of action.

The Orion roared at him, sending spit flying in all directions. He was pissed. Rolling his eyes, John pivoted and kicked out. His boot made contact with the Hell Knight’s knee, causing the monster to fall to the ground. In one swift movement, John grabbed the creature by the neck and gave a firm twist. There was a sickening crack and the demon fell; its head was no longer connected to its spine. But, being as paranoid as he was, Reaper expertly reloaded his handgun and put two in the demon below him. One in the head, and one in the heart. The action was illogical as Spock would point out, but it made him feel better.

He didn’t relax though; the fight was far from over. John turned and raised his arm just as the second Hell Knight brought down a large water pipe Yelling out in pain, John felt his arm break. Though, he was just thankful it wasn’t his head that broke instead. Time seemed to freeze for a moment. Looking closely at the Hell Knight, John knew this fight was going to be harder. This one had intelligence.

“Ah fuck me!” he growled upon seeing the “Section 31” badge stuck to the monster’s rotting flesh.

John gritted his teeth as he pushed back with force. The demon stumbled back and raised his weapon again. Rolling out of the way, John tucked his injured arm against his chest, he could already feel the bone knit itself back together. It was always an unusual sensation, as if his whole arm had gone to sleep but without it going numb. If fucking hurt like a bitch.

Panting, John glared at the demon before him. “Come on asshole, let’s get this over with,” he snarled, his hand slowly inching toward his belt. The ex-agent roared, raising his pipe again, then swung hard aiming for John’s legs.

Yelping, Reaper dove out of the way of the oncoming blow. He landed gracelessly on his back. Quickly, he twisted to his side, narrowly missing a fatal blow from Hell Knight above him. Startled muffled screams and a boom made Reaper momentarily freeze.

“BONES!” Jim Kirk’s scream made time come to a standstill.

Jumping to his feet, John barreled into the demon, sending them both crashing into the corridor wall. Pulling another SD grenade from his belt, John quickly pressed down on the button and shoved it into the demon’s rotting chest. Pushing away, John dove for the supply room door, where his crew was in danger.

A deafening boom and a burning heat licked his back, but he didn’t even feel the burn or the blood that coated him. He needed to get to them before the worst could happen.

----------oOo----------

Jim barreled into the dark supply room with Chekov right on his ass. Beckworth, Bitar, and Lawrence practically shoved them forward before sealing the door behind them. Jim squinted into the darkness, his antique gun raised only halfway.

“Nothing should get through that door,” Bitar said with a relieved sigh.

A loud bang echoed through the room as something big hit the door they had just come through, followed by a slew of muffled cursing. Chekov let out a soft chuckle and Jim had to smile a little.

“No matter what, it’s the same ol’ Bones,” he sighed with a shake of his head.

“Gabe, check the room. Lila, check for supplies,” Beckworth ordered and the two redshirts immediately moved out.

Jim raised his gun the rest of the way and followed the young security Ensign further into the room. This caused Beckworth to sigh in exasperation, no matter what he did the captain will always be beside his men. Not behind.

“I got the right. Gabe, you go left,” Kirk whispered.

The young man nodded, and swallowed hard, unable to speak. He was so damn scared. Taking a deep steadying breath, Gabriel Lawrence moved into the dark.

He wouldn’t say that he was the best in security. His mother was a high-ranking security officer back in her day, and she had high expectations for him. She was older when he was born. Her end goal wasn’t to raise children, she simply wanted to continue on with a big legacy. And Gabe refused to let his mother down. So, he went to the academy and entered the security track. if Gabe were to really choose what to do with his life, he would have been a chef. He loved to cook, he loved to make people happy with his cooking. He wanted to drop out and tell his mother what he really wanted to do, who he wanted to be; but they had gotten word that he was assigned to the Enterprise and she was so proud.

The Fleet’s flagship.

He didn’t have the heart or the courage to turn it down. So, he went. And there he was, walking through a dark supply room on a taken-over starbase with monsters from Hell. “This is just great Gabe, wonderful life choices,” he muttered to himself. A clang and shuffle made him stop short in his tracks.

Turning, he strained his ears, “Hello?” he called out, bending at the waist he kept his phaser up. He peeked and peered through the crowded shelves of the supply room only to see nothing at all. Another clamor made him stop and quickly twist around; shadows danced around him, skittering in and out between the shelves.

Cautiously moving forward, Gabe called out one more time, “Hello, is anyone there?” the sound of crying reached his ears. ‘Sounds like a kid,’ he thought as he rushed forward.

Sitting there in a small pool of light was a small child curled in on themself, shaking like a leaf, facing a blood-stained wall.

Moving closer, Gabe reached out a gentle hand. “Hey kiddo it’s okay you’re going to be-” he choked on his words as the little boy turned around.

Lawrence has never seen anything like that before. Yelping, he scrambled back, falling onto his ass. The little boy in front of him looked dead: skin gray and rotting; his once brown eyes dull and oozing dark blood. The boy gave a raspy giggle and a leery bloody smile. It all made the hairs on Gabe’s body stand on end. He raised his phaser at the boy with shaking hands. But the dead child in front of him wasn’t what made his blood freeze.

It was the sound of low growls and snickering coming from behind him. Slowly turning around, he saw them all. Small, hunched, bloody, and ready for a fresh meal. Gabe knew right at that moment that he was never going to make it off Genesis. ‘Hope I made you proud momma,’

Later when it was all said and done Jim Kirk stopped to talk to Admiral Lawrence, she responded to his question, “Were you proud?”

Her answer was and would always be, “I was proud of him no matter what he did. That boy was more than just a legacy, he was my whole world. And I regret every day that I didn’t tell him that enough.”

Jim refused to tell her how he died. How much he screamed, and how afraid he was. All Kirk would say was that, “Gabe was an amazing security officer, and that he saved them all from dying the same way he did.”

Kirk would sometimes flashback to that moment. He would remember Gabe's screams of pain and terror but before he could run to help him, a blast knocked him off his feet. Phaser overload.

“BONES!”

Tags:

Everything: @thottiewithashotgun, @lauraaan182, @writerdee1701, @stileslover13-blog, @cowenby2, @bluesclues-1234, @sayuri9908

Hollow Castle: @chook007, @lauranthalasah

#star trek aos #doom 2005 #doom!trek #leonard bones mccoy #leonard mccoy #john grimm is leonard mccoy #leonard mccoy is john grimm #john grimm #john reaper grimm #james t kirk #jim kirk #pavel chekov #redshirts #reaper!bones #hailey the queen of typos #hollow castle #The Four Horsmen Series #a moment of silence #for the fallen

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