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bi-ressler · 3 years

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Coming Home [RessGale]

@skiesfallithurts requested "Coming home + RessGale" for this ask meme (still taking prompts if you want to send something in! Could take me some time though due to real life)

Title: Coming Home Relationship: Julian Gale/Donald Ressler Characters: Julian Gale, Donald Ressler, Henry Prescott (mentioned), Raymond Reddington (mentioned), others (mentioned) Words: 10.891 Setting: Post-Prescott-Arc AU Warnings: Abuse of prescription meds (aka Donnie is back on oxy and I'm not even remotely sorry), sexual assault (non-explicit, but it's being discussed), homophobia very briefly mentioned A/N: I've had this idea in my head for literal ages and thanks to the prompt I'm finally doing it! So thanks for indulging me :D Also, this got away from me (again) and turned out way (WAAAAAY) longer than it should have. Oops! - - - As always, English isn't my first language, this isn't beta'd and all mistakes are mine. Feedback is greatly appreciated :) (Also, tumblr keeps fucking up the formatting, so if the sentence breaks up in the middle of the paragraph, blame hellsite dot com.)

[Read HERE on ao3!]

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Falling back into old habits and unhealthy coping-mechanisms is far too easy, Donald finds. But when everything crumbles around him, and all the poorly concealed cracks and insufficiently closed gaps and holes in his armour, in his life, finally give out and leave nothing but rubble and guilt and dread, it's the only way he can think of not to fall into complete despair and drown himself in self-pity.

But maybe he's already past that point.

Maybe this is what drowning actually feels like, and there's definitely no lack of self-pity on his behalf.

So he downs the pills with a swig of beer, ignoring the fact that this feels far too familiar, far too much like coming home after a storm, soaking wet and shaking to lay down on the warm carpet and breathe for the first time.

It was all a mistake.

The last six years, it was all one big mistake and right now, he'd give everything to go back in time, erase Reddington from his mind, never join that damned taskforce that had him spiralling to this point from day one. Hell, he'd go even further, never become an agent in the first place - maybe open up a coffee shop in Detroid or become a banker or lawyer or anything at all, as long as it's as far away from Reddington and this whole mess as possible.

That way, he'd never meet Henry Prescott. He'd never murder Laurel Hitchin. He'd never let down everyone in his life, most of all himself, and Audrey would still be alive, and Julian would still be with the bureau ---

Julian.

The guilt comes back full force, because if anyone didn't deserve the fate they got, it would be Julian. Hard working, fierce, loving Julian.

He dry-swallows another pill for good measure, shoulders his go-bag and disappears down an empty alley, unseen by cameras and cops and anyone who might recognize him.

He's not sure if he can go on like this.

He's been on the run for nearly a week now; a week of hiding, paranoia, always looking over his shoulder and ducking into the shadows. Where he once felt safe when he heard the siren of a police car, he now starts running. It's exhausting and he cowers lower into the corner of the abandoned building he's staying in tonight.

Another pill. The shivers lessen. The bottle is almost empty.

He leans his head back against the cold concrete and curses his need for justice, his stupid-ass decision of accepting this life as punishment for his actions.

No, that's not right, he thinks.

If he really was after justice, he wouldn't have run. He would have faced the consequences like a man, faced jail-time and public humiliation.

Instead, he'd been crushed by his own guilt after Prescott's death, written his confession with a shakey hand and left it on his desk, before grabbing the go-bag from the trunk of his car and running.

By morning Cooper must have found it, and in the afternoon he'd seen his face on the news. He has no idea where to go from here.

He pops another pill and curses when he reminds himself to cut back and save what little of the drugs he still has left.

---

The thing about guilt is, Ressler thinks, that despite what everyone says, it doesn't lessen over the years. He still feels guilty about ruining his brother's chance of a career as a cop, and he still feels guilty about Hitchin and Wright and Prescott and every crime Reddington committed right in front of his eyes.

He still feels guilty about what happened to Julian - the first time, after that operation in Kabul went so horribly wrong and Julian took the blame for it, both of them knowing full well that Ressler had been in charge and made the decision to fire, but being stubborn enough to convince IA that it had been his fault, handing over his badge and service weapon with an unreadable look towards Don. Maybe he did it out of some twisted sense of obligation. Maybe they were just in love and compromised. But in the end Ressler's decision had cost Julian his job and a civilian his life.

And the second time, after the whole mess with Mr. Kaplan, effectively ending Julian's career as nothing more but collateral damage. He can still feel his heart crack at that look of betrayal in Julian's eyes as they stood over the remains of Mako Tanida.

---

The other thing about guilt is that Donald doesn't know how to make amends. He knows how to follow his instincts and get himself deeper into trouble, deeper into the pit of guilt, deeper into unescapable situations. Making more and more excuses, trying to cover up all of his messes with lies that lead to more excuses, more lies, more damage.

He knows it's good that he does feel guilt in the first place. But there's only so much he can take.

He thinks about everyone he has left - Reddington, Keen, Aram, Cooper, Navabi.

He could go and find Reddington, ask him to get him out of this mess he created, but he still has some dignity left (he almost laughs at that, sitting in the dirt, close, so close again to withdrawal that his chest tightens, burdened with the undignity of all the actions that led him here). So Reddington is out. He'd only get him into some deeper shit, anyway, and he can't deal with that right now.

The taskforce is out, too. They're obligated to arrest him on sight. And after doing what he did (all the dirty work for Prescott that makes him shudder and swallow back bile), he wouldn't be able to look them in the eyes. They'd know. Another thing he can't deal with.

He can't go to his family, either; getting to Detroid would be a feat in itself, but no doubt the feds are just waiting for him to make contact with his mom or brother. He doesn't want to think about them; if he just so much as imagines his mom crying over the news of her little boy's fuck-up of a life he would only break the last remains of his heart.

Sighing, he realizes he's on his own and he closes his eyes against tears that don't come. His eyes are far too dry, and yet he feels like crying; maybe he's become too numb, but not numb enough to not care. He swallows against his dry throat, his fingers flexing around the pill bottle. He's out at sea alone, the storm raging and waves threatening to bring him down, and in the darkness, there's no lighthouse in sight, not even a candle in the window of someone who might take pity on him. He's bound to drown.

---

The next day, he runs out of pills as well as luck. He hears the shouting before seeing what's going on, and he doesn't need to round the corner to know that the cops are arresting his dealer; he hears his name. They're not after the poor sod for his arsenal of prescription-meds, they're after him. He turns around and doesn't stop running until his lungs burn and his feet ache.

---

He finally collapses behind an old factory that's been out of use seemingly forever. He vaguely remembers it from a case so many years ago, when everything was still fine and he still had dreams and hopes and Reddington hadn't crossed his way yet, Julian already by his side, Prescott a name he had no business knowing.

He remembers some nondescript arms dealers hunched over their merchandise, duffels with a ton of dollar bills and a short shoot-out that ended with the perps in cuffs and a brilliant smile from Julian. Although he couldn't see his eyes behind the dark sunglasses, he knew the twinkle in them that told him everything he needed to know.

How the fuck could he fuck up something so good?

It doesn't matter now, though. He slides down the rough walls, and a shiver rips from his spine, rocking his entire body, until it gets stuck in his hands and they can't stop trembling. Every movement hurts deep in his bones, and the shaking only makes it worse until he feels sick to his stomach and feels the bile rise.

He closes his eyes, and now the tears come.

He lets all the shame and hurt and fucking guilt wash over him, drown him until he is gasping for air, remembering --- remembering all the roads he shouldn't have taken, remembering every time he allowed Prescott to shove his dick down Donald's throat, the blood of some stranger still on their hands and clothes, and Ressler can't keep it in anymore. His stomach convulses and forces its few contents out, spattering on the dirty ground, acid in his aching throat that still remembers Prescott's assaults.

He remembers Prescott's laugh and the grip of his hand leaving bruises on his arms. He remembers burying bodies of people he knew nothing about, for a man who could be his downfall with no more effort than twitching a finger.

Ironic, how that still happened and Ressler has just reached rock-bottom while still having done everything Prescott had demanded. A fucking lose-lose-situation. Ressler would like to laugh about the stupidity of it all (of himself), but it gets stuck somewhere between his chest and vocal chords. He can never go back.

He'd always thought it would be Reddington who'd ruin him. He was wrong.

---

With the onsetting darkness comes the cold; it's the end of summer and the days are warm enough, but the nights take all the warmth and replace it with cruel emptiness and too many thoughts.

He remembers all the times their hunt for Reddington had gone wrong; all the times they'd run into another dead end; all the times an informant ended up dead --- all the times he would crawl into Julian's bed or Julian in his and they'd hold each other, seek solace and comfort and hope and the strength to move on in each other's arms.

He remembers Julian's lips on his and how, for these few moments, he'd want nothing more and could forget the job. He remembers skin on heated skin, and whispered platitudes that in that moment felt like a lifeline, and falling asleep with limbs entangled, sheltering him from nightmares and fatalistic thoughts.

He misses it. Misses it more than anything else, and it's the first time he acknowledges this feeling. He'd missed Julian for years; and then he was back again, back in that ice rink, looking at him like nothing had happened, like he still didn't blame Donald for all the shit that had happened. Maybe he really didn't. Maybe the guilt for all of that had been for nothing.

And then Julian was gone again and this time it would be irreversible. Like a lost limb, he feels his absence.

Shivering, he stares at the darkness around him, and all he wants is those strong arms around him and the scent of leather and aftershave and the scratch of Julian's stubble against his own.

He can never have that again. He doesn't deserve it, and Julian sure as Hell won't forgive him. Not for ending his career and certainly not for working with Reddington and turning a blind eye to the crimes he committed under their watch. He wouldn't even want to touch him again with all the dirt and blood on his hands from working for Prescott; wouldn't want to kiss the same lips that suffered the abuse of a ruthless killer and had swallowed it like he deserved it.

Because the truth is, maybe that's what his life has become: an unescapable, unforgivable Hell, all the pictures of what he'd done burned into his brain, behind his eyelids, on his skin where the bruises have long since faded but the dirt still remains. And maybe that's exactly what he deserves.

He crumbles under his thoughts until he lies on the ground, a shivering, hurting mess that's overflowing with guilt and self-loathing.

Julian always used to kiss it away.

---

How, when and why Donald has decided to walk up that road into the woods is lost on him.

He used to know this road, been here a few times but not in several years; it seems unchanged exept for the sky that looks a bit duller. He never walked this path before, but he didn't want to steal a car. Wouldn't know where to dump it here anyway.

He knows it's probably a dumb idea, but he's out of options by this point.

Every step is hard work and his knees are about ready to give out, shaking under the strain of carrying him for miles and miles, and even in the chilly shadows of the surrounding trees he's sweating like it's a hundred degrees out. Another shiver runs through his body that feels like it's crushing every bone on its way, and he moans as he gasps for breath.

He knows though if he stops he'll never get up again. He'll never reach the old cabin in the woods by that small lake, and he'd die by the side of the small, muddy road. He's not ready for that, though.

---

It's late afternoon when he gets off the main road and takes the small footpath that leads to the cabin in a few hundred yards. The sun is much hotter now and although he can feel her warmth on his skin, he feels cold and clammy and miserable, fighting shiver after shiver and losing hard.

All he wants to do is curl up into a tight ball and die, but he's not gonna give up, not now, even though he knows that he's making a massive mistake here, but he doesn't care. It's like he's too far gone to acknowledge that fact and all his common sense has left him along with the contents of his stomach last night; he can't shove it back and, frankly, what does it matter? He can't fall any deeper.

So he stumbles on, struggling over rocks and branches, his feet numb except for the occasional flare of pain that still reaches his brain and he can't quite manage to shut out.

Then it comes into sight and he breathes out, a pained, wheezing sound that makes his head spin, and suddenly he feels sick because he knows he has made the wrong decision; he should go. He should turn around and collapse by the road and wither away like a fallen leaf.

The cabin is still like he remembers it from years ago; it belonged to Julian's father before he'd died, a nice little place far out in the woods that's perfect for a weekend-trip. Julian used to tell him stories of coming here with his dad to fish and hunt, back in the day before everything had turned to shit between them, before he came out as gay and his father stopped talking to him altogether.

He knows Julian is here; he's seen the old Ford parked by the road close to the small footpath. He also knows he's not welcome, just as he knows that he won't have anything left if Julian rejects him and throws him back onto the street he came from.

Feeling his knees wobble, he pushes on before he can give in to the seducing urge to let himself fall to the ground and curl up to die. He can still do that afterwards.

Another few steps and he's around the cabin where he can see the small lake, a pond really, with the wooden terrace right by the water; on it stands a deserted deck chair, but the bottle of beer that sits right next to it is still half-full, so Julian must be back any minute.

He leans heavily on the wall of the cabin and feels his strength bleed away. A bead of sweat runs down his forehead and along his nose as he lets his head fall, the strain in his neck too much for his muscles to hold it up anymore. Catching his breath is difficult when his lungs don't want to take in any much needed air and his chest feels too tight, like the collar of his dirty white t-shirt is strangling him, and he raises a violently shaking hand to his chest, ignoring the creaking of his joints as he does so.

Shit, this is worse than he'd thought. The hand that isn't clutching his shirt automatically wanders towards his pants pocket. It's empty. Of course it's empty. He's out of pills. He panicks at that because how in the world is he supposed to survive ---

when he hears a gun cock and forces himself to look up into Julian's face.

He looks good - always does - and his stubble is almost a beard now; his hair has grown too and Donald just wants to breathe it in. He wears sunglasses (of course, it's still bright outside and his eyes are just so damn sensitive), and his brow is deeply furrowed, his mouth a thin line that tells Donald just how welcome he is here.

"Don?", he asks, voice raspy like he hasn't spoken in a long time. Maybe he hasn't, but Ressler isn't naïve enough to blame any emotion for the roughness.

"Hey", he says, and he feels the world sway from the effort of holding himself up, so he grabs for the wall again, temporarily borrowing stability from the wooden structure. He doesn't even want to know how awful he must look, all sweaty and dirty and miserable, shaking and fighting just to keep standing.

"What do you want?", Julian asks, words hard and the gun still pointed at Ressler.

He looks at Julian, helpless to say anything, devoid of all words, and he realizes he doesn't know how to answer that question. He opens his mouth in the hopes of being able to bring out anything at all when a shudder runs through his body, leaving him breathless and on the ground. For a second all he knows is the pain of too much and too little at the same time that grinds his bones to dust and cuts through his muscles effortlessly. He thinks he groans in pain, but can't tell over the static in his ears.

"Fuck", he hears at the edge of his consciousness, "Don!"

And when he looks up, Julian is gone from where he stood before, instead there are arms steadying him from face-planting into the muddy ground. He leans heavily into those arms that promise comfort and solace and strength.

"Julian", Don rasps out, and he looks up to see Julian close, so close, worry visible even behind the sunglasses, and he has to close his eyes as a rush of emotion threatens to overcome him. This is it. This is all he wanted.

"Don't talk now, okay? I'm callin' an ambulance." And that's wrong. He can't do that, Ressler can't go to the hospital, not when he's on every wanted-list in the city ---

"Don't", he whispers and swallows against the bile. Julian looks at him like he's lost his mind, but there's still so much worry. "Don't", Donald repeats. He doesn't know how else to communicate this.

"Okay", Julian says flatly, still sceptical. "You mind tellin' me though why the fuck you're here?"

Ressler looks away, tries to ignore the black dots that creep into his vision.

"I'm sorry", he says, and he means it. Hopes that Julian understands, because Ressler doesn't know if he has the strength or the words to really explain himself here. "I didn't know where else to go."

Julian just nods, waiting for him to continue while Donald shivers in his arms and doesn't know how to go on.

"I fucked up", he finally says, and Julian laughs at that; a humorless, dry laugh that settles itself deep into what's left of Don's bones, a laugh that sends waves of guilt through his chest. He looks to the ground and tries not to break down under the weight of it.

"Yeah, you did", Julian says and there's an edge to his voice that's dangerous and hurt and speaks of everything Ressler has put him through. "And I'm really fucking close to tell you to go to Hell."

His eyes burn holes into Donald's skin until he's sure that Julian must be able to see his insides now, the rotten flesh and the dirt and the blood and all the shame and guilt he's never gonna be able to wash away.

"Not gonna do that though. Seems like you're already there."

Don lets his head fall and at this point he can't tell sweat from tears or blood or vomit or dirt; it's all there on his skin, whether remembered or real he doesn't know. All he knows is that it's disgusting, he's disgusting, he's dirty and has done unforgivable things and yet Julian is still holding him up, still touching him --- His head drops and he closes his eyes against the spinning world.

"C'mon", Julian says quietly, "let's get you cleaned up. You look like you could need a drink too, something to eat. And then you're gonna tell me what's going on before I change my mind. You alright with that?"

Donald just nods. At least he thinks he does.

He feels Julian's grip tighten, and together they manage to get Donald on his feet; he sways unsteadily, but Julian's hands are still there, grounding him against the nausea, keeping him from falling over as he clenches his eyes shut against the wave of dizziness and pain that rips through him.

"Hey, wait", he blurts out when Julian nudges him to move. "You don't - you don't have to do this, Julian. I won't blame you if -", he takes a deep breath, trying to organize his blurry thoughts, "- if you... y'know. Wanna throw me out on the street. Let me rot."

Julian looks at him long and hard, his face unreadable, and Donald wonders when that changed. He used to be able to read him flawlessly, back in the day.

"I know", he says eventually, "and believe me, I have every reason to, but... let's just get inside 'n' sort this out, yeah?"

He nods.

The inside of the cabin looks exactly the way he remembers it from the few times Julian has taken him here. Cozy and warm, soft light through the small windows, wooden table in the middle of the room - with all kinds of stuff on it, bottles and tools and newspapers - surrounded by self-made wooden chairs; it's only one room, and in the corner is still the old bed with the worn through mattress that he remembers very vividly (it's softer than it looks, the pillows under his hips fluffy, the scent of whiskey from Julian's lips and resin from all around him filling his senses ---) Julian drags him to the bed; Don is glad that Julian keeps his hands on his shoulders for a few more moments. He doesn't trust his body to sit on its own and not fall over. He takes a few deep breaths - the smell of whiskey and resin still lingers in the cabin and if he closes his eyes, he might be able to pretend nothing has happened and he's back to when all was good. He doesn't close his eyes. Needs the punishment of seeing an older version of Julian and that glimmer in his eyes that betrays the cold anger he tries to project. In here, it's easier reading him. The sunglasses have landed on the table in the mixture of things, and breathing is just that much easier now. Funny how brown eyes can have that effect on him. Or maybe it's just Julian's eyes. "You okay? Or are ya gonna topple over as soon as I let go?", Julian asks. His hands burn where they touch Ressler's shoulders - even through the shirt - and he feels like their heat is spreading all the way through his arms, mending his broken bones with a painful grip that makes him gasp. "It's alright", he says. His voice sounds strange, somehow distorted and raw, and when Julian lifts his hands it's like ice fills all the places that were on fire just seconds before, crushing him, burning even worse. He bites his lip. "'Kay", Julian murmurs, and then he turns around to get a bottle of water and --- and he opens up one of the cabinets and pulls out a small, brownish-yellow pill bottle --- his heart is beating so fast now he thinks he might throw up, and every fibre in his body screams Want! Want! Want! --- his muscles pulling on him, willing him to move, to get to the pills, down them all, swallow them, no regrets, make the trembling stop and the sweating and the shivers, undo the damage to his body, unbreak his bones, untear his sinews --- His mouth falls open. He can already feel it: the texture and the form of the little white pill against his tongue, the short moment when he swallows, the high he's chasing - no, no, it's not that anymore, it's never been that; it's always been about numbing the pain until it wasn't, until it was just about avoiding the come down. But right now he can feel the high, the anticipation, being so close to victory --- "Don?" And he wants to tell Julian to shut up, to just give him the pills, but he's the one who holds the bottle, he has the power in this moment and fuck, Ressler would do everything, anything, get on his knees or on all fours and just take it (flashes of Prescott assault his mind at that, and he gasps audibly because Julian is not Prescott, far from it, and he just wants his brain to shut the fuck up, to stop, knowing the pills will do that, they'll fucking save him from his own thoughts) --- "Hey, man - what's going on?" It's Julian's voice again, so much nearer now, burning hot hands holding him together as Donald crumbles. He collapses like a frail burning building, the last beams that were holding it together now nothing more than a pyre of grief and lost hope. He trembles against Julian's chest, his hands clinging to Julian's shirt, hurting from the exhaustion of cramping around the scratchy material but unable to let go, his head tucked under Julian's chin where he crouches in front of Donald on the floor. He wants to cry or to scream or to lash out, but all the energy he has left is unfocused, is mainly the never ending chant of Want! Want! Want! beneath his skin. "Fuck", he grinds out, and it's the hardest thing for him right

now, but he has Julian's arms around him and can feel his lips in his hair and smell leather and aftershave and --- Julian hasn't let him go yet. He hasn't pushed him away yet; is still touching him, unafraid, not yet disgusted. Then again, he doesn't know what Donald has done. "Hey, hey", Julian breathes against Ressler's temple, "it's okay, Don, it's - it's alright. It's gonna be alright..." Don shakes his head, takes a stuttering breath. "It's not, it's -", he starts, and his hands shake so hard now he's afraid of hurting Julian, "it's all gone to shit, okay? Nothing's alright, and - it's all my fault. It's all my fault, Julian, just ---" He doesn't know what he's saying, only that he needs to get it out. He needs to let Julian know how sorry he is, how much he wishes he could go back and do it all differently, how much he wants Gale to be happy. "Easy", Julian whispers, and now his hands are stroking up and down Don's spine and he feels like a child, but also safer than he has in a long time. This, right here, is his shelter in the storm, a place to wait out the worst of it before he can go home. Only that he doesn't know where home is anymore. Not that it matters. He has his self-imposed punishment to serve. They sit there for a while, until Ressler's breathing is less ragged and his body is limp with exhaustion and his hands uncramp around Julian's shirt. "You need to drink something", Julian says, his voice far too soft, and somewhere deep inside of him Ressler just wants Julian to yell at him, to beat him, to show him exactly how he's felt the last couple of years. Let out all the anger and frustration and disgust he must be feeling. Add his loathing to the pyre burning away at Donald's insides. Julian shuffles away, keeping one steadying hand on Ressler's shoulder, the other reaching for the glass of water he must have put on the ground besides him when Donald collapsed. "Here", he murmurs and holds the glass up to Don's lips. Donald doesn't even try to take it from him, his trembling hands trapped between his thighs. The water is refreshing and he's sure he could drink an entire river - his mouth and throat aren't longer as dry, his heaving stomach slowly settles, his over-heated skin seems to cool a little. When the glass is empty, Julian sets it aside and takes a hard look at Don. "Better?", he asks. Behind the hard, cold glare his gaze is so open, so vulnerable now that Don has to look away. "Yeah", he nods. "Thanks." He doesn't know where Julian has put the pill bottle, but it's probably back in the cabinet. There's no way Julian could have misinterpreted Donald's behaviour. "So." Donald looks up again. He can still feel the sweat on his forehead, on his neck, chest, everywhere, but now it's cooler, and if the temperature keeps dropping as quickly he will surely freeze to death. He doesn't know though if it's the change of seasons or his own body. "Guess I owe you an explanation", Donald murmurs. He's tired suddenly, so tired he can feel it in his bones. Like he's two hundred years old, an ancient tree about to die. "You bet your ass you do." With that Julian gets up off the ground, refills the glass, sets it on the table and sits down next to Donald on the bed. He sits further away than he used to, the gap between them like a fucking canyon that Don could throw himself in to to break every bone in his body yet again, for the last time. He won't though. He owes Julian that much. "So?", Julian asks when the silence stretches too long. But Donald doesn't know where to start, doesn't even know what to say except for I'm sorry and forgive me and I love you. He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry again, his heartbeat picking up its pace, beating uncomfortably against his too tight ribcage. "I'm sorry", he begins, and when he looks at Julian, his face is impassive and schooled. He expects more. Of course he does, Donald thinks, and he deserves it, deserves more, deserves everything. He's just not sure he can give that. "I ruined your life", he says. Looks down at his hands and how

they shake where they're trapped between his knees. "Again", he adds and the corner of his mouth twitches in a humorless attempt at a smile. "You should never have paid for what we - what I did. The whole Reddington-thing. I justified it with all the good we did, all the cases we solved, the criminals we put behind bars, but... you were right. The price was too high. It was doomed from the start... All the people who died, Julian, all those good people --- I don't know if it was worth it." He looks up into Julian's face. It's not as passive and unreadable as before; now there's a glint of pity, a tiny spark of anger, the smallest sign of resignation. "And - and to think I betrayed all my principles for that taskforce. All I ever stood for - wanted to stand for. Fuck, I'm... I just... I just wanna go back, Julian. I just wanna start over. Forget about - about Reddington and Prescott and Hitchin and - Audrey. Fuck, Audrey... I should have known then. I should have quit back then." He buries his face in his hands. There are no tears, but the shame that's crawling up his spine and spreading through every inch of his body is threatening to overwhelm him. "What happened to her?", Julian asks quietly, his voice impossibly soft. He knows about them. About their far too early engagement, about the stubbornness with which Donald had tried to love her just to get over the fact that Julian was gone from his life. About his need to prove that he was okay. "She's dead. She was killed. She'd still be alive if it wasn't for Reddington." "I'm sorry", Julian says after a moment of silence. He sounds genuine, even though Ressler knows how Julian feels about Audrey. Or used to feel, anyway. And now, Donald doesn't know what else to say. Knows there's so much, too much to talk about, but he doesn't know where to start. He wants to tell Julian about Hitchin and Prescott and those brief moments with Reddington - in the box and in a hotel room in Washington and the whole long flight from Munich back to the states. Donald takes a deep breath; it's not like that makes any difference because his lungs still seem incapable of taking in enough oxygen for him to survive. How he's still conscious, he doesn't know, but it's probably just his mind playing tricks with him. And all the while, Julian looks at him with patience that's bordering on resignation, and sadness he might be mistaking for grief about the people they could have been. The love they could have shared, the lives they could have lived. All those things Ressler never gave himself time to grieve for, but are returning with a vengeance now, cutting him up, sucking him dry, suffocating him in their thick reality. "I deserved it", he finally croaks, his voice strangled by everything he's lost, and he clears his throat. "Everything I got in the end, I deserved it." He stares at his hands that are trapped between his knees, feels them tremble, and when he looks back up at Julian, the other man is suddenly closer than he was before. The canyon between them is nothing more than a crack in the pavement now, their legs not yet touching, Julian's heat a welcome comfort against Don's clammy pale skin, and it still feels like it's not enough, like nothing he could do could ever be enough, and as much as he detests the thought that this might be the closest Julian will let himself get to Don, he also revels in the almost-touches and the dark gazes and the fact that this, too, is something he painfully deserves: the one person he never stopped loving to be entirely unreachable. He thinks back to the good times and how easy it was to just reach out and take any comfort he needed. The sleepless nights in those dingy motel rooms they spent staring out the window at the starry sky or at each other, the moments of warmth and solitude, bodies wrapped around each other like they're one, soft breath in his ear, dry lips on skin, rough fingers entangled, squeezing, comforting. Thinks back to that night in Manila, when Julian stood before Donald's door at three in the morning, dark bags under

his eyes, arms wrapped tightly around his chest to prevent him from falling apart; later it would be Don's arms holding him together. Thinks back to that morning in New York that should have been entirely unpleasant with the stink and the broken heater in the middle of January and the noise even so early, but with Julian's sleeping form next to him - so peaceful and full of beauty -, he wished it could always be like this. He doesn't think back to the time they said goodbye, or the time Julian almost died from a bullet in his stomach, or the countless times they sat at each other's hospital beds. He doesn't think about the last time they kissed, the last time they made love, the last time they hugged, the last time there wasn't this edge to Julian's voice that tells Donald that things will never be the same. He certainly doesn't think about the future. "And what is it you got? What is it you think you deserve? 'Cause I see you sitting here like, like death warmed over and I can't imagine what the Hell you could've done to deserve... well, this." Julian's voice is rougher than usual; Donald doesn't know if it's because of the emotion he swallows so successfully or because he's smoking more than he used to or because this is the first time in a long time that he's speaking to somebody. Donald draws in another sharp breath. His lungs aren't exactly cooperating, but it doesn't matter as long as he can still explain. "I think I need some air", he says, voice barely more than a whisper. He sees Julian nod out of the corner of his eye, and together they manage to walk outside. It's weird, a little, how much better he feels and how much easier it is to talk, to move, to breathe, ever since arriving in the cabin. Just a few hours ago he was almost certain he'd be dying in a ditch right about now. It's gotten dark outside; the sun hasn't disappeared fully yet, but through the trees that surround the cabin and the pond it's impossible to make out. Julian sits him down in the deck chair Donald had noticed earlier, the opened bottle of beer that's still sitting beside it now forgotten. Don takes a deep breath. It's easier now, out here. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Julian setting up a second chair next to the one Donald is sitting on. They both lean forward, elbows on their knees, Ressler's head hanging, Gale watching him with sharp eyes. Donald shakes his head; to think how easily all this could have been avoided! If he hadn't taken the job with the taskforce, none of this would have happened. Or if he'd been honest sooner, if he'd talked to Julian when the whole Mr. Kaplan-mess started instead of betraying him --- "That, right there, what you just said, is why I love you." He can still hear those words loud and clear in his head, recalling that moment with absolute clarity even if most of his other thoughts and memories are blurry from exhaustion and pain. The way they just came over Julian's lips, so simple, so easy, like they were picking up from where they'd left, still sends goosebumps over his arms and back; he remembers the painful tightening of his chest back then, and his mind going completely blank, and deciding to overplay his nerves with a lame joke and getting back to work as quickly as possible. He remembers hope bubbling up in the back of his ribcage, and laying awake that night overthinking those words. Overthinking the whole situation while pushing away his guilt. He hated lying to Julian then, and he hates where it has gotten him. He remembers cursing Julian's mind, always so quick and clever, and he remembers cursing Reddington time and time again. He purposely doesn't remember all the times he thought about the Concierge instead of Julian when he was alone in his bed. It feels like another betrayal all over again. And he remembers being on the verge of asking how much truth lay behind Julian's words more than once but always pulling back at the last second. Maybe he'll never know, now. "Don?" He remembers that he needs to talk. His mind feels almost bruised by the

onslaught of memories ever since he's seen Julian for the first time in so long. "Yeah. Sorry." He takes another deep breath, now easier out here, and leans back in his chair, tired eyes focusing on the patches of darkening skies through the crowns of the trees. A sense of tranquility fills his whole body and the shivers cease to shake him. "You were right about Mako Tanida. His head. Reddington - Reddington gave it to me as a gift." He closes his eyes for a second and sees the severed head in the box as if it happened yesterday instead of almost six years ago. He shudders and opens his eyes again, back to watching the gentle breeze shifting through the leaves and branches. He doesn't look over at Julian. "Some sort of... sick compensation for Audrey's death." He pauses at that, thinking back at Audrey and how he barely remembers her face now even though he knows he should. It gives Julian time to piece it together. He doesn't say a word though, intent on letting Donald speak. "It makes me sick now. But that's Reddington, you know? He lulls you in and there's nothing you can do about it. -- Objectively, I knew what we were doing, and I was justifying it with all the high-profile arrests we did. But... I don't know, man, he was under my skin and I only realized it when it was too late. He's like this... spider. Sucks you dry as soon as you're caught in his net. And it doesn't stop until someone worse comes along and ---" He stops speaking then, dropping his head, unable to find the words to convey Prescott's cruelty, his depravity that became Donald's own. A hand on his shoulder makes him look up; Julian is watching him, his gaze a strange mix between a cold distance and warm empathy. "What happened?", he asks. As if his hand doesn't burn Don's flesh where it touches him over his shirt, as if he doesn't know the repercussions of this gesture, as if he can't even imagine what it means to Don that he's touching him out of his own accord, not yet fleeing, not yet disgusted, but full of love and comfort and everything Donald doesn't deserve. They stay quiet for a short while, Don watching how the cold distance transforms to something new, something like pity, but not exactly. Maybe curiosity with a touch of sadness. Like he wants to hear the answer and doesn't. Like he wants to know what made Don come here but doesn't want to hear it. Like he knows it could change everything between them, all the anger he's been carrying with him since the ice rink-case melting away, leaving only the torn pieces of his old love. "Laurel Hitchin", Donald says quietly. Another shiver runs through his body as he feels Julian's hand falling away. They're silent again; Don trying to figure out how to confess a murder and all the shit that followed it, and Julian thinking about how Hitchin might as well have fired him. She may have been an awful person, but she didn't deserve to die. In Don's experience, there's no one who deserves to die; at least that used to be his opinion. He's not so sure about it now. I killed her. I killed her. I killed her. I killed her. The words are on the tip of his tongue, but that's where they stay. He can't push them over the edge, can't make his vocal chords work and his lips form the vowels and consonants. He tries in vain, again and again, until Julian is looking at him again like he knows Donald's struggle. "She's dead", Julian says, tone neutral, and Don can't read from it how much Julian knows or at least suspects. He nods. Remembers her laying on her kitchen floor, pool of blood growing larger second by sickening second. "I didn't mean to ---", he stammers, and Julian's eyes grow wide like he didn't expect this confession. "Shit", he breathes and rubs a hand over his face. It stops over his mouth and chin and he looks straight ahead into the darkness that has settled around them like their own private bubble where there's room for confessions and guilt and maybe even forgiveness; room that the bright sun of the day doesn't allow. "That's why you're such a mess? Jesus, Don,

I ---" But he doesn't continue. Donald doesn't want to hear another I'm sorry from Julian, and he doesn't want to hear that he's fucked up either. He just wants to forget. "It gets worse", he says and Julian looks up, surprise and pain and dread lining his features, and he suddenly looks much older than he is. Still beautiful, and Don has to swallow against the sudden feeling of belonging that rises in his chest; like he's home, like this has been his home all along, and it will be until they're old and grey and dying of old age in each others' arms --- only that it's a fantasy, a feverish dream he's having. Before Don can continue though, Julian stands up and disappears inside the cabin without another word. He can't blame him. With a sigh he stays where he is, watching the sky again that's now completely dark, and he doesn't know if he isn't actually watching the invisible dance of the trees. His mind is completely blank now and it's a more than welcome change. Before he knows it, Julian is back with two bottles of beer in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other. Wordlessly, he gives one of the already opened bottles to Don who takes it with only slightly shaking hands, then sits back down, takes a gulp of beer, puts it down on the ground beside his chair, and takes a cigarette out of the pack. He offers one to Don but he declines with a shake of his head. The small flame of the lighter makes Julian's face flicker orange and yellow, the shadows making the lines on his forehead and around his eyes and mouth dance and seem deeper than in the light of day. For the few seconds it lasts, he looks almost angelic in a rough, strange way. "I called the cleaner who used to work for her", he says before he can think about it. "His name's Henry Prescott." The smell of burnt tobacco lulls him in, like they're back in Julian's old apartment, in his bed after an evening of slow sex, bliss and heavy limbs and soft words forever interlinked with it. It almost makes the bile that's threatening to rise after the mention of Prescott's name stay down. Julian's eyes are on him again, calmer now, but also more distanced than before. Don can barely make them out through the dark of night, but from experience he knows Gale won't say any more. He needs all the facts, and Don's the only one who can provide those. He looks back to where the lake must be, now an invisible black hole between the equally black woods. He thinks it must be easy now that he's started, but the words won't come, his mind preoccupied with keeping the images at bay, the memories of dead bodies and blood and the smell of bleach and ammonia. He closes his eyes for a minute, the shivers returning, rocking his body against his will, and he's going to be sick if the stink of chemicals doesn't leave his nose soon --- He wishes Julian would touch him again, ground him somehow like he used to, but he doesn't. Don doesn't look up either. He needs to carry on. "He found out who I was", he says eventually, strangled, struggling to keep talking. "Blackmailed me into working for him." He rubs his free hand over his face, pressing down over his eyes to get rid of the images and the smell, and for a moment it's like Julian isn't even there, like he's not listening, like Don can say anything he wants to the dark emptiness he's surrounded by. He takes a few gulps of the beer but doesn't set it down. "Fuck, I --- the things I did. The shit I was forced to do and I, I didn't even fight it. I was too afraid to - I don't know, lose my job, my reputation, my friends", it breaks out of him now, and a laugh forces its way through his constricted throat at the irony of the words. He feels Julian shift next to him, reminding Don of his presence, but he doesn't turn to look at him. "I did every fucking thing he told me to. Drove around dead bodies in car trunks. Buried and unburied them. Scrubbed blood off walls and carpets and beds. --- How the fuck can anyone forgive me for that? How can you?" He takes another large sip of the beer, now risking a glance at

Julian. His cigarette has almost burnt down completely, leaving a tail of ash threatening to fall onto Julian's lap; he hasn't taken a drag since Don has started speaking. Instead he's looking at Donald, almost staring through him, and Don doesn't know what to make of that. He doesn't think he's ever seen that expression on Julian. "I should never have come", he says curtly because he can't face the silence now. "I'm sorry. I should never have -- I guess I know now that I deserved it." The calm that settles in his bones surprises him. He looks back up to the sky, clear and beautiful where it shines through the trees, and now he can make out tiny bright dots, stars spattered across it like the splashes of watercolor over paper when he was a kid. He can feel tears behind his eyes and he knows this is the last time he will be home. Knows it's the last time he gets to feel something other than guilt and dread. Maybe he should get up and leave now, having done enough damage as it is, but something inside him urges him to stay, to tell Julian the whole truth, make him understand. He needs Julian to tell him to fuck off; needs his rejection to be at peace and go home. Somewhere, anyway. "He didn't stop there", he says, and he knows it's his only chance to ever articulate it; if he doesn't say it now he'll be silent forever. Besides him, Julian tenses. He's been tense for the last couple of minutes, but now his back is straight in a way that it almost never is, but Donald needs to get those next few words out. He feels strangely detached from his body and mind and memories. "Sometimes he would force me on my knees, make me suck him off", he starts, and it's easier to say it out loud than it should be, "and sometimes he would bend me over the hood of the car or tie me to the bed post in whatever hotel he'd stay in. I took it every time. I thought I didn't have a choice." And he's smiling now, the weight on his shoulders, his lungs, his mind so much lighter, and he doesn't even mind the trembling of his hands, of his whole body. He just lets it happen. "Until my conscience finally made me put a stop to it. I arrested him. Wrote my confession. And left. But I'm still too much of a coward to face the consequences, instead I'm running from everything." He lets his head fall. This shouldn't be this easy, he tells himself, but then again, with Julian nothing is as it should be. "Swallowing one pill after the other, sleeping in the mud, always looking over my shoulder. That's no life. That's - that's Hell, Julian." Finally, he looks back at his old love, a flood of emotions racing through him like a tsunami, and he chokes out: "I deserve it. All of it. What Prescott did to me. I gotta live with it. I'm ---" But the words die on his lips as he feels Julian's arms around his neck, and hot breath against his ear, and fingers tangling in his hair. He stops breathing for a few seconds, brain catching up with the sensations, and Julian is embracing him like he knows it's the last time, or like he's sorry, or like his life depends on it. "Just so you know", Julian rasps against Don's cheek, "I really fucking want to punch you right now. I wanna - wanna throw you against the wall and just - punch you until I can't move my arm anymore. Okay? Got that?" Donald nods silently, still stunned by the sudden embrace. He didn't think Julian would ever want to touch him again, wouldn't even want to be near him again. "No one", Julian says, "No one - deserves shit like that." And then he stammers like he wants to say every word he knows at the same time while simultaneously not knowing what to say altogether, before giving up with a hissed "Fuck". Don knows this, knows that sometimes, Julian's brain is faster than his mouth, and then he stumbles over words like an excited child. "What the fuck am I supposed to do with you, huh?", he asks quietly, still not letting go, and now Don puts the bottle down and returns the embrace. Carefully, very carefully, like he might freak Julian out, like he might realize then what he's doing and

drop Donald like a hot potato. Donald shakes his head no; doesn't want to be dropped, not now, not when he's this close to Julian; shakes his head because he doesn't know what he's supposed to do now either. The idea that's been in the back of his head, whose existence he completely ignored until now, that's probably the reason he came here in the first place, creeps into his consciousness now, and his grip around Julian's ribs tightens. "I just--- wanted to apologize for everything I did to you. I ruined your career, your life. I lied to you, I betrayed you. And I'm so sorry, Julian, I'm - I'm so fucking sorry." He loosens his grip again so he can look at Julian who looks up. His eyes are wet and dark and so damn beautiful, and now they're only inches apart. He could kiss him now, ruin everything all over again for a short moment of bliss, but he doesn't. "Me too", Julian says quietly, and his voice is soft like torn velvet. "I wish you wouldn't have come here. Let me keep my anger. But I guess you have this way of making me forgive everything you do. You're impossible, Don, you know that and I, just, hate you so, so much right now, I fucking - I hate you so much ---" "I know", Don whispers against Julian's cheek as their faces are pressed together, stubble against stubble, words escaping them that neither of them hears, lips against skin, not exactly kissing, but mouthing apologies and curses that get lost in the night. "I was so angry for so long, thinking about you, and the shit you did, the - the way it had to end", Julian rasps, tension falling off his body, too tired to keep on shivering. "I kept asking myself why the fuck you'd work with him --- how you could stand looking Reddington in the eye day after day and not - not see all that he cost us. Except I realised you did see, and you just didn't care." "Julian, I ---", he interrupts, but Julian keeps talking. "And I took that as justification to curse you and to hate you, and I did, you know, I really did, but... then I realised it was Reddington and I -- I chalked you up as just another casualty, another person he ruined, because you - you might just as well have been dead, you know? I fucking buried you." Julian chokes a little at that, but his grip at the back of Don's head doesn't weaken. "I know him, Don, I, uh, I know how he is. How he will put you under his spell and pull you in and never let go. Just... Just tell me this." And he looks up again, eyes red rimmed even in the darkness, and Don wants nothing more than to kiss those tears away, but he can't. He owes Julian, and even though he doesn't know what he wants to ask, he knows he needs to give an honest answer. No more lies. No more. Julian's searching his face and seems to have found what he's been looking for when he finally speaks up again after long moments of silence. "Did you love him?" The question should surprise Donald. It doesn't. He looks down, unable to meet Julian's unrelenting gaze. Thinks back to the box and the hotel room in Washington and the flight from Munich back to the states. Slowly, without looking up, he nods. No more lies. Here it comes. "Yeah", he says quietly even though he knows Julian has seen his nod. "I did. But never like I loved you." The words just come, mindlessly spilling over his lips, and he means them; he still doesn't look up. Doesn't want to see the disgust and rejection in Julian's eyes. The moment stretches like someone stopped time, stopped the entire universe, and Donald doesn't mind one bit. If it means having this last moment with Julian, even if it's filled with uncertainty, he'll gladly spend eternity frozen in time like this. Julian's fingers are still in his hair, his gaze still focussed on Donald. He's still though, not moving, and if it wasn't for his heavy breath, Don would have thought Julian might really be frozen. Then the moment ends. "Okay", Julian says, simple but heavy, like this truth lifted some weight off of him that Donald didn't know Julian was carrying. He looks up now, unable to keep his

gaze away any longer, and he doesn't know what to make of Julian's expression. There's no disgust. There's no rejection. There's understanding and sadness locked away in the tears that are sticking to his eyelashes, shimmering in the pale light of the moon that's slowly beginning to shine through the trees. Donald doesn't understand it; Julian is supposed to be upset, angry, pushing him away, throwing him out on the street to rot --- not drawing soothing circles over the back of his head, not looking at him like that, like they can fix this, like Donald is finally home --- "I'm, uh... I'm going to the police. Tonight. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry. My sad attempt to make things right." He has to look away again, Julian's focussed, open gaze too much for him. "Guess I couldn't... leave without having told you. And I'm - I'm not asking for forgiveness here. I know I can never have that. I just needed to see you. Make sure you're alright, so..." He clears his throat, realizing that they've only been talking about him and never once about Julian. Fuck, how egoistic can he be! "How're you doing?", he asks, and Julian is still clinging to him, just as he's clinging to Julian. "Oh, I'm fine", Julian laughs, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Julian -", Donald starts. He doesn't need his bullshit now. "Really, Don, things couldn't be better. I've read that in my horoscope." He still smiles, a little crooked like he's holding something back, something big, and now Ressler's hand comes up to cup Julian's face. Again, the thought of just kissing him comes to mind, but they're so fragile, both of them, it would only leave them shattered for good. Instead, he lets his thumb stroke the thick stubble and he doesn't say a word. Julian closes his eyes, leaning into the touch, and for a few precious moments, Donald can pretend they're happy. "Stay", Julian says and Donald freezes. Thinks he must have misheard Julian, who looks up now from where he kneels in front of Don's chair, his own hand leaving the blonde hair to rest at Don's jaw. "What?", he asks. It's more of a breath though, no sound escaping his lips. "I'm - yeah, I'm fucking pissed at you right now, but all of this... it - it doesn't change anything. Y'know, I still mean it." And they're so close still, and Donald has lost track of what's happening, and confused, he shakes his head. "What do you mean?", he asks. "Trondheim. Remember that?" He does. It was the beginning of March and so cold even the hotel room in New York with the broken heater seemed like a tropical vacation in comparison. It wasn't the first time they said I love you, but it was the first time they talked about the future. Before, they would stay in the moment, too afraid of letting go, of losing the other over naïve fantasies of a life together. That night though, they didn't need to be scared. "Whatever happens", Julian said, "I'll never walk away. How could I, huh? Guess I'm too far gone." He smiled, and so did Donald, pressing a kiss to Julian's collarbone. "Fifty years from now", Julian continued, "I'll still think of you. Every fucking day." That earned him a kiss on the lips, chaste and innocent and full of love like they've never experienced before. "Don't matter if you're still with me or not. You don't forget the love of your life, Donnie. I won't forget. Not us. Not this. Never. I could never let you go. Ever." But back then, Julian couldn't have imagined where they would end up one day. "It was different back then", Don says. Not because he doesn't want Julian's words to be true, but because he doesn't think himself worth them. "Yeah, it was", Julian answers, "but tell me you don't feel it still. Tell me, Donnie, and I'll let you go." Donald's answer is silence because, yes, of course he still feels it, that love that's deeper than any feeling he's ever known, deeper even than the shame and guilt and pain of the recent months, years, but doesn't Julian know that it's pointless? That Don's life is over? The silence stretches on and he can't hold

Julian's gaze. "I know", Julian says, "I know." And those words are enough to set him free, to liberate him from his cage of anger and self-pity and guilt and self-imposed punishment - he knows those won't go away anytime soon, but he still feels like breaking down, mercy too much to handle when he knows he's undeserving of forgiveness. He lets his head fall, knowing Julians hands are there to steady him. They do, cradling him like a newborn child, and in a way that might be true: maybe, somehow, this can be a new life, a new start for him; a clean slate. Maybe now, he can forget all of it, all the shit that happened, the person he was - the person he was forced to become --- maybe this is the one chance in life for rebirth. "I'm a mess", he says. "I know", Julian answers. "We can figure it out. Together." "You deserve better." "Shut it now, Donnie. I think I know best what I deserve, huh? I've given up everything for you, y'know, twice. You know what I think it is I deserve? Hm? What we deserve?" Donald looks up, feeling Julian's breath against his lips as much as the intensity of his gaze, those brown eyes so familiar in their depth it makes his heart ache. He wants to answer, say something, anything at all, but no words will leave his lips. He feels trapped there between Julian's closeness and the chair, but there's no place he'd rather be. He holds Julian's gaze for a few moments before shaking his head. "Peace, Donnie. I think we deserve peace after all this. Just a little, don't you think?" And that sounds good, far too good to be true, and he can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him. "Yeah", he says finally, voice constricting, "I want that. I want that, Julian." A smile is still tugging at the corners of his mouth when Julian kisses him, slow and unsure and not at all like the many kisses they used to share; it's like a first kiss, a promise for an uncertain future, a vow to try. To give it time and let wounds heal - they're all they have, after all. "You're not going to the police", Julian says as they part. "We will figure this out. Get you clean. And in fifty years we'll still be here, okay, I won't lose you again, I couldn't, couldn't bury you again, I'll ---" And as Donald kisses the doubts and fears away, for the first time in years he has the feeling that everything might turn out okay; that he might be deserving of happiness after all. That finally, finally he's home. _______________________________________

#the blacklist #donald ressler #julian gale #tbl fanfiction #mine #coming home #long post #(under the cut)

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merlinbingo · 3 years

Text

Clearly AUgust was a theme that spoke to you all, because of the 64 fills last month almost a third claimed the bonus badge! It’s the most fills there’s been in a month since February, and almost double the number of bonus badges I usually send out, and I am just so incredibly pleased with the response to this little event.

I really don’t have words to convey just how wonderful I think you all are, so instead I shall just share all the glorious fills created this month! As always, they’re sorted by ship and then by rating, and you should all pay attention to the warnings and practice self-care before you click on those links!

Gen

Young Arthur wanders through the valley of kings by Ice-mint Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

Close encounters by warpedalignment Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Arthur is woken in the middle of the night. Why? To hunt a witch, of course.

Through a Solid Wall by lancelitttle (lancelot2point0) Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Lancelot tries to find Platform 9 and 3/4's. He ends up with more than he bargained for, which doesn't seem all that bad, actually.

There was only one bed by ice-mint Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

Superhero Resurrection Moodboards by zoingfandom Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

Griffin by wmolecules Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

King Cenred by ice-mint Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

The one where Henry the Guard gets a shock by warpedalignment Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: One of the new guards ran straight into Leon in the hallway, breathless and deathly pale, as though he’d seen something distinctly terrifying. Or Leon teaches a new guard how to act in Camelot.

Elena + tumblr tags by thebookluvrr1816 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

The Hobbit by hiddlydiddly Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Gwaine meets a hobbit.

Head Jerks by gremlinbehaviour Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: After a head injury, Lancelot finds himself beginning to have tics

The Effects of Rain by gremlinbehaviour Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Elyan and Percival get drenched while on patrol, but when they return to the castle, Elyan realizes that it isn't just the cold and wet making him feel bad. Gwaine is there to look after him

Elena Fisher, Queen of Gawant by gremlinbehaviour Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Elena had heard the prophecy about Arthur returning when he was needed most, but she hadn't been expecting to be reborn herself, much less 1500 years after she had died. Despite the surprise of it, though, she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to explore this new and fantastic world and all the ancient ruins and handsome adventurers that came with it. Crossover with the Uncharted Video Game series

the pretty-faced, high ranking knight with the long, dark hair by gremlinbehaviour Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Gwaine and Lancelot get mistaken for each other, resulting in some chaos and injury

Hard Feelings by gwen-cheers-me-up Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Summary: After being rescued from the Dark Tower, Gwen is distant, sleepless, and easily startled. Perhaps most jarring of all is that she stops saying ‘I love you.’ Gwaine never started. As Gwen struggles to fit into her old life and her old relationships while carrying these new traumas, Elyan decides that Gwaine might be just the right person to help her begin to heal.

Albion Apartments by UisceOneLove Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin recovers from a sprained ankle.

Belonging by warpedalignment Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Major character death Summary: Arthur sets out to follow Merlin’s orders, and tries not to think. About anything, really.

Out-of-body by warpedalignment Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Major character death Summary: Freya receives an offer.

Feel by warpedalignment Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Major character death, Graphic depictions of violence Summary: Merlin struggles to cope, after Camlann

Knights and romance by merlinsprat Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

Little Chick by warpedalignment Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Summary: Merlin has nightmares about another boy, far away, who needs help.

Speculation by warpedalignment Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Gwaine and Merlin get drunk and make bets

Deep Wounds by warpedalignment Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Arthur and Morgana have a long overdue discussion

Palms, Fingers, Nails, Again. by emrys-everlasting Rating: Mature Ao3 warnings: Graphic depictions of violence Summary: In which we join Leon as he tries to remember where his sword has gone – and why his nails, his clothes, and his face are covered in drying blood and ichor.

Freya/Gwaine

What Happened In The Hot Tub by forever-rewatching-merlin Rating: Mature Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Missing scene from the fic “High Hopes & Slippery Slopes” by Saltedkiss. Just what were Freya and Gwaine getting up to in that hot tub before Arthur stormed in and oh so rudely interrupted them? 😉

Freya/Merlin

Bastet Blanket Battle by gremlinbehaviour Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin is a blanket hog, Freya is cold, and the Bastet does something about it

Mordred/Morgana

Your Pain is My Pleasure by MerthurAllure Rating: Explicit Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Mordred’s mistress gives him what he deserves, which coincidentally is exactly what he wants.

Uther/Ygraine

Agravaine the Agravated by SandySins Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Graphic depictions of violence Summary: The story of Agravaine and his petty villain story, trying and failing to take revenge on Uther.

Elyan/Gwaine/Percival

Show Praise With Your Body by UisceOneLove Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Spring Break means a fun time clubbing. And Gwaine always gets what he wants.

The Blacksmith, the Rogue and the Stranger by donttouchtheneednoggle Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: One chance encounter and then another leads to a change in destiny for two wayward souls and one very confused farmer...

Merlin/Gwaine/Lancelot

Who's First by gremlinbehaviour Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin, Gwaine, and Lancelot try to sneak back into their room after a midnight escapade, but Gaius catches them and rather forcibly tends to their injuries first

Merlin/Gwaine/Arthur

I See What You See by evaelisaa Rating: Mature Ao3 warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Summary: Arthur doesn’t like his soulmate. He doesn’t like them at all. Every single time he sees flashes of what his soulmate is seeing at that moment, the person seems to be either getting naked, is already naked and/or is doing stuff to another human being Arthur couldn’t have even imagined in his wildest dreams. Well, either that, or they seem to be drinking mead, in a different tavern each time as well even.

Arthur/Elyan

Ready, Set, Win! by sam4587 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Elyan and Arthur are at Elyan’s football game.

Arthur/Gwaine

Sixty-Nine by @little-ligi Rating: Explicit Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Gwaine goes to the king's chamber to ask him a question about training, and ends up asking a very different one instead; does he want company? Does what it says on the tin! 😉

Gwaine/Percival

Lay All Your Love On Me by UisceOneLove Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Percival has found soulmate Gwaine in their new lives.

Merlin/Gwaine

Love and Pigeons by warpedalignment Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Gwaine wants to show Merlin something. Merlin is positive he does not want to see.

how you love by miofrommars Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Gwaine's love language is acts of service and gifts. Always has been. So when a beautiful stranger gets into his car mistaking him for his uber, he can't help but drive the pretty guy to his destination

Carrot Cake by warpedalignment Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Gwaine wakes up to an empty bed.

Ebb and Flow by forever-rewatching-merlin Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Major character death Summary: Poetry, Gwaine POV, Angst, Pining, Self Esteem Issues

Merlin/Arthur

The Modern Age by warpedalignment Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Arthur is positive he knows what the noises are. He has been briefed by Merlin, after all.

Fireworks in our hearts by thebookluvrr1816 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

My Fire's Always With You by Dark_Angel23 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: Graphic depictions of violence Summary: A playlist for the prompt 'Witch Hunt'. The songs tell a story of how a witch hunter comes to Camelot, and Merlin is captured and burnt on the pyre. Being immortal, he survives and later leaves Camelot. These songs try to portray his feelings and state of being, and well as Arthur's.

Moving Forward by Mischel Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: It has been a year since Arthur found out about Merlin's magic, and today, he finally forgives him.

A Sofa by the Sea by RavenGirl42 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: “I hate that stick. I don’t want to use it,” Arthur pouted. “You’re adorable when you sulk, Arthur Pendragon. But if you use it, your new hip will heal more quickly and then you’ll be able to stop using it sooner. So just do as you’re told, for once.” “I feel so old. I can’t believe I had to have a hip replacement.” “I hate to be the one to tell you, but you’re in your seventies. You are old." Merlin and Arthur are an old married couple who've retired to the seaside.

Agravaine + merthur by thebookluvrr1816 Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary:

me and you [against the world] by OnceFutureEmrys Rating: General audiences Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: He wanted to wake up to Merlin by his side every day. He wanted to hold him, he wanted to smell vanilla every morning. And when he looked at him—groggy, with his hair stuck in many directions, his clothes ruffled and him with a tired smile—he never wanted to leave those moments. And it wasn't just that, he never wanted to leave ever. He wanted to spend all his time with Merlin, he wanted to have picnic dates that turned into food fights and movie marathons that turned into make-out sessions and all their moments in between. He wanted to forever hold onto these inside jokes and their laughs and their touches and their smiles and their looks; he wanted to bottle it up and keep it forever because Arthur never wanted to leave this. He didn't know what he would do without this. OR: Arthur has been in many relationships before, but this one felt different. Right. Especially when he realizes he's madly in love with him.

Please, Oh Please, This Role Is Suffocating by @the-ballad-of-deancas Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Summary: Merlin wants to scream his name at the skies, fold him into his arms and crush him to his chest but as he steps toward his destiny, the world falls away, inconsequential and unimportant until the only thing that remains is the fact that Arthur is here. He is finally, irrevocably real and he is here. OR: Where Arthur returns and a lot has changed since he left but the one thing that hasn't, is their feelings toward each other. There are secrets left to uncover and identities left to discover even as a dangerous opponent looms over them. Will they manage it all; will they save themselves and Albion in time?

Exquisite by warpedalignment Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Arthur is told categorically not to talk to the ambrosius' when they visit. This would be fine, if he could follow simple instructions.

The Dragon's Call by tehfanglyfish Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: “I need a dragon. Your biggest one.” “I’m sorry?” It had been a slow day at Ealdor Exotic Veterinary Clinic and Animal Rescue and Merlin Emrys wasn’t quite prepared for the suit-clad stranger who’d just thrown open the door and marched in, making demands without even an attempt at a greeting.

i’ve always dreamed of flying (and being with you) by ambrosius Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: When Merlin vanishes after exposing his magic, Arthur feels as if his whole world has been upended and he's never felt more alone. But when a little bird starts showing up everywhere he goes, Arthur thinks that maybe there is still some hope after all.

Something Wicked This Way Comes by UisceOneLove Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: It's Merlin, not Gwen, who Morgana takes to the Tower full of mandrakes.

I Won't Break Your Heart, If You Can Break My Spell by Mischel Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin is tired of waiting around for Arthur to finally accept the fact that Merlin is in love with him and do something about it. So, he takes matters into his own hands . . . and curses himself with a spell that can only be broken by a true love's kiss.

let it break ('cause you and I remain the same) by queerofthedagger Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: The magic was revealed, the shouting and explanations were done, and yet there remains one secret, one confession to be made. They always were easiest to declare in the light of a fire and only the forest bearing witness.

Gonna Rip it Off (Leave it Alone) by UisceOneLove Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: There is nothing Arthur hated more than Will's smug face when the bastard has beat them in a game.

I Can See The Stars In The Freckles On His Face by Dark_Angel23 Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Arthur is hungry. Merlin is late.

Couch Heaven by Mischel Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin and Arthur sit on a couch under one blanket, watching videos of them that Merlin had recorded on his phone. One of them is Arthur trying to eat ice cream for the first time in a really embarrassing way, but the other one is, to Arthur's surprise, actually really nice.

Across The Bar by TheCourtSorcerer (/ tcs-main) Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin & Arthur, old childhood friends, meet at a bar in the states after seven years of not seeing one another.

where the road takes us by TheCourtSorcerer Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Merlin gets in a fight at school, and Hunith has to drive him to A&E. Arthur feels guilty.

a very special thing by TheCourtSorcerer Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Looking for a resting place for the evening, on his way home to Camelot, Arthur stumbles across a handsome selkie named Merlin.

hold me like the night sky holds the moon by TheCourtSorcerer Rating: Teen Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Sometimes, it's overwhelming. Never a chance to be simply him, always a prince, always an heir, never a man, never a son. Sometimes, he just needs a break. A pause in time. Sometimes, he just needs to be held.

Wet N Wild by MerthurAllure Rating: Explicit Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: Officer Emrys takes Arthur back to his flat where they continue their fun.

A Brooding Pendragon by MerthurAllure Rating: Explicit Ao3 warnings: Rape/non-con Summary: In order for a dragon egg to grow and hatch, it needs to be incubated within someone with Pendragon blood.

That's How We Roll by @little-ligi Rating: Explicit Ao3 warnings: No archive warnings apply Summary: It's games night, and that means a night of sexual tension and edging as they each try to be the last one standing. Very sexually charged games and multiple pairings. Friends with group benefits... if you know what I mean... 😉

Steampunk AU – Reclist for Merlin Bingo by Clea2011 Rating: Explicit Ao3 warnings: Choose not to use archive warnings Summary: Rec list for Steampunk AU square and August bonus badge

#merlin bingo #round up #august #fills galore #more fills than there's been in months #i know i say it every month but wow #wow #wow wow wow

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askaceattorney · 4 years

Text

Dear Alex Cornejo,

My guess is that she at least visited Phoenix every now and then. The Mod once made a picture of her looking sadly at the spot on his suit where his badge used to be, but I was unable to find it. And I think it should be obvious why she returned in the newest game: fan service because she’s awesome!

Dear springtime562 and Springtrap,

Thanks! We’ll have a fight over which one of us you were referring to now.

(Previous Letters)

Dear bluedragoncody,

They were made by The Mod, and he hasn’t been around for a long time now, so...I believe we can apply the doctrine of laches here. In other words, go right ahead!

Dear mungeondaster,

Hey, there are no dumb ideas when it comes to new Ace Attorney content, as far as I’m concerned. The visual novel with Pearl and spinoff with Franziska von Karma stuck out the most to me as things the fanbase would enjoy the most. You could even give players the option to use her whip on whomever they please for fun (much like Link does with his weapons). The other ideas sound like Flash games you’d find on an Ace Attorney website, but I'd still love to see them fleshed out. Rhythm action games are my jam.

(Previous Letter)

Dear jnv11,

You know, I never realized the similarity between those two organizations before now. I imagine NASA still exists as a separate entity, though, so I’m leaving the letter as it is.

Dear Anonymous,

I wasn’t aware that Holmsie’s name had been changed to something else in the (supposedly) upcoming American release, but I’ll probably keep his and every other character’s name the same. For one thing, changing their names would cause confusion for anyone searching for them by their hashtags, plus, like you said, we’re all familiar with the fan translation names by now. It’s your own fault, Capcom.

Dear Fortune Cookie,

(Previous Post)

Dear Modthorne,

Thank youuuuuu!!!

I’d love to have you back, especially now that I’m taking a leave of absence. It just hasn’t been the same here without...

...

Um... Can you all give us a moment?

Dear Anonymous,

Our Christmas idea’s already in motion (*wink, wink*), but that sounds like a fun idea. If Matthew Taranto made it work with Mario, then why not Edgeworth? Gumshoe could easily play Bob Cratchit, and Manfred von Karma would make a good ghost of Jacob Marley, but who would the three spirits be? I’ll leave that up to you.

Say, would it be going too far to include Professor Layton characters? I can’t think of anyone who could pull off Tiny Tim better than Luke Triton.

Dear skibot99,

We don’t usually start working on holiday ideas until a month in advance (at most), but I’m always open to suggestions, so thank you for those ones. If I’m still around next April Fools’ Day, I might just try one of them out.

Dear Palbert (Sorry, I couldn’t resist),

You’ve got that right, Palbert. I’m amazed we’ve been able to keep it going this long as well. I repeat myself, but it’s thanks to submitters like you that we’re able to!

Whether we end up getting another installment in the series or not, I’m just glad we have the current games to enjoy and re-enjoy. I played through the first case again with my parents recently, and it was a fun time for all of us.

Dear mungeondaster again,

I imagine Franziska’s older sibling being a sister who competes with her to be their Papa’s favorite child, as well as the most perfect prosecutor in the von Karma family (similar to her rivalry with Edgeworth). In terms of personality, I see her behaving somewhat more refined than Franziska, while insisting that she grow up in her own subtle way (which is also a lot like Edgeworth).

Franziska’s niece has actually been a subject on this blog for a while now. I love the idea of her being a “perfect little niece” to whom Franziska talks sweetly, and for whom she attempts to provide better coaching than her sister does. Her being called “Aunt Franzy” and getting thoroughly irritated by it is also too much fun to imagine.

Dear Matt,

I’m honestly not sure what to say to that, except thanks! I majored in computer science, but all the research I’ve done for Ema’s responses has come from the internet, not any scientific studying on my part. I don’t know how I pulled off sounding so smart, but I’m glad it worked out that way.

With that in mind, thank you for trusting us, but don’t be afraid to check another source for anything we (or the characters) say. That’s what the experts do, after all. ...I think.

Dear snowthefirst,

Co-Mod: Unfortunately, I checked the inbox and my stash of deleted letters and didn’t see that letter among them, which either means it was deleted by accident or Tumblr ate it. Feel free to resubmit it, and I’ll answer it and stick it in the queue.

(Edit: Looks like you already did. Sorry for the wait!)

-The Co-Mod

#Alex Cornejo #springtime562 #bluedragoncody #mungeondaster #jnv11 #Anonymous #Modthorne #skibot99 #An Old Friend #snowthefirst #Mod Post #Co Mod

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druidx · 4 years

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The Darner's Dance (pt1)

Context: Set in the the Fighting Fantasy/ Torguard universe, several years after the end of Destiny's New Servants where the Special Recondite Unit has been running unhindered for a while. This was also first piece I wrote right after joining Tumblr, which ended a year-long writing slump. I can directly attribute this to the cottagecore and haute couture blogs here that re-lit my creative flame. I am eminently grateful to the people who put their time into these blogs, and also to the writeblr community for being itself, giving me the courage to share my work more publicly.

Warnings: Passing mentions of general fantasy violence, w|w flirting. (Really this 90% tooth-rotting fluff, but if there is anything wants adding let me know)

Part 2 & Part 3 or read on AO3

"Good afternoon Ma'am, how can I help you?" the girl asked, brown hair tied back in a fastidious bun. "Good afternoon," I agreed, glancing around the shop at the bright, lime-washed walls, pink peonies and roses in old jugs, and gold sparkles of light-caught jewellery. "I was hoping I could talk to Mistress Yidril. Is she about?" "She should be in the back. I'll see if she has time to talk with you, Mistress..." "O'Toreguard. Captain O'Toreguard, actually." The girl looked me up and down, taking in my scuffed and pitted badge of office, my roughhewn tunic and mud-splattered boots. Finally, she looked back at my face, her expression one that wavered between disdain and amusement, looking down her long aquiline nose as if she couldn't quite decide if I was making a joke out of claiming to be the renowned Lady of Light. I met her look with an unwavering gaze of my own and gave her a tight smile. "I wish to commission her services," I added. The girl didn't move. "She is very busy, she may not have time." My smile dropped. "As am I. And right now I have neither the time nor the patience to convince you that I am myself. In the back you say? Thank you for your non-assistance." I walked past the girl, around an artful mannequin dressed in a dream of purple silk, behind a lavish dark-wood counter and opened the door behind. "I say!" called the girl, following me. "How very rude. Ah, excuse me? You can't-! That's not- Come back here!" The door led to a short dark corridor made of bare-bricks illuminated by oil lamps, the stone-cold of a passage never touched by sun. Three doorways lead off, one left, one further down on the right and one at the very end. From the door at the end came the sound of singing, so I strode down, the girl still calling after me, instructing me to stop. Of course, I ignored her and knocked on the door instead. "Mistress Yidril?" I called. The singing stopped so I pushed the door open.

The room was bright and fresh, filled with sunshine and the scent of flowers. I stood hypnotized by the warmth and the greenery. "Yes. Can I help you?" I looked over to see an elf staring at me, lowering a pair of crystal spectacles from her face. Her loveliness took me off guard for a moment. Even though she wore a leather apron, her white shirt with its delicate lace still peeped out, and the dark blue skirt with vibrant embroidered flowers swept gracefully around her feet. Flowers that matched those stuck into the garland of her plaited, silken hair. "I'm very sorry Mistress, I did try to stop her-" the girl said from behind me. "I apologise for the intrusion," I said. "Mistress Nula Yidril, I presume?" "You presume correctly," she said. "And whomst is it that interrupts me?" I took a few steps further into the conservatory and gave her my most elegant, leggy bow. "Elowyn of Torguard, Captain of the Special Recondit Unit. Here to commission your services," I said, rising. "Are you now," the elf said with a raised eyebrow. She looked past me. "Azéil, please go back to the shop." "But Mistress..." the shop assistant complained, flaring her hands out in my direction. "Her Ladyship must surely have a good reason for being so rude?" Miss Yidril said, her arched eyebrow allowing me to both apologise and explain myself. "Mistress Azéil," I said, turning to the assistant with my most contrite expression, "I am very much ashamed of my behaviour. It is not to excuse myself, but to provide context that I tell you I have had a trying morning. But I was wrong to take out my frustrations on you. I hope you can accept this humble Watchman's apology." I gave that same leggy bow. "Be assured that next time I will create an appointment, as I should hope not to have been ordered here forthwith by the Triumvirate Council." I gave her a solemn nod. "The council sent you here?" Miss Azéil said, her ire visibly deflating. "Oh. Well then." She gave an arched sniff, but there was no malice behind it now. "Yes, I suppose you may be forgiven then." "My deepest thanks," I said. Azéli gave Miss Yidril a curtsy and returned to the shop front.

"I'm surprised to see you here, your Ladyship," Yidril said. "No matter what the council said." She folded her glasses and placed them on a small side table, turning away from the desk that held swatches of fabric, colourful paints, brushes, papers and sticks of coloured waxes. I gave her a small smile. "That makes two of us." "Come," she said as she stood. She laid her apron aside, beckoning me to a tiny table against the window of the conservatory, nestled in the boughs of a trained azalea bush. We sat and she poured us each a cup of tea from a fine porcelain pot into delicate white and gold cups. "Now, perhaps you would like to tell me why you're really here," she said. "No offence, but you're the last person I would expect to walk through my door." "None taken. And equally, no offence meant, but I never expected to walk through it either." I sighed. "I understand that you learnt your trade under François Babineaux. Is that correct?" "It is, though I don't understand what a student of dear Frenchie, gods' rest his soul, can do for you?" I took a sip of my tea, an expensive sweet and floral beverage the colour of caramel. "In a week," I told her after savouring my mouthful, "I am being sent to the dwarven kingdom of Fangthane. I have been ordered to purchase some finery that will not embarrass the council when I am introduced to the people of the mountain." I put down the cup. "I know your time will not be cheap, but I require someone who understands that glitz or gaudy fabric is not the only thing that makes clothing elegant." Yidril looked at me over the rim of her cup. "Like Frenchie did." "Like Frenchie did," I agreed. "I require some formal wear, at least two pieces - one for day and one for evening - that are elegant enough to meet with the council's approval, but will not..." I struggled with my words, "compromise who I am." "I think I understand," Yidril said. "Are you likely to be fighting in them?" I smiled and gave a little laugh. "Let's assume the answer to that is yes." Yidril sat back and looked me over for a moment then tutted. "No no, I cannot see you well enough. Please stand over there." The elf gestured to the centre of her conservatory. I finished my tea, carefully set down the cup and walked to where she indicated. "Do you feel comfortable taking off your clothes?" she asked, as her shimmering blue eyes followed me. "Are many of your clients scarred?" I asked. She frowned. "No. I think the closest many have come to a blade is the silver knife with which they eat their dinner. But what does that matter?" "I'm fine with removing my clothes," I told her. "I wished only that you would understand what I look like beneath them before I did so." She sat back, a coy smile flickering over her pretty narrow lips. "Well now you have my interest," Yidril said. I shrugged. "Very well." In short order, my boots and weapons belt, the pauldron that held my Watch badge, my trousers and tunic sat neatly folded on my recently vacated chair. I stood only in linen shorts and corselette. "I assume I should twirl now?" "Gosh no. Don't be silly." The elf maiden stood and walked around me instead. "Does this mean, Mistress Ydril, that you are accepting my commission?" I asked as I stood there. "Yes, yes," she waved a hand. "As if there was any doubt that I could turn down such a fascinating request. And please, call me Nula." She trailed off, voice distracted. She continued pacing around me for a moment, taking note, I hoped, of my athletic physique rather than the numerous patches to my underwear. "You were right," she said wonderingly, pausing at my left, "You are quite scarred." She reached out to touch a ragged silver line along my left arm, but I shied back. "Please don't," I told her, my voice soft, but filled with the threat of action. "My apologies." Nula resumed her circuit around me, pausing now and then to take measurements. "What sort of thing do you currently wear?" she asked, stopping in front of me. "A simple tunic and trews. What I walked in wearing," I told her. The elf nodded and walked over to examine said tunic and trews. "Do you have anything in mind that you'd like? Any specific colours, perhaps." Nula asked as she held up my tunic. "Not really," I said, trying not to cringe at the stains, the worn parts, the raggedness of my clothing, especially in this sanctuary of light and beautiful things. "I tend to go for darker colours. It-" I stopped, and looked at my hands. "Yes?" "It... hides... bloodstains better." "Hurm," she said, politely folding the tunic again. She crossed back to her desk, sifting around, picking up squares of expensive cloth and setting them down again. After a moment she started upright, as though coming out of a revery. She waved back at the little table. "Please, do get dressed again. Help yourself to more tea." I redressed and poured myself a cup, while Nula pulled out a large folio. "Tell me, do you have a favourite flower? I know woodlings tend to hold an affinity for specific types of trees?" She lifted a belt, the links dripping golden willow leaves. "Flowers... I enjoy poppies and marigolds," I said and sipped my tea. "I never had my Tree Day, but my affinity would be with elm." She held up a square of white fabric, glinting with golden embroidery. "They do call you 'Maz Gaisnas' in the dwarven territories..." she muttered. I rolled my eyes. "Please, no glitz." I turned back to my tea, grumbling into my cup, "I'd rather show up in the shoddiest tunic I own than have an ounce of gold thread about me." "Silver then?" Nula asked, then laughed at the face I pulled. "If you had to pick between then, though. Gold or silver?" "Gold, I suppose," I said, thinking of my dragon and paladin mount, Aurianna. "What about a favourite colour?" "Red. Dark, like an apple." Nula raised an eyebrow. "Because it hides bloodstains?" I laughed. "No no. I just like it. It makes me think of cosy autumn days." Nula gave me that coy smile again. "Mmhm..." she murmured and turned back to her desk. "So I'm thinking something echoing your normal outfit for day-wear, but for the evening..." she turned around. "You realise it will have to be, as you say, 'glitzy'? Dwarves revere gold... I know you don't want to call attention to your epithet, 'Little Light', but they would respect you more. Unless you'd prefer something different? Human, or elven perhaps." "Mistress Yidril... Nula... I have very little preference," I said. "I'd just like something simple, made from a standard cloth, a dark colour with few embellishments, that is elegant enough that I won't get in trouble with the council." I drained my cup and stood. "Perhaps I should have gone elsewhere. I apologise for wasting your time." I gave her a formal bow from the waist, turning towards the exit. "Your Ladyship, I apologise." I turned back to see Nula with her hands clasped in front of her, skin pale against the blue of her skirt. "I fear I got carried away. You have a week, you say?" I nodded. "Yes, that's right." "Very well, please return in three days. I will have some drawings ready. If I do not complete the outfits by the time you leave, then I will have them shipped up to you." "And when will you take payment?" "That will be between me and the Triumvirate. Your payment should only be word of mouth." "Oh?" "Any time someone asks you who made your clothes, you give them my name." I stared at her. "That's very generous. I do have the means to pay... I would not like to see you short-changed..." Nula waved a hand in dismissal. "No, no. It's the least I can do. Now go, and return in two days." She began to turn away then paused. "Make sure you make an appointment this time, yes?" she said, with a sly grin. "Of course Mistress," I said, returning her grin, and bowed again.

#fighting fantasy #torguard #writing #original fiction #original characters #wIw #wandering words #oc elowyn o'toreguarde #oc aurianna aurum filiae

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rustbeltjessie · 7 months

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Ways you can support me (pinned post for March 2024):

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evien-stark · 4 years

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✧I Need You✧ Chapter 139

[Wow, tumblr is mega ugly right now. All my xkit extensions are broken. As a reminder this story is up on A03! I’d be happy to give the link to anyone that wants it. Every time I post with a link I get shadow’ed so... it is what it is. Enjoy!]

There was a chance this was a setup. That Kilgrave- with his tight schedule- had finally picked up Jessica and was now luring you in. He’d taken you to dinner, laid it out that you ending with him was an inevitability because you’d do the right thing in service of that greater good, hero that you were- and just give in to him. So it was possible you were going to go down to that office of Jessica’s, see the both of them there and be expected to throw your hands up and walk away with him.

And that was why- “Let me go with you.” Tony no longer wanted you to be liable for your own fate. He no longer wanted you facing this menace alone. Because it seemed every time you did, whether on the phone or face to face, it left you worse for wear. And just a little closer to breaking in pieces so small they could no longer be put back together.

If it were you, if he was being put in this position, this would be the same thing you’d ask of him. For him to allow you in. To let you help. It felt unfair that immediately your thought was to tell him no. “I don’t think he’ll be there.” You heard yourself saying this, but you weren’t actually sure how true you thought it was. It was just as likely that he would be, that he also would not be. You had no idea what you were walking into.

Tony crossed his arms. “That has nothing to do with me wanting to go.”

“It does a little.” Finally pulling yourself off the couch, entire body aching with the struggle of getting up after being down for so long.

As you approached he softened. “Fine. A little. But we need to be done waiting.” Whether or not he meant it, this hit you a little hard. It was true. You were hurting the team by letting this go on so long. Whether or not that had been your choice, which it hadn’t. That was probably why he flinched upon realizing and quickly reached out to put his hand on your arm. “I just mean- we need an actual plan. And it’s not that I don’t think you can finish this- I just-”

“Tony…” Soothing his sudden struggles with saying the right thing, how to say it, what the right thing even was… his brain was pulling in all directions. Because it was you, his entire being was demanding to be gentle here. But because it was you he wanted to storm the beach and just blast away until this was over. And you were standing in the middle. Impeding progress. He was having trouble handling it. You laid your hands on his chest, gazing up at him. “I know this is hard. And I appreciate that you’re trying-”

“Don’t do that.” Both his hands slid up your arms then, stopping atop your shoulders. Pain sliced between the both of you. “Don’t ask me to sit here and watch you suffer anymore. Let’s be honest, it’s not working out for either of us.”

“It’s not.” You had to let him have that victory where it was so clear. Your falling apart was leading to his own struggles. It would have been the same the other way around. “If it’s just her- and I think it is- she won’t want you there. Which will slow everything down.” Just trying to put it all together out loud. Tony’s presence would upset Jessica because she wanted as little people involved as possible.

His answer cemented how this was going to go. Fingers gentle as they lifted, sliding up the sides of your neck. Gaze soft on yours. It was completely unfair how easily that skin to skin contact made you just want to breathe in the comfort he provided. “I stayed for you.”

To not only have your back, but to watch it. He couldn’t help you if you left him out- regardless of your feelings why that might be. Your need to protect him was as strong as his need to protect you. And soon- if not now, very soon- one of you was going to have to budge on it. And it felt like he’d keep asking your permission to do so until it was too late. And then where would that leave the both of you? “You did.”

On the off chance Kilgrave was there… having Tony follow you was probably a smarter thing to do than to leave him at home. “I can be quiet.” A little wry arch of his brow with a weak grin to accompany it.

“No you can’t.” Teasing back as much as you had the strength to. “But. If she doesn’t know you’re there…”

“Mn.” A little nod of understanding. “I can do very quiet rooftop reconn. No problem, honey.”

“Very quiet being key here.” Jessica couldn’t know he was there just as much as the entire city couldn’t know that Iron Man was perching on an apartment rooftop for seemingly no reason. It was really annoying. That your status was so well known. It made everything so much harder than it had any right to be.

Before either of you could continue with the faux quipping, your phone buzzed. You took it from your pocket and read the text on the front screen. From Jessica.

485 W 46th st. Now or never. I don’t have all night.

Tony made no secret that he was spying. Once you let it down, the two of you shared one last look. And he promised, “Very, very quiet.”

So that was that.

---

Tony let her go first after she got ready and left with just the barest of disguises on. A hat and sunglasses when it was already dark outside. If she wasn’t the one out for justice, the next person on the street might suspect she was dealing drugs. But it was what it was. She didn’t want photographers following her around to Hell’s Kitchen so that the media could ask what the hell she was doing there in the papers the next morning.

There were already enough scandals to avoid, they didn’t need one more. And a personal one, at that. At least the address was only twenty or so minutes away. Very convenient.

He took the suit off the private flight deck, the one specifically off angle from cameras or snoops (not like the public one from which most takeoffs happened for obvious reasons). He’d be easier to spot at night for sure with the flash of his thrusters, but he wasn’t too worried. “Find me a deadzone, JARVIS and let’s establish some boundaries.”

“Yes, sir.”

It wasn’t exactly his favorite thing to do, jamming signals and frying any phone that could be relatively pointed at him- but some things just needed to be done. He was sure he wouldn’t lose sleep over it. A target opened up on the rooftop across from Jones’ apartment building and he set down quickly, eased at least a little that there was a single heat signature waiting inside. With that he stepped out of the suit hoping that might be a little bit less obvious. A man on a roof was one thing. Iron Man on a roof was another.

Jones had her curtains closed anyway. It wasn’t like he needed the suit to see anymore than he already had. Although it did make him a little anxious. He put a hand to his ear. “I’m in position. Only have a single hit in the apartment. No surprises waiting just yet.”

“Beat me by a hair.” In fact, he saw her walking up the steps and leaning in to scrutinize the very rundown looking panel so she could get buzzed in.

“And you left before me.” Teasing her, just a little. Just to claw at a sense of normalcy they’d long since lost.

Her smile did him a world of good. “You jet boosted over here. Don’t get smart.”

“Impossible to get when I’m already overflowing.”

“You’re the worst.”

This felt good. Like they were on a mission together. He had her back. Things would be okay. He didn’t respond when he saw her pull the front door open. She was already trying to blend in with the crowd here and not seem suspicious. While it was less-so to just seemingly talk to nobody these days, she was far more cautious than that. He needed to be, too. For her.

Still, it didn’t help his quiet anxiety that their comm went dead quiet for a minute. But then he heard Jones ask her for a bug sweep- it cleared- and then just behind him the sound of someone stepping very heavily onto the rooftop. Not from a door opening- no- that was a jump.

And when he turned around from his crouched position facing the street, he couldn’t help the face he made. “Ah, the devil on my shoulder. I wondered where you’ve been. Angel’s been getting lonely these days.” The last thing he needed tonight was further intervention from would-be superheroes. Yet the so-called Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was now staring him in the face-

Shit. He really had to stop with the sight jokes. Inner monologue or not. Matt Murdock was blind, so the brief dig reports came back. But clearly he could see. Not understanding how yet… well…

“Is that the best you’ve got, Stark?”

Tony’s lips thinned, head quirking to the side as he crossed his arms. “You’re right. Big Red was my first play. Should’ve gone with my gut.”

“What are you doing here?” Tone gruff and entirely unwelcoming.

Also entirely distracting. He was only focusing on about half of the conversation happening in the apartment. “Stargazing. Is that a crime? Can you go bother somebody else? I’m busy.”

“Busy stargazing.”

“Yep. So. If we’re done here…”

“You’re in my neighborhood. I want to know why.”

He couldn’t help the roll of his eyes and the wave of his arm. “Am I in a territory war suddenly? I have clearance over you, if that’s what we’re doing. Is that what we’re doing? You wanna see my badge?” Oops.

Big Red stepped closer, but Tony just stayed still. It was when the man seemed to scrutinize him a little more with a forward lean- no. Not scrutinizing. Listening. He then turned to the apartment across the street, and Tony couldn’t help a spike of unease. “Ah.” And that didn’t make things better. Especially not when her name came out of his mouth next. “Who’s she in there with?”

“You’re sure you didn’t wanna go with a bat costume? Or is that too played out?” Frustrated to his core. He needed to do an even deeper dive on Matt- ...if he was going to keep being somebody worth caring about, anyway. The preliminary stuff clearly hadn’t been enough. He could hear her on the comms- and knew she was in that apartment building. All without- “Look- you’re bothering me. Go perch on a different roof or- do whatever it is you do at night.”

“This is what I do.” He stood again, facing Tony.

The two had a stare down… or- err… “This is not a crime waiting to happen.”

“Then what are you doing here? Does she know you’re following her around?”

“You can ask her next time you follow her to a cafe.” Moving now past frustration into anger.

There was a small blessed slice of silence as Big Red seemed to consider his position, and just as Tony caught a few more words passed inside of that apartment, he spoke again. “We’re not on opposing sides, you know.”

Damn it all, he couldn’t help the flare of his temper. “Gosh, you know- we already have a righteous stickler in the group. So if this is your application, I’m gonna need you to look directly into the camera and tell Big Brother a different reason why you should be let into the house.” ...that was a triple oops by now. For sure.

“If this is how you accept help I feel very sorry for her.”

“You can’t give me something I didn’t ask for. Are you seriously gonna stand here and menace me all night? You don’t have anything better to do?”

It was a battle of stubbornness at this point. Big Red had no idea who he was dealing with, in that case. They stood facing each other. Clearly figuring he was outmatched (so Tony believed anyway), Big Red finally turned away. “Have it your way, Stark.”

“That’s definitely how I prefer things.” Dry as the desert, unable to help one last biting remark. He just had to get the last word in. Because this had been a huge waste of his time and he’d missed out on almost everything. He waited, watching the Devil jump over onto a different rooftop, and then another, and then take the side of the building down into an alleyway, disappearing.

“Tony-” She was calling him.

Quickly he turned back to look at the apartment building, only to see her standing on the sidewalk. “Yeah, honey, I’m here.”

“Is everything okay?” She was peering up. Probably only just barely able to see him.

“I got held up by takes himself too seriously man. I’m sorry. Is everything okay? What happened?”

“Who?” Her head tipped far to the right in question.

There was a warm flourish in his chest. They were in too much trouble for her to be that cute. “It’s not important. Can you debrief me on your walk back?”

“Can we get dinner?”

He was surprised to hear her ask this. But, obviously, “Yeah, sure. Let me get ground level and send the suit back.”

While he was in the middle of doing so, she seemed unable to let the thought go. “Seriously- who were you talking about?”

“Our favorite man in black- or I guess in red now. Someone should tell these kids there’s other boroughs. They’re a little clustered together.”

She made a sound of realization and then, “I don’t think they know about each other.”

“They probably will now.” ...quadruple oops?

---

“You’re the worst.” Having Tony literally watching your back and right there in your ear really alleviated a lot of fears you had going into this meeting. Although you were genuinely running on empty in every which way, so that also helped. In a less good way. A lack of anything really settled the nerves when you were too tired to be afraid. Aside that, Tony had practically said it was just Jessica inside…

The building was pretty rundown. Lots of the other apartments were making noise. Yelling. Moaning. TVs and stereos playing loudly. All things you tried to ignore as you took the shaky elevator up towards Jessica’s floor and then walked all the way to the back of the hallway. Alias Investigations spied on you the whole walk down and once there you knocked on the privacy glass to signal your presence.

Tony had gone completely silent, but that was probably for the best. Just listening, for now. At this point you were mostly sure you wouldn’t need him for anything serious. Which was a good headspace to be in as Jessica opened the door half a crack, took one look at you and then undid the privacy chain. But before she allowed you in, she blocked you from entering, leaning in very close. “Can you check my place out?” Voice very quiet.

So you whispered back. “For what?”

“Anything listening.”

“Oh.” Giving her a small nod. You then reached up to your earring cuff, pressing to activate your visor- something that seemed to marginally impress Jessica. For once. “LUNA run a level ten bug sweep.” Probably no need to be that serious about it but… well, you were already here.

“Yes, ma’am.” You gestured for Jessica to move so you could get inside and look around. Her office was also her home. Something you could sort of relate to but… not quite the same. Your lifestyles were very different. No need to make a comment about it. All corners and access points and good hiding spots came up empty. Something LUNA agreed with, “All clear, ma’am.”

Retracting the visor with one more press you looked back at her as she still stood in the doorway. “Your place is clean.” Now out of the focus of checking her place out, something became abundantly clear. Something you couldn’t help but remark on, as you pressed a hand against your mouth and nose- “It smells like bleach in here.” Thick and suffocating. All her windows were open but it wasn’t really helping. She walked ahead of you to sit behind her desk.

“Yeah. Well. Kilgrave came and murdered my idiot neighbor in here.” Saying it as if she had already accepted it and moved on. Because what else could she do? “Apologies if things aren’t up to your standard of living.”

Her cutting remark bounced off you while you were otherwise too busy being shocked. “He-”

“Look, I don’t really wanna talk about it. I cleaned it up. It’s dealt with. That’s not what I called you here for.” She opened one of her desk drawers, pulling out a brand new bottle of liquor, cracking the top off and taking a large swig.

Kilgrave was making big moves. That was what he must have meant by tight schedule. Had he planned to murder Jessica’s neighbor? What for? “Did he come to you?” Some of this had to start making sense. And this was the first time you’d been face to face with Jessica in a long while. It had to start making sense right now. Every second the both of you wasted, the further ahead Kilgrave got. “He got rid of a camera crew in public and then forced me to dinner the other night.”

She scoffed. “Dinner. Must be nice.”

The two of you really didn’t have time to be arguing with each other. And… all things considered, she had a right to feel that way, you supposed. He’d made you go to dinner. He’d killed a person in her place and probably left it for her to clean up. Yeah. There was a huge disparity here. ...but why? “He told me Hope is in the hospital.”

But at this she glowered, looking away. “Did he, now?”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me that?” Unable to help getting a little upset.

“What difference would it make? What business is it of yours? As I recall- any involvement of yours in that case is pointless. So why would I waste my time giving you an update about it?”

It was unfair. It was completely unfair that you had to hold yourself still. That you had to be the bigger person here. Still, you couldn’t stow the shake of your head or the cross of your arms. “He tried to tell me that I don’t know anything about you.”

“At least he got something right.” Another scoff, another long sip of alcohol. She set the bottle down and shared a long hard look with you. Maybe it occurred to her that this little hardened act of hers wasn’t going to get either of you anywhere, so she dropped her eyes and finally quietly relented. “Hope was pregnant.” This put a still shock in you. “She paid someone to beat her up. So that she could lose the kid.” Her head tipped up sharply, “There. Does that help you to know that? Do you feel better now?”

What were you supposed to say to any of that? Maybe she was right. Maybe it wasn’t important for you to know that. Maybe it was none of your business. And yet… “We can help her.” You were so sure of this. “We can-”

“It’d be swell for you to just swoop in and fix everything. To spend your billions to move her around until nobody knows or cares where she is anymore. I’m sure that’d make you feel good. But Hope deserves better. She deserves for the world to know she’s not a murderer. She deserves to have her life back.”

“And where are we on that?” Staring her down. “Making lots of progress? Or are you too busy now fending off Kilgrave while she’s sitting in a hospital bed worrying about being pregnant-”

She got up so suddenly her chair fell back. “I didn’t ask you to come here so you could pretend you care about any of this shit.” Making a slow advance towards you, hand up with a finger pointed accusingly your way.

You stood still. Unmoving. Not backing down. “Why am I here, Jessica? I know what you want from me about as much as I know what Kilgrave wants. Are we working together? Or are we just yelling at each other while he leaps five steps ahead because we can’t get our shit together?” Glaring at her now as she came to a stop just a foot in front of you, unable to help your anger. “This is out of fucking control. So stop with the bullshit and actually fucking talk to me. Work with me. Or we’ll both lose. And you know it.”

The two of you stood in the low light of her apartment, glaring at one another. For probably too long a time. It was ridiculous, really, but she had to be the first one to budge. You couldn’t make any more grand statements about how this was all garbage and a waste of time. She had to actually do something to let you in.

Then. Finally. Your patience was rewarded. She backed down and stepped away. Still haughty, just a little, with a shake of her head. “Fine. It’s all bullshit. I agree.” Mumbling this to herself more than anything. You had to wonder if she was more than a little drunk at this point. Going over to her desk she pulled a different drawer open and then almost slammed down a small notebook. -a diary. “Kilgrave go through your childhood shit, too?”

You couldn’t help the tip of your head or the confused face you made. “No-” Though something about that clicked. “I think he was trying to find stuff on me. But he couldn’t.”

She scoffed again. “Must be nice having everything covered up for you by government agencies.”

“They had nothing to do with that, actually.” A gentle thrum of discomfort and nervousness gurgled first in your stomach and then clutched at your heart as she looked up at you. “-it’s also not important.” Not right now, anyway. And not to Jessica Jones. “What’s he going through your stuff for?”

She sat on the corner of her desk. “He’s lounging around in the house I grew up in. I’m pretty sure he expects me to go there and hand myself over to him.”

“He said something similar to me at dinner.” Kilgrave just wanted the both of you to walk up to him and say okay it’s over, you win. But why? Why do it that way? “-he didn’t tell me to do anything the entire time.”

“But you still went-”

“I didn’t have a choice. Commanded or not. Let’s not take a step back.” You got it. She was angry. All the time. And maybe she had a right to be. But if you let her continue to fall into that hole over and over and over again, nobody would win. She really needed to go to therapy. ...not that you were one to talk. “He threatened me, saying me going to him would spare a lot of other people.”

“Yeah.” Her head turned down as she crossed her arms. “That’s the feeling I get, too.”

The silence was a little bit uncomfortable. “...so what are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna go. What choice do I have?” She looked up at you again and for a moment… you almost thought you saw a bit of pleading in that glassy-eyed stare of hers. Almost. Like she wanted you to come up with a better solution. When you disappointed her with no response she rolled her eyes. “Exactly.”

She was where you were. She was giving in where it seemed impossible to do anything else. Making the smartest move. Kilgrave would win. “So you go. And lure him into a false sense of security. He’s chasing after something. He wants you to… be with him, I guess.”

“Oh you have no idea.” Hard as she spat this out.

“Maybe I don’t. But. Go be with him. And then when he thinks it really is over we’ll take him out. He thinks we’re not working together- he definitely doesn’t want us to be. He might not expect it.” He probably understood how dangerous a combo that could be, if the two of you could get over yourselves. But he’d been very plainly trying to pit you against her. This could work. Maybe.

“Go be with him. Like it’s that fucking easy.” Spitting this at you with all the venom she had left in her. “That’s the best idea you have?” Making a face at you. Plainly calling you stupid.

“You wanted to take him somewhere. We can still do that. We just need to line the pieces up right.” Maybe it was a stupid idea. But it was really all the two of you had.

She scrutinized you. “Yeah- and what if he gets cornered and orders some innocent to kill themselves for cover- or me- or-”

“So I’ll stop it.” Firm, your eyes watching hers. “I won’t let him hurt anyone else that way.”

“You’re sure you can do that? Because if you can’t-”

“I’m sure.” You had to be. Kilgrave had made it painfully obvious he thought he could always have someone else in the way so that you would have your hands tied. So maybe he didn’t know what you could do. And that was the only thing you had working for you.

There was a slap of resentment as she found herself resigned to this nothing of a plan. “If you fuck this one up… everyone pays the price. Do you understand that?”

You squared up to her. “More than you could ever imagine.”

#Tony Stark #Tony Star x Reader #INY Chapter One Hundred Thirty Nine #Jessica Jones Spoilers #also yes that is Alias Investigation's real canonical address #fun things that you learn doing deep dives

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buckybarnesbingo · 4 years

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BBB Week 17 Roundup! This week includes, amongst the awesomeness, the Round Robin fic we did for the BBB Discord Party!

Congratulations to Faustess, Raz, and Peach, who each won a token (fabulous art by Raz!) in the drawing for who attended the party.

Reminder that our late signups are OPEN, and we will be accepting badge claims until August 1st.

Now go give these participants some love!

Title: End Of All Days - Chapter 25: Epilogue Collaborator: Minka Link: AO3 Square Filled: B5 – Mercenary Ship: Stucky Rating: Mature Major Tags: Descriptive violence Summary: Captain Steve Rogers had thought his military days were behind him, left in the bloody nightmare that was Saigon. Retired and working as a History Professor, the last thing he expected was to get caught up in a cataclysmic Slavic prophesy foreshadowing the end of the known world. With Cold War tensions running high, Steve finds himself in need of a guide and translator to get him behind the Iron Curtain and into the isolated snowdrifts of Siberia. It’s deep in the heart of Bucharest’s resistance fighters that Steve finds the ideal candidate, but swaying the enigmatic ex-operative known as The Winter Soldier proves to be complicated. Trust is hard-won, especially in the world of espionage, and with a KGB death squad nipping at his heels, the Soldier has countless reasons to stay presumably dead. As the lines between right, wrong and the supernatural begin to blur, Steve is forced to reconsider everything he’s ever believed, right from the sanctity of his own country to the very foundations of creation itself. Word Count: 116,780

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Title: Friday night and the lights are low - Chapter 7: Bucky/Loki Collaborator: HeyBoy Link: AO3 Square Filled: ? Ship: Bucky/Loki Rating: Teen Major Tags: art Summary: Bucky is a vet, recently back home and finally healed from his injury. In an effort to blow off some steam and meet new people, he hits the club every weekend. It turns out that this particular nightclub is also a favorite hangout for some local superheroes. Word Count: 1408

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Title: Your Wrists Collaborator: grimeysociety Link: AO3 Square Filled: B1 - Begging Ship: Bucky/Darcy Rating: Explicit Major Tags: PWP, Handcuffs, Rough Sex, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones Summary: In the middle of moving Bucky into her apartment, Darcy finds his handcuffs in his bedroom drawer. Word Count: 2594

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Title: Dragons of Brooklyn - Chapter 1 Collaborator: crazycatt71 Link: AO3 Square Filled: B1- shapeshifters Ship: Stuckony Rating: Explicit Major Tags: explicit sexual content Summary: Steve & Bucky are the Alpha mob bosses of the Dragons of Brooklyn. Tony is their Omega and secret genius partner who runs the business lots of sex, some possessive behavior, and a little violence. In this chapter, dragon sex in the sky and teasing their Omega Word Count:

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Title: The Other Earth Collaborator: fightingforcreativity Link: Tumblr Square Filled: K5 - Great Depression Ship: WinterIronWidow Rating: Mature Major Tags: Amnesia, persumed dead, Family, mystical creatures, slight crack (later), bakery Au elements, mention of alcohol abuse Summary: Bucky had a cat, had a job at a local bakery and some odd jobs here and there. At night, he would look in the sky, trying to figure out the constellations, seeing the stars differently than he faintly remembered. At the same time on one of those stars far away, a star named Earth, Tony Stark held his baby boy, whispering, “One day, you’ll know you’re the world.[…]”(will be updated when I do more for this) Word Count: 368

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Title: Club Can’t Even Handle Me - Chapter 1 Collaborator: tisfan, 27dragons Link: AO3 Squares Filled: 27dragons - K3: Undercover in a Gay Bar tisfan - C3: free space Ship: WinterIron Rating: Mature Major Tags: undercover, gay bar, dancing, flirting, sex, rushed sex, anal sex, semi-public sex, getting together Summary: The Avengers have gone undercover to find a target who’s been frequenting clubs and bars. It’s probably just a coincidence that Bucky and Tony have been assigned to cover this bar, but that doesn’t make it any easier for Bucky to watch Tony flirting his way across the dance floor. Word Count: 1880

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Title: Club Can’t Even Handle Me - Chapter 2 Collaborator: 27dragons, tisfan Link: AO3 Squares Filled: 27dragons - K5: Kink - Rushed Sex tisfan - B3: Kink - Harder Ship: WinterIron Rating: Explicit Major Tags: undercover, gay bar, dancing, flirting, sex, rushed sex, anal sex, semi-public sex, getting together Summary: The Avengers have gone undercover to find a target who’s been frequenting clubs and bars. It’s probably just a coincidence that Bucky and Tony have been assigned to cover this bar, but that doesn’t make it any easier for Bucky to watch Tony flirting his way across the dance floor. Word Count: 3975

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Title: Somebody's been sleeping in MY bed Collaborator: LBibliophile Link: AO3 Squares Filled: B1 - Bed sharing [ficlet - 259 words] Y5 - Bodysharing [image edit] Ship: Bucky & Sam Rating: Gen Major Tags: bodyswap Summary: First he notices that the temperature is wrong. Then he notices that the bed is wrong. Then, he notices that the problem is actually something rather more fundamental. Word Count: 256

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Title: For All the Days I Shall Live Collaborator: tisfan Link: Tumblr Square Filled: C2 - Writing Style: Dialogue Only Ship: WinterIron Rating: Teen Major Tags: none Summary: Tony is tired of waiting. Bucky doesn’t have any objections. The rest of the Avengers… might. Word Count: 431

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Title: A Chance Encounter Collaborator: pherryt Link: AO3 Square Filled: B5 - Tell Me Ship: WinterHawk Rating: Gen Major Tags: Post Winter Soldier, Canon Divergent Summary: Clint's on a vacation against his will. Alone. What could go wrong? Word Count: 7259

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Title: It's That Easy Collaborator: sarahbenial Link: AO3 Square Filled: B2 - Flowers Ship: Bucky/Darcy Rating: Mature Major Tags: Sexual content, Canon-typical violence, dissociation, suicidal thoughts Summary: Bucky's been seeing Darcy, secretly, for seven months. Unbeknownst to him, she's been holding onto a secret of her own. Traumatic events lead to the truth being revealed sooner than she'd intended. Word Count: 1721

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Title: BBB Discord Party Round Robin Collaborators: Rebelmeg, Fightingforcreativity, Ladydarkphoenix, Psychiccatpanda, Dreaminglypeach, Ibelieveinturtles, Liquidlightz, Menatiera Link: AO3 Squares Filled: Rebelmeg: Y2 - tech support LiquidLightz (LLightz): B3 - spa day Menatiera: U4 - hot water Dreaminglypeach: B1 - sharing body heat Ladydarkphoenix: U5 - “Don’t touch him!” Fightingforcreativity: B4 - Collateral Damage Ibelieveinturtles: K2 - Whiplash Ship: Stucky, hinted Stony or Stuckony, Pepperony, pre-FrostIron /FrostPepperony Rating: Teen Major Tags: round robin fic, dragon Steve, animal transformation, Loki shenanigans, cats, multiple ships, hijinks and shenanigans Summary: To say that Bucky had been surprised when a FREAKING DRAGON showed up at the summer BBQ at his beach house would be an understatement. How should the ex assassin have anticipated a dragon, who seemed to have followed his cat to the BBQ? It didn’t seem to be dangerous as of yet seeing as the two were happily sharing potato salad. When Tony showed up late, he nudged Bucky, “Hey Buckaroo - I brought - WHOA! I didn’t know you had a… cat.” Sure, it’s the cat that surprises you, Bucky thought, but Tony was still talking a mile a minute around the cookie in his mouth, “So, anyway, I brought that- fuck, is he your window cleaner, he’s gorgeous!” “Window cleaning is just one of the many services I offer,” the dragon said swinging it’s head around to stare unblinking at Tony. Bucky jolts back and stares at the dragon as he recognises the sound of that voice, then quickly pulls his phone out to text Steve… “where exactly are you right now?” Steve doesn’t answer his phone, obviously, but a telltale notification sound pings from somewhere inside the dragon’s belly, audible through the slightly open mouth of the creature, and Bucky has to rub the base of his nose, muttering, “of fucking course you do this reveal to me after we’ve been sharing a bed for weeks.” Word Count: 2330

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Title: Soft Collaborator: alwaysabrighterdarkness Link: AO3 Square Filled: U2 - Touch Starvation Ship: Stucky Rating: Teen Major Tags: Winter, Cold Weather, Touch-Starved, Cuddling Summary: It hadn’t been long after he had been recovered from the Artic that Steve had developed a deep, aching craving for things that were soft and warm or, preferably, both. For a man who was born and then built for fighting, to be able to withstand so much of the world’s harshness, maybe that shouldn’t have come as so much of a surprise. Word Count: 3352

#buckybarnesbingo2020 #bbb2020 #bbb weekly roundup #week 17 roundup

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camgirlsurvivalguide · 6 years

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Camgirl 101 - 2019 Edition (The Absolute tl;dr)

I wrote the first “Camgirl 101″ nearly 6 years ago - wild to think that so much time has gone by! So much has changed about this industry, and yet in many ways, so much has stayed the same. Since my initial “How 2 Cam” post is a tad outdated at this point, and since I have the time to kill typing away on tumblr dot com today, I figured I’d do an abbreviated, updated 2019 edition of the basics of the basics of webcam modelling, as well as my top tips and tricks to making the most out of your initial push as a camgirl.

What site should I cam on? The site I cam on is MyFreeCams, but there are other popular sites out there, such as Chaturbate and Nood (just to name two of many, many more). I would suggest sticking to sites that have been established for a while to be on the safe side, as many new sites are opening, but not all actually attract much in the way of traffic. MyFreeCams is female-only, where Chaturbate allows males and trans performers as well. Nood is a higher quality streaming platform, but you’ll need to be OBS savvy before starting, so it’s better for people who already know what they’re doing, at least to some degree.

Because I work exclusively on MFC (and have been doing so for the better part of six years), the advise I give is specifically about MFC. While most general advise can be extended to other platforms, things like payment processing and technical support I know nothing about outside of MFC.

What do I need to get started as a cam model? You’ll need a steady internet connection, a webcam, some sort of a lighting source, and yourself. You do not need fancy equipment, a perfect cam space, a complicated profile or an ungodly amount of self confidence to get started - while these things can help, they’re not required, and are things you can amass over time as you become more established.

How do I make money? Camgirls on MFC make money in tokens. One token = $0.05USD earned by a model. You make money by persuading paying patrons, known as Premium Members, to tip you tokens. Payments are processed on the 1st and 16th of each month, and can be sent to you via cheque, wire transfer, or through third parties. I advise you choose cheque or wire transfer, because third party payment processors have been notoriously unreliable over the years. For US models, you can also have your income direct deposited. For international models (aka anyone outside the US), you’ll either need to ‘make payout’ for a wire transfer, which is earn a minimum of 20,000 tokens ($1000USD), or you can opt for a cheque in the mail for free after earning a minimum of 400 tokens ($20).

Camgirls do not get paid hourly. All earnings come from tips.

What can I do to encourage people to tip or talk? Generally speaking, you entertain. Camgirls entertain by engaging in conversation, showing off their bodies, stripping, and doing live masturbation or sex performances, in addition to selling homemade content, whether in the form of videos and photos, or over apps like snapchat. The best way to increase your odds of making money is to make people like you. For this, you’ll need social skills, physical attractiveness, patience, and business savvy. While it may seem simple, this process is incredibly dynamic and complex; for this reason, I (nor anyone else) can tell you with any guarantee how to make money. My best advice is to read this blog for inspiration, watch cam models to see how others are doing it, and then most importantly, try it yourself. There is only so much you can learn by watching and asking questions: the rest you will have to figure out as you go.

Do I have to show my face? Yes. You cannot wear a mask, or hide your face; it’s against the Terms of Service of the site, and you can’t build relationships with human beings when you have a bag on your head. That’s just not how it works.

Do I have to get naked or masturbate? No! You don’t. While these things are definitely the norm on the site, there is no rule that says you have to get naked on MFC. You can literally log on and just stare at the camera, unmoving, silently, for hours on end if you want - no one will stop you - it just obviously wouldn’t be particularly entertaining, and would be unlikely to make you much money. If you choose not to strip, or choose to restrict your stripping to certain environments (only in private, only with certain people, only at certain price points), you’ll have to figure out how to entertain in other ways. I would like to highlight that this is not only something non-explicit models have to figure out: the best of the best on the site do far, far more than just strip. Sexuality is part of it, but not the whole story.

How often should I cam, and for how long? The most successful models on MFC tend to rely mostly on the support of their repeat customers, known as ‘regulars’, for the bulk of their income. Making regulars is an important part of camming, because members who return again and again build a relationship with you, and those who have supported in the past are more likely to support again in the future (a psychological concept known as the ‘foot in the door’ phenomenon). Rooms that have groups of returning regulars are also more attractive in a community aspect, because the members aren’t only returning for the model for a sense of togetherness and familiarity, they’re also there to talk with their other member friends.

In order to build a base of regulars, you should aim to cam relatively consistently, and at somewhat similar time slots. There are no real “best times” to cam - the best times to log on are times where you can expect yourself to be the most consistent over the long term. This way, people know where and when to find you. As far as how long your cam shows should be, this is up to you for the most part. I prefer to cam between 3 and 4 hours at a time.

What is camscore? Camscore is a rating system that is based off of tokens earned per hour. Every new model starts with a camscore of 1000, and depending on how many tokens she makes each hour, her camscore will either raise or drop. The goal is to make as many tokens as you can an hour so that you can raise your camscore - this will sort your icon higher up on the main page, making it more likely that random passerby’s will see your room and hopefully enter it. While camscore is important, it isn’t the only way that members find model’s rooms. For the first six hours of broadcast time (NOT account life: broadcast time, as in time actually live streaming), models are given a ‘new model’ badge on their icons, which can attract members to check out the room. While ‘sort by camscore’ is the default settings for members, they can also choose to sort by other styles, meaning a low camscore isn’t always a low placement on the page. Lastly, models can use social media to boost their visibility. All that said, a low camscore can make things increasingly difficult and frustrating for a model; please read here for more details on overcoming low visibility:

http://camgirlsurvivalguide.tumblr.com/post/169514561900/how-to-overcome-low-visibility

Will camming hurt my chances of getting a vanilla job? Depends on the job. There is always a chance that the people you know will find out that you cam. The best things you can do are weigh your options carefully before starting, geoblock any areas that you don’t want watching you (you can block regions from accessing your cam, but this doesn’t protect against VPNs, and doesn’t stop people from taking screenshots or recordings of your streams and uploading to other unblocked sites), and take caution not to use the same photos connected to your real name as you do for camming - but there is no way to ultimately protect yourself from the stigma of sex work. Facial recognition software is becoming more accurate each and every month, and I feel that soon, programs like google image reverse search will be able to quickly and easily pull up any and all profiles connected to certain faces; take that as you will.

Do camgirls pay taxes? Yes. You are in charge of your own business, including filing and paying your own taxes. This is different in each country/region, but it’s a good idea to save 30% of everything you earn for tax purposes. Hire a tax accountant to do it for you properly so you don’t get audited.

Do you have any additional tips to share? Why yes! Yes I do. Here are some miscellaneous shit knowledge that I’ve picked up over time. Enjoy.

- I cam using a mac. Before I cam, I’ll often take 10 to 15 cute selfies using the photobooth app, which I then quickly edit using VSCO cam on my phone. I upload these to an album on my MFC Share (the content hosting ‘store’ page that MFC has) so I can sell these cute photos to people for cheap. Often I’ll make a monthly selfie album that I upload photos to as the month progresses, which encourages members who purchase it early in the month to keep checking back for more photos. It’s a good way to hype myself up and feel cute before cam, while also creating content to sell that fosters the building of my regular base.

- Also with respect to camming and my mac, if I do something sexy on cam, like a strip tease or a bath show, I’ll hit record on my photobooth app while I’m streaming to record my webcam’s output. I can then edit this footage after I log off cam to sell for cheap, or to give to members who contributed toward my goal or something.

- It’s good practice to reply to all offline tips. While I might not reply to video or photoset sales through MFC share all the time (sometimes my inbox gets super busy), it is important not to let offline tips go unnoticed. Appreciating people’s tips makes them want to tip again. Ignoring them makes them not want to return.

- Do not just sit on your phone when you’re bored on cam. Get up, dance around, show off your body, talk to yourself about nothing. You’re not there to be entertained (although it’s fun when you are, of course) - you’re there to be entertaining. Shake off the anxiety and shake ya butt instead.

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puffbts · 5 years

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Secret of the past

So… As I got quite a number of reactions on this post, I thought I'd actually write that Prinxiety AU.

I should add that Deceit's name in this is Ethan, because I had to choose and I like it.

It's my first one shot on tumblr, I have no idea if you'll like it, but I liked writing it! Enjoy!

Virgil breathed in the fresh April air as he left the litterature building. He was glad that his afternoon classes were finally over because it meant he could at last meet his boyfriend in that new coffee shop he'd heard about. He'd had a free morning, exceptionally, which meant that he hadn't gotten to see him like he would normally have, and that made him miss him even more.

As he walked down the street, he thought of how lucky he was to be dating someone like Roman. He had never imagined that he would love to spend his evenings debating over the hidden meanings of Disney movies, making up theories about alternate endings for tragedies or cuddling in front of the TV, singing along to Dear Evan Hansen for the billionth time. Well, he loved doing that, but having Roman by his side made it ten times better.

Virgil soon reached the coffee shop where he knew Roman already was, since he finished his classes one period earlier than him. Upon entering the shop, he heard the loud, familiar laugh of his boyfriend, which was the most pleasant sound he'd heard all day. It put a smile on his lips, which soon faded when he began wondering what he could be laughing so hard about.

And that's when it all came into view.

There was Roman, sat on a bar stool. There was a barista, leaned against the counter in front of him. Virgil's heart stopped when he immediately recognized the barista's face.

Virgil became conscious that neither of them had noticed his presence when he heard the barista speak as he took a deep breath.

"Oh Roman, do you know you're the best thing that happened to me today?"

The bartender opened his eyes, which instantly devoured Virgil's boyfriend, and put a hand on Roman's, which was resting on the counter.

"I love your laugh. It sounds like one of a knight."

At that, Virgil snapped and rushed over to them.

"Hey Princey." he said, sliding his arms around his boyfriend's waist and planting a kiss on his lips.

He wouldn't normally act like that when someone he didn't know was so close, but this time he had good reasons to.

Using Ro's favorite nickname showed that barista that he was a prince, not a knight, in his mind. And he needed to show him that his handsome man was taken.

And let's be fair, it wasn't like Virgil didn't know the guy.

He smirked at the look on his face, clearly expressing his shock upon seeing him and the realization of what he'd been doing.

Roman throwed an arm around Virgil's shoulders.

"Hi Virge. Here's your americano. Oh, and this is Ethan."

"I know." Virgil drew a breath as he realized his mistake and added, "It's written on his badge."

A glance at Ethan formed a lump in his throat, because his smugness meant nothing good.

We should go, he meant to say.

"Why don't we take a walk around the lake?" he said instead, turning to his boyfriend with a smile.

"Sure! Can you make these to go?" Roman gestured to the mugs.

"I can do anything for you."

Virgil stared in shock, his eyes wide. How could he dare continue to flirt with him when he'd made it clear they were a couple?

"How was your- Virge, are you okay?"

It was the second time Roman called him by that nickname, and he knew what it meant. He was slightly concerned about him. Roman had a talent for inventing the best-suited nicknames, and only resolved to use first names when he was sad, angry or worried.

However, Virgil didn't have time to respond because Ethan pushed two cups towards them, along with a receipt.

As Roman took out his wallet to pay, Virgil's eyes were drawned to the Bottom of the note, where there was a small handwritten message. It was hardly readable, but thanks to the number of hours spent correcting essays in that particular handwriting, Virgil had no trouble deceiphering it.

Here's my number, in case you're interested in more debates about Star Wars. Ps. I love how your face brightens when you laugh ;)

Enough was enough. Virgil snatched the receipt and crumpled it in his hand before taking the steaming cups, pushing his boyfriend towards the exit.

"What's happening, love?" asked a distressed Roman once they were outside.

This was even worse. Roman was so proud of his own nicknames that he never used "traditional" pet names, unless he knew he needed to know something.

Virgil let out a sigh. "I'll explain everything, but we need to find a bench or something."

They walked to the lake, nervousness welling up inside him, and sat down on rocks that were bording the water. Virgil took a sip of his drink and breathed in and out before talking.

"I know Ethan. I met him in high school. He- he was first and only boyfriend before you."

Virgil felt heat in his cheeks, his heart beating faster and his breathing becoming uneven.

"Hey, it's okay, don't panic." Roman quickly said, putting a hand over his forearm.

The contact and the sweetness in his voice were soothing, and after a few seconds, Virgil managed to look his boyfriend in the eyes.

"I understand that you know him, but why did you act like that? I mean, I love PDA but I know that's not your case, and it became very suspicious when you just rushed out of that coffee shop."

Virgil's eyes widened and he took his arm out of Roman's grip.

"Ro, please tell me you're not that oblivious! Not with your knowledge in tragedy!"

"I mean, I know he was flirting with me, but a lot of people do that, and you know it."

Virgil breathed out. Good, Roman hadn't lost his mind. Yes, he knew that.

"No I- I know, but… Ethan is- he's a bad person."

"He seemed pretty nice."

"Yeah, at first. It's his way of obtaining your trust. What do you know about him? What did he tell you?"

"Not much…" Roman looked away as if to think about it. "He said he quit college after two months because he wasn't fit for it, and began working in a self-service restaurant. But he got kicked out after a year because his boss had found out he let all the hard work to his colleagues and didn't do much, based on what said colleagues had reported. He claimed it wasn't true and left, and that's how he ended up here."

"Okay, not much but everything you need." Virgil muttered.

He was not surprised to hear that Ethan had failed college after two months, and he knew for sure his previous boss' accusations were true.

"It sounds like him." He continued after having taken another sip of his coffee. "He loves manipulating people. We met in our Junior Year, when we had to work together for a History project. I quickly found out he didn't know anything and I took my time explaining stuff. Well, you know how I am…"

Roman smiled, because he knew exactly how he was. Virgil had a serviable nature, and that was even why the two had met.

"So... We got a B+ on the project, which was a good thing for Ethan, and he decided to reward our work with a kiss."

"Wow..." Roman laughed. "The guy might not have known shit about History, but he sure knew how to woo a man!"

Virgil frowned and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, that's his problem. The thing is, at the time, I'd known I was gay for a while but I'd never had a boyfriend and it stressed me out."

"No wonder, Sir Stressed-a-lot."

Virgil pushed Roman, but the nickname brought a smile back to his lips.

"Anyway, I told him that, and he promised we didn't have to rush it, so I agreed to date him. And the more time passed, the more I felt at ease and started to grow feelings for him. But the more time passed, the more he was using me."

Roman frowned. "Using you?"

"Yeah, I told you he liked manipulating people. As it had started, he used me to do his homework for the classes we shared. At first it was a collaboration, but before I noticed, I did everything for him. And he used me with his parents too. They wanted someone perfect for him, and he asked me to pretend to like everything he liked, even though it clearly wasn't the case, so I could have that nice image when I'd meet them for the first time. But that wasn't the worst…"

As Virgil took a deep breath, Roman scooted closer to him and put a hand on his thigh to show his support.

"One time we had to write an English essay. When mine was ready, Ethan asked if he could read it, for inspiration. It was close to the due date and I never got to read what he'd written. Unfortunately, I found out quite soon. He just changed the name on the essay and the teacher confronted him about our copies, which were identical. He pretended that I had copied him. I wasn't able to convince him otherwise and was expelled for a week."

Virgil breathed in, trying not to let the tears brought back by this memory fall down, and Roman pulled him into a hug.

"What a traitor…"

"He was worse than that. After a long debate with him, full of anger and tears, I broke up with him. From that day on, I decided that I never would open up to boys ever again."

"But clearly you didn't."

Virgil pulled away from his boyfriend and looked at him, his mouth twitching into a smile.

"Wow, you never told me you actually were Sherlock Holmes."

They laughed, and Virgil found that it was doing him a lot of good.

"My plan was carrying out well. I finished high school and moved away for college. I stayed discreet in order not to draw attention from anyone. Until one day, six months into college, when someone plastered the walls with posters asking for someone to read over his play."

Roman laughed. "Oh, what did you do, my Chemically Imbalanced Romance?"

"Well, after an internal fight, I called the guy and met him in a coffee shop on a Saturday morning."

"And let me guess, the guy showed up with a fifty-page, handwritten script and you fell in love with his play."

Virgil looked away, blushing a little because he was about to share with his boyfriend exactly how he fell in love with him, which was something they had never talked about in detail in the two years they'd been together. Regaining confidence, he smirked at Roman with a small laugh.

"Well, the play wasn't really what made me fall in love with him."

Roman put a hand to his chest with an offended noise.

"But... I did fall in love with his gorgeous face, which immediately took my breath away. At the time I wanted to curse myself for breaking my rule, until we got started on the play. It was a great afternoon."

Roman placed a hand on Virgil's cheek at his honest smile and couldn't fight the urge to kiss him. After a while, they pulled away and the litterature student rested his head against the taller man's chest.

"You know what surprised me most about you?"

"My creative brain hidden behind all that beauty?" Roman said with a deep, playful voice that always managed to give Virgil chills.

"No... It was when you told me that you knew who I was. I had started college the way I ended high school, discreet and hiding. If I'd known that was what you noticed in people, I'd have changed tactics."

Roman slightly pushed Virgil away from him and place a hand under his chin.

"Yeah well… Talent shouldn't be going to waste, and I knew you were the best in your year, even though college had just started. That's why I was so glad when you said you wanted to help with my play."

Virgil smiled. Roman had told him at the time that he loved giving opportunities to people who thought they didn't deserve it, mentionning his best friend Patton as an example. He had discovered when they were in High School that Pat could draw incredible landscapes with a unique style. That was how he got him on board of the set team in their school's theater club, and how their friendship was born.

"When you said you had an eye for noticing students who didn't want to stand out when they should, it made my heart melt, because no one had ever said anything like that about me."

Roman frowned. "Even Ethan? I mean, if he needed you to have his work done, he must have complimented you or your work."

Virgil pressed his lips together. "I don't think he complimented that. He did tell me that what he liked about me was that I had taken the time to explain things to him, but he never praised my work."

"I hate him even more."

Virgil giggled and went back to the story of his meeting with Roman.

"Anyway... I wasn't even surprised when you fought your way through the lunch room the next Monday, just to ask me out on a date."

"And why's that, Emonescence?"

"Well, you weren't exactly hiding your interest. I mean, offering to walk back to the dorm together after having spent an entire day together, and texting the whole Sunday?"

Roman smiled and Virgil thought he saw his cheeks turn pink.

"Yeah well… I had to take my chance. I immediately understood that we shared an interest in tragi-comedy and Disney movies, so I wanted to know what else we had in common. But you know that."

"I do. And I guess now you understand better why I wanted to take things slow even though I accepted the date."

Roman tilted his head to the side and passed a hand through his boyfriend's hair.

"Yeah, I guess I do. But you know, even at the time, I knew you needed to be the one to make the first move, and I was ready to wait until you were in the right place."

"And I'm glad you did." Virgil smiled as he placed his hands around Roman's back to pull him closer. "But I'm even more glad to have kissed you when I did."

With that, they shared a long, intense and delicate kiss.

"I love you, Virgil, and I won't let Ethan near either of us. I'll make sure you know how I feel about you."

"Thank you, Ro. And I love you too."

I guess you'll know that I'm not that good with endings... Hope you liked that :)

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #prinxiety #deceit sanders #i made a thing #sanders sides au

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cravenhaven · 5 years

Text

Heavy Mist

Hux finds your spice stash and makes you sorry (not sorry) for breaking the rules.

Armitage Hux x Reader

warnings: smut/drug use/rough handling

it’s a whopping 5500 words so buckle up

give it some love on ao3 >>here<<

(posting now that tumblr is letting my stuff appear on the tag finally)

“Captain, join me in my office, if you please.”

You had only just sat down in the officer’s lounge aboard the Finalizer when an unexpected holo came in from the general. You didn’t screen the call. You couldn’t. He had the engineers make it so you couldn’t. You froze in your seat and felt hot blood fill your face as a hush descended on the lounge and all eyes fell upon you. And here you thought you were going to have a quiet evening.

His tone had been devoid of levity, of course. That was to be expected. It was his impatience, evident in how the words escaped through his barely open teeth, that gave you pause. You spared a glance around the room at your fellow officers of the First Order. They knew as well as you did that when he said please all was not well.

You stood and strode out of the lounge as nonchalantly as possible, abandoning your comfortable seat. As soon as you heard the shh of the door closing behind you, you broke out into a frantic power-walk. You were sure the others were in the lounge thoroughly reveling their momentary schadenfreude. They didn’t really like you as it was. Perhaps it was envy. As if acting as the general’s aide-de-camp was an enviable thing at all.

There was nothing glamorous about fetching his fresh uniforms, drafting copy for his unimportant day-to-day correspondence, or handling his schedule. The only thing they wanted that you had was proximity to power. Little did they realize, it was precisely your indifference to it that made you so well suited for the job. The truth was your position sat at the perfect crossroads of Nepotism and Your Lack of Ambition. Your father’s influence could only get you so far when all you cared about was serving your time just to get him off your back.

When you arrived at your boss’s door, you found yourself frozen, badge in hand, ready to scan in. Yet you were unwilling to pass it over the sensor. You took a shaky breath in and then out. This apprehension was not solely due to the expected reprimand. You knew that because you felt a twinge of it every time you stood in that exact spot.

The truth was, you feared him. You would be mad not to. He wielded his position with vicious precision. General Hux would not countenance failure or anything less than his planned outcome. He would crush anyone - ally or enemy- if they so much stepped a toe across his warpath.

More worrying than that, however, was how dangerously alluring you found him.

His ruthlessness. His unforgiving expectations. Even that sneer of his, both when he was displeased and when he was basking his own cruelty. What enjoyment you found in teasing out small praises from a man as difficult to please as this, a man who would just as soon castigate you in front of the entire bridge crew for the slightest mismanagement. Fear and attraction. You were never quite sure which you felt in greater measure. Or perhaps they were equal somehow. One feeding the other feeding the other. Like a snake swallowing its own tail deep in the pit of your stomach.

Despite how you may have appeared in your uniform, all buttoned up and neat, you were no saint. Your reputation back at the academy might have even preceded you were you not a master of maintaining an unassuming artifice. A skill which you needed now more than ever.

You shook your head and resolved to rip off the bacta patch, passing your badge across the sensor and stepping through the doorway with your usual confident purpose.

He kept the lights dim, save for the lamp on his desk. His quarters were surprisingly spartan. His things were immaculately organized. Ghostly blue light flickered across his face as he reviewed something on his holopad. The viewport behind him framed a picture fit for a general’s personal office. Starkiller Base loomed ominously outside, an incomplete titan. In the silence of the room, the click-clack of your austere dress heels pecked away at your ears like a countdown. He did not raise his eyes.

“General.”

Hux motioned for you to sit as he continued his work. As you lowered yourself into the uncomfortable chair across from his, quietly as you could, you peaked at his holopad. Requisition forms. Reviewing them was a task he could easily delegate to you, but he wasn’t above busy work when it was abundant. You stole a glance up at his face. He seemed occupied enough for you to indulge in a bit of harmless leering. The crease in his brow caught your eye. Next, the subtle, fixated purse of his lips. The desire to catch the full, pale-pink bottom one between your teeth intruded on you. Maybe you would bite down hard enough to make him cry out. Maybe a dirty word would fall from his lips.

Maybe he would retaliate by shoving you up against a wall and making you sorry. So sweetly sorry.

You dug your nails into your thigh as punishment for entertaining the vivid daydream to no avail. Your warped mind only switched gears to wondering what the nibble of flesh just above his starched collar tasted like.

Clearly, you had been trapped aboard the star destroyer too long to be surrendering so easily to your imagination.

“Captain,” he said, snapping the cover of his holopad closed and setting it aside. You jumped at the sound and trained your eyes elsewhere.

“My apologies for summoning you during your leisure hours,” he continued tersely, folding his hands in front of him.

He wasn’t really sorry, you well knew. The lip service heightened your suspicions.

“Not at all, General,” you said crisply, never to betray your dread.

He pinned you with a muted-green stare. Your stubbornness saw you meeting his eyes and refusing to look away. You were convinced that these moments were the unspoken tests. Satisfied or dissatisfied - you were hardly ever sure - he sucked in air to speak.

“You enjoy a rare privilege serving under me as I am sure you are aware. I place a great deal of trust in you to keep things running smoothly. You have never made a habit of disappointing me.”

Hux let the words hang in the air, studying your face closely - searching for something. You wanted to take the compliment but your instincts warned that to do so might be jumping the blaster.

“You can imagine my surprise and, indeed, my disappointment at seeing a report cross my desk with your name on it,” he said, every word laced with mockery. “Of course, I had no choice but to follow-up with the claims.” You could not guess the contents of the report but the way he spoke made your stomach drop. The snake twisted and thrashed.

“Sir?” Was all you could manage.

Wordlessly, he leaned down to retrieve something from his right-side drawer. The smooth, shining case was small enough to fit in his one hand. He set it on the surface of his desk.

“Do you recognize this?”

“It’s a standard issue hygiene kit,” you answered. It would contain a toothbrush, shaving accoutrements, a plain comb. Simple yet essential and totally baffling in regard to its presence before you. You looked up at him, your puzzlement evident.

“Very good,” he purred.

You gave him as wry a look as you dared and snorted. “Shall we cut to the chase, sir?”

With spread, slender fingers he slid the kit toward you until it was within your grasp.

“Open it.”

Your gaze flicked between the box and General Hux as you tried to figure out why you were here. It clicked open as you passed your hand along the side. Careful not to make any obtrusive sound, you slowly opened the case. It wasn’t until you really took inventory of its contents that you realized how well and truly fucked you were.

It was your kit. One you only used for the rare opportunity for travel. One you had entirely erased from your own memory. After taking out all your daily use items, all that remained inside was a few stray bobby pins and a small tin of breath mints. But none of those things warranted a report. It was the final forgotten object that scared you.

It was a compact, brushed metal cylinder sitting right where you had left it all those months ago. Mortification and blind rage tore a path through you like a typhoon.

Which conniving rat opened their mouth?

You started to run through a mental list of the people who hated you enough to completely destroy you by reporting this - who could have possibly known about it in the first place. Who had been snooping in your things?

“Pick it up,” he said, interrupting your inner rampage.

You trained the quiver out of your hands and obeyed. Not wanting to waste his time, you twisted the container open and poured out the contents. Six white, unlabeled capsules wobbled and turned as did their warped reflections in the sleek black top of his desk. You watched them until they stilled.

The day you purchased them came fresh to your mind - it was the final day of your leave. Saying goodbye to the beautiful resort planet and returning to the cramped, sterile hallways of the Finalizer filled you with a gloom so potent it impaired your judgment. You longed for a taste of your wild days, when you had a little more freedom, a little more room to be reckless. You purchased six specially synthesized spice capsules from a seedy off-world trader in the local’s market.

The high-stress nature of your work and your willingness to forget how foolish you were for making the purchase had effectively banished the secret spice stash from your mind. You realized what an idiotic idea it was after you only got through security by the skin of your teeth when you did return to your post. The memory shamed you. You had to resort to dropping your boss's name just to be let through. What was it you had told them when they asked what the capsules were?

“Ah, I can explain this,” you said, breezily. Smiling like you were relieved. Hux gestured as if to say by all means.

“I have a particular vitamin deficiency. B12. My body doesn’t process it efficiently. These are supplements, nothing more. I must have forgotten about these ones after my leave,” you explained, daring even to chuckle at the silliness of this whole affair.

“You expect me to believe these are vitamins? They look rather like...illicit materials.”

“It’s a personalized dosage. My family physician concocted it herself. They come straight from her.”

A single, orange eyebrow raised at your explanation.

“This wasn’t listed in your evaluation,” he said challenging you. What did he have the damn thing memorized? You cleared your throat.

“My evaluator didn’t think it vital enough to declare.”

“And who was your evaluator?” Hux said, the wind of catching you out no longer filling his sails.

“My family-”

“Your family physician, of course,” he snapped, waving you off.

You were beginning to think you might get out of this one. Stars, you were so good at lying sometimes it scared you.

“Well, far be it from me to impede your good health.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a mean way. “I insist you take one.”

“I…” you stalled and then smiled, “well I’ve already had one. Just this morning.”

“It wasn’t a request, Captain.” His tone was a warning but he schooled it into something eerily conciliatory. “Where’s the harm? It isn’t vital, after all.”

You bit your lip and smirked, shaking your head. Another test. One you had to pass or else be disowned by your family or worse.

“If it please you, sir.”

“It does.”

You gave him a tight smile as you did some quick mental math. How long did you have before you were full-scale rolling on spice? With a product that’s composition was mostly a mystery to you? Spice could be manipulated to cause all manner of desired reactions. You had experimented with it before. Every batch varied in intensity. The dealer only said that it would “help keep the party goin’”. You picked the capsule nearest to you and prayed it wasn’t cut with anything nasty - or better yet, that you had been taken for a naive tourist and all you held in your hand was a sugar pill and nothing more.

“Help yourself to a glass of water,” the general said, tipping his head toward the decanter tray sitting on a small table at the right-hand side of his desk. There would be, among other things, a pitcher of cool water. You knew this because you often saw to it yourself that it was always full.

“No need.” You raised the pill to your lips and popped it confidently in your mouth. His lips parted as he watched you pretend to swallow it. Then he flashed you his perfectly crooked teeth. It was a smile that left you feeling like this was a test that couldn’t be passed.

“Well,” you said clasping your hands together, “if that is all that is required of me.”

You stood and made to leave.

“Not so fast. I don’t recall dismissing you,” he said, feigning incredulity.

You could feel the pill dissolving under your tongue. A pleasant, sweet flavor filled your mouth. You might have held out hope that it was, indeed, a sugar pill were it not for the spreading tingling across your tongue and lips. You gradually found your seat again.

“Apologies, sir.” Fuck, fuck, fuck. You had to get away now before things progressed much further.

“That’s better. Now how about a drink?” He rose from his chair and stepped over to the decanter tray.

You bit your tongue and murmured your impatient acquiescence. The tingling trickled its way down your throat. For every moment you were trapped in that chair, something new set in. The subtle nebulousness of your thoughts, an increase in body temperature, the most bizarre desire to stroke the skin of your cheek for awhile.

“The cognac, I think,” he said, as he opened the ornate glass container with a pop. “It is still your leisure time, is it not?”

“Sir.”

The liquor was reserved for his high profile meetings and, though you sat in on every one, he had never shared a drink with you. Under different circumstances, you might have enjoyed the special privilege but all you wanted to do now was escape. You weren’t going to make it. You weren’t going to make it if you didn’t get a lid on this immediately.

You were so occupied by your own thoughts you didn’t realize he was so close now. Your panic transmuted into something else entirely. Slim-shouldered yet still so imposing. Alabaster skin. High, aristocratic cheekbones. Sharp eyes watching you expectantly as he held out a glass. You wanted to reach out and touch that red hair of his which he took so much apparent pride in for how meticulously it was arranged.

You bit the inside of your cheek, chastising yourself for letting your sobriety slip.

“Thank you,” you murmured, taking the drink from his hand.

“Of course. Now, the unveiling of our latest generation of Special Forces TIE fighters is imminent,” General Hux said, rounding his desk and lowering himself in his seat.

“Tomorrow. Eighteen-hundred hours,” you said, amazed you could recall that detail in your current state.

“Very good. We shall toast to that.”

You lifted your glass as he did. Sweat prickled on your temple and cooled on the back of your neck.

“To superior fire power,” you said, tipping your glass at him. If there was anything you could stumble your way through while under the influence it was the arch charisma expected of you by your upbringing.

Hux smirked, gave a short hum of approval, and quietly agreed. “Hear, hear.”

Euphoria at having pleased him flooded your system. Your body heat started to feel oppressive. You barely remembered to actually sip your drink.

“I was overlooking the changes you made to my speech,” he said, licking cognac from his lips, languidly sitting back and folding his hands over his middle. “They were much needed. Some of it was shocking, frankly. For example, the part about the- let’s see where is it?” He flicked around files on his holo until he came to it. You loved the way his mouth moved when he talked. The forward way he set his jaw, making his teeth meet with such delicacy, enunciating every word.

“Here we are,‘They will cower at our supremacy to no avail and be crushed-’”

“‘-beneath our blooded boots for the glory of the First Order’, yes,” you said, idly reaching up to play with that suffocating top button of your black uniform. You drank more cognac to quench a thirst which begged for something cooler and milder. You felt like panting but wouldn’t dare.

“That part was especially- oh what is the word? It was-”

“So hot,” you gasped, having completely forgotten what he was on about. “Sorry, I’m just gonna…”

With one hand you popped the top button of your shirt and sighed in relief at being free from the rigid collar. He raised an eyebrow and his eyes flicked down to the newly revealed skin. The general was laughing at you now without making a sound.

“I was going to say excessive. In any case, I’ll have to have a talk with my speechwriter.”

“May I be dismissed?” You had practically interrupted him as you dabbed at the sweat on your brow and rued the plaintive notes in your tone. Unconsciously, you started flexing the muscles in your thighs and buttocks. At first, because you were rigid from stress and then for the fantastic sensation that traveled from the tops of your knees, up and up like a coin turned on its side, rolling until it tipped over and wheeled around in a spot that made your lashes flutter.

The anxiety, the euphoria, the arousal. It was all coming to a head. You pressed your lips together as you stifled a whine. It was quite clear exactly what the intended effects of this drug were.

“What seems to be the matter?” he asked casually, taking lingering notice of your wriggling.

“It’s not- I’m not- I just don’t feel well, suddenly.”

You knew what this looked like. You could see the scandal of it reflected in those implacable, shining eyes of his. You realized how deep you were breathing. How lazily your eyelids hovered. This is what he wanted all along. You could almost laugh with him at the absurdity of it.

Hux artfully drained the remainder of his drink, setting the glass down without a clatter.

“Did you lie to me, Captain?”

There was a long pause between you as he awaited your answer.

“I’ll have that water now.” You rose from your chair, afraid to encourage some new, staggering sensation. Your toe caught on your heel as you stumbled to the decanter tray. Humiliating. Best case scenario, you were fired. What would your family say? Your grasp felt too unreliable to coordinate grabbing a glass and filling it.

“There, there. Let me.” General Hux’s fingers brushed against yours as he took the glass. When had he left his seat? He was behind you at first but he soon sidled up so close beside you. You could smell his aftershave. His presence triggered a primitive part of you. Fear and attraction. He poured your water for you and presented it. You took it greedily, bringing the cup to your lips as fast as you could and gulping it down as he watched on with aloof interest.

You took a break to breathe and he captured your chin in his cool hand.

“You disrespect me by flouting the rules.” His grip tightened on your cheek, squishing the corners of your mouth. “Tell me, my dear, have I ever been one to suffer disrespect?”

“No, sir,” you replied, very nearly moaning it for how he had called you my dear.

You couldn’t fight Hux even if you wanted to. You were too busy thinking about how nice it would be to lean into his palm.

“You leave me no choice but to carry out disciplinary action myself. I cannot show any favoritism. As such, your punishment will be severe.” He made no effort to hide how much he was going to savor it.

“I understand you perfectly, sir,” you said, reaching out with a hand you no longer had control of to clutch his wrist.

“Good,” he said through his teeth, fixating on your moist lips as he dragged the soft pad of his thumb across the bottom one. There was the far away consolation that he was as entranced by yours as you were by his.

Like some creature hungry for stimuli you let your tongue wander out to taste. He let his mouth drop open slightly as you closed yours around his thumb and started sucking. Slowly. Deliberately, taking your time to explore the fine ridges of his finger. You closed your eyes and felt as he brought his free hand to the back of your neck. Your high temperature was insistent that you release a couple more of those shirt buttons.

Hux pulled his thumb out of your mouth and your eyes fluttered open. He was looking down at you, almost deranged, as he dragged your saliva across his own mouth. Then he crashed down on you, kissing you like he wanted to hurt you. He didn’t wait for your assent to use his tongue. You opened to him, still sweet with spice. He could taste it too. He must. Good. You wanted to spread the exquisite poison that he had given you.

You were unleashed, desperately clawing at his shoulders and messing up his hair. He chuckled meanly against your lips. He was laughing at you again. At your behavior. At how desperate you were to press your whole body up against him - to find some purchase for pleasure. Your pride bristled but not for long. Taking down your neatly-bunned hair and dropping to your knees before him, you resolved to level the playing field.

You ran your hot hands over his erection which strained against his charcoal jodhpurs. He couldn’t hide this. How hard it made him watching you lose control. Eager to lay eyes on him, you deftly unzipped and lowered his trousers. You gasped as his cock swung free, uncut and beautifully pale. His fastidious cleanliness was evident even in his pants. And to your endless delight, although you could have guessed it, the neatly trimmed hairs that wreathed him were just as orange as those upon his head. Grasping his thighs, you watched him watch you as you snaked your tongue out to catch the glistening precum.

General Hux hissed. You smiled at the sound of the glass clinking on the decanter tray as he placed a sudden, steadying hand upon it. A stark flush painted his skin. You could see his chagrin at your obvious grab for an advantage. He schooled his expression to a more indifferent one and took himself in hand.

“That state of you,” he breathed, stroking your hair as he bounced the pink tip of his cock on your parted lips thrice, “you ought to be ashamed.”

He arranged your hair neatly over your shoulder and you closed your mouth around him in reply. Deeper and deeper you took him, swirling and flicking your tongue and letting your hand cover what you could not. You could feel his thighs flexing beneath your touch. The more of him you took in the more it was evident that your gag reflex was out to lunch. Yet another novel effect of the spice. Curious, you swallowed his spit-gleaming cock until your nose was buried in coarse, soap-scented curls and lingered long enough to spare him a glance.

Maybe you weren’t so indifferent to power, after all. You had never felt so drunk on it before, seeing your general’s open-mouthed gasp and furrowed brow as he watched you deep-throat him.

The state of you, you thought to yourself.

But you didn’t have long to luxuriate in your victory, as Hux was clearly ready to dispense with the games. He began to fuck your mouth with long, merciless strokes, yanking your hair into a ponytail. Your throat was pleasantly numb but a part of you wished you could experience the struggle of being invaded this way sober. Still, the way drool dripped and strung down off of your chin made you feel used in such a wonderful way.

“Up,” he commanded, dragging his length out of your mouth. He pulled you to him as you rose, wheeling the decanter tray out of the way and pressing your ass roughly against the edge of his desk. He smoothed his hands up and down the backs of your stocking-clad thighs and he lifted you with little effort to sit on it. Your pencil skirt strained and slid up as he nestled himself between your legs. He kissed your sodden mouth and idly stroked himself.

“You nearly had me fooled,” he murmured against your neck in between kisses and bruising nips. “So orderly. Only ever on task.”

Your jacket was pulled down around your arms. The remainder of your buttons were done away with and his hand found your breast. He pulled down your plain bra, palming, squeezing, plucking at your nipple, switching to the other to encourage your little whimpers and arching back.

“And so accommodating. So eager to please me. Or did you think I hadn’t noticed?”

You wrapped your hand around the back his neck as he continued to lick and suck your bare shoulder. You could feel the sweat on the back of his neck as your wrapped your arms around him and you knew Hux was as far gone as you were. He leaned over you, into you, hand steadying your lower back. A jolt of pleasure rocked you as his other crept up your inner thigh to cup your sex and press while you moved against him for more sensation. A long, low moan vibrated in your chest. He softly shushed you as your hips bucked from the maddening pressure.

“How prettily you blush at any minute word of praise-” the general said in your ear, like it was an admonishment.

Riiip. He laid waste to the crotch of your stockings, tearing the thin barrier with ease.

“-looking just the way you do now-”

You cried out and pulled his hair at his faintest tracing of your slit over your black panties, your thoughts swimming as he pulled them aside.

“-only for me.” General Hux sighed, very amused at how soaked you were, how you mewled at his every touch. With teasing circles, he manipulated you until it was too much and you wriggled away from him. Then, holding your hips in place, he slipped his fingers easily inside of you. Precise and curling. Pushing in and out until your thighs and ass quaked for how long you had been tensing them from his relentless attention.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck,” you whined, screwing your eyes shut and squeezing his shoulders.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, softening his touch. The knot in the pit of your stomach tightened more and more with no relief.

You hissed. “Bastard!”

“Shut up,” he snapped, laying a hand between your breasts, shoving you down to lie so he could survey what he had done to you. Your jacket was pulled down, your shirt open, bra only half on. Your stockings were ripped and your skirt had been pushed up to your belly. Your hair stuck to your forehead and cheeks and your chest heaved up and down like you had just outrun a charging bantha. The general looked more or less himself save for the sheen of sweat on his brow and a few fallen strands of red hair which he raked back too soon for you to be able to savor the rumpled look on him.

With one hand, he lifted your leg behind the knee. Then you felt you underwear pulled aside and his length pushing insistently and the entrance of your swollen cunt.

“Now, I’m going to give you what you deserve. Would you like that, Captain?”

“Yesss,” you said, impatiently. Your fingernails dug into the edges of his desk as you lay across it long-ways.

“I beg your pardon?” he said, genuinely annoyed, rubbing your clit up and down none-too-gently with his cock.

“Yes, sir,” you wail. For fuck’s sake.

“Good girl.”

And with one brutal thrust you were consumed. A moan ripped out of your throat and you threw your head back. By the sweet satisfaction of being filled to the hilt by your arrogant general and the spice coursing through your veins with every beat of your heart you came, thunderously, blindingly. Your eyes rolled back into your head and you soundlessly mouthed words of ecstasy.

Then the lights went out.

When you came to, he was lazily fucking you. Watching you with a casual gaze. Only seconds had passed while you were unconscious but you still felt like a time traveler as you recovered. That was definitely score one against you in the game of who will be most undone by the end.

Not that you were mad about it.

“There she comes,” he hummed, picking up your other leg. You crossed your ankles behind him and he took it as a sign that you were ready to continue. He wasted no time setting a savage pace, thrusting hard into you, his desk making scraping sounds in time with his movement. Perhaps it was the drugs talking but you decided in that moment that his cock was perfect. It was all you ever needed. Just his cock and his mouth and his fingers forever.

The rest of the spice capsules rattled to the floor.

A vein started to bulge in his forehead and his face reddened. Hux’s hand slapped the desk next to your head and he was looming over you. The mask of control fell away again and he started to pant. You pawed at his back, his shoulders, uselessly trying to dig your nails into the fabric of his shirt as you sobbed with every fulfillment.

“Shit,” he muttered, putting his free hand to good use, his fingers drawing hurried circles on your clit. Another orgasm reluctantly mounted, but you could tell by how frantically he fucked you now that he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Now, damn you,” he snarled, giving you a direct order. The general’s thrusts were becoming irregular. You were so close.

His head fell forward, buried in between your neck and shoulder. His cock twitched inside you and as he came he cried out and let slip your name.

Your given name.

And then, because you were - as he said - so eager to please him, you obeyed. This time, you remembered to breathe so you wouldn’t pass out as you came once more because, honestly, he had a big enough ego as it was. Fucking you unconscious twice just wasn't a victory you were willing to give him.

By the time you came to your senses, he was still laying on top of you, his own breathing steadily slowing to normal. You toyed with the idea of smoothing down his hair or tickling the back of his neck as a gesture of calming affection but he was far too unpredictable for you to try - an element of his mystique which you begrudgingly adored.

After a moment’s more rest, he reached a sluggish hand into his pocket and procured a handkerchief. With great effort, he lifted himself off of you and cleaned up, tucking himself back into his pants. After that, he folded the expensive material and, with surprising tenderness, did the same for you.

Then, stepping around his desk he dropped himself back into his chair, huffing with exhaustion. The handkerchief was cast aside into one of his drawers to be dealt with later. You scooted your butt to the edge of the desk and gently lowered yourself onto your feet. It was only now, you noticed that your throat and everything from the waist down killed. A nice keepsake, you thought, for as long as it would last.

“Now,” he said, smoothing his hair down for a second and final time, “you are dismissed.”

You nodded intending leave but not before sparing a curious glance toward the little white capsules on the floor.

“I’ll be keeping those. Rules are rules.”

You bit your lip and cocked your head.

“But, General,” you said, “my deficiency.”

He leaned back and gave you an unreadable expression.

“Worry not, Captain.” His eyes glittered. “I’ll see to it your needs are met.”

And then you departed to ride out the rest of your trip in the comfort of your quarters, repeatedly satiated by the hardly believable memory of what had just occurred and the long daydream of what was still to come.

#hux x reader #general hux #armitage hux #my fanfic #star wars #my gif #btw

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kathrynmaslow · 6 years

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Love Lies 12/15

Summary: Ever since Emma was 13, she knew she had the ability to destroy people if she wanted to, and some days, she really wanted to. After being forced to go to Greenwood Academy following a traumatizing event in her childhood that brought to the surface her ability to manipulate fire, she never thought she would be free of the place. So for nearly 10 years, she lived a solitary existence with the exception of her best friends, but that was all about to change.

Killian Jones had just been sentenced to attend the university campus at Greenwood Academy after an accident at sea caused him to be dishonorably discharged from Her Majesty’s royal Navy and lose his hand. He doesn’t know what to think about these newfound powers and what they spell for the rest of his now not-so-normal life. But a chance encounter one day has the ability to change all of that.

A story about love and redemption between two people that shows, if you have the right person beside you, you can find a light in the darkness.

Rating: M

Content Warnings: Mentions of Violence/Death, Brief mention of Childhood Abuse/Sexual Assault, Mild Sexual Content

Chapter Notes: For those of you who were wondering exactly what happened to Emma while she was on lock down, here is her side of the story. Thanks as always to my amazing beta @daveyjacobsthepotterhead and artist @princesse-swan. Enjoy!

Read on FF

Catch up on Tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven

Art by @princesse-swan here and here

Chapter 12

Emma was freezing.

Yes, it was beginning to finally turn towards cooler temperatures in the region that the academy was located, but that didn’t necessarily constitute the thick sweater and fleece leggings that she was currently rocking. Rubbing her hands together, her newly minted suppression bracelets clinking into each other with the motion, she tried to get some feeling back into her hands.

When the Headmaster suggested she get put on ice after the attack on the academy, she didn’t think he would mean it so literally.

After they roused her in the medical wing of the academy, Killian nowhere to be found, the Headmaster, security team, and training team were arguing about what to do with her.

Graham, ever faithful, was arguing just to contain her to her room until another set of bracelets was fashioned for her. She hadn’t injured anyone in the attack, and she had protected a lot of the students on campus while showing more restraint than many people here had thought she had, he argued.

The Headmaster wasn’t swayed though. He thought she was a menace, a threat to the safety of everyone on the campus, and that she had to be dealt with immediately and swiftly.

He continued on, talking over the head of the security asking why they were trying to punish her and not Gaston. He suggested they put her on ICE for a few days. Graham visibly blanched when that suggestion came out of the Headmaster’s mouth.

After sharing a look with the rest of the security team members, the head of security turned towards Headmaster Riggans, looking as though he was about to argue again.

All the arguments that he was going to plead on her behalf evaporated when Riggans threatened to fire him on the spot if he didn’t escort Emma to the ICE block immediately. Riggans turned his back on everyone and walked out of the room.

Shoulders slumped in defeat, Emma let Graham and another security guard carry her towards the ICE block on campus. Despite living on the campus for ten years, she didn’t know what the ICE block was or where it was located on campus.

But as they kept descending deeper and deeper into and beneath the maximum security facility on campus, Emma began to think that the reason she had never heard of the ICE block on campus was because the students that they sent there never came back.

Badging swiping through the fourth set of security doors, the head of security finally stopped in front of the third door down on the right. There were another six down the row from what she could see, and all the windows and walls surrounding the doors were covered with an ominously thick layer of ice and frost.

“She is going to freeze down here if we don’t take those gloves off her.” Graham said, shifting her so she was standing on her feet without much support.

Still staring at the door in front of him, the head of security nodded his head, “I know.”

“Well can’t you do anything? Riggans took my master key so I can’t get her out of these. I don’t know about you August, but I don’t want to risk putting her in one of those if Riggans didn’t say exactly how long he wanted her down here.” Graham pressed.

“I am well aware of what you are implying here Hunter.” The Head, August, said. Turning to face her, he pulled his set of keys from his pocket.

Fingering slowly through the dozens of keys, he looked directly at her as he slipped one into the slot on her right glove. She was struck by how young he looked.

“You may not know this Ms. Swan, but Mr. Riggans doesn’t know that I am gifted like many of the students here. He thinks that he hired someone just like him, normal, to fill his head of security. I know this about him because I can walk through people’s minds.

I’ve known for a very long time what I could do, but I never attended a school like this, because unless I told someone, no one would ever know what I was capable of. I don’t know what happened to make Riggans so afraid of you, but you are not someone that I think we need to worry about.”

He released the locking mechanism on the gloves, and she felt the warmth of her flames rising up inside of her once again. She looked down quickly at her free hands, flexing her fingers, and back up to him in disbelief.

He pushed a button to the left of the door, and the mechanism slid open with a cracking of ice, “Good luck Ms. Swan.”

The guards shoved her into what she now realized was a cell, and the freezing dark closed in on her.

If it weren’t for the kind heartedness of August, letting her remain without any kind of suppression in the ICE block, she probably would have died.

Walking across campus towards David’s dorm room, she was hoping he would have some information about what happened with Killian.

She hadn’t heard or seen anything about him since she was taken down to the block. And after having nothing to do but worry about keeping herself warm and alive for ten days, she realized how she reacted had been wrong. Killian didn’t deserve the way she reacted, but old habits for her seemed to be hard to shake.

And, she really did need to tell him how she ended up attending the academy in the first place, even if he hadn’t told her how he traveled here.

He saved her life the other day, she at least owed him that much.

Besides, Killian was her friend. Something more if she was being honest with herself.

As she crossed campus, she noticed how things had changed since the attack.

The barrier still hadn’t been repaired, so the clear panes that constructed the dome protecting the campus flickered oddly with electricity while they tried to figure out how to repair the monstrosity. Boulders and singe marks litter the campus buildings as well, remainders of her showdown with Gaston.

Crews were still working to try and remove the boulders and tree branches from the buildings, seeming to enlist the help of military branch members to do some of the heavy lifting that the clean up crews were unable to manage.

There were also more guards in place around the campus, a few had stopped random students as they made there way through campus to make sure they had the proper identification to be there. It seemed as though they didn’t want another army smuggled onto the campus.

One such service member stopped her at the doors to Reynolds hall, asking for her ID badge and scanning the back before allowing her into the building. Some of the color had drained from his face when he beheld the name on her badge, he had obviously heard about the battle on the campus and her role in it.

Emma could hear a commotion as soon as she arrived at David’s floor. Two or three voices yelling at each other, but one with a distinctly familiar accent jumped out to her right away, Killian.

Thank God he is okay, she thought to herself.

Rounding the corner, she hurried down to where she knew David’s room to be, but stopped short as she noticed a tall man in military dress yelling down at Killian.

“First the incident out at sea that got you marshaled and now this! Seriously Killian, I don’t know why you are doing all of this! Are you doing it for attention? Is that it?” The man yelled at him.

Killian visibly angered, a hot flush spreading up his neck and ears and his fist clenching.

“Right, because why else would I do anything. That’s how everything always was! If I didn’t do something right, whether it be during my schooling or during basic training, it’s because I wanted attention! Not because I was actually struggling or anything! You just thought it was a parlor trick to get you out of the spotlight and me into it!”

“You never gave me reason to think otherwise Killian.” The man yelled back.

“WELL GUESS WHAT LIAM, I DON’T WANT THIS!” Killian yelled, shoving at him-Liam-with his hand and blunted wrist.

Liam looked visibly startled when he noticed Killian’s lack of a left hand. He grabbed Killian’s wrist.

“What happened to you, brother?” He asked, his tone so much softer than it had been before.

“You have been keeping tabs on me well enough Liam to know where I was and what had happened, but you didn’t care enough to notice this in the reports. I guess that shows where your real priorities are.”

And with those parting words, Killian shoved past his brother, heading away from Emma towards the stairwell at the back of the building.

As Liam watched Killian go, David took notice of Emma standing there.

“Emma, thank God you are alright. What happened?” He came up to her right away and wrapped her up into a hug. “Jesus, you are freezing.”

“Long story, what was going on over here?” She asked, pointedly looking over Liam when she said it.

“Nothing you need to be concerned about ma’m” Liam said, not turning away from where his younger brother had gone.

“Now see, that is where you are wrong. Killian is my friend, so yeah, that makes you berating him like he is nothing more than a child my problem.” She said, stepping around David to get closer into Liam’s space.

“Really, just being his friend makes it your business now? I’m his brother. You don’t have any say in how I treat my family members. Killian will get over his temper in a couple of hours and will inevitably come back to apologize.”

“But he shouldn’t have to come crawling back to you to apologize when you came here and attacked him! How did you even get in here in the first place, this campus in on lock down after the attacks.” She questioned.

Liam gestured to his uniform, “I am a member of her majesty’s royal Navy, I know exactly what strings to pull and who to talk to to be able to see my little brother.”

“Member of the Navy or not, you shouldn’t be here.” She said, “Killian doesn’t seem to want you here anyway.”

Liam flushed angrily, “Well, I haven’t seen Killian since his ship deployed from London nearly a year and a half ago. I only just received word of his placement after he got Marshaled and dishonorably discharged from the Navy within the last few weeks.”

“And I take it your reunion isn’t going as planned?” Emma said, channeling her best impression of Killian’s smirk that drove her up the wall.

David touched her arm next to her and murmured her name in warning.

“No, it hasn’t, but only because whatever you seem to have done has caused my little brother to turn into a completely different person.”

“We haven’t done anything to him!” Emma said, beginning to feel defensive. Killian had done nothing but respect her and defend her to others around campus, so it only felt right to do so in return.

She just never expected to have to defend him to the brother he spoke so highly of.

“You may not have been the initial cause of the change, but you are only making him worse. Killian was never someone who ran into danger and fought in battles trying to be some kind of hero.” Liam said back, his voice rising harshly, composure breaking.

“He was in the fucking Navy! Of course he was going to become a hero at some point.” Emma retorted, her patience becoming thread bare.

“Yeah, well, I never thought my brother would be a killer either, but that happened too!” Liam yelled, getting into her personal space, his face inches from hers.

All the fight drained out of her in an instant. “What?” Her voice barely more than a whisper.

David moved his body slightly between them, trying to defuse the situation further.

Liam let out a sardonic laugh. “Oh, didn’t expect that of your friend did you.” Liam spat, his voice bitter.

Emma shook her head, not really able to process the thoughts flowing through her head.

“That’s right, Killian is a killer. Killed one of his own men in cold blood when his ship came under attack. I don’t know what happened, but he isn’t my brother any more, and no matter what you all insist, you freaks did this to him.” He pressed a finger into her shoulder.

She barely noticed.

“And I am going to get him out of here, one way or another.”

“That is up to your government, Liam” David said, trying to play the diplomat. “You will have to take it up with them, the leaders here can’t just release him. Especially after what happened last week.”

Emma was barely listening to the conversation anymore.

Sure, Killian had mentioned that he was in the Navy before he had come to the academy, and that they had decided to send him to the states, but he had never talked about what had happened.

But she didn’t know how to process the information that he had killed someone.

It wasn’t like she had a poorer opinion of him now that she knew, but she was finally starting to see him in a different light.

Scenes flashed before her eyes, a looming figure above her in bed when she was 12. Her screaming for someone to come and help her. Roaring flames burning through her room and her house.

A charred body.

Sitting in that courtroom with members of her family staring down at her, some of them crying, some of them angry.

Her first nights here at the academy without anyone to comfort her after being removed from her family.

Family that she hadn’t seen for ten years.

Emma couldn’t say that she completely understood what had happened to Killian, but she was starting too.

“I have to go.” She said in a daze.

Liam and David abandoned the debate they were having when she started to push around the both of them.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Liam asked, trying to push David out of the way to get to her.

David clamped a hand down on Liam’s forearm, hard enough to make him wince. “Watch it buddy. Killian may be your brother, but Emma is my sister, you have no right to talk to her that way.”

“The hell I don’t. She is one of those freaks-”

Liam cut off as David squeezed his forearm harder, “I would think about how you want to finish that sentence, because Killian and I are also classified as one of those ‘freaks’ as you like to call us apparently.”

“You’re no danger to him, she could easily burn him to ashes with just a thought.” He hissed.

That charred body flashed again in front of her eyes.

“Believe me Liam, I am more of a danger to you right now than she is to Killian.” David said, looking pointedly down at Emma’s wrists, where the metal of her new suppression bracelets winked brightly.

“Those keep her powers down to the point where she is no more powerful than you are. Me, they don’t see the need to regulate me that way. So again, think hard about where you want this conversation to go.”

Liam glared daggers down at David for a long second before ripping his arm free and walking off in the opposite direction from where Killian went.

“I have to go.” Emma said again, after remaining silent for the exchange between Liam and David. She started walking for the doors that she had seen Killian go through when she felt a hand touch lightly on her shoulder.

So much lighter than the force David had just shown Liam. Always gentle with her.

“Emma” David said, moving so he was in front of her again. “Be careful. Things got pretty ugly between the two of them, so take it easy on Killian.”

“Don’t worry about me David.” She said, reaching to hug him quickly. “I’ll be okay.”

She let him go and rushed out the doors, barreling down the stairs.

Liam had been arguing with them for a good 10 minutes, so Killian already had a good head start to getting away from them.

Emma thought back on the conversations that they had shared over the last few weeks and thought about all of the places he liked to go when he was in a mood. He wouldn’t go to the library, too many people even with the lockdown.

Nor would he go back to his dorm room. That would probably be the last place he went if Emma was honest. He hated being alone there.

Suddenly, the roof of the science building came to mind. Killian loved being up there in the quiet solitude of the planetarium.

With that in mind, she took off at a run for the science building, hoping she wasn’t too late.

#csbb #2018 csbb #Love Lies #My writing #Captain Swan #emma swan #killian jones #Emma x Killian

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