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hoboal87 · 3 years

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The Fear

Title: The Fear

Pairing: Dean x pregnant!Reader, minor Sam x Eileen

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader

Summary: Dean comes home to find Y/N missing.

Word Count: 2300+

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, kidnapping, violence, fluff, pregnancy, non-graphic descriptions of childbirth, 15 x 20 adjacent.

A/N: my entry for @princessmisery666's #daily mix challenge combined with a Nonnie request.

Edit: I forgot to thank the lovely @lovealways-j for beta-reading this for me. Thanks, Sabrina!

My song is "The Fear" by The Score

My Full Masterlist

Something’s wrong.

Dean can sense it the moment he steps into his shared room with Y/N. He looks carefully around the room, trying to find a clue as to what’s got his hunter instincts in high gear. It looks no different then when he and Sam left three days ago, and yet, every bone in his body is telling him something is off.

“Y/N?” He calls out hesitantly as he makes his way towards her old room down the hall. She’d been in the process of turning it into a nursery for the last month and had a tendency to get lost in paint samples and baby supplies. As he closes in on the room, he can feel himself becoming more on edge and instinctively reaches for his gun. “Sweetheart? You in there?”

Dean’s heart sinks further into his stomach as he reaches the newly-converted nursery. The usually meticulously organized room was in a state of disarray as if there had been some sort of struggle. Dean calls out for Y/N again, willing her to give him some kind of sign that he was overreacting to what he was seeing.

He quickly pulls out his phone dialing Y/N’s number, he and Sam should have never gone on that hunt, Y/N was due in less than a month, but she insisted that they go.

This is Y/N, sorry I can’t come to the phone, if it’s an emergency please contact Sam or Dean…

“Fuck,” Dean mutters, waiting for her message to end. “Hey sweetheart,” he does his best to keep his voice steady. “Me and Sammy just got back and I just got a feeling…” he takes a deep breath. “Call me back. Love you.”

Dean pockets his phone, before taking in the room again, trying to convince himself that it’s his new-father instincts and not his hunter instincts that have him so on edge. That’s when he sees it: under a discarded bag, a small pool of blood. Dean’s breathing grows heavier, and he scans the room again, looking for any kind of sign of what may have happened in the room.

“Sam!” Dean yells out, his breath quickening. “Sammy!”

Sam’s behind him, skidding to a stop before taking in the sight of the room before him. Even with only a cursory glance Dean knows that Sam’s thinking the same thing as him, something’s happened to Y/N.

Dean hurries down to the infirmary, Y/N had insisted that they have everything to monitor her in the final months and in the worst-case scenario anything needed to help her deliver. The simple fetal monitor is right where they’d left it three days prior, Dean insists on listening to the heartbeat of his unborn child on an almost daily basis, letting the rapid thump thump thump put him at ease.

Dean’s phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he breathes out a sigh of relief when Y/N’s picture fills the screen. He takes a minute, calming himself, she doesn’t need to know that up until this moment he was on the verge of a panic attack.

“Sweetheart,” he smiles, “y’know you had us worried for a minute.”

There’s silence on the other end of the call, save for heavy, scratchy breathing.

“Y/N?”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Y/N whispers, choking back a sob. “I shouldn’t’ve trusted her. Now–”

“Baby, listen to me,” Dean finds Sam in the hall and mouths trace the call, Sam nods and bolts towards the library. “Are you okay? The baby?”

“That depends on you, Dean,” an unfamiliar voice replaces Y/N’s. “Now, be a good little soldier and do as I say. Only then will your precious wife and child have a chance to make it through this unharmed.” Dean can feel his blood boiling, this is why he could never not be a hunter. He and Sam have made too many enemies over the years, and now Y/N and their baby may be paying the price.

All the fear that he felt when Y/N first told him she was pregnant comes rushing back to the surface. Dean never thought he’d get married, let alone be a father, but with Rowena keeping the demons in check, and Jack limiting the angels' interaction on Earth, with the exception of Cas, life became some version of safe for the brothers.

That’s why Y/N insisted that they take the simple salt n’ burn just one state over. She knew that they were going a little stir crazy, Bobby, Jody and Donna, had started training the next generation of hunters so that boys could retire. Dean was hesitant to leave, Y/N was only a month away from her due date, but she shooed them out the door, claiming to need her own space from her overprotective husband and brother-in-law.

“Are you listening, Dean?” The voice tuts and Dean tries to clear his head of ‘if’s’ and ‘could’ve’s’ all it’s doing is driving him crazy.

“I’m listening,” Dean repeats through gritted teeth. The voice gives coordinates to a location a few hours away and before he realizes it he’s in the Impala, ready to do whatever it takes to save his wife and baby. Sam tells Dean what he’s already sure of: this is a trap and Y/N is being used as bait. He doesn’t care, he can’t lose her, lose their baby, not when she’s done nothing more than love him.

The sun is setting when they pull up to the abandoned farmhouse, original, Dean thinks. Dean wants to go bursting in, guns ablaze, but Sam stops him, reminding him that they don’t know who or what has got Y/N, and they have to be smart. He wants nothing more than to punch his brother for suggesting that they wait even a second longer to rescue Y/N, but he lets the words sink in and reluctantly agrees.

Silver bullets, holy water, dead man’s blood, witch-killing bullets and machete’s are divided between each brother, knowing that whatever has Y/N, one of these things will most likely kill it. When they enter the farmhouse Dean’s eyes lock on Y/N, who’s against a wall, two chains around her wrists.

Dean rushes towards her, the only thing on his mind is getting her and the baby out of this place and back home. Her breathing is shallow when he reaches her, and he gently inspects her body. Gingerly, he touches her face, allowing her Y/E/C eyes to meet his and she smiles lazily at him. Knew you’d come, she whispers, and Dean leans forward to place a kiss on her forehead. His free hand lands on the swell of her belly, where he can feel a slight kick against his palm.

“I love you,” Dean says softly so that only Y/N can hear him. “I’m gonna get you outta here, sweetheart, okay?” Y/N nods slightly as Dean focuses his attention on freeing her from her bonds.

There’s a grunt behind Dean, and when he turns around, Sam’s on the ground, and there’s a somewhat familiar woman standing behind him.

“Dean Winchester,” she exclaims as two large men appear and pull him to his feet. “Been too long.”

“Jenny,” he utters, remembering one of the first cases he worked with Sam. “You look good, a little dead, but, good.”

“Always the charmer, weren’t you Dean?” She takes a step towards Y/N. “I could smell you on her the second she walked past me. Women always trust other women, made her think I was a hunter; a tragic backstory here, a name drop there, and bingo, the dumb bitch is leading me into your home.”

Dean feels his anger rising as he tugs against the two men, his eyes flicker to Sam, who slowly starts reaching for the blade next to him.

“Up,” Jenny orders and when Y/N doesn’t comply she produces a blade, and presses it against her stomach. Dean’s heart stops at the threat to Y/N and their baby. “If you want to give your baby a chance to ever see the light of day, I suggest you cooperate.”

Y/N’s legs are wobbly as she stands, tears glistening in her eyes as Jenny slowly runs the blade against her. Dean’s gaze doesn’t leave her, watching as Jenny uncuffs her, and leads her slowly over to him.

Adrenaline pumps through Dean’s veins and he frees himself from his two captors; headbutting one and throwing a punch at the other as Y/N is pushed out of the way. Sam is up on his feet and in a swift move, swings the blade through Jenny’s neck, her body falling limp to the ground. For the briefest of moments, Dean relaxes, only for a vamp to be coming at him again.

Dean can barely keep track of anything, his eyes tunneling in on the large vamp in front of him. He can hear the grunts of Sam, and the familiar sound of another vamp going down. Y/N isn’t in his line of sight, and through the blood pounding in his ears, he hears Sam call his name.

It was just the distraction that the vamp needed and he barrels towards Dean, slamming him against a wooden post. He feels something pierce his side but he keeps fighting against the vamp. As the vamp is about to take his final shot, his head is gone, and Sam is quickly resheething his blade.

Y/N cries out, cradling her stomach and even from a distance he can see the pool blood between her legs. Go, Dean orders Sam who quickly obeys.

“I think she’s in labor,” Sam mutters. “I don’t think we can get her to a hospital in time.”

Dean rushes to Y/N’s side as best he can, telling her everything will be alright. Dean returns to Baby, grabbing the first aid kit, hastily patching up the wound, and retrieving a blanket from the trunk. The pain hits him all at once, but he pushes through it, his pain doesn’t matter, all that matters is that Y/N and the baby are safe.

Y/N’s screaming out in pain, begging for someone to make it stop as Sam does his best to calm her. Dean closes the distance in only a few steps, positioning himself behind her. He takes her hands in his, whispering praises in her ear as Sam orders her to push.

Within only a few minutes, Evelyn Marie Winchester is brought into the world, wailing loudly as Sam wraps her in his flannel and hands her over to Y/N. Dean offers Sam a silent thank you as he takes in the appearance of his daughter. Evie’s the perfect combination of him and Y/N.

The moment of bliss doesn’t last long, as Sam reminds them that they still need to get Y/N and Evie to a hospital. Dean moves from his place behind Y/N and winces at the pain now radiating through his body. Sam gives him a curious look, and Dean shrugs, trying to convince his brother that he’s fine.

Dean takes Evie out of Y/N’s arms, and cradles her against him as Sam helps Y/N to her feet. Dean takes a few steps before legs start to give and his vision starts to blur. The last thing Dean hears before everything going black is Y/N and Sam calling out his name.

Five Years Later

Dean watches as Evie runs around the backyard of their new home, chasing Miracle and laughing hysterically. Y/N was right, the Bunker was no place to raise a little girl, she deserves everything that he and Sam never had, and he is determined to give it all to her. Evie will never know what it’s like to go to bed hungry or cold, or wonder when she’ll see her parents again.

The opening of the front door tears Dean’s attention away from his daughter, Sam’s voice filling the otherwise silent house. He turns to see his brother carrying a ridiculous amount of gifts followed by a very pregnant Eileen with a shaggy haired toddler attached to her hip.

“Unca De!” Little Bobby tries to squirm out of Eileen’s hold and she carefully lets him down. The toddler bolts for Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean’s leg. “S’Evie’s birfday!”

“I know, buddy!” Dean laughs at his nephew, “how ‘bout you go tell her ‘happy birthday’?” Dean opens the side door and lets Bobby out.

“You are going to spoil my daughter rotten, Sam Winchester,” Y/N appears from the back of the house. Dean’s still amazed that even after years together, Y/N can take his breath away.

“Well, if I had another niece or nephew, I could spread the love.”

“I think you’ve spread enough love, Sammy,” Dean jokes as he heads into the kitchen, Sam following behind him. “I mean, you’re basically having your kids back-to-back.”

“Three years is hardly back-to-back,” Sam reaches out to grab a beer. “You’re just mad ‘cause I one-upped you.”

“Actually,” Dean peeks into the living room. “We’ll be even. Y/N’s pregnant.”

The words have hardly left Dean’s mouth before Sam’s engulfed him in a hug. Dean’s positive that Eileen and Y/N are having a similar conversation at this very same moment, but what neither Sam or Eileen know is that they have a bet on who will crack first.

“Just found out a couple of weeks ago,” Dean continues with the ruse. “She wanted to wait until after yours was born, didn’t want to take Eileen’s thunder or something.” Sam nods, seemingly understanding.

Hours later, after the last present has been opened, and the final piece of cake has been eaten, Sam and Eileen take a very sleepy Bobby home. Evie sits at the kitchen table, listening carefully and a smile growing on her face as Dean and Y/N tell her that in six months she’ll have a little brother or sister.

“Or both,” Y/N corrects with a knowing smirk.

“Both?”

Please reblog or send me an ask with your feedback!

This one-shot was requested by a nonnie, my requests are currently open, you can send me an ask or DM me if you’d like to request something.

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#pmdailymix666 #dean x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean x pregnant!reader #angst #violence #kidnapping #angst with a happy ending

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a-dorin · 4 years

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it takes two to tango

pairing: professor!obi-wan kenobi x female reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: professor/student relationship, unprofessionalism, flirting, cursing, age gap, love triangle(maybe?), allusions to sex, mentions of oral

a/n: hellooooo! this is a little blurb or oneshot based off my ardor au, featuring professor!maul as well as other characters in college! for some context, this idea stemmed from this post linked here! i hope you guys enjoy! :))

read the first chapter of ardor here!

“welcome to writing foundations. i am professor kenobi, but i go by an array of names. you can refer to me as obi-wan, obi, or ben. if you’d like, you can just keep the professor kenobi. it makes things a little easier and maintains the professionalism.”

letting out a quiet sigh, you fidgeted in your seat, chin resting in one hand, the other absentmindedly brushing over the keys of your laptop. your phone rested on your lap, vibrating every few minutes or so with a variety of notifications.

however, one notification in particular caught your attention, pulling your focus away from the professor.

it was a text from your boyfriend, flashing across the face of your apple watch.

i miss seeing your gorgeous face in class. :’( maybe i should’ve failed you so you were forced to retake the course. just kidding! or am i? ;)

upon reading the message the corner of your lips tugged into a shy grin, hands flying to your phone to respond.

“am i really that boring? or, is that text too important for you to focus?”

the inquiry was laced with scorn, your cheeks flushing as your eyes traveled upwards, focusing on the front of the classroom. professor kenobi arched a brow, his arms folded across his chest, a frown etched across his features.

“well?”

giggles erupted from several of the freshmen, the sound bouncing off the walls. reluctantly, you set your phone face down on the desk, “sorry.”

“i expect your undivided attention for the rest of the period,” he retorted, “i do not tolerate any disrespect directed towards my time in lecture. that does include texting, snapping, and sleeping in class. i will not hesitate to take your phone either.”

“i said i was sorry,” you gritted your teeth, your jaw clenching as the laughter continued, “you can proceed, professor kenobi.”

“i’m glad we’re both on the same page,” he rolled his eyes, plucking a marker off the tray, “now i’m going to write down my contacts on the whiteboard here. feel free to utilize my email at your leisure. i am aware of how some professors feel about giving out their numbers, but i have the utmost confidence that you all won’t abuse your texting privileges. well, maybe not all of you.”

fiddling with your laptop, you pulled up a new document for some notes. although you sure that professor kenobi wasn’t going to dive straight into lecture, who knew what his next move entailed.

already, you understood why maul was not fond of the professor. his aura was cold yet witty, and a bit pretentious. well, he was warm and kind, spitting out a few jokes here and there. that was until he caught you typing out a text. maybe that was just one of his pet peeves.

or maybe he was just an asshole, like maul said.

to your right, there were a couple of twi’leks scribbling away on the syllabus, copying what was written on the board. although you were a seat away, you could make out a few breathy giggles and hushed murmurs.

“maker he is so hot.”

at the comment, your eyes shifted towards the english professor. for the first day of class, he was donned in a tweed jacket, the color a darker, more chocolate brown, with beige patches on the elbows. the jacket was paired with a pair of khaki slacks, the glitter of a chain dangling from his pocket. it was more than likely a pocket watch.

he was average in stature, with a pale complexion. from your guess, he was a younger professor, somewhere in his late thirties, early forties. sure, although he was older, he had a handsome face. and the auburn beard only enhanced his features, complementing the icy blue hue of his eyes.

that was one of the first noticeable aspects of professor kenobi. his eyes were a brilliant color, bursting with emotion and shining with warmth as he welcomed you into the classroom.

yet, his first impression was nowhere near maul’s.

“i wish he would yell at me in class like he did with that girl.”

“be quiet or she’ll hear you!”

“now,” professor kenobi cleared his throat, smoothing out his coat, “i want to take the last twenty-five minutes to discuss your first assignment. don’t worry, it’ll only take me a few minutes to explain it then you’ll have the rest of the time to work. for your assignment, i want you to write about someone important in your life. i would like to hear what you find admirable about them, along with a few of their quirks. it can be anyone: a relative, friend, or significant other. the paper should be three paragraphs: an introduction of your chosen person, a body with an explanation of why you admire them, and then a conclusion. how you craft the conclusion is up to you.”

a hand shot up in the air, prompting a question. professor kenobi’s brow furrowed, “yes?”

the twi’lek to your right cleared her throat, “can it be a member of the faculty on campus?”

“it can be anyone of your choice. it can be a celebrity for all i care,” he chuckled, “the assignment is an assessment of your writing capabilities. it’s so that i can see where everyone is at.”

another student raised their hand, professor kenobi’s voice drowning in your ears. clicking on the title tab, you began to formulate a title for your paper, biting your lip as your mind buzzed.

who would you write your paper about? well, your mind was gravitating towards one individual. a crimson zabrak.

but would that jeopardize everything? would kenobi be able to read in between the lines? surely not. they were professors in vastly different departments. surely they rarely crossed paths.

“are you going to write about professor maul?” the twi’lek’s friend teased her, “if you do, you better hope that his girlfriend never finds it!”

“he has a girlfriend?” her companion snorted, “i was in his class this morning and he never mentioned any girlfriend.”

“there’s rumors going on all over campus. he has a girlfriend, but he won’t give anyone her name or even a picture. the only picture anyone knows about is the wallpaper on his macbook. i guess it’s just really private to him.”

the blush in your cheeks only deepened by their comments, your heart fluttering. was the entire campus really creating rumors about maul? and why did everyone care so much?

yet, the sound of his voice ringing across the class ceased your eavesdropping.

“now, i am sure this is the statement you all have been waiting for: class is dismissed. i will be sticking around for a few minutes if any of you have any questions.”

with no hesitations, students sprang to their feet, a flurry of chatter swirling all around you as they filed out of the classroom. plucking your laptop off the table, you placed it into the its case, shoving it in your book-bag. the twi’leks next to you flashed you a meek smile, shouldering past your seat.

“you know, you’re quite distracting.”

your lips pursed as your head swiveled towards the front of the class, “excuse me?”

“i’m not going to repeat myself,” professor kenobi shuffled some papers together, filing them into his satchel, “by the way, you need to watch your tone. i don’t like brats in my classoom.”

your breath hitched in your throat, “w-what? i’m not a brat.”

“yes you are,” kenobi fired back, “blatantly disrespecting your professor like that? i’m afraid that’s bratty behavior, love, and i don’t like it.”

“well i’m afraid it’s not going to happen again.”

you nearly couldn’t process what was happening. although he was putting up a tough exterior, the words stern, his tone said otherwise. it was light, laced with a tease.

was he flirting with you?

“good,” he nodded, “because i have a tendency to punish bratty students.”

“i--” your throat tightened, “oh my--”

“by the way,” he crossed over to the table where you were situated, a smirk plastered across his features, “you have gorgeous eyes, (y/n). i never noticed until now, but your sweater complements them. now, you should head out. you have other classes, don’t you? i look forward to seeing you in lecture tomorrow. oh, and you better watch that pretty little mouth of yours.”

within seconds, he was out the door, leaving you stunned in your chair.

the confrontation had your cheeks burning, your mouth dry.

not only did you happen to capture the attention of one professor on the first day of class, but you managed to do it twice.

yet, what professor kenobi didn’t know was that there was a certain zabrak in his office, awaiting your arrival in a matter of minutes.

and what professor kenobi didn’t seem to grasp was one singular aspect about a relationship.

it always takes two to tango.

at the moment, he was the only one expressing interest.

tomorrow though, who knew what he would do or say.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

tagged: @shannon-odonovan @maulieber @snips-n-skyguy0501 @calamity-queen @anakinswhore @justalittlecloud @pascalz @hounding-around @sasurah @laorme34 @littlevodika

#ardor: a professor maul au #professor!maul #professor!kenobi #ardor #star wars au #obi wan #obi wan kenobi

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watchtower-feed · 4 years

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Steph’s Promposals TM

Disclaimer: This fic was inspired by Chapter 35 of Tamen De Gushi by Tan Jiu and Tim Drake’s vigilante life ruining his school life in Robin: Wanted. This was supposed to be last week’s fic but it’s wordy... Words: 2,587

When Tim comes home from one of Wayne Industry’s covert labs, he finds his whole family in his room. They have rummaged through the suits in his closet which are now laid out for viewing on his king-sized mattress. Before he can ponder whether he should ask or just leave, Dick spots him.

“Tim!” Dick holds up two suits, “All-black dinner suit or grey summer suit?”

All eyes are on him now and Tim wonders if the family’s invited to the Gazette’s upcoming charity gala next month. But they never prepared for those things, asking for recommendations on suits or dressing each other. Unless it’s for a mission, they never prepare at all.

“Wouldn’t a white-polo black jacket dinner suit be more appropriate for a gala?” Tim has moved toward his desk to empty the contents of his bag, while his family turned to each other with raised brows.

Suddenly, Damian scoffs loudly and ceremoniously punches Jason in the arm.

“Ow!”

“I told you Drake didn’t know. Pay up.”

“Tim,” Bruce says softly, “aren’t you going to your prom?”

Tim’s hand slips from the table. He stays stunned in midair as he repeats Bruce’s question in his head. His last prom is the day after tomorrow but he’s never gone to a single one. So why are they concerned about it now?

Tim slowly turns around and is almost insulted by the pitying looks his family is giving him. Dick looks like he’s about to cry and Cass smiles at him with sad eyes. Alfred is pressing down the non-existent creases of his jacket. The ends of Jason’s lips are pulled down. Damian’s smirking. And even though Bruce is trying to hold in his reaction, Tim can see the slightest furrow of his usually-apathetic brows. They’re staring at him like he’s dying but he doesn’t know it yet.

“Why would you assume I’m going?” he asks warily.

His question only made his family’s expressions graver. Finally, Bruce gives him the deepest sigh Tim has ever heard.

“Father,” Damian steps forward with a grin on his face. “Allow me.” He takes out a small red automatic umbrella from behind him. “Grayson asked if he could borrow your umbrella this morning and you threw him this.” Damian tosses it to Tim.

Tim holds it in his hands and vaguely remembers what happened before he left the manor this morning. He’s seen the umbrella before but never used it. He sort of remembers it being a gift from a good friend last year, who also started ignoring him out of the blue.

“Open it.”

Tim doesn’t want to take orders from Damian but no one else in his family is speaking up and at this point, Alfred has sat down to brace himself while peering at Tim through folded hands.

“No. Open it as if it’s raining. At the ceiling. So we can see your reaction.”

Damian is being especially specific and Jason’s frown has slowly been replaced by an eager smirk. There seem to be some theatrics planned and Tim hasn’t figured out where this is going so he decides to play along.

He points the umbrella toward the ceiling and pushes the button. There, on the inside of the umbrella, written in black bold letters is the question: Will you go to prom with me?

Tim’s jaw drops. His wide eyes are punctuating each letter as he reads the message over and over again. No matter how many times he repeats it in his head it’s not changing.

A flash hits Tim in the face and he glares at Jason who’s laughing silently with his mouth open.

“Todd, you were moving too much. I should’ve taken it.”

“No, Dames-- haha-- I got it alright.”

“Sons. Please.”

Bruce’s voice drops as he closes his eyes while massaging his temples, unsure which boy he’s most disappointed in at the moment. At this point, Dick has made his way to Tim and clutches his shoulders, fingers pressing desperately, “At least say you remember who it’s from.”

✧ ✧ ✧

It’s the day before prom and just like last year, you don’t have a date. It’s no big deal, really. You had fun with your friends last time. But it’s just that, this time of the year is bringing back awful memories. Maybe you shouldn’t go to school?

You sigh. There’s still school the next day.

You get up, get ready, and drag your feet all the way to the front of your school. Your friends greet you near the steps and suddenly thoughts of last year have been forgotten. It’s not like you talk to him anymore. You’ve done a good job of avoiding him and he never made a move to apologize or patch things up with you so… really. It’s no big deal.

“Isn’t that--”

“Tim Drake?”

You didn’t want to look. You weren’t planning to. But you have been staring at him since you walked into the school because Timothy Drake is waiting by your locker. Holding the red umbrella.

He sees you and it’s too late to turn back. Your friends all know about the failed umbrella and they’re already marching up to him.

“The audacity.”

“You’ve got some nerve, rich prick.”

“Woah,” Tim quickly holds up his hands. Suddenly realizing he’s way over his head. He should’ve accepted Dick’s advice when he offered it last night instead of slamming his door shut on his family. He was embarrassed. But now, he would take Jason’s help with your friends, even if he’ll just end up being a soundboard for their insults.

“I can explain.”

Your friends scoff as you slowly walk behind them where you can only see glimpses of Tim’s face.

“Explain then.”

“I…” Tim stutters. Then he bows his head slightly and his free hand travels to the back of his neck as he sucks in through his teeth. He sneaks you a crooked smile while his eyebrows try to meet at the center. “I only opened it yesterday…”

Silence. Incredulous eyes and held breaths. Then a collective groan and one of your friends slaps their forehead.

Tim nervously chuckles to try lessen the tension, “Actually it was my brother--”

“Okay. Stop right there,” You’re blushing furiously and you are furious. You rush forward and cover Tim’s mouth with both of your hands. “Please stop.”

Tim peeks at you and your cheeks heat up at the sudden proximity. You quickly pull back your hand and nudge your head toward the end of the hall. Tim follows you, still clutching the red umbrella in his hand.

You stop and quickly snatch it from him. When you reach the corner, you wring the umbrella with your hands and refuse to look at him.

On his part, he doesn’t know what to say. He knows he should apologize but is that enough? It’s been a year. You’ve been mad at him this whole time and he was too clueless to even know why.

“Clueless is an understatement,” you say.

Tim gulps as he realizes he’s been speaking his mind. His tendency to mutter his thoughts has always been a nuisance to Jason and he always complains about it. But then again it’s Jason. He thought his brother was just making something up to annoy him about.

“Is oblivious more accurate?” he teases.

You turn to him then. Glaring.

“Not the time. Sorry!” Yeah. Second greatest detective my ass! Tim swallows. Where’s Steph when you need her?

You sigh. It sounds a lot like Bruce’s from last night. “Tim, we should get to class.”

“Okay. Okay,” he says in a rush. “I really am sorry. I was an idiot-- am an idiot.” You tap your foot on the tiled floor, not really wanting an apology. All you wanted was his answer. A rejection would’ve been better than this. “So I was wondering if I can make it up to you by taking you to prom this year?” he asks sheepishly.

The hair on the ends of your skin stand up. It’s not goosebumps or nerves. It’s pure rage. You stomp your foot at Tim, making him jump. “How dare yo-- NO.” You quickly turn and start to walk away but Tim grabs your hand.

“Y/N, wait--”

You snap at him, imitating his tone, “ ‘Make it up to you by taking you to prom’ God, Tim! I cannot believe you right now! You don’t ask a girl to prom like it’s some sort of favor!”

“How…” Tim hesitates, eyes narrows below furrowed brows, “How do I ask a girl to prom?”

You realize then that Tim isn’t just oblivious. He’s worse than a newborn calf. You slowly brush off his hand. The two of you stand awkwardly in the hallway.

You sigh for a long time with your hands running down your patience. “Look, Tim,” you start, “I’m not mad.” You stop, puzzled that it’s not a lie. You sigh again, softer this time. “Really. I’m actually a little relieved now that I finally know why you never answered me--”

“I--”

You hold up your hand, “So many reasons I came up with on my own. All bad ones. And I was imagining how I would give you such a hard time when you finally apologize.”

Tim tries to speak again but your gaze has softened and he suddenly doesn’t feel the need to explain. You understand. You’ve always understood him better than anyone. But he hurt your feelings, despite not knowing, and you deserve to be mad at him.

The bell rings and you wait until the halls have cleared before you continue, “But you know, after a year of not talking, I realized something.” Tim gulps when you look him in the eye. A light blush coats your cheeks. “I miss my friend.”

Tim stares at you before his lips slowly curl into a small smile.

You chuckle away the sudden nerves, “I miss my dumb oblivious friend who doesn’t know anything but academics and video games.”

His voice comes out low and breathless, “Yeah?”

You finally return his smile. “Yeah.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Steph’s laughter booms loudly over the gunshots on the rooftop. She’s wheezing and Tim is glaring into the distance, but not missing a beat when he sidesteps a thug and slams the barrel of his rifle against his nose.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Thank you, Dames. I didn’t just get that from Steph’s obnoxious snorting.”

“So that’s a yes, right? You’re going to prom?” Dick asks through the comms.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Steph stops abruptly. Cass looms on a gargoyle perched above Tim and Steph, checking for any more movement. When she finds that they’ve subdued every single one, she joins Steph in staring at Tim. There’s a sudden eerie silence throughout all comms, as if the boys have instinctively picked up on the tension. It’s Babs who breaks it. “Steph, do the honor--”

“How in the holy hell do you figure she said yes to being your prom date? Come on, Timmy. Enlighten us. Please.”

Tim gulps and suddenly he couldn’t even hear his brothers breathing through the comms. His voice is low when he answers. “She said she missed me--”

“Because you haven’t hung out for a year!” Steph cuts him off then crosses her arms with a huff. She rapidly taps her feet, daring Tim to answer. “... She was avoiding me--”

“Because you didn’t even have the decency to use the umbrella she gave you! Ugh--!” Steph throws her hands up and kicks the ground. “Everyday this past year, I can’t believe my greatest promposal idea was soiled by your cluelessness.”

Tim’s eyes widens and he shouts indignantly at Steph, “It was your idea? Then why didn’t you just tell me!?”

“We had a bet going,” Babs interferes. “Nightwing party of three on your left. Robin en route to assist from overhead.”

“He’s coming in from the ceiling?!”

“Wait,” Tim cuts in, “Who else knew?” Cass raises her hand when Tim turns to her.

“Might I remind everyone,” Bruce cuts in through all comms, “that we are on a high stakes mission tonight?”

“Yes. Best postpone this discussion until tomorrow. Can someone please find out where Red Hood has been taken to?”

Cass immediately leaps off of her vantage point and leaves Tim and Steph on the rooftop.

Tim sighs under his breath, “... but prom is tomorrow.”

Steph comes up behind him and drapes her arm over his shoulders. “You’re so lucky you have me.”

✧ ✧ ✧

You make it through the school day just like any other. It’s even better now that you’re friends with Tim again. You took your shot and you crashed and burned. But at least now you can salvage your friendship.

Except that prom is tonight. Despite the awful memories, you still want your last prom to be unforgettable. More than half the school already ditched during lunch period. Now you only have a few hours left to get ready.

“Okay,” Steph whispers into her comms and Cass nods from beside her. “She’s leaving the classroom. Red, make it rain.”

From the roof, Jason quickly releases the folded firehouse in his grasp and aims it at the sky. The water splits as it comes down and blankets the small entrance of the school with fake rain. Jason grins as he watches high school kids scramble about in search for quick cover.

You’re watching from the top of the steps, looking down at the people running from the sudden rain. Strange, you think. It’s so bright out.

“Red 1, did you take Y/N’s umbrella?”

“Affirmative.”

Steph watches you rummage through your bag. “Okay. Red 1, go.”

Dick comes up from behind you, wearing an oversized coat to disguise himself, and opens his red umbrella halfway down the steps. You were going to ask if you could walk with him to the bus stop but the writing on his umbrella suddenly caught your eye. It has your name on it.

While you watch him walk away, Steph speaks into her comms again. “Red 2, go.”

Damian clicks his tongue at his codename. He only agreed to assist in this scheme because Steph let him write the next line.

A child too young to be in high school is also wearing an oversized coat and holding a red umbrella. He opens it at the foot of the steps and stays there. Waiting for you to read what’s written in angry bold letters on his umbrella: I’m sorry I’m a clueless idiot.

You blink at the words. Stunned. “What’s happening…” you mutter.

Steph turns to Cass, “Ready, Red 3.” Cass nods and the two of them come up from behind you. Cass opens her red umbrella first: It’s our last prom but my first one...

“Steph?” you call out.

Steph gives you a wink before she opens her own red umbrella: … and I want to spend it with you.

Steph and Cass count to two before they start walking away into the cover of the fake rain over your school.

You’re about to run after them when Tim suddenly shows up next to you. You’re staring at him with wide eyes that immediately turn to the red umbrella he’s holding in front of you. He unclasps it and opens it over your heads.

You look up. Inside it says: If you want to.

Tim takes in a breath before he speaks, “Do you want me?” His voice is low and shaky. “As your date I mean.”

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

#Tim Drake #Tim Drake x Reader #Tim Drake/reader #Timothy Drake #timothy drake x reader #DC imagines #DC reader insert #watchtower-feed #atbucud

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bestillmyslashyheart · 4 years

Text

not a coda but a truth serum

(unofficially titled ‘its my birthday and i get to write whatever i want to pt.2′)

(reminder that I have not actually seen episode 6)

Nobody moved. The purple powder took a while to settle and everyone stood silent and still as it softly coated every surface in the room.

Only when the air was visibly clear did Max clear his throat. “Liz?”

“I don’t know,” she replied immediately.

“Michael?”

“How should I know? I wasn’t even touching it!” Michael glared at his brother.

“It’s your tech!” Isobel yelled.

“It’s our tech,” Michael corrected. “I don’t know why you insist on putting so much space between you and it but it’s not going to bite you.”

Nobody said a word.

“What the fuck did I just say?” Michael wondered.

“You said, ‘I don’t know why you insist-”

“That was a rhetorical question,” Michael cut Rosa off. Rosa didn’t notice, her mouth hanging open in shock.

“Why did I say that?” She asked.

“Liz?” Max’s voice was noticeably higher pitched this time.

Liz looked around, her eyes wide. “Is anyone hurt? Or in any pain?”

“My leg’s killing me,” Alex replied instantly. The second the words left his mouth, his body went rigid. He opened his mouth a few times only to visibly snap it shut. “I’ve been overdoing it lately and my doctor told me to stop wearing the prosthetic but I hate just using the crutches.” Alex clenched his jaw. When his mouth opened again, he slapped his hand over it angrily.

“Okay,” Liz said slowly. “Anyone else?”

“My ass hurts,” Michael admitted. Everyone looked at him. Most looked curious, though he saw amusement in a few of their eyes. Alex, however, stared at him in horror and started shaking his head. But it wasn’t any use. Michael felt the next words tumble from his lips before he could help it. “Alex is pretty big and I’m still feeling it.”

Alex closed his eyes. Maria looked slightly uncomfortable which Michael privately thought was- “Why do you look upset?” He asked her. Oh no. “It was your idea for us to have sex.”

Maria’s eyes widened as everyone turned to stare at her. “Just because I wanted to know who you’d choose if you had both of us doesn’t mean I want a reminder that my boyfriend had sex with my friend.”

The temperature in the room dropped. Everyone froze.

“What?” Everyone but Michael and Max asked simultaneously.

Maria struggled to keep her mouth shut. “Alex was hurt and I wanted to comfort him and I thought a good way to show him that Michael and I both love him would be for us all to be together. It also gave Michael an opportunity to have both of us at the same time so he could choose who he wanted to be with.” Maria closed her eyes.

“Alex is gay,” Liz and Rosa reminded her.

“I might need you to repeat that,” Alex said coldly. “Because it sounded like you said that you took advantage of me being hurt and upset to manipulate me into a sexual encounter with you when you know I’m not interested in you or your entire gender just so you could decide if your boyfriend likes you better?!”

“Alex was hurt-” Maria dutifully began to repeat.

“A yes or no is fine,” Alex cut her off. Michael had never seen that look on his face before.

“Yes,” Maria ground out.

“Why?” Michael asked when Alex seemed lost for words. “He and I have been over for a long time. You already knew that.”

“The way he talks about you,” Maria replied immediately. “He knows you so well and so much better than I do and it’s clear that he loves you every time he opens his mouth. And then I saw how carefully you touched him when you were patching up his wound and I realized that it wasn’t long over, not really.” Maria looked like she wanted to run away but somehow she stood her ground. “And you and I weren’t on the same page for a while so it was really a free-for-all.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Alex burst out. “He’s not a prize, Maria. You can’t win him in a competition. You have to earn him.” Michael stared at Alex in shock. “And not by twisting him into having sex with both of us at the same time to see who he likes better!”

“I wanted him to want me,” Maria tried to defend. “To want only me.”

“I don’t,” Michael told her. He still didn’t look away from Alex. “I’ll never want only you, no matter how long we were together for. I’ll always want Alex.”

“This is better than television,” Isobel chortled. Michael turned towards the others in the room.

“I forgot you guys were here,” slipped out before he could stop himself.

“You have a tendency to do that when you’re looking at Alex.” Max looked like he wanted to die.

“I need to leave.” Alex snatched his phone off of the table and made for the door.

“Wait! We don’t know what this did!” Liz tried to stop him.

“I think it’s pretty obvious what it did,” Kyle muttered.

“It’s in our skin,” Liz spared a glare for Kyle before turning to Alex. “Whatever you do don’t touch anyone until we know the full effects.”

Alex nodded and fled.

“I want to go after him,” Michael sighed as the door closed.

Rosa laughed. “So go after him.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” she countered. “You put one foot in front of the other. Easy.”

Michael glared at her.

“Michael, I’m so- I lo- I care about you,” Maria reached for him. Whatever was forcing their thoughts into the open was clearly stopping them from lying. “I didn’t want to lose you before we even had something real. Because we could! We could have something great.”

Michael stared at her.

“Michael’s already had great,” Isobel mused. “His name is Alex Manes.” She smirked wickedly when Maria whirled on her.

Michael didn’t bother sticking around to watch them fight. The second Maria’s attention was off of him, he was out the door.

“Alex!”

Alex was already in his car with the engine turned on. He glanced up at Michael’s shout and then put his car in reverse and started to back away. Michael reached out with one hand and stopped the car in its tracks. Alex looked down at the steering wheel then up at him in shock.

Michael held it there for a moment as he raced down the steps. By the time he got to the small parking lot, Alex had graciously put his car in park.

“What?”

“I love you.”

They stared at each other in shock. Michael had definitely not intended to say that.

“I love you too.”

This time they at least blinked.

“That night was a mistake. We never should have done that. But the bigger mistake was letting you walk away in the morning.” Michael shook his head. “I’m sick and tired of watching you walk away from me, Alex. I want you to stay.”

“I want to stay,” Alex admitted. “You never asked. And you always let me go. I didn’t think you wanted me for more than what we had.”

“I did. I do.” Michael was quick to say. “I don’t know how to do this Alex.”

“Me neither. I’ve never really had a relationship.”

“Me neither,” Michael laughed. He stepped back from Alex’s window. “Can you get out of the car? I don’t like talking to you through the window.”

Alex hesitated for a moment but eventually turned the car off and got out. The second he was clear of the door, Michael pressed him against the side of the car. “Is this okay?” He paused a hairsbreadth from Alex’s lips.

“It’s always okay,” Alex told him before closing the gap.

They lost themselves to the kiss until the sounds of footsteps and other voices interrupted them. Neither of them glanced at the building. “Come home with me,” Alex asked. “We need to talk.”

“Agreed.” Michael kissed him again. Soon enough the voices were close enough to be distinguishable but Michael still didn’t care. “I’ll follow you.”

Alex nodded and then pulled him back in.

“Alright love birds,” Liz said from right next to them. Michael jumped slightly but Alex’s only reaction was to send her a glare. “It seems to block all inhibition including the impulse to lie.”

“Yeah I’m starting to get that,” Alex muttered as he tangled his fingers in Michael’s hair. He’d always had a thing for doing that, ever since their very first kiss. He just usually didn’t do in front of other people, not even Maria during their threesome.

Liz rolled her eyes. “Try to keep your pants on.”

“That’s not happening,” Michael and Alex replied in unison.

Rosa started cracking up from the other side of the car. “Go home!”

Michael smiled and nuzzled Alex’s nose. “Home?”

Alex smiled. “Home.”

#malex fic #my fic #rnm #anti maria deluca #anti malexa #anti 2x06 #anti miluca #lots of tags to be safe

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anonniemousefics · 4 years

Text

The Trouble With Wanting

Originally posted on AO3

Fandom: Six of Crows/Crooked Kingdom | Kaz + Inej

Word count: 5,745

***Rating: NSFW (aged up characters) - It’s a bit smutty. Like a 5 on the smut scale***

Synopsis: Inej begins to reckon with her own armor so she can have what, and who, she wants.

Inej Ghafa had a problem. Any one of her crew on The Wraith would have called it insomnia, and, honestly, that was the explanation she preferred. Insomnia would have innocent enough and treatable enough – a quick visit to a Healer at the next port could prescribe a potion that would put to rest the whole conundrum.

If it was as simple as insomnia, that is.

But nothing was ever that simple for Inej. Simple solutions are for simple people, she’d tell herself, trying to muster up some self-confidence in her captain’s cabin at night. Much of her life was far from simple, and she liked it that way. But this. This was eating her alive.

The waves rocked The Wraith through the night. The summer heat bore down all through the night, even with a porthole window ajar. And with the heat, and the sweat, the gentle sway of the boat, all she thought of was him.

Fuck. She pressed her palms into her eyes, whining for sleep. Fuck. She’d started this. She’d wanted this. I’ll have you without armor, she’d said, shoulders set in determination, or I won’t have you at all.

Kaz Brekker had taken those words to heart. Of course he had. He had always taken her words seriously. And she’d expected him to choose the armor.

But he hadn’t.

“So, what is happening, exactly?” It had been nearly a year since she’d asked him this exact question. They were huddled over a small table in a dark corner of The Crow Club, sharing a bottle of kvas after having checked her parents into an expensive hotel for their stay. She would be setting sail with them in the morning, headed for Ravka, their maiden voyage aboard The Wraith. Kaz had been nothing but a gentleman to her mother and father their entire stay, addressing them formally in his best (albeit broken) Suli, occasionally checking his tie. He had treated them to lavish dinners, far from the Barrel, and put them all up in a safe part of town.

But she would be leaving Ketterdam then, and they had not spoken since the docks about their plans to hunt slave traders. They had not spoken about how their fingers had entwined, that he’d taken off those damnable gloves, and what had that even meant?!

So she’d asked the question. “What is happening, exactly?” leaning into an elbow on the table, lifting her glass with the other. Thank the Saints for kvas. Would she have been able to push the issue without a little dose of the liquid courage?

“Do you still not know?” Kaz had set down his glass, leaning back in his seat with his other hand on his crow’s head cane. He was wearing those damn gloves again.

“You’re a free woman now, Inej,” he’d said.“Go where you please, do as you want.”

“I’m not a podge; I gathered that much,” she said. “I mean, this. This.” She gestured between the two of them, the great expanse of table between them, both too small and too wide all at once.

At that, Kaz stiffened, his coffee-black gaze dipping away from hers for a brief moment. Nerves? Shame? What was it? Why was he so impossible to read?

“What is it you want?” he rasped at last. That voice of his. Inej felt her breath hitch – nervous and something else.

“I told you what I wanted,” she replied, feeling her face grow warm. “What is it you want?”

“What I want hasn’t changed.” It could have been the dim light of the Crow Club, but Inej could have sworn Kaz’s sharp cheekbones were reddening.

“You want me.” She repeated his words from all those months ago. It felt foreign to pry into Kaz this much. But she deserved to know. Without armor, that was the demand.

The muscle in his jaw ticked, like he was prepping for a fight. He picked up his glass, draining it entirely before saying another word.

“I want,” he started, disjointed and awkward, “I want you – to want me.”

Now she knew her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. He was red in the face, and, for all of his rough edges and sharp angles, he was still a boy, in front of the girl he wanted and felt he couldn’t have.

“I do want you,” she breathed, and then Kaz was checking every face around them, casing their surroundings, as if suddenly overly concerned about who was overhearing. But the Crow Club’s patrons were far off, engaged at gambling tables or raucous drinks at the bar. Kaz and Inej were quite alone.

“You want the sea,” he corrected, not meeting her gaze.

“Don’t tell me what I want,” Inej interrupted.

“You said you wanted the sea.” Kaz turned his dark eyes back at her fiercely. “You wanted to fight. You wanted to save girls like you. And you should. You are good and dangerous and glorious, and now you are free. Do what you want, or Ghezen help me, I’ll fight you right here.”

But Inej just smirked.

“I never said I wanted you or the sea, Kaz,” she said. “I’m a free woman now, and I’ll have you and the sea and every other wonderful treasure I can lift from life’s coat pockets.”

Kaz was pressing back a crooked smile.

“Spoken like a true privateer,” he said, almost wistful, almost proud. It was truly an overwhelming amount of affection coming from Kaz Brekker, and all Inej wanted in that moment was to see him smile more.

“I’ll be needing a cheeky parrot for my shoulder to complete the ensemble,” she quipped.

“And an eye patch,” Kaz added, and it was Inej’s turn to grin.

“And a drinking problem,” she said, lifting her drink, and Kaz leaned forward with his to clink their glasses together in a toast. The sight of his quirk of a smile over her glass was enough to make her heart swell in her chest, and by the time they set their glasses down again, she felt she had to say it once more.

“I want you without armor, Kaz.”

And part of her expected him to run, to recoil into that darkness within himself he loved and hated so much. That he would choose the certainty and safety of it over whatever might lie beyond.

But instead, he ran his gloves fingers on the rim of his glass, absentmindedly, thinking, stewing. Not quite scheming. Just considering. And when he looked at her, there was the spark of something hopeful and daring in his gaze. He started to nod slowly, and a lock of his dark hair slipped forward, like he was already coming undone.

“Without armor,” he repeated.

Was that a yes? It certainly wasn’t a no. He could be coy like this when striking a deal. Was he running a con or scared out of his wits? Infuriating. Infuriating and still Inej wanted him.

“Did you buy me the ship because you thought I want the sea more than I want you?” she tested.

“I bought you the ship because you deserve the ship.”

“And my parents? And my debt?”

“Ketterdam owed you those long ago. If I could have sooner --”

“You say things like that, and I can’t decide if I should throttle you or kiss you senseless, Kaz.”

Kaz huffed a casual ghost of a laugh, but Inej noticed his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously above the collar buttons of his pristine white shirt. His gloved hand tightened on the crow’s head cane, the leather creaking.

“What is it?” she asked. Kaz took another gulp of his drink. He was doing his level best to appear unruffled, she realized.

“The suspense is killing me,” he rasped, his lips in that crooked smile. “Whatever will you choose, Inej.”

And that’s when she decided: she was going to kiss that stupid smirk off his face. Not here. No. He didn’t deserve the kind of havoc that would wreak on his life, the kind of danger revealing that kind of weakness could bring to his doorstep. Neither did she, for that matter. Instead, she drained the last of the kvas, and stood up, Kaz’s dark eyes following her every move.

“Meet me in The Slat,” she told him, and reveled at the way Kaz’s jaw slackened, his pink lips parting just slightly. She’d surprised him, surprised the Bastard of the Barrel himself, and the rush that came from that kind of power never got old.

Just remembering what came next made Inej groan in dismay in her bunk. She flopped an arm over her eyes, desperate to scrub the embarrassment from rising again. Why did her memory plague her at night like this? What did she do to deserve this kind of nightly torment? Some part of her hoped Kaz was just as miserable; it only seemed fair.

She left the Crow Club through the front door, making it appear to anyone watching that she and Kaz were headed in separate directions for the night. But once in the shadows, she’d scaled a drainpipe and hoisted herself onto his window ledge, giving the window a quick heave before slipping soundlessly inside. When she turned around, Kaz was already locking the door behind him.

Her heart rammed against her ribcage at the sight of him. He was slipping off his coat, then one glove at a time, and while his face remained expressionless, his chest heaved and his nostrils flared. This man, this ruthless, dangerous man, who’d killed for her and conned for her, this man was breathless with nerves at the very thought of touching her again. But then, who was she to judge? Her fingers trembled when she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear that had escaped her braid.

It was madness. All she’d really wanted was to hold his hand one last time before she set sail in the morning. She’d never thought that greed could get the best of her, but Kaz Brekker’s tendencies had a way of rubbing off on you. Greed perhaps was one of them.

She started to cross the room to him, thrilled by the sight of his bare hands, his dark furrowed brows in the moonlight. The armor was coming off. Rip it off like an old bandage, she thought.

She had mistakenly assumed it would hurt less this way.

“You want me,” she said again. The air around them was changing. The room felt heady, murkier. Like moving through a dream.

Kaz nodded.

“Say it,” Inej said.

“I want you,” Kaz rasped. He was breathing hard, rooted to where he stood.

She should have seen the signs.

She felt dizzy as she closed the distance between them, but she tried to ignore it. They’d held hands in the open air; this shouldn’t be any more difficult than that. She reached out, running a hand along his black waistcoat. She could feel the hard planes of his chest beneath, and the floor seemed to pitch beneath her feet.

Rip off the bandage. Saints, rid us of this armor.

“Inej,” he whispered.

Before she could think, she grabbed the neck of his waistcoat, pulling him closer. His black eyes flew open wide.

“Wait--” Kaz started to say as their lips met. Panic immediately seized at Inej’s chest, ice cold and contracting so that she gasped. When was the last time she had been close like this with a man? She didn’t want to think that. She didn’t want to remember—

At the same moment, Kaz groaned against her mouth, something between desire and pain. One of his hands was sliding around her waist, gripping hard against the small of her back, and at the sensation, Inej felt herself start to buckle. Memories were coming back fast and fierce now, of unwanted hands, of ruthless, cruel smiles, the horrible stench, the pain, the ripping, deep pain—

Something clattered to the floor. Kaz’s cane. Somewhere above her, Kaz grunted in obvious pain now, his bad leg giving way as they both stumbled backward awkwardly. It was only getting worse. At the feel of his body against hers, his hips meeting hers, her body reacted entirely on its own. She froze, feeling herself leave her body, disappearing into darkness. This was happening to someone else, someone broken, someone who didn’t care.

When she finally became aware of her surroundings again, she was huddled on the floor by the locked front door, shaking uncontrollably with her wet face buried in her arms. Crying. Kaz was nowhere to be seen. Something of a relief, really. She was alone, and no one could hurt her.

But then she heard the sound of deep retching from somewhere else in the room, and she looked up through blurry eyes. She blinked away tears as best she could, but couldn’t stop the sobs. This was insane. What kind of privateer cried in a puddle on the floor after kissing a man?

“Inej.” Kaz’s voice was thicker than usual, his rasp harsh like a strained whisper. He was on the floor, too, leaning against his bedframe next to his washbasin. His dark hair fell across his sweat-beaded forehead, and the whites of his eyes were bloodshot.

“I’m fine,” Inej choked. She ran a sleeve across her nose and gulped in deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

“You’re crying.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Come here.”

“You’re vomiting.”

Kaz heaved a deep sigh. He stretched his long legs out of front of him, flopping his head back against the bedframe and staring at the ceiling.

“I should have--” he started.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Inej interrupted. She was unwilling to hear apologies for something she’d started.

“What were you thinking?” Kaz asked. It wasn’t accusatory, which was refreshing. When she looked at him again, he looked exhausted, wiping back sweat from his face. That kissable face. This was torture.

“I thought this could be easier since you managed to take off your gloves,” she said. Kaz only grunted with a nod, as if to agree it wasn’t an unreasonable conclusion.

“But you.” Now he looked at her with a pained expression she’d never seen before, and it made her ache. “I am clearly particularly poisonous to you,” he said.

Inej immediately started shaking her head.

“Kaz.” She was frustrated at his self-deprecation. “Please understand. My mind wants you. My heart longs for you. My body…” She struggled for words, the shame rising again, threatening her eyes with tears. “My body isn’t entirely convinced something horrible isn’t going to happen again. This wasn’t because of you. You understand that, don’t you?”

She silently pleaded with him, tears still glistening in her eyes. But Kaz only swallowed, his dark eyes sadder than she recalled ever seeing them.

“More than you know,” he said.

She knew bits of his story, enough that she understood his armor. He hadn’t vomited at her kiss. He had vomited because his skin could not forget the touch of dead flesh; his eyes saw dead bodies where there were none. His body was just as rebellious as hers. They stared at each other a moment, unsure of what to do next, spent from tears and retched kvas.

“This is hopeless,” Kaz finally relinquished.

This only annoyed Inej more, and she frowned at him. Kaz Brekker didn’t give up. Kaz Brekker made the rules. Kaz Brekker owned his world.

She unfurled her own legs, stretching across the distance between them, and nudged at his ankle until he looked at her. It was about all the contact either of them could stand in the moment, but it was still comforting.

“If you can’t beat the odds,” she threw his own words back at him, “change the game.”

“Hm,” Kaz grunted, unconvinced. “What podge said that?”

“Some guy I know.”

“He sounds terribly good-looking.”

“He’s no idiot either.” And Inej offered up a weak smile that should have passed as flirting in better circumstances. Kaz met it with his own tired smirk. It was something. It could be enough for now.

And that’s when they both had decided they weren’t giving up on this – whatever this was. She would be returning to port in Ketterdam in two months after that maiden voyage, and they determined their schemes to remain in touch, to track and disrupt slavers by day, and in secret, when she was on land, they would try to take off the armor. Little by little. Bit by bit. It was a patient strategy they were both familiar with.

But it wasn’t long at all before Inej began to eat the words of her own demand. Without armor. Fair was fair, after all – she’d demanded it of Kaz, she owed it to him, too. But with each visit, each stolen kiss, each gentle touch, it became clear what her own armor had protected. She groaned now to even think it, frustrated beyond words.

Arousal.

Awakening.

She had been so young when she had been thrown into the clutches of The Menagerie. She hadn’t even kissed a boy before that, not really. Her first experiences had been of fear, coercion, unrelenting pain, and, finally, escape within her own mind. And now, any time her body began to respond to Kaz’s touch, his lock pick fingers, his soft mouth, this armor clamped down tight. It could happen any time, without warning. When his gentle fingers brushed over her cheek. When his lips grazed the shell of her ear. She wanted; Saints, how she wanted him. Perhaps this was justice from her Saints for the lives she had taken – to want someone so badly and be tormented each time she tried for what she desired.

Of everything Ketterdam had taken from her, this was perhaps the worst.

For all his shortcomings, her battle was one Kaz understood all too well. He fought his own, shuddering each time their skin brushed for the first time in awhile. She would notice the deep breaths he swallowed to calm himself, the molasses-slow movements he made to prepare himself before he tried anything. It wasn’t all for her benefit, though she needed it as much as he did. Every touch he managed was triumph, which only made her own failures sting even worse.

Her last visit to Ketterdam was what had left her in knots, deprived her of precious sleep. He had gotten under her skin, into her very soul. As long as she had work to do during the day, she could put it out of her mind. But here, in the lonely night, rocked by the waves, it couldn’t be avoided.

It had been a year since their ill-fated first kiss – was it too soon to say she loved him? The very fact she worried over the question made her think it wasn’t. She wouldn’t say it, but she did. Damnit.

She’d known it the last time she’d set foot in his city, too. That was the night they had taken down a particularly hard-to-catch trafficker, a slimy, sick demon Inej had spent the better part of six months tracking. Kaz had worked hard gathering the intel she needed, and the two of them had taken him out that night. Left him bleeding out on the steps of the Stadwatch with a warning message pinned to his chest. They’d scaled the drainpipe back to The Slat, bloodstained and breathless with adrenaline and righteous fury.

She turned back to Kaz as he closed the window behind him, a laugh bubbling up from within her. They’d done it. The job was done. She could hardly believe it. The look he gave her when he heard her laugh made her feel more precious than kruge.

“Thank you,” she panted, still trying to catch her breath. Her top was damp, from sweat or the man’s blood, she wasn’t sure. “This could not have happened without you.”

“It would never have happened at all without you,” said Kaz. He was pulling at his gloves, and she was already itching to weave her hands through his long fingers, map each tendon, the bump of each knuckle. She knew his hands now as well as she knew her own.

But he didn’t go for her hands this time. Instead, he stepped closer and cupped her face in his bare hands. They were softer than she would have expected someone called Dirtyhands would be. Glove-wearing had that effect.

This time, when he brushed his thumbs across her cheekbones, her body didn’t try to run. She could stand in his adoration, holding her hands over his.

“You are extraordinary,” he told her, his breathless pants warming her face. This was her Kaz. He wouldn’t say beautiful or anything that remotely sounded like words men who had once paid for her said. He said extraordinary, and he wanted only for her to know it, to believe it herself.

And when their lips met this time, there was no threat of darkness, no need to escape. She felt him draw in a sharp breath, and she waited to see if he would recoil. But he only pushed his fingers further, burying them into her hair at the nape of her neck.

And this time she wasn’t afraid. No, this was something else. Desire spread through her, warming instead of constricting, pulsing instead of shutting down. Her hands were running down his torso, pulling at the crest of his hips, and neither one of them were running. Just the opposite.

More, her body said. More, his lips urged.

She could taste him now, the brush of his tongue against her bottom lip, and she pulled him in closer, her eyes falling closed, losing herself in him as much as she dared. One of his hands had stayed wound in her hair, but the other began to slip down her spine, pushing her in to him. She was flush with his body, something she had only dreamed of desiring, and still it wasn’t enough.

More. More.

Her lungs ached, and she pulled back to draw in a breath, her eyes fluttering open to take him in. Kaz’s dark hair was loose over his thick brows, and his eyes – Saints, the man looked starved. Pupils blown wide in the moonlight; his collar unbuttoned and askew.

“Enough?” he asked. It was a tender question, meant to check on her wellbeing. But it wasn’t enough. Not in the slightest.

She wanted to push the armor, unhook what trappings she could, see where it took her. This was already more than she’d dared to hope for months ago. She was only a little dizzy, only slightly out of breath. Her desire far outweighed the small discomfort.

She took Kaz’s hand from her hair, lacing his fingers through hers. Those hands. A beautiful paradox, they were. Gentle enough to pick any lock, ruthless enough to strangle the life out of a man. She didn’t fear them, not what they did, not what they were capable of. She only wanted them.

Kaz watched her in mild confusion, perhaps amusement, while she looked over his hands, thinking, moving slowly. And then she slipped her fingers to encircle his wrist and gently moved his hand to cup her breast.

Any amusement on Kaz’s face fell away in a moment of awe. His chest hitched up, shocked. Had he ever held a woman like this before? Knowing his demons, surely not.

She let her hand fall away from his wrist, and for a moment, Kaz didn’t move, like he didn’t dare. His eyes wouldn’t budge from her face, as if waiting for any sign that this would upset her. But she felt powerful, encouraged by how she could render this dangerous man speechless. And she smiled at him, sliding her own hands up the wide breadth of his shoulders, pulling him closer once more.

Kaz’s breathing was shallow, but not panicked, as he finally dropped his gaze to what he now held. He moved his fingers experimentally, his lips parting. Inej felt her whole body warm, practically alight, when his thumb grazed her nipple.

“Fuck,” was all he whispered, and Inej held back a laugh. She looped her fingers around his neck, her nails grazing where his hair was shaved shorter, and pulled his lips back to hers.

His kiss this time was like nothing before. It was like a wave finally crashing onto shore. Passionate, verging on unhinged. His mouth parted as he kneaded her breast, and she tasted his salty-sweet tongue before gently nipping his bottom lip, eliciting the tiniest sound from the back of his throat. This was nothing like The Menagerie. This was Kaz. Her Kaz. Kaz who would never take from her without asking, would never receive unless he could give back in equal measure.

His hand was splayed open across her back, holding her close, and, as he started to stumble on his bad leg, unsteady in their embrace, he slid his arm around her waist so that they were braced together. She could feel his smile against her lips, the smile she could never get enough of, and she stumbled, too, until he was pressing her against the edge of his desk.

But then, without warning, his hand dropped from her breast. He slid both hands to her waist, lifting her onto his desk, before covering her mouth in kisses again. She was suddenly dizzy again and slipped a hand back to brace herself on the desk.

“Kaz--” She pulled back and tried to whisper.

“Inej,” he rasped back. Saints. Damn this armor. She had to keep wanting him, she needed—

And then his hand was on her breast again, gently cupping, softly grazing, and she was breathless. His lips were working up the side of her neck, nipping at her earlobe, sending shivers across her skin, and it should have been perfect.

But it wasn’t. The armor was closing in. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

Until he stepped between her parted legs, drawing ever closer, and she felt it press against the inside of her thigh. Every hard inch of him. And it was as if something inside of her snapped.

“Kaz!” she shouted, and, in spite of herself, she shoved his chest, hard, pushing him off of her. He staggered back, shocked and disheveled, and when his bad leg buckled, he sat hard on the edge of the bed.

Sankta Alina, how he’d looked at her that night, that horrible moment.

“I don’t understand,” he had said, looking dumbfounded, as she began to sink to the floor. Even remembering it made her want to cry again. But she wouldn’t.

She was sure there was no coming back from it. That would be the end of their failed experiment. She was meant only for killing men, not loving them. She would live alone for the rest of her days. The ecstasy other girls spoke of was probably overrated anyway.

She slipped to the floor, overcome with horrible memories and new regrets, as the tears sprung to her eyes.

For a few agonizing minutes, the only sounds in The Slat were Inej’s muffled sobs.

“You wanted me to…” Kaz started to say.

“I know I did.” Inej was miserable.

“But then I did something wrong.” Kaz shifted uncomfortably on the bed. Likely still adjusting to the discomfort of a now-useless erection. Inej had never hated herself more.

“You didn’t,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I’m all wrong. I’m broken. This horrible city broke this part of me. I want this, Kaz; you don’t know how much I want this--”

“I might have an inkling,” Kaz groaned, shifting again, resting an arm over his lap.

“I don’t know how to fight this,” and Inej buried her face in her hands.

“We are fighting this,” Kaz insisted. “We have been fighting this. A battle of wits always lasts longer than a battle of brute strength. This is a long con we’re running, Wraith. Don’t you dare give up on me now.”

She looked up through her tears at his earnest face. It was the same face that pulled her up from the ground when her exhausted arms couldn’t fight one more minute. The face that was always one step ahead of his enemies. The face she loved. She did, after all. She loved him.

She nodded once, wiping off her cheek with the fabric on her wrist.

“Knives drawn, pistols blazing,” she sniffed, half-heartedly.

“Innuendo, Wraith?” Kaz gave her a cheeky smirk. “A bit too soon, don’t you think?”

She did laugh outright at that, and Kaz gave her that crooked smile that could always bring her back to life.

“It was hardly a year ago, and you were vomiting into that washbasin just from kissing me,” Inej said. “How are you doing this? Why is this easier for you?”

Kaz paused, raking his fingers through his dark hair as he thought.

“I suppose my body believes different lies than yours,” he said. “You’ve got some demons that are harder to kill.”

Inej nodded in agreement. It made sense.

“That and I – how do I put this lightly?” Kaz averted his gaze, looking up at the ceiling. “I polish my knife, you could say?”

Inej spat out a laugh. Such a Crow. No manners in the least.

“Laugh if you want,” Kaz smirked, “but the practice can’t hurt. Are you practicing?”

“Knife-polishing?” Inej raised an eyebrow. “Wait, mine needs a different name.”

Speaking as plainly as this was already helping. Inej could feel her shoulders loosen.

“Cleaning your sheath?” Kaz offered, with a shrug. “Do you clean your sheath?”

“Saints, Kaz!” Inej laughed, her head thrown back. And Kaz couldn’t hide his grin.

She’d laughed, but it became the next scheme in their long con against their rebellious bodies. Perhaps if Inej wasn’t afraid of awakening herself, it would be less frightening when it happened with Kaz. It wasn’t the most insane plan they’d ever come up with.

Inej wrote Nina Zenik for advice before The Wraith even left port, with specific instructions about where to post the reply so she could receive it at their next stop. She could only imagine what her old friend’s reaction to this sort of letter would be.

Unsurprisingly, Nina’s reply was not shy. She was not one for innuendo and had enclosed a detailed, bullet-point list of everything Inej ought to try on her own to conquer this horrible reaction to arousal. Inej couldn’t read two sentences without blushing. She’d hidden the letter in her pack, had considered its contents for nearly a week without any action whatsoever.

But the insomnia wouldn’t relent. Each night, she lie awake with unmet desire, her thoughts swirling with memories of Kaz instead of memories of her past. They would be returning to Ketterdam within a week, and all she wanted was to be able to not push Kaz away again. She couldn’t bear another look like the one he’d given her that last night.

She had to try. She had to let herself go and feel without looking for an escape. She was alone now, after all. Safe, in control. No one to lay a hand on her.

She took in a long inhale and let it out slowly as she let her fingers wander to her center, at first just over her trousers. Nina had insisted it wouldn’t work if she forced it. Now she tells me, Inej had thought, grimly remembering that first night her kiss had made Kaz vomit.

She drew lazy circles over herself, following Nina’s suggested, and slowly, Inej’s lips started to part. There was nothing painful about this at all. She felt lovely. Her mind could wander off while her body welcomed the new gentle touch.

And she thought of Kaz, as Nina had instructed, of everything she wanted about him. His crooked smile. The stubble that grew on his chin after a few days of travel. That haircut no one else could pull off. His sharp cheekbones, his perfect mouth. She could think of many places she wished that mouth could be. Her fingers travelled a little further, a little faster, slipping underneath her trousers, at the thought.

Who was she kidding? She wanted that mouth at her breasts, those clever fingers working over more sensitive parts of her. She wanted him to grip her waist, her ass, to nip at her neck and rasp her name into her ear. She was gasping, warm and flushed. If her own fingers could feel this good, what would his be like?

She wanted to know.

She had to know.

With her pleasure rising, she was suddenly welcoming new ideas, daring to demand more from her own body. If it could feel like this, she could unbutton his shirt. She could let him unbutton hers. His fingers would probably shake. She loved that about him. Would he let her undo his belt? Could she dare to be completely naked with him? Would he dare?

Saints, she wanted him. She closed her eyes tightly, her mouth slack, and all she could think of was him hovering above her, his soft mouth all over her, his fingers caressing her slick clit until her whole body shook.

She bit her lip, biting back his name. Perhaps she wouldn’t when he was there. Pleasure was building through her abdomen, pushing her closer to a cliff she desperately wanted to fall off of. Was he saying her name when he did this to himself, too? Oh, the thought undid her completely.

And Inej cried out, losing herself entirely to the new sensations that flooded her body, and then pressed the back of her hand to her mouth while she floated among the stars. It wouldn’t do at all to have one of her crew come and check on her now. This was not something she needed to explain. It was bad enough Nina knew.

One thing was for sure. It wasn’t overrated. Not a bit.

Inej pressed a hand to her sternum as she caught her breath, her heart pounding against her palm. Her eyes began to drift close as her breathing evened out. Sleep was closing in, a smile on her lips.

Inej Ghafa had a problem. Well, no, Inej Ghafa had several problems. Didn’t everybody? Tonight, at least, she would rest in the knowledge that not one of them would get the best of her. Not today.

Read the companion piece here.

#six of crows #crooked kingdom #soc #grishaverse #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kaz x inej #kaz brekker x inej ghafa #kanej #kanej fanfic #smut #fanfic #fanfiction

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chosenkeepersworld · 4 years

Text

Starpath Guild

Original Work Word Count: 5,545 words Date Posted: 09/30/20 Author’s Note: Requested by the lovely @tairano8! This is the first time I’ve tried writing Sci-Fi so I hope this goes well since I wasn’t able to do a lot of research. Much of what I wrote here was inspired by Star Trek and Final Space. This work is unbeta’d but I hope you’ll all enjoy it. I’m always trying to improve my writing so critique is welcome!

“Captains Bandit and Shadow please report to Commander Snowball’s Office. I repeat Captains Bandit and Shadow please report to Commander Snowball’s Office" the voice over the PA system announced.

Two figures walked down the hall of their guild's headquarters. On the left was an anthropomorphic cat, in his early adulthood. His fur was reminiscent of a tuxedo, dark fur spread from the tips of his ears down his back all the way down to his tail, while white fur began in a thin line between his eyes trailing down to his feet. His sharp blue eyes strayed to the other cats in the hall, mainly the ladies winking at them as he walked by.

His companion was a little shorter and leaner, black fur covering him from head to toe, those same eyes staring down their path with a scowl on his face. He was clearly the more serious of the two.

Both males, despite their differences, were highly respected officers of the Starpath Exploration Guild.

They were told to wait when they arrived. Once seated Bandit entertained himself with his phone causing Shadow to glare at him.

"Really?"

Bandit raised his head "What?"

"He'll be calling us in soon, the least you could do is look presentable" Shadow sneered

The other male sighed then leaned forward “Will you relax? You’re uptight, all the time, you make people tense every time you’re in the room which is probably why no one likes you”

Shadow’s eyes narrow, his pupils narrowing “At least I’ve never embarrassed myself or my superiors in a critical meeting”

Bandit scoffed “It’s only happened a few times, and the worst punishment I’ve ever gotten was a suspension. I only have one strike left before something happens to actually damage my career” he leaned back staring seriously at the male in front of him “But despite all that I’m still a captain and I do my work well”

"You do the barest minimum if there ever was one" Shadow scoffed

"At least I have nothing to prove, runt" Bandit sneered

Shadow's pupils quickly turned to slits, and his body tensed. His eyes narrowed at his brother, a low growl built in his chest a clear sign of his agitation.

But before either of the two could do anything more, the secretary lifted her head smiling and clearly unaffected by the aggressive display. "The Commander is ready to see you now"

Both males stood up, Bandit walked in first followed by Shadow. Commander Snowball stood by the wide window behind his desk, his back to them. The first time someone meets Snowball, they wouldn't think too much of him, He was a little shorter than the average height of their species, and his fur and coloring, reminiscent of white, fluffy felines with grumpy faces, didn't help his case.

But he worked his way up, and was now considered one of the most respected highly ranked officers in the Guild.

He turned to them, his poofy tail swishing behind him, and assessed both males standing before him. Shadow was who people would consider the more professional of the two but it was also clear to his superiors that Shadow was a little reclusive and eager to prove his worth. While being a runt did not limit one’s prospects, the stigma of being one followed them even to adulthood.

And then there was Bandit, charismatic, loyal, brave and impulsive. One brother knew how to follow orders and protocol while the other had a tendency to run all over the place and do what he liked.

“Please seat” Snowball offered before sitting down as well.

Once both males were seated the Commander began speaking “As you both know I haven’t been as active here at the Guild or on explorations. I’ve been getting on in age and I’ve been missing my family which is why I will be retiring next year.” he watch as the two brother exchanged a look of surprise but the older feline continued on “The rules state that I need to find my replacement” Snowball paused watching the implications of that statement sink in “And I want one of you to be my successor’

Bandit let out a laugh before standing up “Commander I would be honored to be your successor and might I say sir your judgement is absolutely-"

"Sit down, boy." The Commander said, giving him a look "and enough with the brown nosing. I do not have an official successor and if the higher up had not pressured me to pick I would have retired in peace"

"But no, they want me to pick someone and make sure they do the job right before I leave."

Shadow leaned forward "What exactly are you saying, Commander?"

Snowball sighed "I never wanted to pick a successor because it might cause disturbances between the other captains but they gave me no other options and told me to pick two candidates and I did."

"And how will they decide who takes over from you?" Bandit moved forward smiling coyly

Snowball narrowed his eyes at the monochrome furred male "A retrieval crew went to pick up an artifact that was discovered last week but they haven't come back. So I proposed that whoever brought the crew and artifact back may have the position but the welfare of the crew and the safety of the artifact are priority."

Shadow opened his mouth to speak again but was surprised when Bandit leaped from his seat and lunged toward the door.

“Bandit, sit down” Snowball thundered, causing the black and white cat to flinch, his ears dropping and returning to his seat.

The Commander gave a long suffering sigh and glared at Bandit “Neither of you are allowed to leave until morning, so you both have an equal chance at getting there first." He looked directly at Bandit as he said this "We'll also be giving you the coordinates of the planet the ship landed on. After all you won't be able to find the crew and the artifact without it right, Bandit?"

The male blushed under his fur "Yes, sir"

"May the best captain and crew win”

"Since we'll be traveling tomorrow, shouldn't you be taking it easy with the drinking?" Ginger pointed out as Bandit drowned another shot. He wiped his mouth and grinned at her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder the orange furred feline shivered at his closeness but Bandit did not notice.

"Ginger" he started "Ginger, Ginger Ginger '' he went on saying her name again and again but never really saying anything else. Normally she liked it when he said her name and when he was making sense but all he was doing now was babbling her name.

“You are the most reliable, hard working and nurturing feline I know and there is no one I would want more as my second in command” Ginger shivered, she also liked it when he praised her “but you need to relax” she crossed her arms and glared at him.

“I’m just concerned”

Bandit grinned at her, his tail brushing up against her arm causing her to squeak and lean away

“Bandit!” she hissed, even as her fur stood straight.

The male only chuckled in response then grinned when he spotted a group of females enter the club then whispered to the bartender. Ginger turned to where her Captain was looking and saw the females, she rolled her eyes. Even after so many years together she still wasn’t used to his tomcat ways, he was always on the lookout for the next female to catch his interest...even though there was already a strong, level-headed female right under his nose.

Ginger shook those thoughts from her head. She turned to talk to Bandit again but he was already headed toward the group of new arrivals, carrying a tray of drinks. She grimaced before turning back to order her first and last drink of the night before going to bed.

"Ladies" Bandit purred as he approached the group "Please take these drinks as a welcome to the best club in town and as a sign for an amazing night" he finished with, in his opinion, a charming smile. The females giggled and each took a drink from the tray until there was one left, he stared at the left over drink sure that he counted right.

Someone cleared their throat behind him, he turned to see a short female, her white fur gleaming under the light, her hazel eyes wide with delight "Good evening Captain Bandit" she greeted cheerfully.

"Patch" he gave a nervous laugh, glancing around to see if his brother was with her "Surprising to see you here"

She giggled "My Captain isn't here, he's in his quarters resting for tomorrow's journey" she shrugged "I came to hang out with my friends since I won't be seeing them for a while but I won't be staying too long either. I have to make my Captain proud" she sighed, dreamily.

Even a blind person could tell that Patch had a thing for Bandit's brother, well except for Shadow apparently. Both brothers entered the guild at the same time, went through training at the same time and joined the guild at the same time. It had been some time since then, which meant the two Captains had been with their crews for a while too.

And Patch's feelings for Bandit's brother had only grown since then, but Shadow's work ethic prevented him from noticing.

Bandit shook his head "What you see in him as a potential mate I will never understand" he muttered.

She looked up at him, her eyes narrowed and her pupils thinned into slits "You just don't understand him" she said, crossing her arms.

The male snorted "I'm his brother, what is it about him that you know more than I do?"

There was a lot to say about Shadow in Patch's opinion and she opened her mouth to give Bandit a piece of her mind but she heard her name being shouted at from across the club, she suddenly remembered what she was supposed to be doing tonight.

The female took a deep breath to calm herself down, she always got riled up when Shadow was involved. She sighed and gave him a look that made him tense, she said her last words to him for the night before joining her friends.

"So much, Bandit. There is so much about him you do not know."

Sleep eluded Bandit as Patch's voices echoed in his mind throughout the night all through the morning. The dual colored male plopped down in his Captain's chair, his coffee sloshing in his cup.

"Rough night, Cap?" his navigator, Leo, chuckled as he came in.

"Just had trouble sleeping Leo"

The rest of his crew slowly streamed in, when Ginger came in Bandit immediately straightened in his chair.

She regarded him "Captain" she greeted coolly then went off to her station.

He turned his head to survey the deck, when everyone was accounted for he sat back "Comms" he called out to his officer "Set?"

"Affirmative" was her response

He called out to his officers on deck and all responded positively.

"Affirmative, Captain. We just received the last SOS call the retrieval crew gave before the Guild lost them" Leo related the coordinates to his partner, the helmsman

Bandit grinned "Excellent. Let's be on our way"

Their ship rumbled to life and took off.

Their destination was a planet a short distance away from their own solar system. There was still time before they reached their destination, this allowed Bandit to check on the rest of his ship and to check on his brother's whereabouts.

He quietly made his way back to the deck, and spotted Ginger at her station typing away at her pad the male grinned and snuck up behind her.

"How may I help you, Captain?" she asked, not turning around when he opened his mouth to scare her.

Bandit grimaced "Aw you ruined it"

She chuckled and lifted her head, there was a small smile on her lips "I've been your First Officer for years, Bandit. I know you" she teased lightly

Something warm fluttered in Bandit's chest as he took in her smile and the rare playful look in her eyes. She caught his gaze "What's that look for?"

He scratched the back of his neck "I know this is not the best time but I just needed to let you know..."

Ginger straightened "Let me know what?"

He took a deep breath to steady his rising nerves then chickened out "Join me for dinner and I'll tell you"

She stared at his retreating form, mouth agape ‘What?” she whispered under her breath.

Bandit headed for his communications officer, he then checked in his brother's location and coordinates. The dual colored male face twisted in displeasure, Shadow was ahead of him, much closer to the planet they crew was stranded than Bandit's crew

At this rate Shadow would get there first and get back first then the prize would be his. Bandit's mouth pulled back baring his teeth, he would not lose to his runt of a brother.

They finally neared the planet, Calthenox, they could see the dark clouds surrounding the planet as well as Shadow's ship. Bandit's eyes narrowed, the fur on his tail standing up.

He collected the team joining him for retrieval then stalked out of the room.

Leo gave a low whistle as he took in the planet's environment and atmosphere "Geez, this place looks…"

"Absolutely depressing?" Bandit supplied

Leo chuckled, his green eyes lighting up "Yeah, that's one word for it" he then turned to the other two currently huddled together, the Communications Officer, Bud and the Medical Officer, Daffodil. Daffodil's poofy cream colored fur ruffled in the breeze, a shiver going down her spine.

Leo grinned "Cold, Daff?"

The poofy feline rolled her eyes "Hardly" but looked out to the distant and barren wasteland "But thereI'm something unsettling out here is something about this place that makes me uneasy” she then turned to Bandit “We should get moving, the sooner we find the crew the sooner we can get out of here”

“She’s right, we need to find them first. Leo, how are the readings you set up earlier?”

“Well” Leo then typed out something on his pad then a hologram of the planet appeared “since the ship landed around this area “ he pointed to a point south of where they were “the crew would have salvaged what they could have from the crash and then looked for some kind of shelter especially if there was anyone injured. My best bet is that they found a cave perhaps, but it would have to have be close by"

"So head to the crash site then we'll probably figure out which way they went?" Bud grunted with approval

"All right team, let's go!"

They had brought transport bikes to get themselves to their destination and as they neared it, they could see a transport shuttle by the crash site causing Bandit to speed up upon the site of his brother by the downed ship.

The taller male brought his bike to a screeching halt. The dark furred male’s ears were flat against his skull, trying to block out the sound. He scowled at Bandit who swaggered towards him and his two crew members that Bandit did not recognize.

Bandit smirked “Well, well lookie who it is, widdle Shadow and his widdle crew”

The runt’s scowl deepened and the two members glared at him, Patch came around from the back of the wreckage, her ears perked up with curiosity.

"What's going on?" Patch asked joining the group, she then caught sight of the expressions on her fellow crew members' faces as well the deepened scowl on her Captain's. The feline's eyes turned Bandit's way, her fur standing on end "What did you do?" she hissed.

The male at his brother's left opened his mouth to answer but Shadow raised his hand, effectively keeping his crew member from speaking.

"What he said is no longer of importance. We have what we came for." Shadow began walking back to the shuttle, but then his ears swiveled around, causing the other to pause as well.

A figure walked slowly towards them, his tattered brown cloak fluttering in the breeze. It was difficult to get a good look at whoever was underneath but if the walking stick was any indication there person underneath was either old or injured.

The cloaked figure stumbled, causing Shadow and crew, as well as Daffodil, to rush over as quickly as they could. Shadow reached him just as he fell over and as he did, the hood of his cloak fell back. Bandit quickly came over to them and balked in surprise when he saw the figure's face.

He was young, very young, dirt and blood all over his oddly soft features. The young boy had long blonde fur, looking over the young boy Bandit noted that he was also quite short.

"Man, this kid must be super young. He's super small" Bandit mused aloud.

Shadow paused, his face scrunching up and looked up the his older brother with an incredulous look "He's a she, you idiot"

Bandit was taken aback and made to respond but the young woman's eyes fluttered open, her amber eyes flickered to each of their faces then tensed, her ears stood up alert.

They young feline sat up abruptly and scrambled backwards causing both males to hold up their hands, palms outward, to show her that they were not a threat. She stopped at a good distance from them taking a good look at the strangers before her, she shifted into a crouch, wincing but ready to take off in case any of them came at her.

"Please, let us help, we mean you no harm I swear" Patch said, slow and calm, taking unnoticeable steps while keeping her hands free and up.

The stranger's eyes shifted to each one of them, before relaxing her posture, her legs finally tweaked and she fell into sitting position.

Daffodil and Patch quickly moved to help the young female up, aiding her as they moved to shuttle.

The brothers shared a look, whoever this female may be, she would be the key to the result of this rescue.

Her names was Hazel, and she was part of the retrieval crew, much of the crew were injured when they crashed and due to the loss of their ship's loss, the world's hostile environment and scarce resources many of the crew succumbed to their injuries, some of the others never returned from scavenging. One by one the crew either died or disappeared until Hazel remained.

The brothers were hunched over together, whispering about themselves. "The safety of the crew come first, Ban" Shadow insisted

"We're getting her checked out but afterwards we need to know where she and the rest of the crew were hiding out. We can't just leave their bodies there" or the artifact the bigger male added silently

"Good point," Shadow said, nodding. They sat quietly for a moment but Bandit couldn't help but stare when a slow smile spread across his face. His brother's ear twitched when Shadow chuckled "I still can't believe you thought she was a boy" Bandit blinked before giving out a loud laugh " It honestly didn't come to mind that we'd see some little girl running around a place like this" he looked towards the the med bay, where Hazel was sitting on the examination table, feet kicking light and tail swishing softly as she talked rather animatedly to Daffodil.

“She kind of reminds me of Luna” Shadow admitted to him "It's impressive that she's lasted so long…" he trailed off, his eyes losing focus as he lost himself in his thoughts.

At the mention of one of their sisters, Bandit instantly felt guilt. The older male had not been home since the accident that caused Bandit to join the Space Exploration Guild in the first place. He had not seen his sisters and younger brothers since, he often wondered how they were now. Bandit had wanted to ask Shadow about them for the longest time, but their rivalry strained their relationship to a point that neither of them could hold a civil conversation.

Shadow snapped out of his reverie and shot his older brother an apologetic smile. It was a rare moment of peace between them but both of them knew that despite their rocky relationship they would never be able to truly hate each other.

"Captains" a voice came up behind them breaking their moment. The masks both males wore slid back on, Shadow's stared at Bandit's communications officer with cool composure. "I hope I'm not interrupting"

Bandit forced out a grin "Of course not, Bud. Is everything alright?"

"Our science officer wanted to let you know that they're analyzing the drones they sent and should have the results shortly"

Bandit could feel his brother's gaze pinning him to his seat. The dual colored male thanked his officer and dismissed him then turned to dark furred male next to him "Brother-"

Shadow shoved away from the table where they sat " Please excuse me" he said, biting back a growl "There are some things I need to take care of in my ship" without anything else to say the young male stalked out of the room.

Slouching in his seat Bandit could only sigh in exasperation, running his paw down his face and his ears drooping.

“Ahem”

Bandit leaned his head back to see Hazel standing over him, a timid smile on her face “Hi, there”

“Oh!” Bandit quickly moved to stand “Ms. Hazel I trust that my crew has been taking care of you” he moved into a practiced stance, standing straight and smiling gently.

Hazel’s face brightened, her tail swishing behind her “They’ve all been very kind. It’s good to finally get some good food and not have to worry about dying from the elements” she laughed.

“Very good” he nodded

The rescued female turned her head clearly looking for someone “I thought I saw Captain Shadow here earlier”

Bandit rubbed the back of his neck “He just left”

Green eyes blinked at him “He’s your brother, correct? You don’t seem very close”

“We have a rather strained relationship, it comes with the whole older brother, younger brother dynamic.” He sat down suddenly feeling exhausted "Sometimes I just wish he backed down a little, he's always trying to prove he's better than me. It feels like I can never make my mark with him always in front"

She regarded him curiously "As an older brother you have a lot of responsibility, right? It only makes sense that you be acknowledged and appreciated for your efforts" she said into the seat next to him "If this rescue can do something for you and your career then why would you allow anyone to stand in the way of that?"

Wordlessly she stood up and went back to the Medical Bay, leaving Bandit to think on her words. A little while later Bandit leaves with a determined look on his face; Hazel watches through the glass doors of the Medical Bay and a smile spreads across her face.

A few hours later they were suited up again, ready to get the rest of the crew's remains and the artifact. To Bandit's knowledge it was only his crew that was going down there, with Hazel coming along of course. The feline was just doing what he needed to do, even if it meant that he and Shadow would never truly get along.

Hazel was right, this was opportunity for him. Why should Bandit let sentimentality hold him back?

"Bandit" Ginger called out softly as she approached him.

"Hey" he sighed, reaching behind him to tighten a doohickey on his suit. He spun around a few times trying to grab on to it. Ginger rolled her eyes and grabbed his shoulders "Hold still, dummy" she whispered before fixing his suit, Bandit held still as she did so.

"Thanks" he muttered

"No problem" she raised her head, surprised. Bandit lacked any of his usual bravado which, to Ginger at least, was very concerning .

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” she asked

"Nothing, it's just Shadow again"

Ginger raised an eyebrow "From the security tape it looked like you two were getting along pretty well" she said as she finished helping him.

He turned to narrow his eyes at her "Spying in people now, Ginger?"

"I'm just making sure both of you will make it back to bade" she crossed her arms "Now, what happened?"

Bandit explained it to her, their talk, their little moment as siblings, Shadow finding out about the drones and the things that Hazel told him after Shadow left. Ginger looked concerned after hearing Hazel's involvement.

"She seriously said that?" Ginger asked, disbelief all over her face.

"She was just being honest"

"You barely know her enough to take any advice she has to give" she pointed out.

"Strangers are unbiased!" He argued "at least it doesn't feel like she's holding me back" he muttered.

But Ginger still heard him, her ears stood up straight, the fur on her tail bristling and her pupils thinned into slits "Well excuse me, sir!" She growled, baring her teeth "All I'm trying to do is keep you from making decisions that you'll regret for the rest of your life!" she stomped away, her tail lashing out behind her "Since you don't seem to value my input as your friend, I'll gladly leave you to your idiocy!"

The automatic doors closed, cutting off Bandit's vision of the orange furred female. He turned to the rest of his crew, all looking uncomfortable and unable to look him in the eye.

Bandit let out an exasperated sigh "Let's just move out team"

Ginger watched from the control center as Bandit and his crew went back down. She watched the shuttle take off then picked up a Comm device "Hey Patch, it's Ginger. You have all the files on the missing crew, right? I need you to send them to me, I have a bad feeling"

With Bandit and his team, Hazel was able to show them the way back to the cave the retrieval crew used as shelter. Bud, Leo and Daffodil watched with displeasure as Hazel plaster herself to Bandit, who was too preoccupied to even notice. They eventually came at a fork in the road.

Hazel turned to each entrance "If I recall correctly the left tunnel leads to the artifact and we used the right tunnel as a place to set up camp.

"Why not just set up camp with the artifact?" Daffodil asked, her gaze narrowed on Hazel.

The young feline flashed her a smile "There wasn't enough room for all of us to fit so one of us would go there to make sure it was safe. We kept watch over the artifact on rotation, so everyone had a chance to rest." She explained "We also hid to be sure none of the scavengers would come in and take it "

Leo eyed Hazel cautiously "Captain let one of us accompany you and Hazel"

Hazel kept a smile on her face, but something dangerous fluttered in her eyes.

However Bandit did not notice but did allow Leo to join him and Hazel. The trio traversed the darkened cavern, the only light available came from the small flashlight on their suits. They were quiet while they walked, Bandit was much too preoccupied with his own thoughts to notice the quickly rising hostility between Leo and Hazel.

Bandit cautioned the others once they got close enough to the entrance of the artifact. They walked in slowly surveying the small room and relaxed when there was no else there.

“I hid the artifact behind those rocks before I left to scavenge more food” she turned to Leo “Help me out, would you?” Bandit’s navigator hesitated.

Bandit narrowed his eyes on the other male, his tail lashed out in irritation “Leo, do it. We’re wasting precious time”

Leo clenched his jaw and moved with Hazel towards the far corner of the room. As they did so, Bandit’s Comm rang, he reached up to take the call but before he could say anything Ginger was yelling in his ear.

He turned to face the wall trying to make sense of what Ginger was saying “Ginger, Ginger slow down and say that again?” He heard the female take a deep breath and repeated in the same urgent tone “Ginger is not who she says she is”

The dual colored male froze “Explain”

“I had Patch send over the retrieval team’s files and combed through the individual members. “ she paused to catch her breath “There was someone named Hazel on the team but when I looked at the photo, it was a completely different person. Whoever is with you right now is someone else”

Bandit opened his mouth to respond when he heard the charge of a blaster directly behind him. The male slowly turned to Hazel holding a downed Leo at gunpoint. She gave him a smile but there was a dark look in her eyes “Hang up, Captain. Unless you have replacement in mind for poor Leo here” the blaster lit up ready to fire.

"I have to go" Bandit said

"But Ban-" he cut her off when he hung up.

"Now, take them out and destroy them" 'Hazel' ordered

He glared and complied, his only means of communication now gone. She gave him more orders he was forced to comply with thus leaving him completely defenseless against any attack. Still, he had to find a way to get to Daffodil and Bud but first he had to get to his navigator.

She studied him and smirked "Don't bother trying to get to the others, the other members of our organization were waiting for them, they're either dead or captured"

Bandit's lips lifted into a snarl "Who the hell are you?"

She regarded him carefully "Let's just say that the organization I work for is...intent at righting the atrocities your Guild has committed over the years. It was ridiculous how easy it was to manipulate you with the wide eye, lost little kitten look." She smiled shaking her head "Gave me a real laugh. I honestly still can't believe how well our timing was" she paused for a moment, her ears standing at attention and her expression shifted into something that made Bandit' guts twist into knots.

She smiled again, but this one seemed crueler than the one before "Speaking of timing..."

Bandit's ears twitched, slow footsteps came from the tunnel, straining to look at who might be approaching.

He silently hoped it would be an ally, that way they would be at an advantage. The figure coming in their direction finally stepped into the dimly lit cavern to reveal Shadow's tense form, holding a blaster in the female's direction.

"Female, you are unidentified and in violation of the law. Unhand your weapon and release your hostages or else I will have to use force"

Bandit and the unknown female stared at him, his brother giving him an incredulous look before yelling out "You're seriously playing this by the book? Shadow, you idiot, this isn't the time!"

The black furred male glanced at his brother, anger rising in his eyes.

"I told you" 'Hazel' said quietly, the way she looked at Shadow made Bandit uneasy. She looked at him with a soft expression, it was a look of understanding, a look of compassion it was a look a friend and confidant may have when they see someone they care about struggling.

"I told you he didn't have any faith in you or the decisions you make. He doesn't think you're capable of handling this situation." She told him "Maybe you would have been able to talk me down and I would have come peacefully, no violence necessary"

"For the love of-, she's playing you!"

"Your talents are being wasted, Shadow. You have so much more to give to the world." she could see his resolve weakening, the tension leaving his body "Peace is your goal, isn't it? We can help you achieve that. The Guild has too many people with selfish agendas, using their power and resources for their own benefit, not for the benefit of minorities, not for those who need it most"

"Shadow-" Bandit started to speak but the female continued on "He" she gestured in his direction "is just like them. How many times has the Guild been like your brother? Taking things that don't belong to them and silencing those who are trying to succeed?"

Shadow turned his gaze away from the female to stare at his brother with anguished eyes, memories of all the horrible things Bandit had done as children, taking away opportunity after opportunity from his younger brother for his own benefit.

"Get rid of the weight, Shadow" she spoke softly "Free yourself"

The blaster lit up and the dark furred male whispered something to himself and fired.

#original story #unbeta'd #Starpath Guild #critique welcome #writing

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amphtaminedreams · 5 years

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Film Tier Ranking 2019: A Bad Year for Bird Films

Hi to anyone reading,

I’ve finally put it together: my 2019 film tier ranking! I know tier rankings are a bit 6 months ago but seeing British crisps sorted into god, good, mid and shit tier all over Twitter, the format really resonated with me and I was like I MUST USE THIS AT SOME POINT! And I guess since there probably isn’t much of an audience for crisp tier rankings on Tumblr, it makes more sense for me to do it with films instead, especially as doing a 2019 year in film review was something I previously claimed I would do; here’s to 2020 and following through on my proposals.

I think 2019 in general was an okay year for film, with the end of the year definitely outselling the beginning. One thing to bear in mind is that a lot of films that I would’ve been able to see in 2019, I.E Little Women and Parasite, didn’t come out until 2020 in the UK so they won’t make it onto this year’s list. It’s not a snub by any means. I more fall in line with the Elsie Fisher Film Awards school of thought than the Oscars, which have yet again disregarded several incredible performances this year: Florence Pugh in Midsommar, Taron Egerton in Rocketman, Lupita Nyongo in Us, and of course, Greta Gerwig’s direction of Little Women. I’m sure there are many more but those are the first few that come to mind. Oh to be in 2017 when nominations made fractionally more sense.

This list also includes films that weren’t necessarily released this year, but that I just got around to watching; there were a couple of disappointments but also a lot of films I can’t believe it took me this long to finally watch and have definitely made their way into my favourites. My goal for this year is to get through even more of the films on my verrrry long Letterboxd watchlist, and more specifically, watch said films without going on my phone, which is a really bad habit of mine. I find it hard to sit still! Let me live!

I also want to try and put aside my prejudices about visual quality and watch more pre-2000s movies this year; it’s really bad but I never managed to get more than half an hour into Psycho, of all films, solely because I couldn’t deal with the black and white. In 2020, I am going to stop being a whiney Gen Z/cusp millenial-er and give older films the chance they deserve.

So, without further ado, here is my film tier ranking of everything I watched in 2019! If you make it til the end and have any thoughts or disagreements, let me know. I love to hear other’s opinions and get new perspectives on things and am totally open to any criticism. Happy reading:-)

God Tier

Knives Out (Rian Johnson, 2019)

Knives Out. What a film.

I feel like I waited forever to see this at the cinema. They must have started showing trailers for it in, like, August, and I had to wait til mid-November to see it. How are you gonna just dangle a film with Toni Colette and Lakeith Stanfield in my face and then make me wait 3 months? Totally unethical.

But that being said, when it finally came around and I did see it, as much as I love Toni and Lakeith, there was one stand out and it wasn’t either of them: ANA DE ARMAS. I have to admit I’d never heard of her before but she acted the shit out of a role I feel I’d ordinarily find irritating and gimmicky. Daniel Craig, whose character seemed annoying as fuck in the trailer, was actually surprisingly funny.

Stylistically, it was a very cool film and I liked the subtle commentary on class that was running throughout. Also, I thought the ending was very clever. My issue with a lot of whodunnits is that they just pick someone who doesn’t make sense for shock factor *cough, Bobby Beale in Eastenders, cough* but the shocks here were more in the details.

Hustlers (Lorene Scafaria, 2019)

There wasn’t one single moment of Hustlers I didn’t enjoy and it’s quite amazing that there wasn’t one single point in this film about strippers that I felt gratuitously sexualised women. THAT is why you fund female directors. It made the whole thing look like a calculated art form, which I think the unsexy amongst us can all agree that it is. Constance Wu was a fantastic lead, J-Lo was kind of robbed for a supporting actress nom, and Keke Palmer and Lili Reinhart were hilarious too.

Midsommar (Ari Aster, 2019)

Midsommar was such an experience that it took me a good few days afterwards to decide whether I actually liked it. I saw it the day it came out because I loved Hereditary so much and I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I kind of had an idea of the way it was going to go, we could all kind of guess evil cult was the route that was being taken from the trailer, but I just didn’t realise quite how weird it’d get.

The gore was great, the visuals were stunning and the character arcs were surprising and for that reason, I think this is another game changer for horror from Ari Aster. I didn’t love it like I loved Hereditary but it continues to play on my mind and 7 months later I still can’t resist a good “Things you Missed in Hereditary” or “Hereditary Themes Explained” Youtube video essay. That’s how you know a film fucked with you and that’s the ultimate goal of going into a horror for me. Put that on my headstone after I inevitably get myself into some mortally dangerous conflict because I want to “get fucked with” a little bit.

Booksmart (Olivia Wilde, 2019)

So here’s the thing with Booksmart: I was getting progressively more and more drunk throughout it so I might be a little biased when I say I loved it. That being said, worth revere seems to be a commonly held opinion so I’ll stick to my guns. Plus, movies like this, which just focus on girls living their lives, are few and far between. Why have we had to wait THIS long for the female Superbad?

IDK. But Kaitlyn Dever, Beanie Feldstein and Billie Lourd proved it’s definitely a genre worth investing in so hopefully we see more lighthearted female-led coming of age comedies. One Ladybird per year isn’t enough for me.

The Favourite (Yorgos Lanthimos, 2018)

I included The Favourite in my 50 Films You’ve Got to Watch that I made earlier this year so I don’t have all that much to say about it that I haven’t said already. To summarise, it’s an instant classic: the cinematography, the cast, the lines, it’s all perfection.

Suspiria (Luca Guadagnino, 2018)

I also included Suspiria in my 50 Films You’ve Got to Watch list so sorry if I’m repeating myself, but I adored everything about it. If I had to sum it up in one sentence I’d say divine feminine energy, but inverted. Plus ballet. That dancing scene in the mirrored room will probably never leave my mind (if you’ve watched it, trust me, you’ll know the one I'm talking about), and if there were awards given out for creepy montages in horror, this would win all of them. It still blows my mind that Tilda Swinton played 3 characters in this film; 2 of them are so distinctly different, if anyone put two and two together without prior knowledge of this fact then I’ll blow my own head up too. This is why I got so mad when there was all that discussion around her being the new female Doctor Who and there were people asking who she was. How can you not know who Tilda fucking Swinton is!? She’s a legend!

Sorry, is the wannabe film snob in me showing?

Annihilation (Alex Garland, 2018)

Though I initially watched it because it’s branded as a horror, Annihilation ended up being a surprisingly introspective take on human nature and our self-destructive tendencies. Nothing really went the way I expected it to, even though I was constantly trying to guess that trajectory from beginning to end.

Visually, Annihilation is magnificent. Like, it’s tense, and where exactly the plot is going is shrouded in mystery, but most importantly, it’s super fucking pretty. Sure, the only thing that was mildly horrifying was the *SPOILER* end result of that bear scene but I didn’t mind too much because there was always that edge-of-your-seat possibility something like that would happen again.

Also I realised that Gina Roduriguez is really hot in this! I would just say in general but that video of her saying the n-word kind of took away shot at real world magnetism. WHY SUCH A SHITTY APOLOGY VIDEO!? WHY?!

Assassination Nation (Sam Levinson, 2018)

So I didn’t clock until I was looking up directors that Sam Levinson, Euphoria director, also directed this, and suddenly everything makes sense in the world. They both have that dreamlike, exaggerated feel that perfectly captures the emotional rollercoaster that is being a teenager, only in Assassination Nation obviously the threats are a bit more...tangible. As in its actually other people trying to kill our protagonists this time round, not just angst.

Not gonna lie, it’s not a patch on Euphoria because that show is probably the best thing I watched all year, but I did thoroughly enjoy it, even if I did feel the social commentary, despite how in your face it was, got a bit lost in translation at times. I think it’s the kind of film that, once again, would’ve felt more genuine coming from a female director, however that’s not to take away from how witty, modern, and completely relevant it still is as we move into 2020.

Sorry To Bother You (Boots Riley, 2018)

Right. WHAT THE FUCK!?

Why don’t more people talk about this film? Like it has Tessa Thompson and the world’s best earrings! Lakeith Stanfield getting more than 10 cumulative minutes of screen time! Armie Hammer being that bitch we all knew he was irl (probably)! Scathing critiques of late stage capitalism! It’s insane, in the absolute best way.

SPOILERS AHEAD: I had a mini paragraph written about the last hour of the film and the descent into pure unadulterated chaos, and how it’s like, the internet’s best kept secret, because ordinarily you lot can’t keep your mouths shut about a film or TV’s shows most crucial reveals for more than 5 minutes and THEN...My FBI agent must be feeling real cheeky because THIS tweet pops up on my Twitter timeline.

Fuck this shit, I’m out. Onto the next film. MI5 stop peeping my drafts.

Eighth Grade (Bo Burnham, 2018)

I don’t want to repeat what I said about Eighth Grade in my 50 Films you Should Watch list but Elsie Fisher’s performance in this is why I wish the Oscars also had some kind of rising star award category à la the BAFTAs. Honestly, every 13/14 year old should watch this; it’s a reminder that although feeling like an outsider is by its nature quite isolating, it’s prolific enough that a 29 year old man, 10 years out of “high school”, gets it.

American Animals (Bart Layton, 2018)

My sister and I absolutely loved this film so you can image our disappointment when we turned round to our parents at the end and our enthusiasm wasn’t matched...as in, I’m pretty sure they were both asleep for a lot of it. WHICH I DON’T GET. Because to me, there wasn’t a dull moment. American Animals is what happens when a group of university age boys with the finesse of the American Vandal Turd Burglar try and apply that to an Evil Genius stye heist, part Netflix, talking head abundant documentary, part live-action film. Splicing a stylistic reenactment with interview footage of the men who really attempted to commit the crime elevated what I probably would have put in the Good Tier™ to the God Tier™; seeing the guy Evan Peters is playing alongside Evan Peters playing him, now only the remnants of the arrogance we see in the reenactment left behind, sharply reminds you of the fall from grace these boys deservedly went through. Plus Barry Keoghan from The Killing of a Sacred Deer is in it, proving that unsettlingly stiff is NOT in fact his natural state.

Gerald’s Game (Mike Flanagan, 2017)

I wish there was a shorthand way to say I wrote about this in my 50 Films You Should Watch list so I’m gonna keep it short but here we are! This was great! If The Haunting of Hill House isn’t proof enough, Gerald’s Game (not to take away any credit from Stephen King) is a reminder that Mike Flanagan is the king of subtle, niggling sensation in your stomach that something is about to go very wrong horror. I hear he and Ari Aster have a timeshare situation going on with the crown.

The Ritual (David Bruckner, 2017)

Okay, so this is the film that made me realise we should all be very scared of forests. Nope, all the documentaries into the Aokigahara Forest weren’t enough, apparently. I subjected myself to this too, as if my unfit, cold-blooded, bug-fearing, scared of the dark ass doesn’t already have enough concerns about my survival odds in the great outdoors.

Really though, setting aside, this film maintains the sense of dread throughout and keeps you guessing what’s going on until the very end. Much like The Descent, the group dynamic and characters are realistic enough that it adds to the believability of a scenario I, in principle, know would never happen to the extent that I might keep away from vast, wooded spaces for a while just in case.

Dumbo (Tim Burton, 2019)

If film Twitter came across this post and saw I’d placed Dumbo in a higher tier than If Beale Street Could Talk I can only imagine the outrage. And sure, the latter is probably a much higher quality film. But sometimes a movie, for reasons you can’t quite put your finger on, gets you right in the sweet spot, and Dumbo did that for me. Maybe it was that the CGI elephant reminded me of my cat (I know, leave me alone), maybe I was emotional that day, I don’t know, all I know is that I cried like 5 times and was smiling for the rest of it-to be fair, the exploitation of animals for our entertainment is something that is still very much going on and that was something that was playing on my mind a lot whilst I was watching it. IRL Dumbos should be free too. Dumbo rights.

The VVitch (Robert Eggers, 2016)

This film taught me that there’s nothing wrong with joining a coven of young witches and getting naked and levitating around a fire. And that’s an important life lesson. Plus it gave us the quote “wouldst thou like to live deliciously?”, which is not only so perfectly creepy and simultaneously empowering that I had to get it tattooed but also, created ASMR. I just made that last bit up obviously but Black Philip getting his own ASMR Youtube channel?

The Descent (Neil Marshall, 2006)

For me, much like The Ritual, The Descent is a perfect horror film: it’s got the ghouls but the situation the characters find themselves in is also terrifying by its own merit. The reason The Descent made it onto my 50 Films list and the Ritual didn’t is because, let’s be honest, it’s 2020 and you can get mobile signal in most places. You could probably at least make a 999 call if you got lost in a forest. If you DID get stuck in an underground cave and it collapsed in on itself, you’d be pretty fucked; the idea of it makes me shudder and I will never set foot in an underground tunnel at any point in my life for any amount of money EVER after seeing this. Also, the women in this are great and the creatures in this are genuinely quite terrifying, especially the first time you see them.

Chicago (Rob Marshall, 2003)

Ah, Chicago, the last film on the God Tier™, proving that this list is in no particular order. Because WHAT A FIM. WHY DON’T PEOPLE TALK ABOUT THIS MORE?! Like don’t get me wrong, I know it deservedly won Best Picture in 2003 but I’m talking about right now! I mean, fucking Titanic is still out here getting referenced left, right and centre and yet Chicago gets paid dust! Can you tell I’m mad and that I think Titanic is hugely overrated?! Is that maybe coming across?!

ALL the songs are bops, Catherine Zeta-Jones is hot (I saw someone on Letterboxd say that Catherine Zeta-Jones in this film was their bisexual awakening and honestly, if I hadn’t already known I was a raging bisexual, same, because I FELT things in that All That Jazz opening) and Cell Block Tango is the revenge fantasy anthem I never knew I needed. Smart, tongue in cheek, beautifully shot and makes men look like little bitches which is probably why my dad hated it but what did I expect.

Good Tier

Zombieland: Double Tap (Ruben Fleischer, 2019)

Onto the first film of the good tier, Zombieland: Double Tap definitely exceeded my expectations. I was super worried about the prospect of a sequel as I love the first one so much and assumed it would be crap. Obviously, it doesn’t match up to the original because the original WAS so original, but it was still a fun, easy, witty ride. And I was SO glad they didn’t *SPOILERS AHEAD* kill off Tallahassee at the end because I really thought that was coming and it seemed so predictable and unnecessary. Highlight was the introduction of the lookalikes at Graceland.

Judy (Rupert Goold, 2019)

So, this is the first of two consecutive rants I’m about to go on about Oscar nominations and people’s reactions online. Prepare yourself.

I’ll start with the underlying message: just because you think something else deserves the praise more, doesn’t mean the film/album/*insert whatever artistic medium you wish here* that IS getting the praise is shit.

Like people are angry that Lupita Nyongo wasn’t nominated for best actress for her performance in Us which is COMPLETELY valid as she carried that film on her back. In the same vein, people are also angry that more women of colour haven’t been nominated for best actress. Also valid; I’ve yet to see The Farewell but I’ve heard great things about Akwafina’s performance and I love her so even though I haven’t seen it, I’m gonna take the general consensus that she should’ve been nominated too. The Oscars definitely has a problem with recognising the work of POC. BUT, because of this, people are angry that Renee Zellweger has been nominated for her performance in Judy, saying that it’s typical “Oscar bait”. I agree, it is typical Oscar bait. However, a lot of the people saying this will in the same breath say (or tweet rather) that they haven’t actually SEEN Judy.

How can you possibly say that Renee Zellweger doesn’t deserve any of the praise she’s getting when you haven’t even seen the film? Don’t get me wrong, the film itself is good but not outstanding (hence its place in this tier), but you can see Renee genuinely put her heart and soul into this film; it was powerful, and it was sympathetic but it was also nuanced and subtle where they could’ve just capitalised on all the sensationalised stories of the actions of a woman clearly deeply suffering in her final years and had it be full of shouting and screaming. The Wizard of Oz has always kind of felt like home to me because of the childhood nostalgia factor and so I’ve always been interested in Judy and I think Renee captured her heart and her spirit in a way she would be deeply honoured by. Maybe the film itself doesn’t deserve the acclaim it’s getting but I think Zellweger definitely deserves the nom and I think most people who’ve actually seen it wouldn’t contest that.

Joker (Todd Philipps, 2019)

Okay so second rant. I’m sorry. I have a lot of feelings. Most of them aimed at the annoying tendency of internet users, Film Twitter™ and Letterboxd users I’m looking at you in particular, to be wildly exaggerative.

There just seems to be no nuance online. It’s not just yeah, I didn’t like the film personally and the message could be perceived in a certain way by certain individuals, it’s I HATE THIS FILM AND IT’S DANGEROUS AND THE DIRECTOR FUCKING SUCKS. I noticed this trend when La La Land came out (which if I had watched last year would certainly be in God tier for me). It’s like, if a film initially receives a lot of praise and buzz, there’s almost this wave of compensatory vehement criticism in response that’s usually disproportionate to how controversial the film actually is. People didn’t like that Joker was popular because they didn’t like Joker so suddenly it’s the worst film ever and the possibility of it getting any critical acclaim is wrong. I even saw people berating Todd Philipps for channelling Martin Scorsese as he’s the only person to ever be influenced and take direction from one of the most dominant figures in film of the 20th and 21st century. I mean, what’s wrong with that?! If it was any other director, it’d be called homage. But because everything has to be seen through this malicious lens, its copying.

I think one of the few very valid criticisms about Joker was that it further perpetuates the idea that psychotic people are dangerous, and I can totally see where they’re coming from. At the same time, we have to accept that whilst the majority of people who are psychotic aren’t a danger to anyone apart from themselves, most “dangerous” people don’t just become dangerous because they thought, fuck it, why not? A lot of people in the prison system ARE suffering with some kind of mental illness. The character’s psychosis doesn’t make him dangerous, it’s his underlying resentment and sense of entitlement that grows throughout the film that makes him dangerous, and I think a lot of people seem to miss this point. They say that the way the film ends implies Philipps is justifying the actions of the films protagonist. However, we KNOW the Joker is an unreliable narrator, he’s one of pop culture’s most infamous villains and that being said, both in film and in the real world, few villains see themselves as the villain. Joker is about why HE thinks he’s justified in doing what he does, not why he IS justified in doing what he does because he’s not, and that’s pretty clear from the moment he shoots someone in the head on live TV. Honestly, I think there’s a bit of wilful misinterpretation going on because people don’t like that film

I liked Joker. It was gritty, it was interesting, and sufficiently dark. I didn’t think it was the best film of the year but I understand why it got the praise it did. Obviously, it’s okay that people disagree and DON’T like it. But can we please get a bit more well-acquainted with the middle ground?

It: Chapter Two (Andres Muschietti, 2019)

Okay, essays over. Back to regular scheduled programming of less impassioned reviews. Though I will say I deserved better than my Letterboxd comment of “so you can just fucking roast Pennwyise to death?” getting absolutely 0 traction. One day my grand total of 5 followers, one of which is my sister, will recognise my brilliance (lol).

It’s hard to say how much I really liked this as I think my perspective of how much I did enjoy it is warped by how much I disliked the first one. Child actors really aren’t my thing and the only cast members I warmed to in the first one were Finn Wolfhard and Jack Dylan Grazer whereas the cast here were a lot more likeable, imo. Bill Hader, Jessica Chastain and James Ransone were all great, with the only let down being James Mcavoy; I love him, don’t get me wrong, but I just think he was really miscast in this role.

Another thing I enjoyed a lot more about this instalment was that due to the more episodic/anthology-like/Creepshow-esque structure with each character conquering different monsters from their past individually, the narrative felt like it had a lot more direction, and it didn’t drag as much despite it having a significantly longer runtime. I haven’t read the Stephen King novels and I don’t know much of the pacing issues are down to them so this is me coming at it from a screenwriting angle but it felt as if the climax of the first film just kept going on and on. Every time I thought it had finished there’d be another confrontation between the kids and Pennywise whereas Chapter 2 seemed to have a more definitive third act and I appreciated that.

Rocketman (Dexter Fletcher, 2019)

So, here’s one where I WILL agree with the general online consensus: if Rami Malek got nominated for playing Freddie Mercury last year and Renee got nominated for playing Judy Garland, why the fuck didn’t Taron Egerton get one for playing Elton John? Why didn’t Rocketman itself get a nomination when Judy did? Though I personally preferred Judy because I’m more interested in her story, technically and narratively Rocketman is the better film in my opinion. This was so cleverly edited and sequenced and told with such a brutal honesty on Elton John’s part (it was co-produced by his husband David Furnish and he was heavily involved in everything from the set to the script), that I can only come to the conclusion that the obligatory biopic nomination only comes when the focus of said biopic is no longer with us as a kind of honorary thing. Whilst something like Bohemian Rhapsody was much more of an easy watch (which just goes to show how glossed over Freddie Mercury’s life was in the film), the way the story was told, by the time we got to I’m Still Standing that happy ending felt so earned.

Aladdin (Guy Ritchie, 2019)

You can hate all you want, Prince Ali and Never Had a Friend Like Me are fucking bops and somehow they were even better in this incarnation of the film. I was initially hesitant about Will Smith being cast but rather than trying to impersonate Robin Williams he went his own route and it really worked. He was the highlight of the film. It was undeniably visually stunning too. Madonna’s ex did good.

Us (Jordan Peele, 2019)

Ah, I feel so conflicted when it comes to Us. Like, there were some really strong points and it’s definitely a good standalone horror movie. It’s just you can’t help but compare it to Get Out, and with that unsatisfactory exposition dump ending, I left feeling so disappointed. It seemed to me that Jordan Peele got in a bit over his head here with trying to tie such a vague social metaphor and the actual in-universe plot together, and so ended up leaving both a bit half-baked. He tried to OutPeele himself and for me, it didn’t work.

The doppelgängers were so scary as this ambiguous, vaguely threatening presence that if you are gonna give us a full blown, sit down explanation of why they exist it needs to be really bloody good. And this explanation didn’t make much sense. For example, *SPOILERS AHEAD* I imagine that the tethered just not being able to walk up the escalator into the “real world” was supposed to be some kind of metaphor for social mobility but it’s not fleshed out enough to work. In our world, there are REASONS why the idea of social mobility is flawed. In the film, it’s just like gee, if they chose to just walk up the escalator and go on this murderous rampage now, why couldn't they have decided to do it years ago back before they all lost their fucking minds? Why were they just copying the originals for all those years? HOW did they know what they were doing? See, the metaphor as I understand it is supposed to be that we depend on the oppression of others like us in order to maintain our social status, but not only is this kind of too general a statement to try and use a feature length film to make, I don’t really understand how this dynamic works within the narrative of the film. Technically, there's nothing to stop the tethered and the originals co-existing apart from the tethered deciding not to walk up the fucking escalator. We’re not talking a bourgeoisie-proletariat relationship here. The explanation of it all just being a “government project gone wrong” was too vague seeing as the plot working seemed prior to this to hinge onto something vaguely supernatural and the eventual plan of the doppelgängers seemingly had no purpose or application to the real world like the climax of Get Out did. It just left me feeling kind of like...why? Why did this all happen? When the ending and the twist was that predictable (the old Pretty Little Liars finale style twin switcheroo was blatantly obvious from the mother’s “it’s like she’s a different person” line near the beginning, let’s be real), I was expecting some final revelation that flipped my expectation on its head or at least felt helped things click into place. Instead, it seemed a bit hamfisted and like I was supposed to feel things were deeper and more significant than they actually were.

All that being said, I appreciate that if anyone other than the writer of Get Out had come out with this movie, I probably wouldn’t have these issues. Us was funny, it was fresh, and the concept of doppelgängers is something I’m so glad to see brought back into our modern pop culture database. The people are right, Lupita was incredible in this and it is a travesty that she didn’t get nominated. My sister, who was so creeped out by her vocal performance that she had her fingers in her ears every time Red spoke, still won’t let me attempt an impression of it. And that Fuck the Police sequence? Iconic.

On the Basis of Sex (Mimi Leder, 2019)

I apologise in advance for the shittiest “review” I’ll ever write, but honestly I can’t remember all too much about this film other than it being good. Ruth Bader Ginsburg, I’m sorry. You’re a cool lady.

If Beale Street Could Talk (Barry Jenkins, 2019)

EURGH, THIS WAS SUCH A BEAUTIFUL FIM. The score, the shots, the rawness. I imagine it’s devastatingly real. Like, *SPOILERS AHEAD* you think there’s going to be a happy ending but there’s not. It should be disappointing but it’s an honest choice. And side note: fuck those annoying middle aged white ladies in the seats behind me and my friend who lost their shit and started giggling every time the N-word was used, JFC. I hate living in a Tory stronghold.

Cam (Daniel Goldhaber, 2018)

So, as I said, I’m a fan of the whole doppelgänger thing. It freaks me out. The point in this film where the protagonist is approaching her bedroom door whilst she watches HERSELF livestreaming from inside that same bedroom had my heart in my mouth wondering what she was going to encounter on the other side. And you see, the ending of this was a lot more ambiguous than the ending of Us, so I should’ve had less questions. Whilst I’ve seen other people saying it WAS unsatisfactory and that they felt like we were owed more of an explanation, I liked the simplicity of the answer we got and the wiggle room it leaves for our own interpretation. The way I see it, given that we were told by the fan the protagonist meets with in the motel room that *SPOILERS AHEAD* it was a case of some kind of software copying these women’s likenesses to steal their viewers and thus their profits, is that Cam is a kind of a commentary on the capitalist exploitation of women’s bodies and the demand for (and desensitisation towards) sexually violent content; we don't necessarily need to know who is behind the virtual cloning, which is terrifyingly believable given how realistic some of the deepfakes I’ve seen are, because it doesn’t matter. We're basically told money is the motive and we know the kind of lengths some people will go, and someone DID go to in Cam, to in order to make a shitload of money and that’s as true in real life as it is scary. On the other hand, if you want to believe there’s a more supernatural presence behind the events of the film, there’s enough left to the imagination that you can go down that route too. Some films are better left un-exposition dumped and this is the proof. My one criticism, is that, like many films, it would be even better if directed by a woman; I’ve seen people say that its portrayal of online sex work isn’t entirely accurate and though I can’t say with certainty that women working in this industry weren’t consulted in the first place, I imagine a female director would not only be more likely to listen to their concerns but could translate the confusion and fear that comes with being expected to makes oneself sexually desirable to get ahead in the world but then shamed and used for doing so even more viscerally. A few tweaks and it’d be God Tier.

Colette (Wash Westmoreland, 2019)

The costumes, sets, and Keira were so, so stunning. Also it was just an inspiring, beautiful story. The navigation of womanhood, so called “deviant” sexuality and self-expression against the backdrop of early 20th century Paris with a load of Edwardian era tailoring thrown in, it’s everything I could possibly want and more; 10/10 moodboard content.

The Boy (William Brent Bell, 2016)

I can’t believe this film was made in 2016, and it almost makes me move it down to mid tier based on the fact that a lot of the allowances I made for cheese factor I made on the assumption it came out earlier in the decade. BUT, that being said, I was creeped out for a good portion of this film. Most horrors I watch and I’m probably a bit too chilled (a head comes off or some witchy ass ghost screams into the camera and my only thought is some kind of judgement of the SFX), and yet I felt like watching this behind my hands. I don’t know what it is about dolls and puppets, Chucky was my childhood fear even though I never actually watched the film, but something about the uncanny valley of it all makes me just spend the whole time they’re on screen silently praying they don’t start moving or talking. So in a way, given the resolution of the film *SPOILERS AHEAD*, the premise of The Boy was actually a lot scarier to me than the reveal of what was really going on. Someone hiding in my walls? NBD. That demons are real and that they live inside creepy old dolls? Terrifying. Why does everybody I debate this with disagree!? You can't call the police on a demon! At least with a human being you can stick them with the pointy ending of something! Regardless, I enjoyed the journey and trying to work out how things would end and if there IS anybody secretly living inside my house right now, even if you are a supposedly dead murderous family member (last time I checked I didn’t have any of those so I should be all good), kindly vacate. Thanks.

Oprhan (Jaume Collet-Serra, 2009)

So the fact that this film is based on a real life case makes this all the more terrifying. It was a bit campy and tacky at times but the shot of *SPOILERS AHEAD* Esther taking off her makeup in the mirror and revealing her true age will always be iconic. Plus I love Vera Farmiga, even though I did struggle to see her as anyone other than Norma Bates.

First Reformed (Paul Schrader, 2018)

A hauntingly beautiful film with a lot of room for interpretation. There were so many gorgeous shots and so much subtext, this is proper 10/10 media studies essay material.

The Invitation (Karyn Kusama, 2015)

I would say the concept and implications of this film, which don’t fully hit you til the final shots, are a lot better than the film itself. It feels very realistic though and is definitely tense.

As Above, So Below (John Erick Dowdle, 2014)

I was so stoned when I watched this that a lot of the allegory and Dante’s inferno references went straight over my head, and it just seemed absolutely balls to the wall wild. I couldn’t buy that the characters would just KEEP GOING either when things began to get terrifying, like people in horror films really out here making the most nonsensical decisions and it drives me mad. But anyway, it was definitely entertaining and there’s a lot more to it in terms of plot and mythology than most similar quality horrors and I appreciate that

Climax (Gaspar Noe, 2018)

Climax is an interesting one that I think I’ll have to watch again to judge how much I truly like it. As with Us, I know it’s a good film, but I think my expectations of what it was going to be left me slightly disappointed. See, when I read about the premise I assumed that the horror was going to come from seeing the perspective of the characters on said acid trip and that leaves so much room for any kind of terrifying visuals you want whether that be something based in realism or fucked up creatures of the imagination. Buuuuut, it wasn’t that at all; at no point does Climax take place from the first person perspective of any of the characters. Similar to Darren Aronofsky’s Mother, the horror comes from not being able to do anything but watch as everyone starts losing their minds and the situation gets increasingly more dire. It’s pure stress; the acting is so unnervingly good that you really do feel like you’re watching some unintentionally horrific incident take place. That’s not a bad thing-I like it when films make me feel something intense, whether that emotion be positive or negative. It was just a different viewing experience to the one I had precipitated.

Mid Tier

Nativity (Debbie Isitt, 2009)

I find Mr.Poppy hilarious. Does that make me a child? Probably. I’m not really one for Christmas movies but this one’s alright.

Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark (André Øvredal, 2019)

I get that it’s based off a book so it’s not exactly like the “monsters” were a secret in the first place, but for those of us who didn’t read the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark books as a kid, my main beef with this film was that they basically revealed all of said monsters in the trailer. Like how It: Chapter 2 spoiled the scene with Beverly in the old lady’s apartment but with EVERY. SINGLE. CREATURE. The only one that wasn’t was the “jangly man” and the only takeaway I have from him is the “jangly in the streets, but is he jangly in the sheets?” Letterboxd comment I read afterwards. Like the creature designs are the selling point of this film and by showing us them all before we’ve even seen it, any anticipation that would’ve built up from their reveal was kind of gone. Plus, it definitely felt like the writers were trying to ride on the hype train of “It” when they wrote this-only they made it even more childish. I mean, I know it was classed as PG-13 in the US which is maybe part of the reason it was so tame but the Woman in Black was a 12 when it was released here and it could be the bias of my 13 year old brain but I remember that being terrifying to watch in the cinema.

Also, I found it weird how *SPOILERS AHEAD* a couple of the main characters died and there didn’t really seem to be any consequences? Idk, maybe that’s because I found them all a bit one dimensional but I’ve seen others make the same criticism so I don’t think so.

Don’t get me wrong, this wasn’t a BAD film. It just wasn’t super good.

Charlie’s Angels (Elizabeth Banks, 2019)

I’ve never seen the 2000s Charlie’s Angels so I really don’t have anything to compare to, but I don’t think this was THAT bad. I was fairly entertained throughout and I enjoyed Naomi Scott and Kristen Stewart’s characters. My main issue was the unnecessary inclusion of Noah Centineo, and that weird ass montage at the beginning of stock video shots of girls just...doing miscellaneous things. Why, Elizabeth Banks, why!?

Toy Story 4 (Josh Cooley, 2019)

In some ways, I see why Toy Story 4 was narratively necessary: co-dependency had been a running theme throughout and we needed to see Woody (I feel stupid saying this considering he’s a fucking toy but allow it) realise that he can exist independently of Andy, and that there’s more to life than pleasing somebody else. The way Toy Story 4 ended felt like a satisfying conclusion to his character arc, and as well as the animation being top tier, Forky was a hilarious addition to the cast. However, I don’t think it carried the emotional weight of the 3rd Toy Story, which I think people had accepted as the last instalment and had used to say goodbye to the franchise, and therefore the sceptic in me thinks that the obvious purpose of this addition was a cash grab. I don’t doubt that a lot of people worked incredibly hard on it-I’m just saying that the propelling force behind the film probably wasn’t “the people need to see Woody’s character growth” and that was quite apparent throughout.

Doctor Sleep (Mike Flanagan, 2019)

There were some really beautiful scenes in Doctor Sleep; the astral projection sequences in particular were magnificent and I loved Rebecca Ferguson as the villain. Stylistically, though I didn’t find out he was the director until I was writing this up, you can definitely tell it’s Mike Flanagan, and like I’ve said, he does horror very tastefully. Unfortunately, I just wasn’t all that interested in the premise and I wasn’t hugely invested in grown up Danny Torrance either. The execution was great and the return to the Overlook was brilliant, of course, but the story just wasn’t for me and nothing much sticks out as being a particularly intriguing plot point.

Mary Queen of Scots (Josie Rourke, 2019)

What to say about Mary Queen of Scots other than...yeah, it was alright. I mean, I really should’ve liked it more than I did, because these specific events were part of the Edexcel A-Level history curriculum (Can I get some Rebellion and Disorder Under the Tudors students representation up in here!?) and I usually love seeing history translated onto screen, plus it centred around Margot Robbie and Saoirse Ronan. It was just very...meh. I feel like there’s so much more complex a story here than was told. Both women were undoubtedly a lot more complicated than this film made them out to be and I think to reduce Mary Queen of Scots to a Mary Sue-ish heroine was a disappointing choice. Plus, if we’re gonna talk historical accuracy (which all the racists came out of their caves to discuss at the time), Mary and Elizabeth never actually met; I’m sure there was a more creative way to explore their dynamic than by forcing an interaction that never actually happened.

Apostle (Gareth Evans, 2018)

There were elements of this film I really liked; the mythology behind the cult, I.E what the townsfolk actually worshipped when you stripped away all the secrecy was pretty interesting. However, I felt it depended too much on atmosphere and not enough on plot, and I didn’t warm to any of the characters.

Searching (Aneesh Chaganty, 2018)

It’s difficult because technically, Searching is obviously an ingenious film. My issue is the way it ended, which was imo, super anti-climatic, and honestly pretty predictable in that it seemed like the writers just went out of their way *SPOILERS AHEAD* to make the culprit the person viewers would’ve ruled out by default for shock value, and then work out WHY that person was the culprit from there. I was expecting something a lot darker to be behind the protagonist’s daughter’s disappearance-irl, these situations usually are-and so maybe it’s just me being a bit of a sadist but I was disappointed by how things resolved themselves.

Deliver Us from Evil (Scott Derrickson, 2014)

So, this isn’t boring. It’s interesting to have a horror navigated through the lens of something as procedural as a police investigation. But ultimately, the acting isn’t great, there’s very few scary moments, and it’s a little cheesy. As horrors go, it’s pretty shallow-it is what it says on the tin.

Dumplin’ (Anne Fletcher, 2018)

I watched this right at the beginning of the year and I can’t remember all too much about it, but I remember not hating it? See, looking at the cast, Odeya Rush and Dove Cameron are both in it which would suggest I’d come away hating MYSELF instead but yeah...I got nothing.

Lights Out (David F.Sandberg, 2016)

The concept is very scary, the execution not so much, and the actual storyline is a little cheesy. I found myself just being like OH MY GOD, IT’S BELLA’S DAD FROM TWILIGHT! And then *SPOILERS AHEAD* getting mad that they did Charlie Swan dirty like that by killing him off in the first 10/15 minutes.

The Goldfinch (John Crowley, 2019)

So I LOVED the book of The Goldfinch. I read it after the Secret History and even though most people seem to prefer the latter, the former hit me right in the sweet spot. The length was almost one of my favourite things about it; I felt by the end that I came to know the character so well he felt like someone I knew in real life. When I heard Ansel Elgort was cast as Theo, I was really happy; I’m not necessarily a huge fan of him as an actor, I've only ever seen him in shitty teen-y dramas which I forced myself to like at the time E.G. The Fault in Our Stars and Divergent, but he looks kind of exactly how I pictured Theo looking. Almost like an Evanna Lynch as Luna Lovegood situation. And then honestly, the actual film came around, and I found myself much preferring the young Theo sections. I get that Theo is quite a muted character and I hate to properly slate anyone’s performance, but Ansel as him felt a bit flat. The casting in general was pretty whack; I love Nicole Kidman but she didn’t feel right as Mrs.Barbour and it seemed that they added a lot to her character to the detriment of Hobie’s character who was a much bigger part of Theo’s life in the book. Also, can we talk about Finn Wolfhard as Boris? I’m sorry, but that accent was godawful. Really bad. Boris’ accent was always supposed to be kind of ambiguous but this was just butchered Russian. Another gripe that my friend and I, who also read the book, had with the Vegas section of the film (which was otherwise probably the best part) was that they never properly explored the complexity of Boris and Theo’s relationship. Obviously I’m not saying that I want 2 minors to shoot a sex scene but it could have been referenced when they reunite as adults because the kiss on the head when they part in Vegas seemed misleadingly platonic. It was heavily implied in the book that there was some kind of love that went beyond friendship between the two and I didn’t get that in the film at all.

Ultimately, when you try and adapt a book as long as the Goldfinch, you’re always going to have some pacing issues and people complaining that things were left out or that X or Y character didn’t have enough screen time. But in ways, I think the fault here was trying to stay TOO faithful in the limited time available. They definitely could have focussed less on certain relationships and more on others, and when it comes down to it, I think we lost a lot of the grittiness of the original book for the sake of pretty visuals.

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (Quentin Tarantino, 2019)

Don’t get me wrong, this would 100% be in shit tier if it wasn’t for the last hour or so of the film and all the Manson lore which is so disappointing because I love Tarantino films and I love that era. As for the first couple of hours, I loved the vibe and I love Margot Robbie, and I think it was very respectful towards the Tate family (if anything radiated through the screen more than anything else it was Sharon Tate’s sweetness), but I just wasn’t that invested in Leo or Brad’s characters-it all just felt a bit pointless. I really like Brad Pitt and even that couldn’t really save it for me. Maybe if you took away the remaining 2 hours and 20 minutes of Leo DiCaprio making vague allusions to his own career to a girl only slightly younger than the combined age of all girlfriends past I’d enjoy it more but then I don’t think there’d be much footage left. I guess we should just be grateful that Tarantino managed to refrain from unnecessarily sprinkling the N-word into every other line of his script this time, right?

Also.

SO. MANY. FEET.

But then again, this did result in Brad publicly mocking Tarantino’s foot fetish during his speech at the SAG awards so...I’ll allow it. Sometimes kink shaming is okay. Especially when it’s this guy:

Isn’t it Romantic (Todd Strauss-Schulson, 2019)

I guess as romantic comedies go it wasn’t AWFUL because it was self-aware but still just not my cup of tea and it didn’t really make me laugh. Plus, I feel like it did just follow the plot of a conventional rom-com in the end so...what was it all for, you know?

Green Room (Jeremy Saulnier, 2016)

I think my disappointment with this film was a case of too high expectations. It wasn’t as gory as I hoped, in fact, there was very little on screen gore at all. I was just expecting something very messed up and I didn’t get that. But then again we did get Maeby from Arrested Development singing a fuck Nazis song so I guess that was a nice surprise?

Shit Tier

Birdbox (Susanne Bier, 2018)

First the disappointment of the Goldfinch, and now Birdbox (although they were chronologically the other way round but for the sake of this review, let’s just ignore that). It really is a bad year for bird films.

It’s weird because when this first came out I remember everyone hyping it up and making memes about it and stuff and then I actually watched it and dear god, it was boring. Honestly, who paid you lot to pretend you cared enough about it enough to make content? And where can I get in on this action?

I mean it didn’t start off terribly but then they killed off SARAH FUCKING PAULSON and somehow managed to make SANDRA FUCKING BULLOCK unlikeable. How does one do that? The mind baffles.

Pet Sematary (Kevin Kolsch & Dennis Widmyer, 2019)

The kid acting was bad, the leads were meh and there wasn’t one creepy moment. This should be SO MUCH MORE hard hitting than it actually was given the subject matter and it just fell completely flat. I will say, though, *SPOILERS AHEAD* that the ending was appropriately doom and gloom and even though I’ve seen lots of others say they hate it it was probably the only thing I actually liked.

The Lion King (Jon Favreau, 2019)

Seth Rogen and Billie Eichner were the only good things about this which is sad because I fucking love Donald Glover and I was so excited when he was cast as Simba. Like, it was pretty but empty and unnecessary and I’m not one of these people who think CGI remakes always have to be this way-I loved Dumbo and I liked the live-action Jungle Book too! I just think the people who made this cared too much about good CGI and realism and less about heart. There was no personality whatsoever and it’s such a waste when you think about the fact that they had Donald and Beyonce on board.

Red Sparrow (Francis Lawrence, 2018)

Eurgh, I hated this. I think Jennifer Lawrence is stunning and I usually love her films but every shot of her in this felt so male-gaze oriented, even the ones which were sexually violent, which I found to be completely unnecessary in the first place. At times it felt almost torture-porn-y which was not what I expected at all seeing as the marketing made it seem like some kind of female empowerment movie.

It Comes at Night (Trey Edward Shults, 2017)

I literally can’t remember fucking anything from this film. Clearly there is a very, very fine line between atmospheric and boring.

Warm Bodies (Jonathan Levine, 2013)

Maybe it’s because I watched this about 6 years too late and the whole human-girl-falls-in-love-with-supernatural-creature hype train has long since left the station but I couldn’t even finish it. Cutesy necrophilia ain’t for me, sorry Nicholas Hoult. Still love ya. You’ll always be Tony Stonem to me xoxo

Million Dollar Baby (Clint Eastwood, 2005)

I’m pretty sure this movie won a lot of awards so I’m sure this is a very unpopular opinion but the way this film ended was so...depressing. SO depressing. Did it have to be THAT depressing? The Always Sunny in Philadelphia episode outsold.

This is the range Oscar winning actress Hilary Swank wishes she had.

Would You Rather (David Guy Levy, 2013)

Started off well but became cheesy and predictable as it went on. The acting wasn’t great either plus there was another unnecessary attempted rape scene here too.

Christmas with the Kranks (Joe Roth, 2004)

So I watched this movie in the run up to Christmas because my best friend and her mum were referencing it like it was this cult classic (which I guess for some reason it is?) and I’m sorry to her and her mum but what the hell is this shit?! It’s not even so bad it’s good. It’s just bad.

The plot, the characters, EVERYTHING, it’s ridiculous on every level. I wasn’t into it enough to suspend my disbelief that anyone’s neighbours would actually care THAT much that they weren’t celebrating Christmas. Go on your damn cruise, take me with you whilst you're at it, ease my seasonal depression! I wouldn’t mind so much if it was funny or if the protagonists were likeable but it wasn’t and they’re not. Nobody’s actions made any sense. It didn’t put me in the Christmas spirit at all it just made me angry that Jamie Lee Curtis’ agent made her do this shit. She’s a scream queen goddess and she deserves better.

ANYWAY.

I’m now realising that I should have started on shit tier and worked my way up to god tier because now this post has ended on the rather sour note of me getting worked up over Christmas with the Kranks, lol. As always, these are just my opinions and I love to hear other people’s; when it comes to something like this, it’s all a matter of preference and there really isn’t a right or wrong answer, so I’m open to discussion!

With the Oscars less than a week away now I rushed a little to get this out on time, so apologies in advance if anything doesn’t make any sense or there’s any typos, I will look back over it at some point over the next couple of days to check.

But if you read to the end thank you! And stay tuned for my overview of Paris Haute Couture Week S/S 2020 if that’s something you’re interested in as that will most likely be next post!

Lauren x

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spectraspecs-writes · 4 years

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Kashyyyk - Chapter 79 (Jolee, Juhani)

Link to the masterpost. Chapter 78. Chapter 80.

@averruncusho @ceruleanrainblues @chubbsmomma thank you for reading, you get a tag. @skelelexiunderlord thank you for support, you get a tag.

——————

youtube

As I head towards the medbay, I think I hear Bastila mumbling. And Jolee mumbling back, their voices are hushed. But when I enter the room, the talking stops. Wow, that’s a weird feeling. “Don’t stop on my account, I’m just here to look at the bump on my head.”

“The conversation was finished, anyway,” Jolee says nonchalantly. Which I doubt, but Bastila leaves so whatever.

I start looking for something to tend to my head. “What were you talking about, anyway?”

“Eh, you know the story,” he says, “Young impressionable Jedi meets old man with lightsaber and asks him to share his great wisdom. Ha!” That, I buy. That sounds very much in-character for Bastila. “Asking about avoiding the Dark Side, what lessons I had for her, yadda yadda yadda.”

“Yeah, she bugs me about that, too,” I say, “Frankly if you can get her off my back, I’ll be grateful for it. She gets pushy sometimes.”

“I can tell she means well,” he says, “but even so, ‘pushy’ is a good word for it. And I’ve only known her for a day.”

“Kinda makes you regret tagging along, huh?” He chuckles. I find what I’m looking for and get to tending my head. “You never did say why you wanted to come.”

“No, I never did, did I?” he says with a cryptic smile.

“Are you always going to be this elusive?” I ask.

“Elusive? Me, elusive?” he repeats incredulously, “Obviously you've never tried to grab a Twi'lek dancing girl after drinking too much Ondaran willek juice.”

“As a matter of fact, I have.”

He laughs. “At any rate,” he says, “I already told you why I wanted to leave. I've seen everything I wanted to on Kashyyyk. Time to go, time to move on.”

“Move on to where?”

“To bed!” he says without hesitation, “I’m old and tired, you know.”

“Waking up before dawn will do that to you.”

He laughs again, shortly. “Your wit is a relief after all these years,” he says. “How many kilometer-high trees can you find an interest in before you figure you've had enough?” he continues, “I'd bet you can't be bothered to stay in one room for more than fifteen minutes. And then there's all the critters in the Shadowlands.” He shudders a bit, before handing me a small kolto patch. “Use that, it’ll take the swelling down,” he says, before finishing, “I'm just happy to be back in space, doing something new. Is that too much to ask?”

“You could have done that on your own,” I say.

“So I could,” he agrees, “Not having a ship does tend to put a damper on that kind of idea, however.”

“You could have bartered your way onto a Czerka ship or a merchant vessel.”

He shrugs. “I'll admit, for all its flaws, Kashyyyk was home enough. But when you came along and I saw the destiny you had before you, I couldn't help but be intrigued.”

I scoff. “You’re telling me you know what my destiny is?”

“Of course not. Weren't you listening this morning?” he says, “I can see that you have a destiny before you… but the details are far from clear.” He shifts a bit, like he’s trying to get a better look at me. “In fact,” he says, “everything about you that I can see is odd. Slightly off, as if my eyes are trying to trick me. Something… something is very dark about you…” Well, that shit is ominous as hell. And why isn’t he talking anymore? You can’t just leave a statement like that hanging in mid-air like that, dude! “Bah!” he suddenly says, and I jump from the surprise of it, “I'm sure you don't need to hear my ruminations. You've probably got enough nosy Jedi offering you one opinion after another to make you sick.”

“Well, yes, but you can’t just tell me you see something dark and not tell me any more!”

“Your future will come of its own accord,” he says, trying to get me to relax, “Trust me. Sometimes navel-gazing at it doesn't get you anywhere. And I wouldn't worry about it too much, if I were you. You remind me a bit of Nomi” - he laughs a little - “and that can't be all bad.”

“Nomi?”

“Nomi Sunrider,” he says, reminiscing, “She came late to the Force, just as you have, and became one of the greatest Jedi ever. Oh, fine, fine lass.” Sounds like when he talks about love, he’s speaking from experience. “Whether you'll follow the same path remains to be seen. For one thing, we'll never get anywhere if you stand around chatting up old men all day. I’d almost say this little escapade reminds me of my adventuring times before the war, if we didn’t stand around so much. What’s keeping you? You’re too young to be this talkative. Your head is tended - shoo! Shoo!”

“Oh, because the medbay is your jurisdiction, now, is it?”

“I’m old, I’m allowed to camp out wherever I please,” he says, ushering me away, but smiling the whole time.

-------

The thirteen hours back to Tatooine are relatively boring. I did a bit of tinkering with HK, recovered some memories about his owner before the senator on Coruscant. He served as an assassin droid for a Hutt. (The Hutts didn’t build him, which means I’m still trying to get to the bottom of that mystery.) But what goes around comes around, and the Exchange took said Hutt out. In HK’s words, “the residents of that sector were fishing pieces of Hutt out of their soup for weeks afterward.” He’s still got more memory I could recover, but I got zapped by his support systems a couple times, more than I like on any given afternoon. Even if I hadn’t been, I think, from what I saw, I’ll need a specialized tool to get any deeper. A tool that I have - it’s a microspanner with a different end, a beam splitter - but I haven’t used it in ages. Most droids don’t have the insides that need it, not anymore. Like HK was built from older or salvaged parts. Either that or someone really liked that sort of system, which I can understand. It is pretty elegant, in my opinion. Some people like systems a little smoother, more intuitive, but when I’m building a droid I like to make it a little harder to get into, personally. At any rate, the tool is buried in my stuff, and I want to dig it out while I’m thinking about it, so I head into the starboard quarters to dig it out.

Juhani’s in there, alone. Her face is red. Redder than it’s supposed to be. “Juhani?”

She didn’t notice me come in. “Yes?” she says, “What is it?”

“Are you okay?”

“I… have been bothered by something of late,” she says, and she sounds like she’s struggling, “I never told you where I came from, did I? Where I grew up as a child? I suppose I was trying to deny what I was feeling…”

“What?”

She starts to sound angry. “I have been wrestling with my feelings inside. Trying to come to terms with it, but I find I cannot. I must have someone to blame!” She starts to get tense, clenching her fists. “Someone to blame for the destruction of my homeworld!” Destruction? “Someone who is responsible for the death of everyone I have ever known except those on Dantooine!”

Oh, God. “Do you mean…?”

“TARIS!” Oh, God, no. “It was Taris that the Sith destroyed to try to kill you and your precious Bastila! Taris, my homeworld!”

“God, Juhani,” I say, even though there’s nothing I can say, “I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

“If it were not for you and Bastila, the Sith would have never had reason to destroy that world!” she fires at me, “It was your fault for being there, and your fault for rescuing Bastila! Without your intervention the Sith would have had no cause to lay waste to my childhood!” I try to stammer out a response, but she interrupts me. “Just let me vent my anger! I need someone to blame! Something -- anything!” I can understand that. “I hated that world, yet everything I learned as a child I learned there. It is as much a part of me as the air I breathe. I have this ache inside me where all my childhood memories lay, and I find your face there with them. If it was not for you, that world would still exist!”

Seems like Zaalbar coming home, his exile ending, stirred up some tensions I didn’t even know were there. Carth and his wife, and now Juhani, unable to ever return home. “I’m sorry, Juhani,” I say, “I don’t think there was any way to prevent it.”

“I… I know,” she says, suddenly calmer, “… I suppose I realized that. The Republic needs you and Bastila. Maybe needs you more than it needed Taris. But it is so hard to lose your entire past. You would not understand.”

“You’re right,” I say, “I don’t.” I don’t.

“I suppose that is to be expected. Everything will turn out for the best as long as we remain focused on our task.” She shakes her head. “I am sorry. I will try not to distract you in the future with my trivial experiences.”

“They’re not trivial, Juhani,” I say, “Maybe when you’re feeling up to it, you should talk to Mission. She’s from Taris, too, she went through something similar.”

Juhani shakes her head with a small grin. “Perhaps, but Mission and I clearly felt differently about Taris. She loved it. But for me, it was hell. To walk down the streets. To have people look at you in disgust; like an animal. Most did not know anything about me, but it was there all the same. Because I was an 'alien'. Because I was different from them, frightening. I doubt any of them had even seen my people before. So they persecuted me… They looked down on me and my family. Charged us more for food. Would not let us walk their streets. They spat on us. You are human… you could not possibly know. And Mission… things were different for Twi’leks. There were more of them. There were no other Cathar on Taris. No one to talk to. No one to confide in.” She huffs a bit. “But you must think me weak for saying this. But I am strong enough to admit it!”

Why are you putting words into my mouth? “You’re not weak, Juhani,” I reassure her, “It must have been hard.”

“I thank you for your concern, but… Bah!” she exclaims, “Maybe I am weak. To think that some stories of my stupid past could possibly interest you.”

She has a tendency to put herself down a lot, have you noticed that? “It’s alright,” I say, “I'm always here to listen if you want to talk.”

“I thank you,” she says, “You are kinder than I would have expected… To put up with me using you in this way. I hope that I will not use your time so badly in the future. Thank you.”

I find the tool in my foot locker, in the pocket of my old vest. Hardly old, I was wearing it a couple of months ago. I wonder where Mission is. I feel like playing some Pazaak.

#knights of the old republic #star wars #kotor #fiction #autistic artist #specs writes stuff #kotor fic #rena visz #oc #fem!revan #ls!revan #jolee bindo #bastila shan #juhani #revan x juhani #bi!revan #hk-47

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avengerscompound · 6 years

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Can We Keep Her? - The First Mission

Can We Keep Her? - A Stucky Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 1904

Warnings: Angst and Fluff

Synopsis: After an accident outside the Avengers Tower Bucky and Steve take you in to patch you up. What follows is a life none of you expected.

The First Mission

Bucky paced. Being a parent always came with this lingering concern that when your kids went out by themselves, they may not come back. Bucky had that too. Maybe more than most people due to the fact he had been taken as an adult and he knew the worst of the worst of what could happen if the wrong people take you. His kids were strong, he would try and tell himself that he was being over-cautious. There was, of course, the risk of them being specifically targeted. But he couldn’t just wrap them in cotton wool. They needed a life and he wanted them to be able to make their own choices.

So he talked to his therapist about coping mechanisms and kept telling himself that they were super soldiers and they all had some level of self-defense training. He had them carry Stark phones with smartwatches so that if the worst came to worst, they could be tracked.

They’d be fine.

They always were fine. Coming home throwing their backpacks randomly in the middle of the floor. Laughing loudly. Sometimes they’d have friends with them. Or people they were seeing. They were always fine. More than fine. Anthony, Sarah, and Rebecca had grown into three very happy, healthy sixteen-year-olds.

So he managed to keep it under control. It was just a niggling fear. Checking the clock to see if they were late. Reminding himself that kids will sometimes be late. Mentally apologizing to his dad who probably went through this exact thing a million times because Bucky had had the tendency to randomly decide to go off with friends after school pretty much every day of the week.

He had the hang of it. It didn’t control him.

Only now - now - he had two kids who wanted to be superheroes and today they had their first mission. They’d both been training. Rebecca had been for years now. The team was good and there were some heavy hitters on it. Even if his kids weren’t on the team, he’d feel confident they could do it. This wasn’t a hard mission. Just a small clean-up job. That was it. They were trained. They were strong. They had a good sense of right and wrong.

They were his kids and he was freaking out.

He’d walk up beside Tony in the command room and look at the feed that relayed back for each member from their wristbands or suits. His eyes would linger on Rebecca and Anthony’s vitals and then he’d walk back to the other end of the room telling himself everything was fine. Steve was with them. They were fine.

By the time he’d walked to the other end of the room again all the ‘what ifs’ would have taken over again. What if it was something alien? What if they were outnumbered? What if one of them fell? What if? What if? What if?

So he’d turn around again and walk back standing beside Tony and looking over their vital signs. Again and again, he’d repeat this pattern. Wearing a groove into the floor.

“If you don’t stop your damn pacing, cyberman, I’m gonna lock you out of the room,” Tony said.

You looked up at him from where you sat with Wanda and Vision. “Come here, honey,” you said, patting the couch.

He huffed and made his way over to you flopping down and then curling into your side. “I hate this.”

“I know. Welcome to my life,” you said, kissing the top of his head. “I used to stay up baking and eating the cake batter before I even managed to get it into the tin.”

“They are all highly trained. I have faith they will all be fine,” Vision said, patting Bucky on the back.

“Besides, America is with them. That girl. I’ve seen her train. She could do this without the rest. I am sure of it,” Wanda added.

“And there are basically two Iron Men there,” Tony said, pressing a few buttons on the console.

“Yes, yes, the suits are very impressive,” you teased. Tony looked at you with a smirk on his face and flipped you off. “Keep your wife under control, Barnes.”

“You got the wrong idea about who’s the boss in this relationship,” you shot back and Tony bellowed with laughter.

“Well, you can all calm down,” Tony said, pressing a few more buttons. “They’re on their way back.”

Bucky let out a huge breath and became hyper-aware of how hard his heart was beating. “Oh, thank god.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “How about we go downstairs and cook? We can make sure we have their favorites for them when they get back?”

Bucky nodded and got up. You turned and hugged Wanda. “Who’d be a parent, huh?”

She laughed. “At least they want to do good. That’s important.”

You gave her a squeeze before getting up and going over to Tony kissing him on the cheek. “Thanks, Tony.”

He smiled and gave a brief nod. “Kinda know what Pepper was getting at for all those years now. This really sucked.”

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed and followed after Bucky.

When you got to your apartment there was already the smell and sound of cooking coming from the kitchen.

You and Bucky headed right for it only to find Sarah with several different projects going on at once, looking flustered, covered in flour and cocoa powder while the cat sat on the kitchen bench watching her and the dog licked up something she’d spilled on the floor.

“Sweetie are you okay here?” you asked, trying to assess the damage.

She looked over at you and groaned. “I mean, mostly. Getting there. I wanted it to be all sorted before you saw. I thought…” She babbled and stopped taking a breath. “I thought it would be good if they had their favorite desserts when they got back. Then you were late and … and I thought you might want something. I don’t know. I wanted to make dinner for you so you didn’t have to worry.”

“Oh, honey,” Bucky said, going and wrapping his daughter in his arms. The thought Sarah would be as stressed out as he was hadn’t even really occurred to him. The kids just seemed to flow with whatever was happening, and they had grown up with their dads doing what they do. He kissed her on top of the head and rubbed her back. “Let’s cook together, huh? They’re all on their way home now and we could use some comfort food.”

Sarah nodded and wiped her eyes.

“So what are we doing here? Lava cake and double chocolate and caramel profiteroles?” you asked as you assessed the mess.

She nodded and pulled gently away from Bucky. “Yeah, I can’t get the choux to work on the profiteroles though.”

The three of you work together to make the dessert along with mac and cheese, chicken noodle soup, fried chicken, and gumbo. You’re just putting it on the table when Rebecca and Anthony come in followed by Steve. The kids were laughing loudly while Steve just has that tired, ‘pleased to be home’ smile on his face.

“Mom! You should have seen us!” Rebecca shouted when she saw you putting the mac and cheese on the table. She wrapped her arms around your waist and kissed your forehead. All the kids were now taller than you and liked to tease you for it. You hugged her back breathing her in and relaxing. They were home again. All was good.

“You can tell us all about it over dinner. Go get washed up,” you said.

Just as they disappeared down the hall, your dad came in the front door. “They’re home?” he asked.

“Yeah. Just got in,” you said.

He let out a breath. “Thank god. That was stressful, huh?”

You came over and kissed his cheek. “Never gets easier. You’re staying for dinner?”

He nodded, smiling gratefully. “Thanks, honey.”

Dinner was eclectic. You, Bucky, and Sarah had that quiet relieved feeling that sat somewhere between exhaustion and elation. Steve was just plain exhausted and he sat between you and Bucky, a leg pressed against each of you. Occasionally resting a hand on one of you or the other. Rebecca and Anthony however, were on an adrenaline high. They couldn’t stop talking about the mission. How they’d all taken their positions trying not to get noticed before they wanted to. How Kate had broken in through the vents. How they had all simultaneously burst through the doors, and everyone had panicked. How America, Anthony, and Edwin had kept flying around the perimeter and collecting up strays who tried to run.

“Oh my god, and then some guy tried to fight Billy, 'cause he’s so small. and Billy used his powers to push him over to me and I knocked him out,” Rebecca babbled.

“You all fought very well. We’re very proud of you,” Steve said, his voice sounding weary. “How about we clean up the dishes.”

Bucky jumped up quickly followed by Sarah. “No, you all had a physical day we’ll do it.”

Steve, Anthony, and Rebecca all stood too, Steve putting his hand on Bucky’s. “It’s fine. We’re home. You can relax,” Bucky sagged a little, leaning towards Steve.

“Yeah, Sare. You cooked. It’s fine,” Anthony added.

Steve kissed Bucky’s temple and Bucky sat back down but Sarah had already started heading to the kitchen. “I made your favorites though.”

“Profiteroles?” Rebecca said, her eyes lighting up. She dashed past Sarah pushing her aside and slamming the kitchen door open. Anthony took after her, and Steve sighed. “Guys. Please. Settle down.” He looked back at you and Bucky and shook his head. “All day but with eight of them.”

You and Bucky started laughing as Steve followed after, stopping briefly to kiss Sarah on the temple and nudge her back to the table again.

She sat down as her brother and sister reappeared, Rebecca held the bowls, while Anthony had a platter stacked with the lava cakes. Steve brought up the rear with the profiteroles and a tub of ice cream.

“You may have gone a little overboard here, Sarah,” Steve said, sitting back down and helping himself to one of the little pastry puffs filled with chocolate custard.

“Never!” Anthony shouted.

“I get the terrible feeling you two aren’t going to sleep at all tonight,” you sighed and took a bite of the lava cake. It was warm and comforting. The sweet soft cake made moist by the oozing fudge center. It was one of the staples for when Bucky and Steve got back from a mission and somehow eating it always made you feel like things were okay again. Like you’d conditioned yourself to it. They were safe, you had lava cake.

“It’s Saturday. Who cares?” Rebecca said.

Bucky opened his mouth to say something, seemed to decide better, and shook his head.

“Just try and keep it down, okay?” Steve said, completely resigned to the fact, that for those two, this was a celebration.

“This is so good, Sarah,” Rebecca said, her mouth full of profiterole. “You made it?”

“Well, mom helped, but yeah,” Sarah said.

The conversation then turned to baking. Rebecca and Anthony listened as closely to Sarah as she had to them about the mission. In that moment, you became hyper-aware of how lucky you were. You relaxed and just enjoyed the closeness of your family.

// NEXT

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #captain america fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #can we keep her?#the first mission

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gideonthefirst · 5 years

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bev n erlin............... makin flower crowns for each other.... thank u...

(read on AO3)

The sun is out and the breeze is gentle and the last day of school for the year has just ended, and so Beverly and Erlin are going on a picnic. This is a Tradition, with a capital T, even though neither of them thinks of it with that word. It’s just something that they do. There are a lot of things like that.

Usually, their picnic is in one of their backyards, because it’s easier than making food and carrying it somewhere and they’ve always been too young to go wandering on their own. But now they’re a whole fourteen years old, and they can both heal people with a touch, so, like, they’re practically grown up.

Which means they’ve wandered off together to one of the hills in the sprawling park a ten minutes’ walk from their school, where all the sound from the city fades away and it feels like the possibility of being a Green Knight actually means something. They have somuch food. Their picnic basket is completely full, of sandwiches and pastries that they had made together the night before, and Beverly places it down on the grass with a thud as Erlin spreads out their blanket. They’ll hang out with Cran and Derlin later, probably, but this is theirs. No one thinks to question it.

Once the blanket is out, they flop onto it together, and Beverly hands Erlin a sticky bun. They’d had lunch already, obviously, but that’s not the point. Erlin takes a bite and then, contemplatively, asks, “We didn’t make these, did we?”

Beverly shakes his head, doing his best to ignore how close his and Erlin’s shoulders are. This is a new problem, maybe a year old. He never used to notice things like this, and he doesn’t know who to talk to about it. Usually, he talks to Erlin about everything, but this feels private. This is his, just as the picnic is theirs. “My mom put them in the basket this morning. I toldher we didn’t need them, but they’re the best, so I let her put them in anyway.”

“They are the best,” Erlin says, shoving the rest of his into his mouth and then grinning at Beverly. He had gotten his braces off a few days ago, and it’s weird not to see them glinting in the sun. Any time anything about Erlin changes, it’s a little bit weird. Beverly assumes that’s what happens when you’ve known someone for so long that you have them memorized.

Erlin finishes his sticky bun and lies down on his back, stretching his arms up towards the sky. Is it just Beverly’s imagination, or had he moved slightly closer to him? Is it just Beverly’s imagination, or is there a hint of a blush on Erlin’s cheeks as he looks up at him and then past him, pointing at some insect high above them? “What’s that?” he asks, and Beverly looks, loving the feeling of maybe knowing some piece of information he can share with Erlin, but then he feels Erlin push him over, trying to get advantage on a wrestling match while Beverly’s distracted by the admittedly super-cool dragonfly flying by overhead.

This is also one of their things. They have a lot of things.

They roll around for a while, Beverly so focused on winning that he doesn’t even think about how warm Erlin is, or about how right it feels to be close to each other. Eventually, Beverly wins, as he always does, Erlin stuck in a harmless, poor version of a headlock and both of them panting. As soon as they stop moving, Beverly lets go, even though they’re both laughing. He always feels bad when he wins against Erlin, in wrestling, in sparring, in collecting patches, in whatever. Erlin cares so much, but Beverly is just better at being a Green Teen, even though he’s constantly telling Erlin that all he needs is a little more practice. Erlin is good at other things.

As he thinks this, he looks up at Erlin again, and sees that he’s got his breath back and is carefully inspecting a flower beside the blanket. Beverly watches him closely as he wrinkles his forehead and then plucks it gently, keeping the whole stem intact, before moving to the next nearest flower and repeating the process. Spending time together is often like this – they both have a tendency to get fixated on things, or to get distracted from what they’re doing by something entirely different. It’s one of their favorite things about each other, that they can just do anything.

“What’re you doing?” Beverly asks, as Erlin reaches for a third flower, and Erlin tilts his head slightly but doesn’t respond immediately, instead picking a fourth flower and tying them together in some sort of intricate not that Beverly can’t quite follow.

Beverly waits a second, and then asks again. “What’re you making?”

This time Erlin looks back at him and grins again. “A flower crown! For you. Sometimes I feel like I can make the stems grow a little bit and hold together better.”

Beverly watches him for another few moments, fascinated by how quickly and gently his hands move, weaving the flowers of every color together. “Will you show me?” he asks, eventually, and there’s no pause before Erlin answers, handing Beverly a handful of flowers which haven’t yet been woven in.

“It’s like this,” Erlin says, gently guiding Beverly’s hands to braid the stems together in a knot that’s not quite as complicated as how Erlin did it, but still holds them together. Beverly’s tongue sticks out slightly in concentration as he hunches over the flowers, as Erlin helps him with each step, until eventually he’s doing it on his own, brow furrowed. He’s just finishing up the circlet when he feels a light breeze, and looks up from his work to see Erlin next to him, placing his creation on Beverly’s head and casually smoothing one of Beverly’s curls behind his ear.

“What do you think?” he asks, and Beverly’s face lights up, he can feelit, even though he can’t see what it looks like on his head.

“I love it,” he responds, simply, and then ties off the last flower in the one he’s making for Erlin. It’s messy, and petals are falling off in places, but when he asks Erlin, “May I?” Erlin responds “Of course” like it’s a masterpiece.

Beverly is good at swords, and wrestling, and collecting patches, but Erlin is good at other things. Like creating, and teaching, and being a friend. In Beverly’s opinion, right this minute, Erlin is good at the things that matter.

#naddpod #naddpod fic #beverlin #beverly toegold v #erlin kindleaf #asks #seacaster #my writing #this is supposed to have a fuckin read more i'm sorry if it's not working #long post

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just-jordie-things · 7 years

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School Dances - Richie Tozier

word count: 4311 warnings: swearing a/n: yes i know it’s mileven but they’re my babies and it was a good gif so politely fuck off. also i’m sorry this is a lame title, and it’s been so long since i’ve posted

[ love is arguing, but not attacking ]

You had your feet up on the couch, using your legs as a makeshift table as you sketched away in your notebook. Everyone was at Bill’s for a sleepover, and you and him were currently sketching while the others were playing Atari. You were never one much for video games.

“What do you think?” You asked quietly, leaning over to show Bill your pencil sketch of the quarry you’d all been to countless times. Bill smiled and nodded.

“I-I like it” He told you, and you went back to your sketching again.

“Thanks-”

“You should draw me sometime sweetheart” You jumped slightly as you spun around, eyes narrowing at the boy leaning over the back of the couch.

“Damnit Richie you almost made me mess it up!” You scolded, but he just grinned before hopping onto the rug between Eddie and Ben. You rolled your eyes and shook your head.

Yeah, you and Richie were friends. You were both in the Loser’s Club, and always shared good times and awesome adventures. Not including the whole Pennywise fiasco last summer. It was just that he was such a trashmouth, and you were so introverted, that the connection was hard. So most of the both of your time spent together was either arguing, or really great and fun.

It was 90% arguing.

“y/n? Earth to y/n” You blinked to see Eddie was snapping his fingers in front of your face.

“Sorry what’d you say?” You asked again.

“I asked if you were going to homecoming” He repeated, eyes flicking to the screen momentarily to see Bev’s character dominating over Richie’s. Richie yelling and whining about how he ‘was the professional here’.

“Thanks Ed but you’re just a friend… I’d rather be asked by someone interested-”

“Oh no no no no no no I didn’t mean it like that y/n I wasn’t asking you ou-”

“You’re asking y/n out?” Richie abandoned his game to glare over at Eddie, but you missed it after being too focused by her drawing.

“Fuck no!” Eddie screeched, now gaining your attention again. Eddie went on this rant about your friendship and all that, but you just sat there quietly.

Were you really that unideal of a homecoming date? Maybe you didn’t have the body of a senior, maybe you weren’t perfect, but you thought you’d at least suffice.

“I’m gonna get a drink” You muttered, tossing your sketchbook carelessly to the side of the couch. You stood up without another word, walking to the kitchen and blinking hard so you wouldn’t cry.

“Fuck Tozier” Eddie grumbled. “You made your girl sad”

“She’s not my girl” Richie replied in a quieter tone, paranoid you could still hear him from the kitchen.

“Ri-Richie you should t-talk to her” Bill said, but Richie shook his head, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“I can’t” He said, feeling as pathetic as he sounded. Bev rolled her eyes, standing up and going after you.

“You’re a pussy” She called back to him before consoling you quietly in the kitchen.

It was late,even for you, and you had quite the night owl tendencies. But you didn’t care, preferring to lean over the kitchen counter with your second cup of cocoa as you worked on a sketch. A different one from before, this one you’ve been adding to for months, and still, it just doesn’t seem perfect. You didn’t like to share them until they were perfect.

You groaned softly, rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands. Your eyes briefly flicking to the little candle you had on the counter, wondering briefly if you should just scrap the whole page. Then shook your head, not liking the destructive thought.

“y/n?” Your head snapped up, hands propping you at your chin. “What’re you doing up it’s like… two in the morning” Richie spoke, voice tired and a mumble.

“Was I loud?” You whispered, and he shook his head, messy hair flopping in front of his face. You watched him pull his glasses from where they were folded to slide into the neck of his shirt, fitting them onto his face and pushing them up his nose. You found yourself smiling at this, even though it was a simple action.

“No I just… couldn’t sleep” He said lamely with a shrug. He wandered over to where you stood, peeking down at your notebook. You pulled it towards you anxiously, flipping the pages so he couldn’t see what you’d been working on.

“Me too” You finally responded, drawing his attention away from the book. But it didn’t work.

“What’re you drawing?” He asked, and you felt the nervous butterflies fluttering relentlessly in your chest.. Your fingers curled tighter around the pages. “What? Scared I’m not gonna like my sexy portrait?” He smirked at his own comment and your eyes narrowed.

“Why would I want to show you anyways, you’re just gonna make fun of it” You said, holding it against your chest. Richie’s smirk pulled into a frown instantly.

“I won’t” He said quickly.

“I don’t believe you” You mumbled back. His frown deepened. You set your book back down on the counter, keeping it closed as you reached to drink from your mug.

“y/n… come on… what do you think I’m gonna do?” He tried to keep his voice quiet, soft.

“I dunno…” You murmured out again. “Make fun of it?”

“I promise I won’t” He responded fast, truly trying to persuade you to show him. You bit down on your lip, glancing anxiously around before picking up the book again, sliding it over to him. Richie grinned, his cheek a pink hue illuminated in the candle light.

You wanted to draw that.

He opened up the cover carefully, seeing your name and information printed neatly on the inside cover of it. He turned the page, and you awaited his reaction to your first sketch. It was simple, just a night sky. You remembered how you spent forever shading in the different patches of the sky, and perfecting each point of the little stars you added. Richie almost reached out to brush his fingers over the perfected crescent moon you’d drawn, but pulled away at the last moment, not wanted to ruin your masterpiece.

“It’s not… it isn’t perfect it was when I was first starting to draw-”

“It’s beautiful” He cut you off. “And this was when you were an amateur?” Your teeth sunk into your lip again. “y/n you’re so fucking talented!” He smiled up at you before flipping the page, seeing an arrangement of flower sketches all over it.

“That was uh.. That was practice for something else” You said, fingers wringing together. Bill was the only one you shared your work with, the both of you critiquing and admiring each other’s pieces. But this was… this was different.

“They’re nice” He commented quietly, then moved on to another page. This one was the one he’d briefly saw earlier, of the quarry and it’s sparkling waters, the morning sun giving it this effect. He smiled, being reminded of countless memories spent there with the Losers. Another page turn, and this time he paused.

His eyes scanned over your most secreted drawing, the one that’s seemed to take you an eternity, every detail needing to be at absolute perfection. A slow grinned tugged his lips open, a pearly white smile being flashed your way before back to the notebook.

Inside was a sketch of the whole gang, arms linked over everyone’s shoulder. Mike, then Stan, Ben, then Eddie, then Richie, Bill, Beverly, and you. There wasn’t any scenery yet, so far just the basics of each person. Facial features, clothing, hair. Richie looked at his own character, his grin in the sketch lopsided, glasses crooked and eyes large. His hair was even messier than usual and his tee shirt read Loser. All the shirts had the same logo on it.

“y/n this is so…” He breathed out heavily, for once, not having anything to say. “It’s fucking amazing, it’s perfect” You blushed deeply and darted your eyes away from his.

“I was going to give it to Bill for Christmas… I mean it’ll probably take me that long anyways and I thought after… last summer it’d be kinda… you know?” You trailed off, not wanting to say the words. Richie nodded, glancing once more at the page before closing the book.

“I’m really glad you showed me” He said, and you only nodded your head in response, taking the last drink of your cocoa and setting the mug in the sink.

“I should go back to bed” You said, taking the notebook in your arms once more. Richie opened his mouth, maybe to protest and ask you to stay, or to say he wasn’t tired yet, he wasn’t even sure. So he sighed inwardly and gave up on finding the right words.

“Yeah, it’s late” He said, and you both trudged on your tiptoes back to the living room where the arrangement of sleeping bags were strewn all over the place. You looked back at him as you sat down in yours, holding onto your pillow as he settled in again for the night.

“Goodnight” You whispered, and he looked over at you as he took off his glasses and folded them up.

“Night y/n” He replied, and you smiled gently before laying down and getting comfortable. Richie smiled to himself as well while he laid down and went to sleep.

The next day at school you were all groggy from staying up so late, especially you and Richie. Which the others commented about numerous times. But you brushed it off and ignored their ongoings as you put in your locker combination.

“I’m too tired for this” You hummed to Richie, who nodded, eyes shut as his side leaned against the locker next to you. Only hearing pieces of Eddie yelling at Beverly for her smoking habits. Not that she cared, but it was funny to get him riled up.

“Oh look! It’s my favorite girl!” Suddenly your locker was slammed shut, and you jumped to see Henry Bowers had wedged himself between your now closed locker and yourself. You backed up immediately, finding his aroma to be absolutely ghastly.

“Take a shower fuck-bag” Richie groaned

“Fuck off loser, I’m only here for y/n” Henry stroked an oddly gentle hand down your cheek, and you winced with disgust. “How are ya y/n? I missed school yesterday… did you miss me?” You gagged aloud.

“No Henry, I didn’t miss you” You uttered, yanking your face away from his hand. “Don’t touch me” You added, hiking the strap of your backpack higher on your shoulder. Henry smirked, an eyebrow arching tauntingly.

“Come on sweetheart, don’t be that way” He leaned forward to meet your eye level. “I know all I gotta do is ask you to lift your skirt a little, isn’t that right boys?” Your face fell at the horrible and untrue accusation. “But that’s alright, it’s nice when they’re easy” His hand was back on you again, toying with the collar of your shirt and trailing over your throat.

“Hey!” Henry was shoved away, toppling to the ground. “She said not to touch her you fucking pervert!” Your eyes widened at Richie, and your fear only increased as Henry stood up, grabbing the boy by his shoulders and pinning him to the row of lockers.

“You better fucking watch it four eyes!” Henry yelled in his face. “I’ll fucking gut you-!”

“Mr Bowers?” Richie fell to the floor as Henry dropped him as soon as the scolding voice of a teacher rang in the air, silencing the hall. “You wouldn’t want a call home would you?”

Henry took off, leaving the Losers alone in the hallway. Whoever the teacher was, simply turned and walked away as well, not saying another word.

“y/n are you-”

“What the fuck?” You cut off Ben’s almost question as you whipped around to look at RIchie. “What was that!?” Richie, confused by your sudden burst of anger stood up and scrunched up his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry?” He said sarcastically. “That asshole had his hands all over you, the disgusting mullet wearing-”

“Well I didn’t need your saving” You said, adjusting your bag, your face fallen as you turned to head away.

“y/n-!” He called but you didn’t even so much as glance over your shoulder. Just kept on going. His lips fell to a frown as he looked at his friends, who all seemed confused.

Except Bev, who frowned herself as she shook her head.

“”What’s going on what happened? She.. she’s actually mad at me?”

“No Rich, she’s just embarrassed” The girl said, but his expression didn’t change.

“But she… but I’m…” he sighed, defeated. His shoulders slumped as he began to walk away as well, wanting to follow after you, but instead heading to class.

He hadn’t meant to hurt you, or offend you. He was only trying to keep you safe.

Three days passed and you’d done everything you could to avoid Richie, even though you still saw him everywhere. Walking past your classes, which you were sure was on purpose, in the lunchroom, in your gym class, and you swore that every time you turned your head, he was darting away somewhere.

“n/n? You gonna show me your dresses or not?” Beverly asked you. You blinked, looking up from where you were sat on the floor against your bed.

“Bev I don’t really wanna go to the dance… do I have to?”

“Of course! Come on it’ll be fun” She said, already opening up your closet to look through your things.

“But… Richie’s gonna be there” You said weakly. Beverly just laughed, and pulled a dress from your closet.

“This one” She said, and laid a dress off the side of the mattress. You looked at it for a moment, not remembering having worn it except for your aunt’s wedding. That seemed so long ago.

Ever since the events last summer, a time before that just seemed like another era altogether.

“Beverly just… no thanks” You mumbled, looking back at her. She only crossed her arms.

“Come on. It’s in one hour y/n” She pleaded softly. “You and I will hang out, and if you want….” She sighed deeply. “I’ll even make Richie to swear to stay away from you”Your eyes widened a little bit, but she still noticed. “Even though I don’t even understand why you two are so… I don’t even have the word for it. Being stupid?”

“I’m ashamed Bev, someone else had to come and save me. Again. I’m so sick and-and tired of needing to be rescued!” Your friend frowned.

“Sweetheart, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s what good friends do, we help each other out. And quite frankly, Richie was right. Henry was being a creep, even more than usual. Of course he was in a jealous and protective rage”

“Jealous?” You repeated in a whisper.

“Well duh, the boy digs you” Beverley brushed it off like it was obvious. “He was just trying to keep you safe is all. He wasn’t trying to make you feel like a damsel in distress”

You chewed on your lip, now staring at the dress she’d picked out for you as your thoughts ran wild with this new information.

“Fine” You huffed out after a long period of silence, standing up and snatching the outfit aggressively.

Richie did what he usually did at school events. Or most events for that matter. He found a seat, and began counting down the minutes until he could go home.

Did he want to be at the school dance? Not really. Had his friends pretty much persuaded him to come anyways? Yep. But there he was, sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair at a black and white (and pink? What was this fucking valentine’s day?) themed school dance. His friends all gathered on the gym floor and dancing obnoxiously to some song he hadn’t heard of before. All the while he just sat and watched.

All Richie could think about was how maybe if he hadn’t been a dumbass, he’d at least be sitting here with your company. Knowing that you weren’t one much for getting up and dancing in front of your peers. His night could’ve been filled with fun conversation and the stupid game of pointing out the best and worst outfits of the night. But he hadn’t even seen you arrive.

And he was pretty sure that you wouldn’t be.

He’d watched the clock till it was ten minutes into the dance. The boredom was weighing down heavier and heavier and soon he was slumped over his seat, his elbow propping his chin up and his glasses sliding down every now and then from slouching. Eleven minutes. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourt-

Richie nearly jumped out of his seat when the gym doors swung open, this time not revealing one of the chaperones coming in, but you and Beverly.

And wow, you looked perfect. And Richie thought you looked like an angel on a normal day. But this was… this was a fucking occasion he should’ve planned for.

She walked in looking nervous, like she felt out of place. And to him, she was, she blew away any of the other girl’s who even tried tonight. Her hair was in curls, some of it pinned back behind her head. Her dress was a pale pink color that fell to her ankles, sleeves that came almost all the way down her arms, and something in him wanted to touch it to see if it felt as soft as it looked.

Richie blinked, eyes growing even wider behind the thick frames. He wasn’t even sure if she was real. He watched as Bev pushed on your arm gently, then nodded towards him. He almost didn’t redirect his gaze before you’d looked to where she pointed. Luckily, you hadn’t caught him openly staring.

“Damn it” You whispered, hoping to have gone the night without an interaction. But it was already too late for that. “Bev let’s go-”

“No way! You promised me you’d at least try” She reminded, and you winced, glancing back over to Richie secretly.

He was staring straight at you, and was completely obvious about it. He must not have been able to tell that you were looking out of the corner of your eye. Because he was still staring at you.

Well, you were staring at him too but that was different. You couldn’t help it.

“He looks beautiful” Was the first thing you said, and Beverly made a weird sound as she turned to see where your eyeline had fallen. Her brows rose when her sights landed on Richie Tozier. Moping like a four year old but staring at you like an old lover.

“Beautiful?” She questioned, her surprised face scrunching up with confusion. You nodded, turning back to face her, a gentle smile on your lips. He was in a suit, sort of. It was a dark grey, but the collared shirt underneath it was white, and his tie was black.

You were pretty sure he’d worn it to Georgie’s funeral, minus the tie.

“Yeah” You answered Beverly, who was now grinning ear to ear whilst you blushed at the sight of Richie all dressed up. “Nice, he looks nice” You stammered out, and Beverly rolled her eyes good naturedly.

“He does. You should go tell him”

“I don’t think he’d like to speak to me” You whispered, scared he’d hear, even from thirty feet away. Your fingers began to twirl and intertwine with themselves out of nervousness.

He still hadn’t looked away.

“I beg to differ” Your friend told you. But before you could ask her why, Bill and Eddie had walked up to the both of you.

“Hey what the hell’s up with mopey McMoperson over there?” Eddie asked, nodding off towards the glasses wearing boy who was now looking fascinated by the floor. Bev glared at the short boy, a sigh falling from her lips.

“Could we be anymore discreet?” She muttered sarcastically.

“What? I was just wondering if he’s still all hung up over y/n”

Bill smacked his hand against his forehead, and Bev glanced over at you. Your face had fallen, lips parted, eyes saddened and staring down at your hands, still locked together in a knot.

“n/n I didn’t mean it like tha-”

“I’m just gonna go sit and drink some punch” You cut off Eddie’s apology with a small mumble, and headed off towards the beverage table. You swiftly poured a plastic cup of punch then made your way to the empty seats along the side of the gym. Opposite of where Richie had sat himself.

You passed the time watching the girls twirl around in their pretty dresses and fancy hairdos. Some wearing makeup you were sure they stole from their mothers vanities. You picked out the dress you liked best, something blue and frilly. Pretty, but not over the top like some of the others. After all, it was just a school dance.

“Why aren’t you dancing out there with them?” You looked up to see Richie standing in front of you. Your mouth opened, but you were in such a shock that no words came out.

“I-I… I don’t know” You said pathetically, mentally slapping yourself for saying something so lame.

“Well do you want to dance with me?” Again, your brows rose as you were thrown for another loop. What!? “I know I’m not ideal” Richie continued. “But pretty girls shouldn’t sit through an entire dance and watch everyone else” A small smile pulled on your lips at the compliment, and you nodded your head slowly, and he reached his hand out to you. You took it, ducking your head down so that your blush wouldn’t be seen.

“Thanks” Was all you managed to say. Your eyes still glued to the gym floors, not realizing he was staring directly at you, with a soft intensity.

“I’ve missed you” He blurted, without thinking, as he always did. But this was different. You looked up at him, eyes round as a doe’s, a look of pure innocence and curiosity held in them. “I’ve missed you a lot” He continued. “I’ve missed talking to you and messing with you and seeing you draw and even just seeing you in the hallway”

While what he was saying was true, he couldn’t stop speaking. And he began to freak that this would lead him somewhere ugly, telling you all this. But at the same time… he didn’t care.

“And after… after all that shit with Pennywise and you and I… we… we got closer and I really fucking loved that because let’s face it! You’re great!” Your lips felt sewn shut, though they had dropped open just slightly. “ANd you get shit and I don’t… I don’t get it! You get shit from your parents because they think you aren’t good enough but y/n you’re fucking perfect and if you ever believe otherwise I’ll… well I’ll off myself! It’d be the end of the world!”

“Rich...” You said softly, hoping he’d quiet down seeing that other dancing students were now watching this scene unfold.

“No I-! I don’t care! Let them watch I don’t care!” He looked around at all the prying eyes, most of them shooting to look away before being caught. “And y/n I’m sorry, I’m sorry for what I did, and I swear I only did it because I… well I wanted to protect you” He sighed, defeated, and finally quieting down a little bit. “And I know you don’t need my protection… hell you barely even need me but dammit I need you”

Your eyes widened impossibly further, surprised by this confession. You sniffled, your hands around his neck tightening a little, pulling yourselves closer together.

“Look I… I’ve never done this before, I’ve never even felt this way before but you… you just make it seem natural. Like I’ve been doing this for ages” Your eyes, wet with tears, crinkled up as a smile tugged your lips upwards.

“Richie you-” Your quiet voice was cut off again.

“y/n I think I’m in love with you” He said, head ducking down so it was ensured only your ears would hear it. Your noses nearly touched, your head tilted back to properly meet his eyes. You sniffled again, quickly rubbing your fist under your eyes to stop the tears from falling before holding onto him again.

“Richie” You said, voice weak with a wet laughter. Cheeks rosy pink with a bashful blush. “You’re the sweetest trashmouth I know” You whispered. He smiled lopsidedly, one of his hands on your waist raising to tuck a loose strand of hair out of your eyes and behind your ear.

“And you are a beautiful stubborn angel” He replied. You blinked, licking over your lips and biting your cheek to keep from smiling too much. WIth that, he leaned into you, you barely standing onto the tips of your toes to meet his lips in a soft kiss.

You’d been kissed before, by your parents, a fleeting boyfriend once a long time ago, but this felt so, so different.

Perfect, right.

And when you parted, eyes wide for a moment out of the shock it left you in, Richie smiled at you, leaning his forehead down against yours.

“I think I’m falling in love with you too, Richie Tozier” You mumbled, eyes fluttering shut as you swayed softly to the music with him.

He just smiled with delight, staying silent.

It was comfortable to be silent with you there.

k but in real life he’d be runnin’ his mouth about how hot you are and how much he wants to shove his tongue down your throat, but let’s be real, he’d still be a sweetie

xoxo ~ jordie

#richie tozier #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier scenario #richie tozier fanfiction #finn wolfhard #finn wolfhard x reader #finn wolfhard imagine #finn wolfhard scenario

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icanhearyouglaring · 7 years

Text

Another Round

pairing: wally/artemis summary: Artemis will do anything to prove that her mentors are innocent, even if it means having to team up with her ex-fiancé. God, those old bastards better appreciate this. (An Indiana Jones-esque AU) a/n: some of you will recognize this! I’m finally getting around to posting. I hope you like it. This is the only chapter that will be posted on Tumblr, the rest will be on Ao3.

Slipping into Bolt during the evening rush and hiding in plain sight behind the horror that is college karaoke night had been the easy part. The hard part began when Artemis’s massive human shield of grad students letting off steam slowly dwindled down to a few regulars closing their tabs and bidding the stretched thin bartender goodbye.

When the last man leaves and the music turns low, Artemis pulls herself out of the corner she’s been tucked in all night, takes a deep breath, and quietly approaches the edge of the bar. She makes it into a seat before the bartender turns to face her fully.

“Well, well, well.” Wally stops cleaning the shot glass in his hand and places it on the bartop in front of Artemis. The blazing glare on his face stuns her for a second before she remembers it’s well deserved.

“If it isn’t Artemis Crock,” he continues, crossing his arms. “Always knew you’d come barreling back into my life like the one woman wrecking ball you are. Care to tell me exactly what it is you think you’re doing here?”

“Come on, Wally. That’s no way to greet a lady,” she chides, placing her peace offerings– a bottle of gin from Venezuela and a vintage can of petrol for his workshop decor– on the counter that separates them.

Wally snorts at ‘lady’. “I think I get a pass. So, what is it? Come to steal another one of my souvenirs?

“Not exactly,” Artemis says, leaning forward in her barstool and narrowing her eyes, “and in case you forgot, I didn’t steal that arrow. I used it to save our lives–”

“And blow up my lab in the process,” Wally snaps, his hands hitting the countertop hard and shaking the empty glass between them.

Artemis doesn’t flinch.

“I know you’re not still mad about that,” Artemis says quietly, tentatively ghosting her hand over one of his. He doesn’t pull away when she touches him. Interesting, she thinks, running her thumb over his knuckles before meeting his eyes. “Wally…”

He swallows as she tightens her grip on his hand.

“I’m sorry,” she says sincerely, holding his guarded gaze. “I am. I never should have left the way I did.”

“No. You shouldn’t have left, period.” He pulls his hand away, as though her touch burns him like a branding iron, and he runs his fingers through his hair as if to rid them of the feeling. “And you shouldn’t have come back. There’s nothing here for you.”

“Actually,” Artemis says slowly, wincing slightly at his words, “there is. That’s why I’m here. I know I’m probably your least favorite person right now–”

“Right now? You’ve held that title for almost eight years.” He mimes a sad firework explosion with his hands. “Congratulations.”

Artemis bites her lip and exhales slowly through her nose, knowing the venom in his voice is one hundred percent warranted.

“Wally, I’m sorry,” Artemis repeats sincerely as she stands and reaches for his shoulder, but Wally moves further behind the bar, just out of her reach. “I can’t change what I did, but I really need your help, so if you could put a pin in our personal history and listen to me for one second–”

Wally shakes his head and cuts her off. “Just get out of here, Artemis. Before trouble finds you and I find myself out of a living– again.”

“It’s a mask,” she says quickly. “Looks a lot like the Cheshire Cat from the fairytale. Barry and I found it in Qurac and I know he gave it to you. I need it and–”

“I’m not giving you anything, Artemis,” Wally says, walking around the bar until he’s right beside her. He places his hands on her shoulders and guides her towards the exit. “Not a drink, not a mask, not another minute of my time–”

She turns around in his grasp, fists his loose sweater in her hands, and pulls him closer before she resorts to begging, “Please, Wally, it’s important. Some really bad people are looking for it and I need to make sure yo– it’s– safe.”

The door to the bar swings open, making the thin, plastic blinds shutter against it. A man with long, white hair and a patch over one eye strides in with a gun in each hand. Real subtle, Artemis thinks, gritting her teeth and placing herself between him and Wally. Her hand drifts to the inside of her jacket, where her knife hides in its holster.

“If you really wanted to keep the mask safe, Miss Crock,” the man smirks as more hired hands appear in the doorway behind him, “then perhaps you shouldn’t have led us right to it.”

Artemis can feel Wally’s hand hovering over her hip, waiting for her to make a move, but she knows who this mercenary is, knows what he’s capable of, and she needs more time to think of a plan.

Luckily, Wally’s mouth is just as big as it ever was.

“Bar’s closed, gramps,” Wally says crossly, redirecting his anger. “Get out, and take your friends with you.”

“Show your elders some respect, boy.” The mercenary raises one of his guns and points it straight towards Wally’s face.

Artemis’s hand slowly moves from her knife to her jacket’s inner pocket. Her fingers wrap around the antique lighter within and she mentally prepares herself for what she’s about to do. When it doubt, blow it up, Oliver’s advice flits through her mind. It’s do or die anyways.

“Slade Wilson,” Artemis calls for his attention as she presses her back (and backpack) into Wally. Her ex-fiancé gets the message to start moving and, as she talks, they walk backwards together until his back is to the bar. “Better known as Deathstroke. I’m shocked Luthor would go to such lengths to find little old me. What’s he paying you? A hundred thousand? Two-hundred?”

Slade points his other gun at her and laughs shortly. “I wouldn’t get out of bed for that. Rest assured I’ll be well compensated for this job. One million for your head, one for his, and one for the mask.”

Artemis grimaces and moves her hands backwards until they’re pressed against the bar on either side of Wally. She slips him the lighter and a stray napkin as she keeps addressing Slade.

“Wow. That’s flattering, but I’d rather keep my head on my shoulders, and I’m sure he would too, so maybe we can make a deal,” Artemis brings her hands up in front of her to slow Slade down (and give Wally more cover to work). She hears the clinking of glass behind her. Nice to see we’re still on the same page.

Artemis continues, “We can get you the mask and a map to where we originally found it, if you let us go. The location alone is worth much more than three million, let me tell you. Luthor will try to pay you double, but tell him you’re no fool. Accept no less than forty.”

Slade tuts, “I’m afraid your proposition isn’t as valuable as you think, Miss Crock. Luthor’s only one of my clients looking for this mask.”

Artemis narrows her eyes, even as she mentally rolls them and decries Slade’s tendency for the dramatic.

“If you start a bidding war within that circle, the Shadows will notice,” Artemis warns.

“Let them notice. Now, this is the last time I ask nicely: hand over the mask.”

Wally taps Artemis’s back with the bottom of the gin bottle and she braces herself against him.

“Hey, Bad Santa,” Wally’s arm wraps around her waist as he draws Slade’s attention to himself, “you want the mask so badly? Catch.”

He throws the lit bomb towards the mercenary and yanks Artemis along with him as he rolls over the side of the bar for cover. The force of the ensuing blast shakes bottles off of the shelves behind them and sends Deathstroke running out of the bar, very much on fire and not happy about it. A few of his goons shoot at the bar, but Artemis leads Wally towards the kitchen door.

“Wait,” he says quickly, before he rolls back under the bar and pulls out the very mask everyone is fighting over. A bullet whizzes through the bar and a bottle bursts right above Wally’s shoulder. Artemis gapes at him. “Okay, let’s go.”

They run through the kitchen and knock over cabinets to slow their pursuers down. Artemis takes the mask from Wally as they run out the back door into an alley. She carefully stows it in her backpack and shakes her head at Wally.

“If we get out of this alive, we need to talk about the way you treat priceless artifacts,” Artemis says.

He tosses her a helmet before straddling his rumbling motorcycle. “Less talking, more escaping.”

Artemis hops onto the bike and hangs onto Wally tightly as he makes his way onto the busy street. They pass Deathstroke being put out on the sidewalk by concerned, confused citizens.

“Where do we go?” Wally asks, speeding in between cars to put more distance between them and the people hired to kill them.

“Head east for now,” Artemis instructs him. “I can make some calls once we get out of the city.”

Artemis loosens her grip on him and takes a deep breath. This was not how the night was supposed to play out. She was supposed to get the mask, bring Wally to the safe house, and go help her friends. Now, there’s a bounty on both of their heads and a mystery still to be solved. Her racing thoughts slow until all she can think about is how nice it feels to be close to him again. She leans against his back and thanks every ancient deity she can think of for allowing him to make it out unscathed.

As they merge onto the interstate, his voice filters into her helmet and interrupts her murmured ‘thank you’s.

“Now, I’m trying really hard not to be ungrateful, Beautiful, but did we really have to blow up the bar?”

#spitfire #young justice #yj #artemis crock #wally west #my writing #AR #Another Round #get it?#bc he's a bartender #and they're working together again

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concussed-to-pieces · 7 years

Text

ESC; Part Two

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Jon Moxley/Roman Reigns

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thirst Party Saturday ho! Tagging @toxiicpop, @oraclegazes and of course, @hardcorewwetrash! Enjoy!

Part One

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains rape/attempted rape/vivid allusions to attempted forced sexual activity via pornography, as well as human muzzling of a non-BDSM variety. This gets heavy, so please read safe everyone!]

He had a real name once. He knew he must have at some point. But through the years he’d forgotten it. He was simply Lion now.

…

Elias fidgeted beside the counter, tapping his fingers. With his guitar slung over his shoulder via the strap and his sunglasses firmly in place, he surreptitiously scanned the coffee shop yet again. Probably his fifth time since he walked in.

His gaze kept getting drawn to an older man, maybe early forties. The man sat all alone by the window, his own coffee appearing forgotten beside his laptop. The guy constantly looked up and around, like he was doing something he shouldn’t. It immediately set off warning bells in Elias’ head.

“Pardon me, ma’am.” He said softly when the barista slid his coffee to him. “That guy over there has the look of a man trying to be sneaky. He in here often?”

“Wow, good eye.” The barista snorted. “Yeah, he’s a regular. We're pretty sure he comes in just to watch porn with our wifi. But since he’s not like, actively jerking off or bugging anyone there’s not much we can do about it. He buys a coffee, you know how it is.”

“Much obliged, ma’am.” Elias gave her a quick flash of his smile, taking a sip of his drink as he meandered away from the counter. There was a bulletin board on the wall behind that suspicious man and Elias knew that was always his best bet for finding more traveling shows, circuses and exhibitions. A lot of the mobile carnivals didn’t have websites or calendars to track, so his fieldwork was still important.

The man glanced up at him as he sauntered by, making a scoffing sound when he took in the mass of scarves around Samson’s neck. Elias paid him no mind, perusing the flyers on the wall silently. A few older ones for Heyman’s Delights, when he was still advertising the ‘turned feral’. Elias shuddered. Two for McMahon’s Dog And Pony Show, ‘fun for the whole family!’. Since Vince had sold the remainder of his ferals off to Heyman, the group had focused their efforts elsewhere. One of the bars in town was having a talent night.

Samson turned around to head for the door and froze as he caught sight of the suspicious man’s laptop screen. ‘RESTRAINED FERAL LION PLOWS TINY SLUT!’ screamed the title of the video. Elias forced himself to ignore the video, forced himself to instead commit the site’s name to memory and as he walked by on his way out he slammed the man’s laptop shut. The man looked up to protest and Elias narrowed his eyes, giving the man his nastiest glare and curling his lip in a snarl. Don’t even think about it.

The air from outside was cooler than he anticipated, shocking a little of the blind fury out of his system. Elias pulled his flip phone free of his pocket and started typing.

-Nev I’ve got something.

He sat down on a bench and drank some more of his coffee while he waited for their fearless leader to reply. His fingers tapped the fretboard of his guitar, twanging a string here and there. “Well, gold digger took my money, dipped my heart an’ hands in honey.” Samson began singing quietly, “Snake lady stole my savin’s, don’t go thinkin’ she was havin’ my babies.” He carried on, singing the tune of a disillusioned young man facing the electric chair in July. Nobody ever wanted to hear happy songs, anyhow. It was always Johnny Cash for these people. “You’re young, an’ qualified, got a date with that chair out in late July.”

A man walking with his dog smiled at Elias and Samson smiled back, tipping his head. He had to remember sometimes that most of the ‘regular’ folks weren’t scumbags. There were just an exemplary few in the herd that outdid the rest. His brow furrowed as he thought back on that guy in the coffee shop, rhythm faltering. He checked his phone quickly.

-Send location for pickup Samson.

-Not that simple this time Nev. Will explain when present. Get Mox. See you soon.

Samson got to his feet, dusting himself off and continuing down the sidewalk.

…

Moxley’s eyebrows ended up in his hairline when the name of the website left Elias’ mouth. “Listen man, I know everyone’s got their kinks but-” His protest was cut short by Samson’s blistering glare. “Oh, this ain’t a social visit.”

“No Mox, it’s not.” Elias grumbled while Neville typed.

“They literally just call him Lion.” Neville tugged his glasses down his nose. “What the hell kind of…this is some fucked-up shite.” He pointed to the screen, highlighting a paragraph after a moment. “'Sedated Submissive, Lion knows only to please!’ I’m going t' toss in my mouth.” Neville did look green.

Mox’s own stomach went queasy at the wording. “Sedated?” He asked weakly.

“He’s not a willing participant. That’s fuckin’ revoltin’.” Adrian said bluntly. “They get him out of his mind, muzzle him and restrain him. Can you even fucking imagine how terrifying that is?”

There were a few publicity photos for Lion’s profile, all without a stitch of clothing on the tattooed young man. Just another feral, what does he need to be treated like a human for? Moxley snapped his teeth angrily. Lion had that glazed stare over his stifler of something trapped for too long. “What’s the plan, Nev? I know ya’ got somethin’ brewin’.”

“Bits an’ pieces.” Adrian pushed his glasses back up. “I’ll circle the wagons when I’ve got more information.”

“Let me sponsor this one, yeah?” Mox asked quietly once Elias had departed back to his own trailer. “He’s gonna’ need some delicacy and I’ve dealt with the druggin’ before.” He still had nightmares sometimes, recalling the cloying pull of the substance Vince plied him with to keep his rages under control.

“If you think you’re up for it, Mox.” Neville shrugged. “This whole op is going to need some delicacy. Grab your spiral-bound.” Adrian had a tendency to over-prepare when it came to their data collection, but Mox knew it was either have as much as they could or go in defenseless. So he obediently collected his notebook and flipped it open to an empty page, beginning his usual work of writing down everything that came out of Neville’s mouth.

Regardless of whether it made sense or not. Adrian had a habit of lapsing into his accent a little harder than normal as he rambled (he called it ‘going Geordie’, whatever that meant), so occasionally Mox had to have him repeat things. But when Neville rattled on he claimed his brain worked twice as fast as his mouth, and Moxley had to admit that his smarts hadn’t failed them yet.

“The producer. A shadowy fuckin' title fer a shadowy prick that apparently makes fucked-up porn.”

Moxley grunted as he wrote that down.

It was well after two in the morning when Adrian pushed himself off the seat by the table and stretched with a loud yawn. “We’ve got him, Mox my lad. He’s as good as ours.” He grinned tiredly. “We’ll talk to Regal in the daylight, get an idea of what we’re dealing with. Maybe he’ll have another miracle cure, eh?”

Mox snorted, getting to his feet. “Yeah, maybe. I dunno’, man. He keeps telling me he’s close to figuring out why he can nuke Elias’ rages but not mine and it’s like, shit old man, prioritize.” Moxley scolded. “He’s gonna’ get behind on the antibiotic doses for the newbies and then we’ll be fucked, stuck with some kid that’s got super lice.”

Adrian chuckled, rubbing his nose against Moxley’s cheek. “Don’t worry about the old monarch. He knows what he’s on about.”

Mox pulled him in the rest of the way for a headbutt, grinning back. “Fucker, you’re in on his shit.”

“Oh, but that’s no secret.” Neville teased. “He's a stubborn old bastard, but he's our stubborn old bastard.”

…

The cement felt nice against his aching head. Cool. Solid. Real, much more real than the way everything shimmered like heat waves in front of his eyes. He groaned, half-wishing that there was something else in his stomach to come back up. Maybe if he got sick on himself again they would leave him be for a little while longer.

His thighs were sore and his wrists hurt, chafe marks still raised and raw on his skin. His throat was so dry from the muzzle that smothered his face in its grip. So it hadn’t been that long that he was unconscious for. He couldn’t decide whether it was good or bad that the dark patches were getting longer but thinner. He kept waking up, waking up with women on top of him, the scent of the cosmetic products they used to conceal his chafing thick like oil in his nose and mouth. Sometimes he wanted to cry, when he came to and couldn’t go back under to hide from the things they did to him.

Sometimes he wanted to rip everyone in the room apart, his chest heaving with fury and hands clenched into fists in his binds while he stared at the ceiling and just waited for it to be over. But those angry days were becoming fewer and fewer. His body wasn’t his own, his brain riddled with fever and drugs persuading him to just lie still, to move his hips and whimper when appropriate.

He was Lion, ‘Sedated Submissive’, those words he didn’t understand that dug into his skin like more needles and choked in his throat like more dry pills. This was who he was. He could grit his teeth, scream and strain while he had his mind, but it wouldn’t do him any good.

The cement felt like it was leeching all the heat out of his skin. He shuddered, getting up off the floor on shaky legs and moving to his cot. His restraints dragged heavily at his arms. Maybe…maybe more sleep would help.

…

Mox crept through the doorway after Neville. “Three seconds,” Neville muttered, staring at his watch. They both waited until the camera reset and then bolted down the hallway. Three seconds didn’t seem like much, but if Neville had done his math right (and of course, Mox had full faith in the notion that he had), it was more than enough to get them around the corner.

“This is a little different from our usual snatch an’ grab, Mox. We are officially cat burglars. So suit up.”

Moxley felt a little silly in his black jeans and turtleneck, but he knew he had to look the part. Plus, according to Neville the camera was old tech, a black and white CCTV kind of thing, so in all black he had a better shot of blending into the gray.

He eased open the first door on his right when they entered a hallway, an empty bedroom meeting his eyes.

“We’ll do a full sweep.” Neville said softly, “The only info we had mentioned a room off a hallway, yeah? You take the right.”

Mox nodded, closing the door and carrying on. Two more bedrooms passed with no incident, though Mox found it weird that they were made to look like they were in totally different houses.

The next door revealed a bedroom that was drastically different from the rest. Red carpet, no windows. Black straps attached to the headboard caught his attention and Mox took a cautious step in, clicking on his small flashlight to get a better look.

The bedspread and sheets were solid black, the fabric coarse and cheap under his touch. A simple video camera was set up on a tripod at the foot of the bed, another one resting on the flimsy bedside table. Mox felt the nausea build in his throat for a minute before he got a grip on himself.

The closet door by the bed was half open and he carefully crept to it, gesturing for Neville to follow him from the hallway. Adrian’s quiet gasp of breath alerted Mox to the fact that he’d noticed what the room was for.

There were stairs in the closet. Wooden stairs that led down, to what appeared to be a basement.

“Bingo.” Neville turned on his own flashlight. “This place seems…huge for one feral.” He pointed out as Mox descended the steps in front of him. “I wonder if their Lion is just a test run? Imagine how useful assholes like us could be in this industry if we were docile.”

“Priorities, old man.” Moxley reminded Adrian. His eyes widened as his flashlight swept over a collection of cells built all in a row like a prison. “Oh. Well then.”

“Sometimes ah’ hate bein’ so fuckin’ smart.” Neville grimaced, his accent thickening. “We need to get that lad out an’ nip this shite in the bud, yeah? I’ll stay by the stairs. Could be our only exit.”

Moxley nodded, creeping forward. All the room had for illumination was one red light, blinking sluggishly at the far end of the cells. His night vision might be good enough to draw from that, but his flashlight made him feel a little safer. Every cell that he passed seemed to be open and empty. He wondered if someone had tipped off the producer, scouring the cells for some motion, some flicker of life.

Then he found the locked cell. Mox’s heart jumped into his mouth but no, no, Neville had picked much harder locks than this one. There was a blanket-covered mass on the cot across the cell and Moxley took a chance. “You awake in there?” He asked quietly, eyes falling on the loop of chain that wound around one of the bars and led beneath the blanket.

The lump under the blanket stirred, raising their head to look at him. Lion’s eyes were a light shade of gray, but they looked eerily white now in the beam of his flashlight.

Mox made a soothing noise in his throat, lowering the flashlight so the other man wouldn’t stare directly at it. Lion responded listlessly with a quiet sound of his own, more of an echo, muffled by the thick piece of leather over his mouth. His gaze held absolutely no interest or curiosity, he just stared because there was something different in front of him. “Nev he’s here.” Mox called, beckoning his partner over. “Get this open, man. He’s all fucked up.”

Neville got to work on the lock, twisting his pick set this way and that with extreme care. Mox wanted to talk to Lion, make sure he was aware that they were there to help, but he knew Neville needed to hear the tumblers so he stayed silent. When the lock clicked open Adrian got to his feet and eased the door to the side. “Lion?” He asked softly. The man under the blanket made a noise of distress, peering out at Neville.

“He’s got one of those stiflers on, Nev. Dunno’ if he’ll bite.” Mox observed. Those pale gray eyes flicked to his face when he spoke. Lion shook his head, metal cuffs around his wrists displayed when he reached up to claw weakly at the muzzle covering his mouth and nose. Moxley took in the raw skin around his wrists, the leather burn marks on his neck and jaw. “Christ.”

“Watch his pupils, he’s fucked up hard on somethin’.” Neville gestured and Lion flinched back after a second, his reaction delayed. “Let’s get him out of his cuffs. Do you understand us, Lion?”

The young man groaned in reply, finally nodding. Mox breathed a sigh of relief. That made things a hell of a lot simpler. Lion held his hands out but he didn’t seem particularly happy or excited. It was just a motion, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“Mox, take off that muzzle while I work.” Neville directed, kneeling beside the cot and flipping through a small ring of cuff keys he had on standby.

Moxley moved forward, starting to wrestle with the stiff buckles securing the stifler. He felt Lion’s face press against his shirt and he heard a quiet inhale of breath whistle through the muzzle. “Hey there, you gettin’ all the good smells?” Mox asked gently. “One more second and I’ll have you out. It’s okay.” The leather under his fingers finally loosened, then pulled free. Moxley eased the muzzle off, letting it hang slack around Lion’s neck. “There, I bet that’s a little better.” He continued, watching worriedly as Lion just carried on staring at the floor. “Lion?”

That head of unruly black hair jerked back up, eyes wide in the dim light. Lion seemed to be having a difficult time focusing, looking like he was working overtime just trying to hold his head up.

“We’re getting you out of here, okay? We won’t leave you down here.” Moxley said slowly, hoping Lion could understand him. The whole cell reeked of cleaning chemical smells, Mox knew he was in for a splitting headache if they didn’t leave soon.

“Got it, here we go.” Neville said triumphantly, unsnapping the cuffs. “Alright lad, we’re gonna’ wrap this blanket around ya’ waist. I can’t believe I didn’t think to bring clothes.” He tied the knot on the blanket over Lion’s hip. “Now, neither Mox or I are strong enough to carry ya’ like a princess, but I figure between the two of us we’ll get some locomotion yet. On your feet.” He urged and Lion obeyed, almost collapsing a second later. Mox managed to compensate for the sway, draping Lion’s heavily-tattooed arm over his shoulder and hesitantly laying his hand on the other man’s ribs.

Lion’s skin was clammy, fever-sweat dampening the area under Mox’s touch. His head dropped onto Mox’s shoulder and he slumped, making himself dead weight. “Easy, easy.” Mox soothed, wondering if Lion knew that he wasn’t being dragged out for another…performance. “One foot in front of the other, okay Nev? Just nice and careful.”

“His body temp is all damn wrong.” Neville grunted as they left the cell and headed for the stairs. “Poor fucker.”

…

They weren’t usually this careful. And they never unlocked his restraints without putting his leather cuffs on first. The headache refused to abate. He was pretty sure that regardless of his empty stomach he was about to puke. They had asked if he understood, of course he understood. More work to be done.

The stairway opened up in front of him and that was when he realized where they were bringing him. He struggled. He usually didn’t, they usually dosed him and let everything settle into dark before pulling him up the stairs. But they hadn’t this time. They didn’t even kill his breath. The tall man with the bright eyes had taken the muzzle off.

He found his voice at the top of the stairs, the dark doorway into the fake bedroom yawning like the jaws of a hungry beast.

…

“No!” Lion suddenly exploded. Mox felt kind of dumb for not anticipating that, he’d gotten increasingly squirmy the closer they got to the top of the stairs.

“Whoa, whoa, easy.” Mox said firmly, maintaining his grip on the weakly-struggling man. “Easy, shh. Not today. Not ever again, got it?” Lion pushed his face into Mox’s neck, whimpering. Mox felt tears start to soak through his turtleneck. “Not ever again.” He repeated, digging his fingers into that thick mane of hair to keep Lion’s face where it was. “Shh, it’s alright. Nev, I’m maintaining his position. Go open the door.”

Adrian fairly bolted across the room, pausing to yank the memory cards out of both camcorders on his way by. “Confiscatin’ evidence. Dunno’ if they’re in standby mode.” He said to Mox’s unasked question. “Alright, you got him then? That last hallway is gonna’ be the hard part.”

“I need you to move your feet. Don’t look at the bed. Just keep your face tucked into my neck.” Mox continued to enunciate all his words as clearly as possible. Lion finally, finally shuffled forward, hiccupping loudly. “That’s right. We’re just going to the door. Gonna’ get you out of here.” Moxley tried to encourage him and it appeared to be working. Lion just didn’t seem to have much left in his proverbial tank, continuing to sag against Mox and allowing him to move him as he saw fit.

When they hit the edge of the rug was when Lion stopped. The rug in the hallway was a beige color, a stark contrast to the ugly red one in the room. Lion hesitated before taking a step out, his whole body tense enough to snap. Mox released his hold on the young man’s hair, letting him look up. Lion squinted in the light, his eyes obviously having a difficult time adjusting. “Who…” He began, his voice surprisingly deep when he wasn’t in a panic.

“We can explain later. You’re not out the woods yet.” Neville whispered. “I dunno’ if anyone heard ya’ little outburst at the top of the stairs.”

Lion winced. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. C’mon.” Mox had rapidly eased into his sponsor role, taking Lion’s hand. The young man clung to his arm like he was drowning, half-hiding his face. “It’s alright. We’ll just keep walking. Be outta’ here in no time.”

“Sorry. M’ stomach…” Lion made a retching noise. “Nothing there.”

“The hell is it always like this for?” Neville griped. “Always with the no food, the shite conditions. What the fuck did any of us do to deserve this?”

“Grew teeth an’ didn’t use ‘em fast enough.” Mox answered bleakly, pausing at the corner of the hallway. “Here we are, now comes the hard part. So. At the end of this hall is freedom. Real, legitimate freedom that you can touch an’ taste, bury your fuckin’ nose in. The only issue is if we don’t make it in three seconds, we’re fucked.” He explained carefully to Lion, who instantly went back to tense. “Now, Nev can help on one side, I’ll take the other, and we’ll make a mad dash for it when he gives the signal. You ready to run?”

Lion nodded slowly.

“Take a couple deep breaths, get yourself centered. I know ya’ in a drug fog. I promise we’re real, tangible things.” Mox watched as Lion appeared to focus, his eyes narrowing slightly. “There ya’ go, s’ little bit better. You’re gonna’ be floatin’ again in a minute but all we need is three measly seconds.”

“Ready?” Neville asked, staring down at his watch. Moxley nodded, his grip tight on Lion’s hip. “In three, two, one.”

Lion’s fingers dug into Mox’s shoulder hard enough to bruise as they made a break for it, the young man obviously in full survival mode. Neville shoved the door open and they burst out into the night, hurrying down the side access steps that resembled an old fire escape.

“ETA minute thirty, we have to get to the safe zone so Samson can come grab us.” Neville whispered, all but pulling Lion along behind him.

“Easy Nev, he’s got no fuckin’ shoes on man.” Mox pointed out, a bit annoyed.

“Can go. Doesn’t matter.” Lion grunted, shaking the hair out of his eyes. He slowed abruptly when he caught sight of the moon, though. She was beautiful tonight, round and brilliant white. Mox wanted to laugh at the expression on Lion’s face. “Oh.” Lion said softly, reaching one hand up as if he could touch it. “Look, look it’s-”

“Yeah, the moon.” Mox’s brow furrowed. “How long has it been since you seen her, buddy?”

“I don’t…I’m not sure.” Lion mumbled.

Mox felt his throat tighten up at how confused the other man sounded. Neville made a noise of disbelief beside him. “Seriously? That’s awful.”

“No windows.” Lion pointed out.

“Never thought I would be lucky to be in a cage outside. But the idea of bein’ stuck inside…” Mox trailed off as Lion pushed away from him, almost toppling over again. “Easy, easy. I know the contact makes you uncomfortable. Just let us help ya’ to the van an’ then we ain’t gotta’ touch you again without ya’ permission, okay?” Lion made a low sound in his throat. “Where can I touch you?”

A huge part of being a sponsor was respecting the boundaries the newly-freed instated, regardless of how silly they seemed. It was about putting the power back in their hands after it had been missing for so long, about easing them into a life that they had direct control over. Numerous individuals had passed through their little organization, Regal setting them up with what they needed to balance things hormonally before they struck out on their own.

“Want to walk by myself.” Lion said determinedly.

“Alright. I’ll be beside you then. If ya’ feel woozy, just lean on me.” Mox stuffed his hands into his pockets, wishing he had his jacket. He quickly fell into step next to the other man, studying the hitch of his gait. He looked like he hadn’t stretched his legs in ages, which was entirely possible.

“Much further?” Lion asked, his steps faltering over the uneven ground. Mox shook his head and Lion clenched his fists, straightening his back stubbornly. “Okay.”

“What a fuckin’ trooper.” Moxley praised, “I promise once we get in that van we’ll bundle you right the hell up. You’ll be the coziest motherfucker this side of New York.”

“Am cold.” Lion admitted. “Sore.”

“You’ll get the once-over from Regal. He’s our doc, he helps all of us out.” Mox was used to having to defang the idea of doctors to new charges. He would call William a pharmacist, but that just tended to confuse. “Get that fog outta' you, huh?”

Lion didn’t reply as they came across the van, Elias ready and waiting with the side door open. “Nice to meet you. Climb on in and we’ll be on our way.” Samson was entertainingly formal, shaking Lion’s hand. He did it with all the new acquisitions, doing his part to drive home the point that they should be treated with dignity.

Lion looked back warily at Mox, who smiled at him. “It’s okay. Want me to get in first?” Lion nodded, moving to the side to let Moxley pull himself up into the van. “See? It’s alright.”

Lion had a little difficulty getting his legs up high enough, the blanket snagging around his thighs. He made a frustrated sound, finally resorting to tipping into the van on his stomach and fumbling his way up into a seat. “My head.” He said by way of explanation, wincing. “Dizzy.”

“It’s totally fine. You can sleep now, okay?” Mox slid the door shut and then tucked a blanket around Lion’s shoulders. Lion almost immediately snuggled his chin down into the soft material, his eyes already heavy. “I’ll be right next to you if you need anything.” He assured, settling onto the floor in between the two middle seats. Lion nodded sleepily.

Mox leaned his forehead against the plastic frame of the seat, yawning.

…

“Look at Mox.” Elias whispered, grinning. The third member of their operation was sound asleep, his face mashed up against the seat next to him while he snored. “He’s gonna’ have a corduroy imprint on his cheek.”

“M’ surprised Lion is sleeping.” Neville mumbled, his eyes fixed on his small laptop screen as he watched the footage he’d taken from the memory cards. “This is terrible stuff, Samson, Jesus Christ. The place was huge too, like a correctional facility.”

“Lofty aspirations?”

“Yeah, let’s fucking hope that’s all they are. Pipe dreams and great goddamn expectations.”

The audio cued up in the middle of a conversation and Neville turned it up a little, pressing his headphones to his ear. “-reasonable, come on. You know how this works--”

“Dun’ want t’.” Lion slurred through his stifler, his head pitching forward until his chin rested on his chest. “Legs hurt.”

“That’s too damn bad, isn’t it. Get makeup in here, it’s still a mess from the last bout.” The producer grumbled. “Its thighs, no shit. Fix it. It can’t rub off on her, either, so seal it.”

Lion struggled as best as he could, the faint click of teeth barely registering on the audio. “Bite you, dun’ touch.”

“If you don’t knock it off you’re gonna’ get knocked off.” The producer threatened. “This belligerent crap isn’t going to help you.”

“Hurts!” Lion yelped as the makeup girl liberally smeared his thighs with concealer. Neville had seen that his thighs were all raw and the idea of pouring thick cosmetics onto open wounds made his own skin crawl.

“We’ll just have to tone down the lighting I guess. Its hopeless.” The producer grabbed Lion’s jaw, growling in his face. “You’re fucking pathetic.”

“Need a break.” Lion begged.

“You can have a break when you’ve fucking earned one. All you do is lay here anyhow.” The producer flicked a finger roughly over the head of Lion’s stiff cock, making the dark-haired man cry out behind the muzzle. “We have two more scenes, two more girls. You’re fine.”

“Hurt.” Lion said desperately. “M’ hurt. Can’t.”

“You’re fine, you know how much I hate liars.”

“Please, I-” The producer quickly put an end to Lion’s mumbling by covering the nose opening in his muzzle. Lion’s chest heaved, eyes going wide in panic.

“No more talking or you’ll get shut up forever. Tell her we're ready. Remember, you idiot, you’re a feral and that means animal noises.” The producer slapped Lion across the face. “And no passing out!”

Lion’s breath wheezed loudly through the muzzle, the young man obviously panicking as a condom was rolled down over his cock. His hands tightened into fists when the woman climbed over him, his whole body gone rigid.

Lion halfway sat up abruptly, making the woman scream and recoil when his face was suddenly inches from her own. Vomit bubbled thickly out of the bottom of the muzzle and Lion’s shoulders shuddered with his retching.

The producer swore loudly. “Fuck’s sake. Loosen that, don’t want it suffocating on its own vomit. Sorry sweetheart, looks like today’s shoot is cancelled.” He apologized to the woman, who mostly just looked annoyed as she wrapped herself back up in her robe. “You absolute dick. What the fuck is wrong with you?” He berated Lion, who at this point was coughing and hiccupping hard, his face wet with tears. “You cost me this fucking contract and I’ll leave you in your fucking cell for the rest of your pitiful life!”

“Good!” Lion spat, easier to understand with the stifler loosened. “Want that!”

“Yeah I bet you'd love that. I don't have time to deal with you being a dramatic little shit. Get it back in its cage. Cut recording. What a waste of--”

The footage ended with a crackle of static.

“Man, you look like someone just punched you in the stomach. What was that?” Samson asked quietly after a minute.

“None of us have had it easy.” Adrian swallowed hard, closing his laptop carefully. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “It's always something, Elias.”

Elias reached across the center console and squeezed Neville's shoulder comfortingly. “We're doing what we can.”

“I should have known that shite like this would happen. I never thought...druggin' us, usin' us like damn livestock. Some absolute piss-head makin' his money off the trauma. I...It's a lucky thing Regal can get rid of the rages for the most part.” Neville snarled, his accent thick with anger. “Ah'd like to go off on tha' motherfucker, right proper. We can't let Mox see this. He'd go to pieces on us.”

“Look at it this way.” Elias reasoned. “Lion's with us now. All that garbage is behind him. We're going to help. Focus on all the good we can do, not the bad that's already been done. It'll eat you alive.”

“I know you're fuckin' right.” Neville grumbled. “You can't just let me be angry?”

“Hell no, you're stuck on the wrong thing when you get angry and you know it.”

“Bloody impossible.” Neville slumped a little further down in his seat. Elias rumpled his hair out of the tight bun it was in. “Oh piss off.”

“Nope!”

…

Moxley became aware of a strange trend over the days that followed. Lion kept pilfering his leather jacket. Every time Mox would slip out of it for a second, his shadow was there to scoop it up. Which would have been fine, except for the fact that Lion was a bit broader in the shoulders than Mox. So there would be the squeak of stressing leather that would alert him to the fact that someone was wiggling into his coat again.

Baron thought it was the funniest thing, trying his hardest to keep from laughing whenever Lion crept past with the article of clothing. A lot of times Mox would pretend he didn't see the other man, carrying on with his repairs. It seemed like there was always a leak that needed patching in someone's roof, but he supposed that came with the territory of secondhand trailers. At least now he had Baron to help. The taller man had a definite knack for spotting problem areas before they became so.

Mox wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to how quiet Lion was, or how closely he followed him. As Lion's sponsor it certainly made his job a bit easier. Didn't exactly have to go looking for the guy every time Regal demanded to see how his thighs were healing. Moxley did his best to maintain a respectful relationship with Lion, knowing that he walked the razor's edge between friendly and beholden in his line of work. Debts of gratitude weren't really his thing, it just made him feel awkward.

In a way it was a good thing Lion wanted nobody to touch him. Things were simpler when that was removed from the equation. Casual touch was rife in the 'feral' community though, so it took some getting used to.

He still got antsy with William if he was left alone, and sometimes Mox would have to help when it came to that by lurking in the doorway. Lion's thighs became a...well, calling it a problem would imply that it was bad. It wasn't a problem. Mox kind of just wished he could touch sometimes, was all. He wished that Lion didn't flinch every time he had to take his coat back.

Lion would stay up so late at night, obviously not used to any sort of sleep schedule. And without the haze of downers that Mox knew so well, he no longer seemed to feel the urge to dream his life away. Consequently Mox would find him passed out in odd places, usually by one or two in the afternoon. Once he found him on the roof of his trailer and they had a serious discussion about structural integrity and not ruining the waterproof treatment. Then Lion just kind of...jumped down. Mox damn near had a heart attack at that, scolding the black-haired man roundly and realizing halfway in that he was definitely a mother hen. Lion smiled at him and that stopped him dead. “Th' heck is with the grin? You coulda' broke a leg!”

“You're worried.”

“Damn straight I am! You gotta' think before you do things.”

They talked at length sometimes, normally when Mox was trying to sleep. “Moxley?” The question would come quietly through the dark. Mox always knew he could ignore it, but he didn't really want to.

“Yeah 'sup.”

They still weren't sure how long Lion had been where he was. Neville couldn't rustle up any records if he had nothing to type in at the beginning. All searches on the producer turned up frustratingly empty. Lion couldn't even recall his first name, his real name. It felt wrong to call him his feral name but until he settled on another one, Lion it was.

Moxley, while not really granted permission to touch him, was gifted the odd privilege of being allowed to brush his hair. He had seen Lion struggling one day with a hairbrush (Mox had no idea where he'd even gotten it, probably from Regal), the dark-haired man appearing on the verge of tears as he tugged and yanked at his unruly mane. “Hey, lemme' help.” Mox had carefully taken the brush from Lion's hand, hearing the other man sniffle threateningly.

When Baron had come to them he was filthy, his long hair tangled with mats and the vestiges of creepy-crawlies. Needless to say, Mox got very good at brushing. So it was slowly that he started, separating Lion's hair out into smaller sections.

It became a ritual of sorts, one that Lion could have put an end to if he wanted. But no, he continued coming to Mox once or twice a week with his brush. And Mox knew it was dumb for him to feel special, knew it was stupid and a waste of his time and all it did was further a doubtless-forming codependency and...

...and none of these reasons were enough for him to resist the way Lion's eyes looked when he asked for help.

Lion was mostly content to wade and stumble along on his own, stubbornly rebuilding his humanity from the ground up. Regal for the most part salved him and sent him on his way. Maybe he understood a little more than Moxley ever would. Maybe he was just tired of dealing with the rub marks, the scars and bruises from shackles probably commonplace to the pharmaceutical veteran. Lion refused to have his hand held proverbially or literally, refused all but the most clinical of attention. He wanted to be given tasks just like everyone else but Neville was leery of his strength level, worried that he wasn’t fully healed yet.

So Mox would ask him for help with little things. Ask him to pass him a screwdriver. Ask him to toss him some more clothespins. It was silly small stuff but Lion lit up eagerly every time, because it was something to do and he was needed.

…

There was a name that had been on the tip of his tongue for a solid week. He loved how it sounded, repeating it over and over quietly when he was alone. But he knew everyone else would think it was silly.

Maybe…maybe Mox would like it. The light-haired man had mentioned that calling him Lion made him uncomfortable, like he was ‘reinforcing the bad shit that had happened’.

“I’ll be a lot better when you pick a new name for yourself.” Mox admitted.

It had eaten away at him, the search for a real name. Mostly because he wasn’t really sure who he was. Male, sure, but according to Neville that had no bearing on the situation. “Whateva’ name makes you feel happy, we’ll be more than glad to call ya’ that. Boy, girl, don’t matter.”

He would go through lists in his head, lying awake at night while Mox snored in his bunk. Steve was a nice name, simple, but Alex had the sharp letters in it which would be easier to write. He had asked Moxley what he felt about John and Mox got real quiet for a long time, before finally muttering that it “wasn’t right for him.”

But this name wasn’t a common Steve, or a sharp Alex. He said it aloud to Mox and watched the other man’s body language for anything bad. Moxley mostly just seemed confused, then asked him to pass him the new timing belt for the truck he was working on. Which wasn’t exactly the response he’d been going for, but it definitely wasn’t a negative response either.

…

“Mox?”

Moxley groaned, rolling over onto his side to face the bundled-up man on the opposite bunk. “’Sup, Lion?”

“Roman.”

“Yeah man, you said that earlier, what’s it me-”

“I want that to be my name.” Lion interrupted, his brow furrowed like he’d been thinking hard about this. “I like it. I like how it sounds.”

“Well I shoulda’ known you wouldn’t go the conventional route.” Mox propped himself up on one elbow. “If Roman is what you want, it’s what you’ll get. Nice to meet ya’, Roman.” Moxley extended a hand across the trailer for a handshake, which Lion-Roman returned (to his surprise). “Name’s Mox, I do the fixin’ around here. Welcome aboard.”

“I…yeah. My name is Roman.” The excited smile he gave Mox sat odd in Mox’s stomach. “I’m Roman. Hi, I’m Roman.”

“Yeah yeah, don’t wear it out. You’re stuck with it forever.” Moxley warned with a laugh. “Roman.”

“I love it!” Roman didn’t seem to be able to stop smiling. “It’s mine. I have a name. I…I’ll be back.” He flung off his blanket and unlocked the door of the trailer, heading outside. Mox sat up, a little confused as he heard Roman climb onto the roof. “Moon!”

Mox grumbled under his breath, pulling on some pants and stalking to the door. “Jesus Roman, you can’t just go hollerin’ to the moon every time somethin’ happens. Get down from there before ya’ hurt somethin’.” He ordered, trying to keep the grin out of his voice.

‘Roman’ didn’t make him think of all the terrible things that had happened. ‘Roman’ was a fresh start, clean and enthusiastic and currently yelling at the crescent moon.

‘Roman’ was a good name.

Roman dropped to the ground in front of him, a little breathless. “I told the moon.”

“I noticed. So did everyone else.” Mox said wryly. “I’m sure Styles will be over any second now t’ scold ya’ for disturbin’ the peace.”

“Don’t care.” Roman didn’t look like he was ever going to stop smiling.

Mox couldn’t help the little snicker he let out. “Alright, let’s get back inside. S’ fuckin’ freezin’ out here.”

Roman wrapped an arm around Mox’s neck, surprising the hell out of him when he nuzzled his nose against his cheek like Neville would do. “Because we’re friends, just like you and Adrian.” Roman said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Mox coughed. “Roman, Neville does that because he’s a fuckin’ weirdo. You might wanna’ pick a different call sign.”

“Oh.” Roman looked crestfallen and Mox felt a bit guilty. It had obviously taken a lot of guts to reach out like that and of course he shot it out of the sky. He bumped his forehead into Roman’s silently after a moment, displaying his own particular method of showing affection. Roman’s shoulders straightened out and like it was a reflex he full on headbutted Mox, cracking him right in the temple.

“Fuck!” Moxley yelped, taking a step back and holding the side of his face gingerly. “Christ, what gives man?”

“I…” Roman’s confusion was obvious. “…I thought I had to do it as hard as I could?”

“Fuckin’ hell, you really think that was all I had? Get over here you asshole, you’re gonna’ feel the wrath!” As the trailer was rather small, it wasn’t long before Mox had him in a loose headlock, undoing all the hard work he’d put in earlier when brushing.

Roman wound his arm around the back of Mox’s knees, freeing himself from the headlock by lifting Moxley bodily and then plopping him down onto his bed. Roman pinned him there, laughter coming in gasps as he dug his forehead against Moxley’s and rubbed it back and forth vigorously. “Ha! Now you’ll look like you headbutted the carpet.” He said when he pulled back to admire his handiwork.

Mox’s cheeks puffed out momentarily with the effort of stifling his own laughter. “You dope, you got the same mark on your forehead!” He laughed, rubbing his thumb over the red area.

“Kinda’ like the marks Baron makes? On his friend’s neck?” Roman sounded hopeful. “Is that his weird thing?”

On his friend’s neck. “Nah, Baron really likes his friend, so that’s a special thing he only does for them. I-” Roman buried his face in Mox’s neck and bit down, making Moxley snap, “Hey!” His stomach writhed at the way Roman instantly flinched back from his sharp tone. “Shit, sorry. You startled the fuck outta’ me, man. Can’t latch onto a guy like that.” Mox tried to play it off, tried to ignore the sad look that Roman got. “Roman, hey. You can’t just bite people. That’s rude.”

“But you just said…you said Baron did it special for his friend because he really likes them.” Roman pointed out.

“Roman, Baron’s friend also agrees to that beforehand. You don’t get to do something to another person without their permission.”

“Oh.” Roman’s eyes suddenly widened and Mox braced himself for the impact. “Why did…when I was at the other place, they never…” The black-haired man didn’t seem to be able to finish his sentences, sitting back on his haunches. “The…producer.” He finally snarled, his voice gone harsh.

Mox sat up cautiously. “What about him?”

“Never asked me.”

“You weren’t a person to him. Nobody like us is a person to that guy.”

“I am a person. You’re a person, too.” Roman insisted. “And Baron and Neville and Elias.”

“I know that, Ro. You’re more of a person than that fucker could ever imagine.” Mox said fiercely. “You’ve got a name now, a name that shithead never heard. A name he never touched. You ain’t ever been Lion, that’s not who you are. S’ just what they called you.”

Roman’s face was still troubled so Mox took his hand, slowly tightening his grip until Roman responded in kind. The two of them sat there in silence, Roman staring down at their hands and Mox staring at Roman while the other man was deep in thought. “Roman is my name.” Roman finally said softly. “Because I say so.” He raised their joined hands, making eye contact again. “And because you say so.”

“Your opinion is the only one that should matter here, man.”

Roman shook his head. “No. You let it be real. You said it out loud.”

“Hey, Neville told you we’d call you whatever you wanted. Plus, we aren’t assholes.” Mox didn’t really feel that this should be made into a big deal. The way that Roman was looking at him had his skin crawling with nerves and he swallowed hard. “It’s your name. Your body. Your call as far as who does what to you, from the second Neville opened that door. And don’t take any shit from anyone who tries to tell you otherwise.” Mox said gruffly, dropping Roman’s hand after one last squeeze. “Plenty of folks out there will tell you until they’re blue in the face that you shoulda’ stayed put, that you deserved whatever happened t’ ya’ because of who you are. You ever come across anybody like that, you jus’ tell ol’ Moxley. I’ll fix their fuckin’ wagon.”

“You’re a good friend, Mox.” Roman said shakily. He wiped at his eyes after a minute. “M’ sorry, I know it’s late. Just wanted to hear whether you liked my name.”

“That’s a proud as hell name. Tough.” Mox wanted to laugh at how red Roman got. “You don’t even have to grow into it.” He snapped his fingers after a second. “Oh, I keep meanin’ to ask. Why the hell do you steal my jacket?”

“Smells like you.” Roman replied simply. Mox wasn’t really sure what the noise that came out of him was but he was incredibly happy he managed to camouflage it into a sneeze. “Bless you.”

“I just…I uh, I’m gonna’ hit the hay. I’m glad you picked a name, man. Tomorrow you can tell Nev and he’ll get you squared away.”

…

Smells like you. Mox shook his head at himself, trying to keep reading the manual for the solution to the latest mechanical nightmare he’d come across. Through the screen door of the trailer he could catch glimpses of the fire Styles and Samson had built, and faint strains of guitar reached his ears as night fell on the small convoy.

Baron didn’t exactly have a great singing voice, but he definitely made up for his pitch with volume. Mox would have loved to join them, but he was extremely leery of fire. There had been an incident when he was in juvenile housing, a glorified kennel that turned into a firetrap when someone had dropped a cigarette.

He was grateful that his trailer had a microwave. Even the little propane stove made him anxious.

Roman opened the trailer door as Elias started a rousing chorus of ‘Wonderwall’, his face sticky with the remnants of a s’more. “You gonna’ come out?” He asked hopefully. “There’s an open chair.”

“Can’t. Gotta’ figure this out.” Mox grunted, staring at the same page he’d read backwards and forwards for the past twenty minutes.

“Please?”

“Ro, m’ busy. And I don’t do fires. Ever.”

Roman shut the door behind him, wiping the marshmallow off his chin as an afterthought. “What?”

“I said I don’t do fires?” Mox raised an eyebrow. “What, Elias didn’t tell you my deep dark secret? M’ scared of fire.”

“You’re scared of something?”

“Yes Roman, I am afraid of something.”

“But-” Roman gestured vaguely with his hands. “You’re so brave, though!”

Mox couldn’t help the little huff of laughter that escaped him. “I ain’t nothing like that. Somebody lied to you.”

“No, I’ve seen it.” Roman insisted. “Like the other day when the motor was still running in that truck and you just kind of stuck your-”

“You’re confusing stupid with brave. Common issue. See, Neville is brave. He’s brave because he’s smart and quick and quiet.” Mox pointed at the Band-Aid covering the busted-up area on his hand. “I am stupid.”

“Would a stupid person have pulled me out of that cellar hole?” Roman asked testily.

“Well that’s more of a morals question, Ro, we were definitely breaking and entering-”

“Mox.”

“A dumb person absolutely would have done it, man. Would a dumb person have succeeded, is the question you oughta’ ask.” Mox put down the manual, looking up at Roman. “If that dumb person is directed by Neville? Shit, he can take near any rotten situation and turn it into an advantage. If that dumb person is me? I stop at nothin’. Fuck that hell or high water shit. I’m useful in this group because I’m stupid. I embrace that talent, Ro.”

“You’re brave.” Roman repeated stubbornly. “Bravest person I know.”

“You say such nice shit.” Moxley scoffed with a grin.

“I’m scared of something.” Roman said hesitantly. “I…I mean if you can be scared of stuff, I can too, right?”

“Fear is healthy and natural. S’long as you don’t let it rule you, obviously.” Mox opened his mouth, then quickly shut it again. “If you…ever needed to talk to someone about what you’re scared of, you know I’m here.” He offered finally. “No judgement zone, Ro. I don’t even care if you think it’s dumb.”

“M’ scared of people touching me.” Roman mumbled, twisting the hem of his shirt. “I don’t…scared of…I’m scared of people touching me when I’m, um...”

“When your clothes are off?” Mox supplied. Roman nodded quickly. “That’s kinda’ to be expected, man. You got manhandled and you never want that shit to happen again.” Mox willed his jaw to loosen. It had gone tense when he thought about what Roman must have endured.

“I’m all messed up though. In my head. Because I want…I want to. But I’m scared.” Roman seemed frustrated.

“You want people to touch you…naked.” Mox said slowly, his stomach lurching at the idea.

“I want one person to touch me naked.” Roman corrected, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I…”

“It was always girls. He only let girls have me. I don’t know if that has anything to do with it.” Mox’s hands clenched down onto the bunk under him. “Sometimes he would flick me on the tip of my…he’d flick me with his fingers.” Roman just kept talking. “If I didn’t cooperate he’d cover my nose so I couldn’t breathe.”

“Roman, please, Jesus Christ.” Mox said weakly. “You shoved your face into my neck an’ started fuckin’ cryin’ when we came up those stairs. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure that some terrible shit’s happened to you.”

“I want you to touch me.” Roman said, his voice faltering a little. “I want…I trust you. I want to know if I’m broken or not. I mean, it’s alright if I am, I’ll figure it out. I just want to know.”

“You want me to…”

“I want you to touch me all over and I want…I want to see what happens.”

“I can tell you what’ll happen, man.” Mox got to his feet, brushing off his jeans. “But if it’ll make you feel better, if it’ll help you? Yeah, I’ll touch you without ya’ clothes on. Pretty sure I’m getting the better end of this deal, anyhow.” He tried to joke, the humor falling flat when Roman hurriedly yanked his shirt over his head. “Hey, hey. Be gentle to y’self. You’re safe here.”

“Don’t want to waste your time, I know you’ve got the thing.” Roman nodded at the manual. “Have to fix problems.”

“Shh, that ain’t a priority. It’s alright.” Mox carefully laid his hands on top of Roman’s to still them, the young man already heading for his zipper. “So clothes-off one-o-one here, first rule is if you ain’t into it, clothes stay on. Simple. Easy to remember.” He murmured. “Second rule is ask first. ‘Can I’ or ‘may I’ always goes better than ‘I’m going to’. Can I unzip your pants?” Mox asked softly.

Roman’s mouth was a little slack, his eyes a little wider than before. “Y-Yeah.” He gulped.

Mox slid down the zipper. He watched with quiet fascination as Roman’s torso trembled from a shaky breath. “May I touch?” Mox flattened his palm on Roman’s chest when the other man nodded rapidly, just feeling the way Roman tried to keep his breathing under control. “Hey, I’m not gonna’ cut you off. Breathe regular.” He instructed. Roman looked guilty and Mox began tracing the lines inked on his chest. “No no, none of that. Just breathe. Nice and easy.”

“Want to.” Roman arched a little and Mox’s fingers trailed over his nipple. “Oh.”

That was a noise that would make anyone curious. “Like that?” Mox asked, lazily circling his index finger around Roman’s nipple, which began to harden from the attention. “Is that good?”

“Oh God, jeez, I-” Roman fumbled for his words, settling on a simple, “No one’s ever…not there.”

Moxley huffed out an annoyed noise. “’Course not. It’s never been about you, right?” He ducked his head to carefully lick the area, encouraged by fingers slowly working their way into his hair and Roman muttering oh God oh God over and over. Mox took it as a compliment. “Where do you want me to touch you next?” He pulled his mouth away to ask, walking his fingers over Roman’s other pectoral.

“Huh?” Roman asked dazedly. “Oh! Oh. Sorry. I um, I…this is so strange.” His hands continued to stroke through Moxley’s hair absently. “How do you make it so good?”

“I ask. And I only use my teeth when people beg for ‘em.” Mox’s hands moved down to touch Roman’s hips while he kept his mouth busy. “What do you want me to do?”

“I…oh.” Roman covered Mox’s hands, his face suddenly serious. “I almost forgot.” He said sheepishly.

“Hey, we don’t have to go any further than this.” Mox assured him. “I ain’t here for me, so don’t worry about stoppin’.”

“I know.” Roman tugged his pants over his hips, letting them settle around his thighs. “More? Please?”

“Much as you want.” Mox replied quietly. “Can I touch you? Through your boxers. I ain’t got to touch your skin if you don’t want me to just yet.” He slid his palm down the expanse of Roman’s stomach, chuckling a little when Roman sighed. “Touchin’ doesn’t have to be frantic. And it doesn’t have to lead t’ anythin’. When you say stop, it stops.”

“You can touch me. No…no flicking, please.” Roman mumbled, biting his lip and making another noise when Mox smoothed his hands down his sides. “Y-Yeah, mm, good.”

“I like when you talk.” Mox whispered, easing his palm over the front of Roman's boxer briefs. “When was the last time you touched yourself?”

“I um...” Roman was clearly, endearingly flustered.

“How do you touch yourself? Can you show me what you like?” Mox asked gently. Roman went silent, his fingers twitching nervously. “Roman? Do I need to stop?”

“No, no. I just...I mean, no one's ever asked me that. Dunno' what to say.” Roman shrugged, grimacing.

“O-kay.” Moxley said slowly, running his thumb down the curve of Roman's cock beneath his boxers. Roman put his hands on Mox's shoulders, exhaling hard into the air between them. Mox felt like he might be a little overdressed for the situation but the last thing he wanted was to scare Roman off.

Roman bumped their foreheads together and moaned, jumping slightly when Mox rolled one of his nipples between his fingers. “Ah, God, yes, that-” He pleaded, “More, touch me I--fuck-”

“Look at you, God.” Mox murmured, a little awestruck at the way Roman bucked his cock clumsily into his hand, practically rubbing himself off. “You like that? Y' like when I stay still an' you can just hump up against my fingers?”

“Make my stomach feel funny when you say stuff like that.” Roman groaned and Mox felt like someone had cranked the heat up.

“Yeah? So I shouldn't talk about how I want you t' rub yourself on my thigh until you come? Shouldn't say that, because it makes your belly drop out? I shouldn't talk about how I wanna' tease your chest until you're achin' for me to touch you, dick all stiff and leakin' on your stomach? Shouldn't talk about that?” He asked, his words tripping out in an excited rush.

“Fuck.” Roman whimpered, his fingers digging into Mox's shoulders and pulling him in tight against him so he could tuck his face into the other man's neck. “Mox, Mox, please-”

“You can bite me if you want to.” Mox offered.

Roman looked up, gray eyes wide. “But you said-”

“For special friends. Because I really like you.” Mox grinned. “You're lettin' me touch you all over. S' only fair.”

“I want to, I want to, Mox, are you sure I can?” Roman was half-asking, half-begging, his mouth already open over Moxley's neck.

“All yours, Ro.” Roman's tongue tasted the area momentarily before his teeth crushed down and Moxley had to choke back a satisfied grunt. “Yes, fuck, Roman-” He growled.

“I'm-” Roman's whole body went tight and Mox wasn't sure he'd ever been this satisfied by someone else getting off in his entire life. Roman's moans were stifled by his skin, the frantic bucks of his hips dissolving him into a quivering mess and then Roman kissed him abruptly, mouth hot on his own. “Oh! Shit, I...sorry.” The black-haired man gasped, pulling back. “Should have asked, sorry.”

“I am not complaining.” Mox panted, “Hi Roman, I'm Mox, and I am fuckin' here for this shit.”

…

He managed to convince Mox to come out and sit by the fire, now almost burned out. Baron had apparently decimated a bag of marshmallows all by himself, his friend beside him looking decidedly stickier than they had before.

“Look at you!” Elias praised Moxley, smiling broadly as the light-haired man settled warily into the folding chair. Once he pulled it a little ways back, of course. Roman sat on the ground between Mox's legs, having promised to keep him safe from the fire. “And of course, ever present Roman. I've got a song for you, man.” Samson tinkered with the instrument on his lap for a second, humming a few bars. “Me, and my shadow, walking down the avenue...” He crooned slowly, strumming away. “There's no one here but me, me and my shadow...”

Roman eased back against Moxley and felt careful fingers lace into his hair, stroking over his scalp. Without intending to, his eyes drifted shut. He fell asleep there, wrapped in the warm sensation of Moxley's body solid against his own and those fingers, gently rubbing.

“There's no one here but me and my shadow...”

Part Three

#ambreigns #Wrestle!AU: Feral Peril #thirst party saturday #roman reigns #roman reigns smut #jon moxley #RoMox #wwe #Because I Said So #jon moxley smut #jon moxley/roman reigns #so many feels #holy hell this is long #enjoy!

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