#coming from someone who spent half my life in the saddle as well as doing harness racing

[shararan]

I'm personally not really a strong believer in modern AU Liu Qingge just being some gym bro. The thing about this guy is that his whole deal and personality gives me more of a specialized sports kind of impression, the "has spent 6 days a week training since the age of 5" kind. Yknow??

Now as for what sport I feel like that could vary. But martial arts, figure skating, horse sports or anything of that sort rings to me.

#mentioning horses specifically cause itd suit him imo #coming from someone who spent half my life in the saddle as well as doing harness racing #plus some academic horsemanship #i dont know any terms in english rip #shoutout to that bing/liu fic with horses that one speaks to me #sharan talks

[ace-of-zaun]

The Wrong Place at the Wrong Time: Pt. 6

Silco x f!reader - SFW

6.4k words

CW: angst, fluff, threats, feelings, crack treated seriously, the author is an actual idiot, seriously someone take away my laptop this is getting out of hand

A/N: my sincerest apologies for the hiatus, my life may as well be called Vander with the way it’s trying to drown me…

Also, my sincerest apologies for how daft this chapter is… i honestly didn’t think it was possible to get any dafter but alas, here we are  

-el x

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 7 | PART 8

-

Since that quiet night on the pier, where Silco had eased your worries and ensured you that he would always be there for you, things had been better than ever. 

Finally back in the warmth of his office, the both of you nursing a hot drink to chase away the chills of the night, Silco had talked through what had happened to you when you’d passed out in the warehouse. And while he didn’t go into detail about your injuries, he’d reassured you that he wouldn’t give you shimmer again unless it was an emergency.

It was exactly the reassurance you needed.

Now, you were both back to work as normal and more importantly, back to sharing that playful banter with him that you’d come to love. 

In public, Silco was as terrifying and stoic as ever, whilst you were the professional negotiator, both of you working tirelessly to bring Zaun ever closer to that independent status it deserved. 

But behind closed doors, every moment felt like you were truly home. 

And of course, the more time you spent with him, the more you got to know him. Like how he hated working in silence, but couldn’t work if there were words in the song he was listening to, or if people were talking close-by. 

Or how he kept a jar of sweets in the bottom drawer of his desk that he always insists are for Jinx, but you’ve caught him chewing on them more than enough times for it to just be a coincidence.

Who knew the Eye of Zaun had such a sweet tooth?

Not to mention that the closer you got to Silco, the closer your relationship with Jinx became. 

You cherished those increasingly regular evenings where the three of you would share a meal, talk about how your days had gone, and play games until Jinx fell asleep on your lap after spending most of the evening in a fit of giggles.

It really was starting to feel like the family you’d never had. 

Much to Silco’s obvious annoyance, Jinx had also taken to responding to just about everything he said to her with your beloved phrase: ‘What’s that got to do with the price of eggs?’, which was, in your humble opinion, hilariously adorable. 

In fact, she’s just asked it again in response to Silco’s genuine question of whether or not she’s studying for the chemistry test that her tutor had set for her.

Silco gives you an unimpressed glare from where he’s sitting behind his desk, his fingers steepled in exasperation, whilst you are leaning against the side of the mahogany furniture. 

Jinx is very helpfully splayed across the top of the desk, somehow managing to crumple just about every piece of paper on it, in a most remarkable manner.

You refrain from blowing a cheeky kiss to Silco, instead choosing to grin mischievously at him, which only makes him scowl more. 

“Whatever am I going to do with the pair of you?” Silco says, shaking his head at the ceiling, like he’s been saddled with the two most exasperating people in the whole of Zaun.

To be fair to him… he’s probably not wrong… 

But only because he easily wins the role of Most Exasperating Person #3.

Your mouth opens as you instantly begin to respond with ‘Aw, you love us really’, but your eyes widen half-way through when you realise exactly what it is you’re saying, so instead it comes out as a rather awkward:

“Aw, you l-urrrrr…” 

Trailing off into silence, your gaze snaps to Silco’s, hoping he hasn’t suddenly gained the power to read your mind. 

Gods, that’d be just awful. Then he’d know just how often you think about his flat arse…

Silco immediately latches onto your hesitation and his brow twitches as he stares you down.

“I beg your pardon?” he asks. 

“Um… nothing. Never mind.”

Your response is far too quick to be anything but a cover-up and his good eye narrows in full-blown suspicion. 

For the first time since meeting him, you begin to see why everybody else squirms under his gaze as you’re treated to the Eye of Zaun Special™.

And you’d be lying if it wasn’t downright electrifying. 

Your breath catches in your chest and your eyes widen. 

It flicks a switch inside you, which you’re pretty sure is an activation of your fight or flight response and not for the reason everybody else might find when faced with Mr Intimidating. 

Luckily for you, you’re not ‘everybody else’, which means you’re allowed to do the one thing he’d never allow another to do. 

You choose flight. 

Swiftly turning your attention to Jinx, who is also peering down at you curiously from atop the desk, you tap her on the arm lightly before making a dash for the door.

“Tag you’re it!” you yell over your shoulder, heaving the office door open as quickly as you can without slamming it against the wall.

Behind you, you hear Jinx squeal in delight and hastily scramble off the desk. 

As you round the door and sprint down the hallway, you hear Silco call out an exasperated, “Jinx, be careful!” but you’re too far gone to see his expression.

You’re pretty sure he’ll already be lighting another cigar and rolling his eyes by now. 

Bolting through your home from the young girl gleefully chasing you, you try to ignore all those wriggling thoughts about just why you’re running away from almost saying a ‘certain word’ to a ‘certain man’.

Perhaps it was your body’s way of keeping you from saying something that was far too early to be saying, or even thinking, for that matter…

Wasn’t it?

-

You quickly decide that it’s not petty at all to take your revenge on Silco for making you feel flustered for days on end.

Honestly, spending half a week tossing and turning because of feelings that a simple comment had brought up was nothing short of absurd. 

How he managed to turn you to jelly with just a look was beyond your comprehension. 

So, naturally, revenge was your only option. 

Your method of vengeance? Teaching Jinx more ridiculous phrases to slowly drive him mad with, of course. 

Quite frankly, he deserves it. Him and his stupid, gorgeous self. It’s his own fault for being so goddamn fine. 

By a stroke of luck, it’s one of those rare times where you’re alone with Jinx in his office, whilst he and Sevika have gone to make the rounds in the numerous shimmer factories spread across the city. They’d been gone a while now, which meant you didn’t have much time to complete your secret mission. 

Jinx balances precariously on your shoulders, as you responsibly hold onto her legs to stop her from falling.

“And what do we say to your Dad when he’s in a meeting with Marcus?” you quiz her, as she precariously reaches upwards, stretching her small body to its very limit. 

“Well, he looks a few sandwiches short of a picnic,” she flawlessly mimics your delivery, complete with sarcastic eyebrow raising and a head tilt. If she wasn’t currently balancing on your shoulders, she’d probably throw a sassy little hand on her hip as well. 

“The apprentice has become the master,” you tell her dramatically. 

She giggles and the sound instantly lights up your heart.

Janna, this girl was just wonderful. 

More recently, she’d begun to call Silco ‘Dad’ pretty much all the time, which was a big step considering when you’d first met her only a few months ago, she’d been visibly uncomfortable at using the term. 

It just went to show how attached she felt to him. And honestly, you were glad. You only knew wisps of what this poor girl had gone through and you’d do anything, trade anything to take it back. 

Over the short time you’d known her, she’d become so much more full of life, so much more confident. 

And it was all thanks to Silco. 

Another way you knew that she was more comfortable in Silco’s care was when she’d playfully brought up the idea of pranking him one morning, when you’d been pouring milk into a bowl of breakfast cereal.

Of course, you’d agreed because what could be funnier than pranking the scariest man in Zaun? (Who wasn’t actually that scary if you were a former kitchen utensil salesperson…)

But also the adult part of your brain had decided that it was probably a smart idea to be involved in the prank, to ensure the one she chose was harmless. This intervention soon turned out to be a good one when she’d immediately suggested glitter or paint-filled explosive traps in his office…

No chance.

Not even your natural affinity for charming Silco could rescue her from that kind of wrath. 

Luckily she’d been easily convinced of your infinitely less destructive plan and that was the plan you were currently putting into action. 

Jinx wobbles a bit on your shoulders as she reaches up even higher. Carefully, you let go of one of her legs to hold the door steady as she places the bucket on top of it, concentrating fiercely on not dropping the child or the bucket. 

When she’s certain that it is secure, you slowly back away from the door and carefully lower her to the ground. 

You hold your breath and wait, but nothing falls. 

Phew. 

You take a second to admire your handiwork and turn to Jinx

“Is everything to your liking, my hilarious little court jester?” you ask, with a little bow and flourish of one hand.

She giggles again and nods, throwing her arms around your waist in a tight hug. 

You just manage to wrap your own arms around her when she speaks again, directing the words into your shirt instead of looking at you. 

“I love you,” she mumbles into the fabric. 

You freeze.

Did she actually just say that or were you imagining it?

Her head turns to look up at you, a hopeful expression painted across her features, and you know without a doubt that she both said it and meant it.

You don’t hesitate any longer.

“I love you too, pumpkin,” you tell her ardently, feeling tears welling at the corner of your eyes. 

Fuck, you haven’t felt this full of love in so long. It’s almost a bit too overwhelming.

She smiles like her whole world has just lit up, but before you can say anything else, you hear footsteps in the corridor outside the office.

Both of your heads snap in meerkat fashion to look at the door. 

“Go, go, go,” you whisper after a moment of listening, carefully directing her to your agreed hiding place.

You sprint to hide behind Silco’s desk and manage to crouch behind it just before the handle turns, both of your heads peeking up to get the best view of what was about to be, The Most Classic Prank in The History of Pranks. 

You watch, like it’s happening in slow motion, as the door is finally pushed open and the bucket easily falls off its perch.

Sevika comes into view and with the speed of a cheetah, manages to smack the bucket away from her, meaning that whilst she doesn’t get hit on the head with the bucket… she does get covered in reams of shredded paper.

The bucket lands a few feet away from her and paper spills in every direction, all across the floorboards of the office. 

There’s a few seconds of stunned silence before you and Jinx begin to cackle at the sight of Sevika absolutely covered in little bits of paper.

Her gaze sharpens on you immediately, her eyes filled with rage. Oh, if looks could kill, you’d have been dead and buried within milliseconds. 

Silco appears behind her and pushes his way into the office, glancing at the scene before him. For a brief moment, you worry that he’s going to be angry at the mess you’ve made of his office.

But the worry is quickly dispersed when Jinx emerges from her hiding place and runs over to Silco, throwing her arms around his waist. She giggles and Silco’s lips instantly quirk into a little smile as he looks down at her. 

“Sevika, you’re making a mess,” he drawls, choosing to join your side of the game as he walks over to his desk with Jinx holding his hand. 

You laugh and he gives you a knowing smirk when you stand up from behind the desk and let him sit down in his chair.

“Did you see that, Dad?” Jinx says excitedly, bouncing up and down at his side. 

“I did, pumpkin. That was very sneaky of you, I certainly was not expecting it,” he tells her proudly. 

You make your way over to Sevika, part of you feeling bad that she’s taken the brunt of the little prank. Reaching out a hand to help her pick out the paper from her hair, she all but growls at you, slapping your hand away roughly. 

“Get off me.”

You manage to squeak out a “Sorry,” but it’s entirely discredited by the fact that you’re still chuckling at her. 

She does not look impressed. 

Banned from helping Sevika (who has already left the room in a disgruntled manner), you decide to start picking up the paper that has dropped to the floor when you hear Silco tell Jinx that it’s time for bed. 

Predictably, she whines, but after a pointed silence (and more than likely, a pointed look to accompany it), she assents and passes you on her way out of the room.

You tell her you’ll come and say goodnight to her when you’ve finished picking up the paper, and give her a kiss on the cheek before she goes, closing the door behind her. 

Smiling to yourself, you continue to crawl on your hands and knees, picking up the tiny shreds of paper, when you become acutely aware that you can no longer hear the sound of pen scratching on paper.

Turning to look over your shoulder, you find Silco unabashedly staring at your ass.  

You scoff. The nerve of this man. 

“Are you just going to sit there and watch?” you ask affrontedly. 

He smirks. 

“It was you who made the mess,” he counters. 

“I think you’ll find it was Sevika’s fault for opening the door,” you say, mimicking his dry tone. 

“Whose idea was it?”

“Jinx’s.”

“Yet you were the one who assisted her,” he says, with an amused wave of his hand.

“Uh, have you seen her puppy eyes? It’s impossible to say no to her,” you state, shaking your head.

Silco gives a non-committed little hum, which you recognise as being his way of conceding without actually giving you the satisfaction.

You laugh and continue picking up the paper, ignoring Silco’s gaze burning into your back.

It’s not exactly a secret to anyone close to Silco that Jinx has him wrapped around her little finger, just like you are now. 

Honestly, the both of you would probably do anything for her at this point. 

A quiet voice in the back of your head wonders if you’d also do anything for Silco.

And would he do anything for you?

-

A few days later, you find yourself leaning against a grand, marble building on a perfectly cobbled street in Piltover, your eyes closed as you bask in the warmth of the sun. 

Beside you, you can practically hear Silco’s thoughts running through his head, as he angrily smokes a cigarette.

You open your eyes and turn to peer at him, adjusting your sunglasses that you’d bought from the market especially for your trip Topside. Truth be told, there wasn’t much need for sunglasses in Zaun, but that didn’t stop you from picking the most garish ones on the stall. 

Zaun was big enough for two fashionistas and you weren’t about to let Silco completely steal the limelight. 

Your meeting with an important Councillor had been cancelled, but you’d only found out after you’d arrived at the meeting location, meaning you’d both wasted a trip when you could have been at home working on other deals. 

Silco was unhappy to say the least. 

In fact, he only stopped irritably ranting about how selfish and egotistical all Piltovians were when you’d found a spare cigarette in your coat pocket and practically thrown it at him.

Honestly, sometimes living with Silco was like living with (another) child… bribery was a sure-fire way to get him to shut up when he was spiralling into a never-ending monologue. 

But despite the bribe, he’s still undoubtedly in a foul mood, so you decide to employ your best tactic in your foolproof strategy named ‘Cheer Silco Up’... 

Distraction. 

“Do you think I look good in these?” you ask him, posing with your outlandish sunglasses by holding the frames coyly and tilting your head.

Silco turns his head slowly, and his eyes begin a slow sweep up and down your whole body, his expression entirely unreadable. 

He finally meets your gaze and delivers his verdict. 

“You look ridiculous.”

You frown, your lips jutting out in a pout when you spot his lip quirking - a tell-tale sign that he’s teasing you.  

Of course, he doesn’t actually mean it, he’s probably just getting you back for the time you’d jokingly told him his coat made him look like a velociraptor… a whole month ago.

The man has a freakishly good memory (and an impressive ability to hold a grudge, it would seem…)

But despite the fact he’s only teasing, you’re still not going to let him get away with it.

“Um, respect the drip, Brenda,” you say with fake indignation.

He almost drops his cigarette in surprise. 

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” you tell him snarkily, with a nonchalant flip of your hand. 

Silco looks thoroughly taken aback, his good eye widening in pure shock. 

It takes you a second to realise what you just said. 

“Sorry, I think the sunglasses are making me sassy,” you say meekly, taking them off and giving them a suspicious look.

It had to be the sunglasses, right? 

“I somehow doubt that,” Silco says, rolling his eyes. 

You give him a look of fake offence before an idea pops into your head. 

“Hey, do you wanna wear them? You know, just to test my hypothesis. I might be onto something here. Could make us millions,” you suggest, holding them out towards him. 

He huffs a laugh and stubs his cigarette out on the side of the marble building, no doubt another little ‘fuck you’ to Piltover.

“Let’s go home,” he says with a smirk, setting off back towards the bridge, where the carriage is parked. 

You laugh, glad that his bad mood seems to have dissipated, and put the sunglasses in your pocket, catching up to him so you can walk side-by-side through the bright streets. 

As much as you hate Piltover for what they’d done to your city, you couldn’t help feeling a little bit awestruck by how much cleaner and grander it was than Zaun.

It only made you more desperate to achieve yours and Silco’s goals.

The people of Zaun deserved to live like this, to live like actual human beings, and not the overflow they were treated as.  

You try not to look like you’re ogling the magnificent buildings as you walk, knowing how much Silco hated seeing it all, when you pass a sign that makes you grab Silco’s hand in excitement.

“Silco!” you gasp. 

“What?!” he exclaims roughly, obviously startled, his hand squeezing yours tightly. 

You excitedly re-read the sign clearly stating that the building in front of you is an art studio open to the public, meaning you can just go in and use their resources for free.

A quick glance through the window reveals that it’s empty of other people, but full of art supplies.

Bingo.

You drop Silco’s hand and run through the open front door like a child entering a toy store on Snowdown Day. 

“What’s wrong? Where are you going?” Silco calls after you confusedly. 

“I need to paint, it’s a matter of life or death!”

“What?”

“Come on, you grumpy old sod, it’ll be fun,” you yell over your shoulder, spotting him standing by the door looking utterly baffled. 

Honestly, if you had a cog for every time you made Silco look completely bewildered, you’d be a very rich woman indeed. You were starting to think it was your secret superpower. 

“Darling, we don’t really have time for this,” he says, following you into the art studio.

“We don’t have any more meetings today and you need a break from paperwork,” you tell him as you sit down at an empty canvas, “You’re going to need a chiropractor if you hunch over that desk any longer.”

He huffs in annoyance. 

“Come on, I thought you used to be a rebel,” you taunt him with a cheeky grin, “And what could be more rebellious than using all of Piltover’s precious resources for our own nefarious purposes?”

That succeeds in making him smirk and he finally sits down opposite you, behind another empty canvas on an easel. 

You waste no more time and eagerly start to mix together some paint with a paintbrush, knowing instantly what you want to paint. 

Lost in your own world for a few silent minutes, you eventually look up to find Silco just staring at you, seemingly drinking in all your features.

You wonder what he’s thinking. 

“Oi, you’re not painting anything,” you inform him helpfully when he just continues staring. 

“What are you painting?” 

“You.” 

“Me?” 

“Yes, you. Now get painting,” you instruct, waving your brush at him like you’re casting a spell. 

Silco visibly scowls at being told what to do but he follows your instructions and picks up a brush, getting to work mixing the colours he needed.

You both paint for a good twenty minutes, enjoying the soothing sounds of the bristles on the canvas and the birds chirping outside. 

It’s almost idyllic.

Scratch that, it is idyllic. It’s absolutely perfect and you wish you could stay like this forever with him. 

When you’re not glancing up at Silco to paint all his striking features, you’re admiring how beautiful he looks when he’s lost in thought. 

It’s the most relaxed you’ve seen him in a long time, his worry lines softened in the warm glow of the sunlight pouring in through the window. 

A part of you wishes that he could live like this full time - completely unburdened, completely care-free. Like he deserves after a lifetime of suffering. 

You make a mental note to buy him a set of paints to help him relax at home. It would sure as hell be a healthier option than the ungodly amount of whiskey and cigars he consumes on a daily basis. 

By the time you’ve finished your painting, Silco is still concentrating on his, so you take the opportunity to turn your masterpiece into a cheeky little wanted poster with a felt tip pen.

‘Wanted: Silco - for being too darn cute’

Reward: Brand new, hardly been used chess set’

You giggle to yourself and the sound breaks him from his reverie, setting down his paintbrush next to the palette. 

“Are you done?” you ask him brightly. 

He smiles at you like you’ve just brought him the moon. 

“Yes, are you?”

“Yes. Ooh, I know! Let’s reveal them at the same time!”

You grab your canvas and hold it in front of you, ready to turn around for the big reveal. Silco copies you, albeit less eagerly than you.

With your three second countdown, you both turn your paintings to show the other.

And at the sight of Silco’s painting, you’re absolutely gobsmacked.

It’s stunning. 

He’s painted a portrait of you, somehow capturing you perfectly despite its abstract style. 

The strokes of colour and shade that all come together to illustrate your likeness are nothing short of masterful. 

“What the actual fuck?” you deadpan, your entire expression dropping. 

“I beg your pardon?” he frowns. 

“That is the most beautiful painting I have ever seen. Who the hell are you? I thought you were a scary crime lord, not a mysterious artist,” you ramble, stunned at how he’d managed to paint something so impeccable in such a short time. 

He rolls his eyes at your candour and sets the painting carefully on the desk.

Caught up in your shock at Silco’s hidden talent, you’d completely forgotten to observe his reaction to your own painting.

You look down at it, now slightly embarrassed at how much more skilled he was.

Luckily for you though, you’re not that embarrassed. Besides you had other, much more important skills in your toolbelt. You know, like being able to sell a second-hand spatula to an accomplished chef. 

You awkwardly hold out your painting to him as a gift and he takes it from you slowly, his lips thinning ever so slightly as he does. 

“This is… lovely, darling… thank you,” he says, struggling to keep a straight face as he looks at the painting closely. 

It’s a good thing you adore this man, because otherwise you’d be secretly emptying all the ink from his pens in retaliation. 

“Oh, piss off,” you smack his arm lightly, annoyed because he never speaks to Jinx this patronisingly.

One more glance at his ridiculous expression and you burst out laughing, which Silco joins in with straight away.

Okay, maybe your painting skills needed a bit of practice…

And you know just the teacher.

“Where’d you learn to paint like that?” you ask, when you’ve finally stopped giggling, gesturing to the canvas. 

“I spent many a night defacing Topside buildings in my youth and discovered that I have a knack for it,” he explains with a wistful look. 

“Well, it’s gorgeous,” you tell him genuinely, secretly hoping he’ll give it to you. 

You want to put it up where you can look at it everyday, even if some would consider it a little bit narcissistic to admire a portrait of yourself. 

“I had a gorgeous muse,” he responds coyly, his lips curling into a smug grin. 

A deep red blush spreads across your cheeks at his obvious flirting. 

Damn, when did this bitch get so smooth?

Silco begins to gather up the paintings, ready to leave, and you let him, lost in thought.

Truthfully, you’re not sure how much longer you can ignore this overwhelming feeling inside your chest every time you interact with Silco like this. 

It’s not like you can use your typical method of throwing yourself into work to distract yourself because he was both your boss and your housemate.

And what’s worse is that you’re not sure if you even want to distract yourself any longer…

Not when life feels this good in his presence. 

-

You don’t have to wait long to find a solution to your growing feelings and it comes out of an entirely unexpected situation, to say the least. 

Standing in the middle of a cold warehouse, you listen with growing apathy to a rude client as he begins to rant and rave when he suddenly realises the deal isn’t going his way.

I mean, it’s not your fault he wants to pay next to nothing for the, quite frankly, excellent protection he’d be receiving in exchange for the job Silco needs doing. 

Fortunately for you, you’re not alone in this meeting, grateful to have Silco standing right next to you.

You think you might have already gone mad by now if you couldn’t feel his warmth beside you.

The client soon begins to graduate from ranting about the price, to openly insulting you, perhaps in a strange attempt to neg you into reducing the cost?

But being used to insults after working for so long in customer service, you ignore it, instead focusing on the infinitely more important train of thought presiding in your mind…

What you’re going to have for dinner when you get home.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can tell that Silco is getting more and more enraged at the man’s words, but it’s only visible to you because you know him so well. To anyone else, he looks just as bored and disinterested as ever. 

His hands are clasped a little too tightly behind his back and you can tell by the slight twitch in his cheek that he’s biting the inside of his lip. All the signature tells of Silco’s growing ire. 

You begin to wonder what’s making him so irate. Surely, he’s used to people trying to take advantage of a good deal by now?

With a sigh, you open your mouth to make an attempt to placate the client, when the man rudely cuts you off, choosing instead to turn his attention to Silco.

“You know, I could run this city much better than you, you scrawny little bastard,” he says with a sneer,  “You’re no better than a cockroach.”

And with that one little comment, you see red.

When you think about it later, you find it really quite funny that you couldn’t care less when the man was insulting you, but the very second he’d decided to verbally attack Silco, you absolutely lost it.

You don’t even fully realise what you’re doing as you reach your hand under Silco’s coat, your fingertips grazing his thigh as you grab the knife strapped there and pull it from its holder.

Now brandishing the knife out towards the man, you briefly remember that you don’t even know how to fight, let alone use a knife, but you reason that it couldn’t be that difficult…

I mean, you were pretty proficient at cutting slices of cheese at 2am in the kitchen, so it couldn’t be that much different… right? 

Just, you know… more stabby stab than slicey slice?

You prowl closer to the man, holding out the knife threateningly. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t have the intended effect (ie: making the man wet himself like a little boy).

He smirks. 

“Is that supposed to scare me?” the man laughs cruelly, before looking over to Silco in amusement, “Where’d you find this pissy little bitch?”

In a flash, Silco kicks him in the stomach hard, and before you know it, guards have surrounded you both, and are holding the man down as he tries to break free from their grasp.

Within seconds, he manages to twist out of their hold and he lunges towards you, forcing you to take a few startled steps back, clutching the knife handle until your knuckles go white. 

Luckily, the guards manage to tackle him again before he can get any closer to you, and the goons who were guarding the entrance join them in detaining him, ensuring he couldn’t get free again.

You stare at the man’s feral expression in absolute terror. 

What the hell have you gotten yourself into? you think as you watch the man scream out, like he’d suddenly been possessed. 

You used to work at a relatively peaceful market and now you’re getting threatened and attacked meeting after meeting.

Is this really what you signed up for? 

Vaguely, you think you hear Silco barking out orders, but you can’t hear what he’s saying over the deafening sound of the blood pumping in your ears.

You stand there breathlessly, allowing the adrenaline to rush through you. 

Truthfully, you’re not sure how long you stay in that frozen position. To you, it could have been minutes, or it could have been hours. 

In the distance, you begin to tune into the sound of somebody repeatedly saying your name, until you realise that it’s not in the distance at all.

It’s Silco. And he’s right in front of you, looking terribly concerned. 

It’s enough to snap you out of it, but all you can do is stare blankly at the intricate details on his waistcoat, bewildered.

A quick glance around the room reveals that you’re alone, sans guards and rude client. 

You hadn’t even noticed them leaving. 

“Darling,” Silco says gently and you look up at him, your eyes wide. 

His hand carefully covers yours and his thumb rubs soothing circles against your skin.

“Sweetheart, let go of the knife,” he tells you softly.

You realise you’re still clutching it, hard enough that it’s starting to hurt, so you slowly let him take it from your grasp.

Once it’s gone, your knees almost buckle in relief.

It’s only after you’ve taken a few deep breaths that you realise just how concerned Silco looks as he visibly examines your trembling form. 

“Let’s get you home,” Silco says quietly, after he’s tucked the knife away safely in his pocket.

He carefully wraps an arm around your waist and your shoulders, and leads you out of the warehouse and into the carriage.

-

Less than half an hour later, you’re both sitting on the sofa in his office, trying to calm down after the events of the disastrous meeting.

But despite being completely out of danger, your body is still coursing with adrenaline. In fact, it’s probably worse now because the shock has worn off and all you want to do is run a mile or beat up a whole gang or repeatedly kick a toy poro across the room. 

You’re so fired up, you’re barely listening to Silco ramble as he sits beside you, running a hand through his now messy hair. 

“Darling, you must realise that you can’t just take my knives like that; do you even know how to properly wield one?”

He doesn’t pause to let you answer. 

“Of course you don’t. Tell me, what do you think would have happened if he’d disarmed you and turned the knife on you?”

If you were thinking properly, you would have realised by his tone and body language that he wasn’t upset with you, but rather himself. 

But you’re far too worked up to pick up on any nuanced social cues like that. 

“I could have taken him!” you exclaim, “I had to do something, he was insulting you!”

Even thinking about the abusive way the man had spoken to Silco makes your blood boil again.

“You know what, where is he? Is he in the basement? I’m going to teach him a lesson,” you rant, shuffling your body to the edge of the sofa so you can storm out, but Silco grabs you and pulls you back before you can.

You barely take any notice.

“I don’t care if I get injured, I can handle it,” you ramble, your hands gesturing wildly as you begin to rival Silco in his monologuing abilities. 

“You know, one time I caught a guy stealing from my market stall and I chased him all through the market and I tackled him to the ground and yes, maybe I twisted my ankle doing it, but I still got the measuring scales back, because you know what, I’m That Bitch and I could-”

You’re cut off by Silco grabbing your face, pulling you towards him, and pressing his lips onto yours desperately. 

You freeze and a dial tone replaces any thought in your brain. 

…Oh, fuck. 

Oh, fuck.

Silco is kissing you. 

Like, right now.

And you know what, he’s damn good at it.

You’re immediately struck by how wonderful it feels to finally have his lips on yours, a warm, fluttery feeling spreading through your chest.

In fact, it’s even better than the feeling you got the first time you sold a pair of pizza scissors on the market stall, which felt phenomenal because literally nobody buys pizza scissors.

And if that felt phenomenal, then this definitely feels celestial. 

You suddenly realise that your brain had gotten a little bit sidetracked when Silco pulls away from you, frowning at your lack of response.

Shit, did you forget to kiss him back?

He scans your face, his own beginning to drain of colour as he tries to stutter out an apology. 

“I- I apologise, I was-” 

Ignoring his words, you grab the back of his head and pull him back towards you, capturing his lips in your own passionate kiss. Silco responds immediately, his hands deftly weaving through your hair to keep you close as he matches you move for move.

And by the way he harmonises with every shift of your lips and your tongue, you’re almost convinced that you were made for each other. 

Fuck, he’s absolutely perfect. 

When you finally begin to run out of air, you both pull back, staring at one another breathlessly. 

Unfortunately for him, you recover first. 

“Well, who knew the Eye of Zaun was such a good kisser?”

You expect him to frown, acting stern as a mechanism for concealing his embarrassment, but he surprises you by smirking knowingly at you.

“I’ve also been told that I have lovely hands,” he drawls, his eyes lingering on your kiss-bruised lips. 

It takes you half a second to recall just where you’d heard those words before and your expression drops into one of indignance.

“Hey! That’s not fair, I had a double concussion, which is like, ten times worse than a regular concussion,” you exclaim, smacking his arm lightly. 

Silco gives you a pointed, almost incredulous look. 

“Your math is atrocious.”

You have to bite your lip to keep yourself from grinning. 

“Stop it! I’m all flustered because you just kissed me!” you say exaggeratedly, crossing your arms in a pretend huff, “And I only said that thing about your hands because I’d just been through the traumatic experience of meeting you.”

“If I recall correctly, you quite literally fell for me,” he smirks, his hands beginning to draw circles on your hips in a way that was far from innocent. 

Of course he was implying that you collapsing onto him in the warehouse happened because you were swooning over him. And not, you know, the head trauma. 

“Oh, shut up, you little-”

You finish your insult by climbing onto his lap and pressing your lips against his once more, grumbling into the kiss. 

You quickly decide that this new distraction technique was much more efficient than bribing him with nicotine, that’s for sure. 

And even as he tries to deepen the kiss, pulling you closer than ever, you can feel Silco smiling against your lips. 

It’s everything you’d been waiting for and more. 

PART 7

-

A/N: they finally did it!!! They kithed!!!! 

i hope this chapter was okay, pls don’t march down my street with pitchforks and torches if you hated it…i’m just a lowly little goblin writer, my diet consists solely of comments and consistently disappointing my parents

Okay, i love you, see ya later

-el x 

-

Tag list: @htmlbitxh @pinkrose1422 @jennithejester @wondermia69 @redskull199987 @paradoxdraggon @ariaud @ruthdied

#silco #silco x reader #silco x f!reader #silco x you #silco fic #silco arcane #part 6

[struggling-with-time]

The Man That Is Wilbur Soot [Wilbur Soot x reader]

Paring: c!Wilbur Soot x Gender neutral!reader

Summary: Inspired by the Song Honey Honey by ABBA aka I took the line "I'd heard about you before I wanted to know some more"

Warnings: Fluff?

Words: 3.4K

Masterlist: Wilbur’s Masterlist - Event Masterlist - Full Masterlist

A/N: This was made for my ABBA event. Check it out here! (Also requests are still open! Click here!) btw, this was supposed to be like 1k

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

You had heard about Wilbur Soot before. Everyone had heard about Wilbur Soot the President of L’Manberg. The guy who stood up to the Tyrant Dream of the SMP. And came out victorious, unlike the others whose life has been lost to the Tyrant, and their names to the passage of time.

You can’t say, he didn’t intrigue you enough, for you to set out on the dangerous journey that is crossing the SMP. Because he did. His country did. The ideals that you’ve heard about did. Everything intrigued you enough to leave your village behind and track into the world.

So that’s what you did, backpack on your shoulders, map in hand. You set into the big world, on the tracks to the dangerous country that the SMP is. You barely get out of the village before you are able to hitch a ride.

It’s a merchant that is headed for one of the villages closer to the border. It’s a bigger village than your own. The name rings a bell, maybe a traveller has mentioned it when passing by. So you hitch the ride, he tells you about his trades. He’s a merchant of fabrics, listing many places you haven’t even heard of. But there is one that catches your attention.

“You’ve been to L’Manberg?”

“Before it became independent yes.”

“Tell me about it!”

And the merchant does, for the entirety of the ride. He talks about the few people that resided there when he passed through the back then settlement. You beg him to tell each detail he can remember. And he happily provides. You take note of every you hear in your notebook. Your travel journal. Your… well diary.

He’s a good man, you note to yourself when he pulls into the bigger villages. The sun on the horizon.

You’re much further than you thought you would be on your first day.

This is going to be a good trip.

---

This is going to be a horrible trip.

You’ve been wandering for days, the closer to the border of the SMP, the fewer carts had come by, and even fewer willing to take a traveller with them.

You sigh as you watch the sun starting to set, and you are forced to make camp once more. It has been days since you last slept in a bed. To be exact 16 days. You had only managed to stay in an inn for the first night, realising your small amount of money wouldn’t get you far if you spent it all on beds.

You are reminded of the people whom you met that first night, a girl who talked about how President Soot had come by the town in his own travels to the SMP, and she had met him. No not just met him. She had spent the night with him.

And you just couldn’t help yourself, you had to quill your curiosity somehow, so you had once again asked for details, and she had provided.

The fire you get going is better than the last one. Not that the last one had ever turned into a fire. It had rained in the morning, and most of the wood you could find yesterday was still wet by the time you wanted to settle down.

But today, you had been lucky, it had been sunny all day, leading to being able to find dry sticks and a couple of pieces of logs. That you could make into a fire.

A clear stary night over your head as you turn in for the night. Hoping to get at least a couple of hours out of the fire to keep you warm. And to keep the mobs away. Knowing you still have a couple of days of wandering left before you will reach the borders of the SMP. You sigh as you jolt down the few interesting pieces of the day in your notebook.

Not that anything of importance actually happened. But maybe out there someone would read your notebook and find the fact that you saw a parrot in a birch forest be found interesting.

---

You have under half a day of walking left when a cart is willing to pick you up. Turning the hours of walking into a mere hour in the cart. You can feel yourself squirm in your seat as the silence falls upon you and the woman who picked you up.

“…So… Why are you heading to the border?”

She lets you sit in silence.

Rude much?

But… You can’t really call her rude, she was nice enough to pick you up and take you to the border. Where she very unceremoniously dropped you off, and headed off east, seemingly following the border never crossing it. She was… weird.

You instead tighten your back, and head over to the guarded tollbooth. A man looking bored out of his mind and close to sleep sits there. Not even having registered the cart that was there moments ago.

How often do people come through here?

The thought crosses your mind. You know it isn’t one of the main border entrances. You know of one that lies further west. But still, a good 2 to 3 days travel away. Besides you’re pretty sure someone told you the toll at the busy entrances is higher than the ones people rarely use.

But now that you are here and can read the price yourself. It seems the person had either lied to you, or the price at the main entrances are a lot higher than you could ever think about paying.

An idea strikes you, maybe… Just maybe… The guard will fall asleep. Just maybe. You linger on the side of the road. Seemingly interested in the plants nearby. You start jotting down stuff in your notebook. Taking note of the size of the leaves, the colour. You mumble the information to yourself.

Your eyes keep glancing over, as his head slumps down further and further.

It barely takes you a few more minutes of stalling before the guard is full-on snoring. You barely catch yourself nearly letting out a sound in victory.

Silent. Right. No noise.

You can do this. You can sneak past him. You can be silent.

You suck in a breath, as you start moving as slowly as you’ve ever done in your life. Hoping to the sky gods the slowness helps you with being silent. And it does, to some extent. But your backpack still rustles around, and the loose stones on the pathway still skirt across the dirt.

But he keeps sleeping, and before you know it, you’ve managed to sneak past him. Sneak into a country. You did it!

You decide your celebration is best celebrated far from here, and you make your way on the now stone path.

---

It takes you a couple of days before you hit your first village. You’re surprised by this. Normally there is a city around half a days’ time from most border crossings. But this is the SMP. The fact that its citizens aren’t exactly allowed to leave. Is more than public knowledge in other countries. They are under the rule of a Tyrant after all.

You figure it’s time to sleep in a real bed, you deserve it.

You head straight into the in, it’s barely past lunch, but there is a plentiful of people in there already. You stumble a bit at the sight, you had expected a couple of patrons, not a room full of people. But nonetheless, you make your way to the bar.

Conversations bustling around you, a waiter running around, and either the innkeeper themselves behind the bar, or just a barkeeper. You aren’t exactly sure. But you wave them down anyway. Maybe she can help you find the innkeeper and ask for a room.

“Well, hello there, you look exhausted.” Your shoulders sink further down at the comment. Did you really look that bad?

“I was wondering if you had a room I could rent?” you ignore the rude comment and stick to politeness.

“I figured.”

“… So um… Do you have a room free?” You try once again.

“Sorry hun, but if you hadn’t noticed we are full right now.” You completely deflate at the answer. In return, she takes pity on you. “But if you ask around over at the stables, someone might let you on as a passenger and take you to the next city. It’s half a day by cart, so you might just catch one if you’re fast.”

You beam up that answer, profusely thanking her, before running back into the street. Before realising you have no clue where the stables are.

It takes you two people, and three wrong turns to find the stables. And nobody is preparing any carts when you get there. Just a guy saddling his own horse.

Ah well, it never hurts to ask.

You approach the guy.

“Hi!”

He looks a bit confused when you stand across from him, on the other side of the horse.

“Um… good evening?”

You smile at him.

“Can I help you?” He speaks slowly.

“Ah yes! Sorry! I’m a bit out of it. I’m trying to get to the next town over.” You happily tell him.

“And you’re telling me this because…” He trails off. Leaving time for you to answer, instead, you leave him hanging. Until he coughs.

“Because…” He repeats.

“Because I was thinking, maybe you were heading that way.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I can pay…” You try.

“Well then, why didn’t you start with that.” He looks you and your baggage up and down twice before clicking his tongue. “We can make this work. Do you know how to hold on?”

You nod, and he settles onto his horse, waiting for you to do the same. You manage to hoist yourself up and onto the horse. It doesn’t even flinch at the added weight. You’re thankful to the sky gods for that.

He rides the two of you out of town and onto the road for the next town.

“What’s someone like you this far out in the country?”

“I’m a traveller.” You tell him.

“To the border? So you could look at it and head home?” He snorts.

“No no, I’m not from the SMP, I’m just travelling through. I’m headed to L’Manberg.” He snorts once more.

“L’Manberg? That bunch of spoiled brats.”

“Spoiled brats?”

He laughs this time.

“Don’t you know?”

“Know what?”

“You truly aren’t from these parts.” He comments, and let the conversation fade out after that.

You don’t question the man, instead just pays him as the sun starts to set, and you are once again in an unfamiliar village. At this point, you barely remember the route you used to take in your home from your house to the baker.

Okay, that’s a lie, that is a route that is embedded into your mind, that you could sleepwalk it. For the sole reason that the route had you pass the library. Which was a place you spent a lot of time. Especially after finding out about the interesting man of Wilbur Soot.

Some books portrayed him as a traitor of the SMP, others the hero of the folk. But every single depiction had one thing in common. That he was an interesting enough man for people to want to write about him.

And that made you interested in him. He had started a revolution in a country that wasn’t his. You weren’t sure where he was from. None of the books in your village had mentioned that.

You head into the inn, this time, it’s bustling from evening patrons, but nowhere as lively as the one in the previous town. The reception this time has a separate table. Which you welcome happily. This means you don’t have to cross another sea of half-drunken people you don’t know.

However once again, the inn is full.

What’s going on here?

This one is even larger than the other one and seemingly has fewer patrons. But you take the rejection with a head held high. Thank them for their time, as you head into the now dark streets.

You sit now on a couple of steps, you’re tired, exhausted, and just want to sleep in a bed.

The door opens.

You nearly leave your skin in shock. You had expected the owner to be asleep. Instead, an elderly lady stands there.

“Would you look at that? It seems I have a guest.” She speaks.

“No no, I’m just passing through, I’m sorry I just needed to rest for a moment. I’m sorry. I’ll be on my way!” You ramble on as you scramble from the stone step.

“Nonsense.” She tsks at you. “Come in you poor child.”

She steps back into the house, leaving the door open.

“You coming? Close the door after you, it gets so terrible cold at night.”

You find yourself following her. Closing the door after yourself. You carefully put down your backpack as she ushers you into a seat in the kitchen. Setting a plate of hot steaming soup in front of you. You nearly drool at the sight. You can’t remember the last time you had warm food. Especially not warm homemade food.

You are quick to dig in, and she laughs warmly at you. You feel comfortable here.

“Why were you out in the street this late? That’s no safe place to be.”

You stop the spoon still in your mouth. She laughs once again, but the kind air around her never leaves. You swallow and pull out the spoon.

“I’m making my way to L’Manberg.” You tell her.

“Ah, L’Manberg. I’ve heard about that place. President Soot right?”

“Yes, yes.” You nod at her. “Wilbur Soot.”

“Ah, the Antarctic prince.”

You stop once again.

“The what?”

“The Antarctic Prince?”

You hum.

“Ah my dear, President Soot is the second born of King Philza from the Antarctic Empire.”

You stare at her; this was new information. She laughs once more. You are quick to grab your notebook and write down the new information. How had something this important not been mentioned before? This explains so much to you. And it eagers you even more to continue the trip.

The man of Wilbur Soot only seems to keep getting more and more interesting as each day passes.

The kind lady offers you a bed and a bath.

You are more than happy to receive both. Although you would never admit that to anyone that you could barely recognise yourself in the mirror. And for the second realisation that night. You understood why the innkeepers didn’t want you around.

You’ve never slept as good as you did that night during your travels.

---

You stretch as you can feel the scorching heat of the sun above you. It has been three weeks since you left the kind lady. She had asked for her son to help you move deeper into the country, so you were closer to the border you are desperately trying to reach.

You had travelled with her son for about a week, when he had to start heading more west than south, you had thanked him as much as his mother. But he had brushed you off that having a travelling partner was nice, and that you if came back through he would love to hear stories of the famous L’Manberg and its citizens.

The map you had brought seems to not be well mapped in the SMP. It wasn’t something you were unprepared for, but it did surprise you how little it truly resembled the mapping of the roads.

But a map is a map, and a destination is a destination. So you head onwards.

And onwards…

And onwards…

And onwards…

Sometimes meeting other travellers now that you are deeper in the countries. The nights where you aren’t alone passes faster than the ones where you are.

You hear stories of L’Manberg you have never heard before, and retellings of events but in other perspectives.

It seems a lot of people have a lot of opinions on the small country. But you understand, you too would have a lot of opinions if a city suddenly started wanting independence from its country.

It takes you weeks before you start coming across people who have been near L’Manberg regularly. It gives you a sign of hope. You’re getting closer, your journey is reaching its destination.

---

It’s storming the day you spot the country on the horizon. It’s still storming by the time you reach the country. The SMP toll guard is seemingly nowhere nearby and you pass the border with ease this time. Luckily for you. Or else you would have to explain why a traveller like you didn’t have travel papers.

You had expected to be met with one of the cities of the small country immediately. But it seems they are further from the border. And by further, it takes you an hour at foot-travel to meet the capital of the small country.

The streets are bustling.

That’s when it hits you.

You’ve made it.

You’ve actually made it.

You might look mad, but you let out a laugh right then and there. A laugh of relief. A laugh of victory. A laugh of … being alive.

“Having fun there?”

You turn around, to be met with the eyes of a stranger. A tall brown-haired stranger, nonetheless.

“Yeah, I just… Yeah.” You trail off. You eye him up and down, he’s cute. You put your hand out to present yourself, your name, the country you came from, and the name of the village you used to live in.

“Wilbur Soot, President of L’Manberg.” He returns with a smile. You barely listen to his words. Too captured by his smile. When…

Oh.

Oh, sky gods.

This is the man.

This beautiful human being of a man is the man.

“You alright there?” He asks as he watches you falter for a moment.

“Yes, yes, everything is fine. More than fine actually.” You tell him.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” You smile at him, and he smiles back.

“So, what are you doing here? You are an awful long way from home.”

He starts walking, and you fall in step with him.

“I’m here to see the country. I’ve heard a lot about it.” Leaving out the unsaid, I’ve heard a lot about you. He didn’t need to know yet, just how intriguing you found him.

You follow him down the street as he points a couple of things out, a couple of buildings, a couple of people. You listen and stop to note something down a couple of times, and he waits, patiently. Until he leads you to the local inn.

He holds the door open.

“A drink?”

“Yes please.”

He finds the two of you a booth, and you easily fall into conversation.

He asks you about your hometown, you about his.

He asks about your journey, you ask about the revolution.

You continue this game of ping pong. And the further down your drinks you get, the more personal the conversation gets. The less you note down. Yet, the man himself never falters from being the most interesting thing you’ve ever encountered.

And the night moves along, your conversation following.

You don’t really know when his hand landed on your thigh. Or when your lips met his. But suddenly you’re stumbling into a room together.

His touch setting you on fire, and your touch egging him on.

Your head is spinning as your back hits the bed.

Your notebook is lying tucked away safely in your backpack, staying there all the way into midday when you finally wake up. Disorientated, confused, and hungover.

Sitting there in that bed, you can’t help but remember the words of the girl you met the first night. And you can’t help but agree with her. Wilbur Soot surely is a love machine.

You hear rustling beside you, and you turn your head.

He’s awake.

He’s watching.

He’s watching you.

You lazily smile at him.

And at that moment, there is nowhere else you would rather be.

You had heard about him before, and you wanted to know some more.

People later down the line found your meeting story anywhere from boring to fate. But one thing was sure, you entered L’Manberg with one goal in mind. And never left again.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

#wilbur soot #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x reader #c!wilbur soot x reader #c!wilbur soot #c!wilbur #c!wilbur x reader #c!wilbur fanfic #c!wilbur x you #c!wilbur soot x you #dsmp wilbur #dsmp #mcyt #mcyt x reader #fanfic #gender neutral!reader #delias own writing

[stiltonbasket]

au of an au for qin su!wwx where wwx is still in qin su's body but it's JYL who gets summoned back in MXY's body.

Jiang Yanli doesn’t know what she was expecting to happen after she died, but it certainly wasn’t waking up a few minutes later in a donkey shed with blood all over her robes.

She’d been stabbed, she remembers. Perhaps they put her in the first sheltered place they could find while the battle was still going on, and somehow missed the fact that she was still alive? Yanli reaches up to her chest and tries to feel her heartbeat; she is somehow very certain that she had died, since the look on A-Xian’s face when the sword went through her chest was--

But the memory remains unfinished, because Yanli’s hands are poking at her bosom, patting over her ribs one by one as she wonders when she became so thin. Her mother always complained about her narrow figure, even as she scolded her for eating so much when she was in her teens--and Madam Jin worried about how difficult childbirth might be before Jin Ling arrived, since her waist and hips were so skinny--but her breasts were never this flat, and her ribs never stuck out this much even when she was a child.

And then her fingers brush over the rounded lump at her throat, and reveal the truth in one devastating blow that brings Yanli to her knees.

This isn’t my body, she realizes, backing away from the bloody array on the ground and into the rickety cupboard standing against the wall. This is a man’s body.

___

Less than two hours after she wakes, Yanli escapes from the Mo estate in such turmoil that she almost forgets to take the donkey with her.

Keep your wits about you, she berates herself, dressing herself in the only set of spare robes she could find before squirming out of the shed’s high window and crumpling into the dust outside. Mo Xuanyu meant to bring back A-Xian, but that means that A-Xian is...

She blinks back tears, dragging the donkey down the road behind her as she reads over Mo Xuanyu’s letter again. The poor boy had been one of Jin Guangshan’s illegitimate sons, Jiang Yanli’s own xiaoshuzi, and Jin Guangyao had exiled him because he had learned the truth about Qin Su being his younger half-sister.

He was behind your death, too, the letter said. I believe he might even have organized Jin Zixuan’s assassination, since he most likely murdered our father, as well.

Jiang Yanli grits her teeth and pushes on. The single long cut in her arm throbs--a cut that will heal only when Jin Guangyao dies, according to Mo Xuanyu--but the sting is nothing to the twenty hours of sheer agony that was giving birth to Jin Ling, who turned out so big and chubby that she spent the first few hours of his life wondering how such an enormous baby could have possibly fit inside her.

How old would A-Ling be now? she wonders. Did Jin Guangyao and Qin Su bring him up, in mine and Zixuan’s place?

Oddly enough, she doesn’t find herself shying away at the thought of bringing Jin Guangyao to justice. She can probably count on Nie Mingjue to do the actual killing, if it comes to it; there was bad blood between the two even before she and her husband died, and quite frankly, she doesn’t blame Nie Mingjue for it.

A-Xian tore the men who killed the Jiang shidis and shimeis limb from limb, and she would expect no less from a man who watched Jin Guangyao kill his brothers-in-arms right before his eyes.

But then, why did they swear brotherhood after that?

It must have been for Zewu-jun’s sake, Yanli thinks wearily, when she finally stops at a river crossing and leads her donkey down onto the pebbly beach to take a drink. Though I doubt that Zewu-jun could have sworn brotherhood with anyone who had Lan blood on their hands, whether he owed them a life-debt or not.

Her stomach growls, and she searches in the donkey’s saddle-bag for something to eat just in case the owners of the Mo estate had left some bread or fruit there to coax the animal with. Her brief hunt yields a pair of shriveling apples, half-dried but not yet spoiled, so she washes down the fresher one with plenty of cold water and feeds the bigger, drier apple to the donkey.

“I think I’ll call you Apple,” she laughs, as it wolfs down the fruit before sticking its muzzle back into the bubbling stream. “Do you like your name, xiao-pingguo?”

Little Apple takes to the name well enough, and brays contentedly every time she calls it. They rest together by the river for an hour, with Yanli napping in the shade with Little Apple keeping guard; and she starts off again just after noon, hoping to find a main road that might direct her to a town and then towards the nearest cultivation sect.

Jiang Yanli has to admit that Yunmeng Jiang is out of the question: because as much as she loves her younger brother, she highly doubts that he won’t do something stupid if he thinks some nameless Jin exile is pretending to be her. And she certainly can’t go back to Lanling with Jin Guangyao still there, so her quarry will have to be the Gusu Lan clan. Hanguang-jun was friends with her A-Xian, and would surely hear her out for his sake if for nothing else; and Zewu-jun is not as hot-tempered as Chifeng-zun, meaning that Yanli will come to no harm even if Lan-zongzhu doesn’t believe her.

“Xiao-Pingguo,” Yanli begins, stepping over something silvery in the grass as the two of them head deeper into the woods, “how far do you think the--”

Suddenly, her legs go out from under her. Little Apple brays and backs away in alarm, tossing his head anxiously as Yanli struggles into a sitting position and tries to make sense of the fact that her donkey is now over ten feet below her.

“What on earth?” she mutters, biting back one of A-Xian’s favorite curse words as she takes stock of her current situation: trapped inside a net swaying far above the ground, and with no means of cutting her way free from it without breaking her own neck.

“It caught something!” Yanli hears a boyish voice shout, followed by the crackling of someone rushing through the forest and the twang of a drawn bowstring. “Duck, Yu-da-shixiong! I’m going to shoot!”

“You are going to do no such thing,” someone else drawls, with a hint of a sharp Northern accent that reminds her of her late mother. “At least see what you’ve caught, you onionhead. If your stupid nets managed to catch a Lan, you’ll have Chifeng-zun and Hanguang-jun dragging you to Jin-zongzhu for punishment. Chifeng-zun might even punish you himself, since he’s Jin-zongzhu’s sworn da-ge. Do you really want to take the risk?”

“No,” the first boy grumbles. “And anyway, it looks like it’s just--you!”

The sudden dislike in his voice makes Yanli look down, startled, and then the breath flies out of her body as the Jin disciple marches up to stand beneath her.

“Jin Ling?” she asks, her own voice cracking like shattered glass as the Jiang disciple mounts his sword and flies up towards her, presumably so that he can help her climb out of the net. “A-Ling--is it you?”

#wangxian #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #jiang yanli #qin su!wwx #my fic #HERE IT IS #THE LONG AWAITED JYL #*bows #prompt fill #the jiang disciple is yu xihan btw #our boy :') #please reblog guys i am begging

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Sacrifice: Part 1 (Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader)

synopsis: every year, an unwed maiden is sacrificed to the Dragon God, and this year, you've been picked.

wc: 1.5k

tw: none (y'all know how I love to do backstory before I get into anything heavy)

A/N: thank you to @sunfloweroranges for this AMAZING idea that just rocked my world. I've been thinking about this for days now, and I've finally begun to write it. Thank you, love bug. This story wouldn't be written without you. Seriously.

masterlist

Inhale.

Exhale.

The reminder to breathe is the only thing you can muster as you are being misted with ylang-ylang and sandalwood, the scents akin to that of a virgin on her wedding day. It’s only when the elders rub ashes on the backs of your hands that you are reminded of your true purpose at the temple.

“Yew trees signify death and resurrection,” your mother used to tell you when you watched this ceremony from your perch on your father’s shoulders. It seemed so long ago when you were innocent; the virtue like the mast of a sinking ship you now desperately cling to. But now, your nails are being removed from this sinking ship and are painted over with crushed berries, staining the nail beds reddish-purple.

“Turn around,” a woman croaks, and you turn to face yourself in the mirror offered by another old woman. You see remnants of who you used to be: the long hair kept from the years spent living as an orphan, the full lips decorated with red lipstick instead of bruises, and the slight upward tilt of your chin. You were not always this poor and downtrodden; it seems that the only thing the creditors and bill-makers couldn’t strip from you was the way you could see right through people.

Even yourself.

“Follow me,” another woman mutters, and you depart from the eyes of the waiting citizens of Lampai, if only for a brief moment. The elderly female - who shuffles down a corridor and into a private, empty room - seems sweet enough, but perhaps that was because she knew your fate and wanted to take pity on you in your last moments here on this earth. When she turns around to you, she reveals a large pendant necklace that she has to stand on her tiptoes to drape over your neck. It’s made of turquoise and gold - something you would have killed for before today - and she tucks it into your dress, hiding it from sight. “Turquoise stones for your protection, and gold to bring the dragon pleasure.” In all of your years watching this terrible raffle, you’d never seen a necklace so divine, so beautiful.

“Thank you,” you murmur. But also, you’d never seen a criminal such as yourself standing on the dais before mounting the horse that would take you up the mountain, never to return again. This was an unusual year, but you would take all of the help you could get.

You ponder your odds of survival as the woman leads you back to the dais, where you stand before your peers, hoping someone would speak up and plead for mercy on your behalf. You know if your mother and father were still alive, you wouldn’t be in this spot at all. They had bought you decades worth of protection from being picked for such a medieval practice, but once they died and the General Commissioner found out that you were homeless, broke, and a criminal… Well, here you stood as punishment for stealing food from a market, your first and only crime.

“Her maidenhood has been confirmed, and she is ready to ascend the mountain,” the elder announces with hands raised to the sky. The people below you cheer with excitement at the half-truth, prepared to commence their yearly commitment to the Dragon God.

One maiden sent up the mountain per year as a sacrifice.

One maiden meant one unmarried, untouched woman. Despite your short criminal stint, you fit that bill quite well. And what was easier than the General Commissioner sending you up the mountain to be eaten by a dragon? Putting you in jail? No, he’d have to feed you there. That was just too much humanity to spare.

As you mount the horse that will take you to your destination, you look over into General Commissioner Gakuganji’s eyes and raise your brows, daring him to speak to you. But he doesn’t and waves his hand so the temple women would get on with the ceremony. It’s obvious he wants to go home and eat his fill of food before the evening is over.

The horse is led up the path lined by magnolia trees by one of the male temple attendants, his eyes glued to the road ahead and not daring to look up at you: the sacrifice. You want to hop off of the horse and make a run for the surrounding brush, but you know that the mountain is treacherous without a means to get up or down. You’d be stuck forever, wandering around with no food or water until you finally collapsed and died somewhere.

Well, that’s if you’re not eaten by the Dragon God first.

At the end of the magnolia path, the male attendant stops, eyeing you over his shoulder.

“I can go no further,” he states, and you take the reins in your hands instead, not sparing him another glance. “Ride straight up the path.” With a grunt, you urge the horse onward by digging your heels into its flanks and note that the path ahead seems more desolate than the one behind you. There are no trees, no signs of life, nothing but rocks and dust.

And that’s when the fear finally sets in.

The background to your ascent is the sound of cheers from the other people below you - the safe people who wouldn’t have to endure the shredding of limbs by dragon’s teeth. If an outsider were watching the spectacle, they might assume that you were ascending the mountain to commiserate with the gods, then return a hero.

But - again - there is no return down the mountain in sight. Not for you.

_____________________________________________________________

Silence.

The echoing of the cheers died off an hour - maybe two? - ago. All you can hear is the soft clomps of the horse’s hooves in the dirt and your own breathing. There was nothing on this mountain in the mid-fall. Not even a sign of leaves or something that would indicate any form of existence had been around before the mountain was stripped of its features and made into the vessel for sacrifices to be delivered unto the Dragon God.

You’re starting to believe this god isn’t real around the third hour of the trip. The peak - a sharp apex - is nearing ever so slightly, looming above like a sharp dagger waiting to fall. The evening is just now coming to a close, but you feel every single moment drag out forever as the horse passes more desolation and untouched land. But when a long shadow ghosts over the dimming sunlight, you jerk up in the saddle and hold the reins tightly.

“Just a hallucination,” you mutter, looking about the sky for some sign of the long shadow’s source. When you look down at the horse, another long shadow darts across the sky, and a gust of wind blows harshly in your face. With a jerk, the horse shakes its head, but another gust of wind from behind you sends the horse into a panicked state, and he takes off at a gallop without warning. Your screams must certainly be heard down the mountain, but you’re holding onto the beast for dear life and nothing else matters anymore except the concept of survival.

At some point, you lose your grip on the reins and you’re tossed backward, landing in the dirt with a pained moan. Your back and neck are lit up in agony, but as you rise up from the ground, you notice the horse is gone.

Your horse is gone.

“No!” As panic sets in, you try to jump to your feet to see if you could possibly catch up to it, but as you amble up the path, you realize you’re completely screwed. Without the horse, you had no food, no water… nothing.

But when a long shadow paints itself across the ground in front of you, you do only what you know how to do.

Run.

Going back down the mountain seemed foolish, but you had no other option to escape whatever that shadow foretold of. If you could just get to the magnolia trees you could--

A strong wind knocks you flat onto your back and right underneath the shadow, and you cry out, seeing two pairs of golden talons attached to a beige underbelly descend upon you and snatch you up in their sharp grip. You’re taken up into the sky, and for a moment, you dare to look down at the receding ground. But your nerves throw you back into overdrive and you attempt to pry the talons from your arms but to no avail. Tears stream from your closed eyes as you contemplate your fate.

From here, the dragon’s nest. Then… death. This was the end. Images of your family flash before your eyes and you silently pray that whichever gods still exist would grant you the mercy to join your mother and father.

You open your eyes as the taloned creature sets you on your back in a field of grass, then lifts off into the sky once more. After you struggle to find your feet again - they’d gone numb during the short flight to this knoll - you look upward to see if you can locate anything familiar, any sign of another dragon, or something that could tell you where you are. But the flood of nerves and adrenaline comes crashing down and you careen backward, all five senses shutting off as soon as you hit the grass again.

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @jotazinha @leanne-tamashi @brownskinnedgirll

#geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen getou #geto suguru #jjk geto #getou x reader #getou suguru #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen

[glamorizingchaos]

Green Ribbons and Silver Pistols

Wild West AU Jack Daniels x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Rating: T

Warnings: Some Angst, mentions of guns, mentions of a previous relationship with a women but reader is GN. Please let me know if I missed any!

Summary: After hunting bounties, Jack decides to spend the night in a small town. There he is reminded of the past he's trying to get away from.

A/N: So I wanted to try my hand at a Writer Wednesday! (I know I’m late but let’s pretend it’s Wednesday yeah?) They always sound fun. Let me know if you don’t want to be tagged in this stuff! I wrote this pretty quickly so sorry if there are any mistakes.

@autumnleaves1991-blog @clydesducktape thank you for cultivating creativity and positivity!!! 💕

Masterlist

Jack’s hands tightened on the worn leather reins; the rough leather cracked from wear and tear. It had been a long few weeks. He could feel the weight of the coin purse tied to his waist as he rode towards the small town. This job was easier than most, he didn’t have to kill anyone this time. The petty robber barely put up a fight when Jack came bursting through the door and dragged his ass down to the local sheriff. Nope, the poor son of a bitch just trudged along behind Jack’s horse with barely a word.

So all things considered it was a good day. He had warm food in his belly and an easy job that gave him just enough silver to last through winter. Yet he still felt the familiar slump in his shoulders. The frown didn’t leave his face. All that coin he earned was from taking non-stop jobs. Anything he could find, any bounty big or small. Anything that pulled him away from home, where everything just reminded him of her. It’s been a year but he still can’t seem to shake her. She chose someone else. She didn’t want you. Move on.

But everywhere he went she was there. He couldn’t get away from her sweet smiles and contagious laughter. So he left. More like fled like a thief in the night, nary a word to anyone. Just a thunder of hoofbeats and a flap of his long dark coat in the cool night air.

The sun started to set and Jack continued west towards a small town to rest for the evening. The comforting lull of his horse's trot brought memories crashing over his senses; The feeling of the warm sun shining on his face, the sound of a soft melody on the breeze, a green ribbon nestled in a bundle of messy chestnut curls. He reached out to wrap a curl around his finger, but they slipped through his fingertips as quickly as the memories came.

Jack shook his head to clear his thoughts. His thoughts turned as cold as the evening air. That was a long time ago. That’s not my life anymore. With a squeeze of his thighs, he was off towards the flickering lights of the town. Away from his past. Far away.

As he strolled through the town he spotted the livery on the south side of the town. Hidden away from the ruckus of the saloons, brothels, and inns. The town is rife with travelers passing through and businessmen hoping to get fat on their coins.

Jack slowly lowered himself from the saddle, his back and legs sore. He paid the stable hand for a night and watched as the boy led his horse to her stall for the night. His horse is the one thing Jack took with him from his old life, he left everything else behind. She was a beautiful, haughty bay with a small white star on her forehead. During the day the sun made her body shine and the dapples that covered her body could be seen. She was clever and fierce, but as loyal as they come (as long as you had plenty of peppermints.)

Jack left the livery with his saddlebags in tow and headed towards the quietest inn he could find.

—

Jack slept well into the early afternoon the next day. Three weeks of non-stop riding, camping, and hunting takes a toll. He wasn’t exactly a spring chicken anymore. He picked up the porcelain pitcher and poured water into its matching basin. He quickly splashed water on his face and neck before leaning over to gather his shave kit. His face was getting a bit too prickly for his liking. So he lathered up the brush with soap and carefully spread it across his face and neck. He methodically dragged the straight razor across his tan skin until he was happy with the results. After he was done, Jack gave himself a good look in the mirror. Even though he slept in the bags under his eyes were still prominent. More wrinkles were forming around his eyes and lines on his forehead. When did I get so old? He thought to himself. With a sigh, he rolled up his shave kit and got dressed.

He stopped at the saloon to scarf down some bacon, eggs, and coffee before going to the general store. The bacon was burnt and the coffee was bitter, but it wasn’t cold canned beans or hardtack so he wasn’t complaining. The owner of the general store was chipper and greeted Jack with exuberance. The man was scrawny and had a bushy grey mustache and matching beard that covered most of his face, and was all too excited to spend Jack’s money.

Eventually, Jack was able to tear himself away from the general store and head over to the livery. He walked in but no one was there and his horse was not in her stall. His hand went to rest on one of his pistols and he quickly moved outside to look around. He soon found her standing tied to the hitching post in the back. They must’ve groomed her for me, Jack rolled his shoulders and stalked over to the horse.

He had expected to see the stable boy tending to his horse but what he found was a little girl, no older than seven, standing on a block braiding his horse's mane. Not only that, she was braiding a bright emerald green ribbon into it.

Jack couldn’t stop the yell before it left his throat. The little girl jumped with a cry and immediately detangled her hands from the mane. “What do you think you’re doing? Where are your parents?” Jack’s tone was harsh. Maybe a bit too harsh. Tears welled up in the girl's big blue eyes and he immediately felt a pang in his chest. It's not her fault. She's just a little girl who saw a pretty horse. “Shhh. I’m sorry for yelling’ darlin’. Where are your folks?” Jack eased his voice back to a soft tone.

Just then the stable boy rounded the corner, he probably heard Jack’s outburst. “Lilliana! You know you ain’t supposed to mess with the horses! Go home.” The boy yelled to the little girl who must be his sister. “NOW.” Jack watched as the little girl skittered off the block and around the barn. “I am so sorry Mister. My sister just likes to play with the horses, I can take that out-”

Jack stops him with a raised hand, “It's fine. I gotta get movin’.” The boy nods his head and rushes off to get Jack’s tack.

—

Jack spent time double-checking the saddlebags and tack before setting off. He reached under and cinched the girth of the saddle, making sure it was secure. He clambered up into the saddle and with a nod to the stable boy he was off.

About a mile out of town Jack’s eyes couldn’t help but wander to the half-finished braid. The emerald ribbon shining in the late afternoon sun against the dark black hair. He reached out with one hand and grabbed the end of the ribbon. He gently rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, he felt the smooth fabric and the coarse hair. He was lost in thought for a moment, just staring at the ribbon, his eyes unfocused and staring through the thin cloth.

Jack was yanked from his thoughts when he heard the cock of a gun behind him. He froze, dropping the ribbon back down to lay on his horse’s neck. He slowly tried to lower his hand down to the rifle attached to the front of his saddle, “Don’t even try it.” The voice behind him was firm and cold.

“Get off the horse. Slowly. Any funny business and there will be lead in between your eyes.” Jack obeyed the order. He raised his hands above his head and clumsily slid out of the saddle. He turned around slowly to face whatever bandit had him at gunpoint. His eyes widened as he saw you standing with a pistol pointed directly at him.

A smirk blossomed on your face, “Hiya handsome.”

Tagslist: @over300books @foli-vora @sharkbait77 @ikinmahlen @lordmotherofcats @mishasminion360 @queridopascal @lich1 @queridopascal @alberta-sunrise @jayda @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @wantingtobekorra @bxxbxy @andruxx @dobbyjen @floraandfrost @cowboy-turtle @nicolethered @mrsparknuts @almaeunice @drinkingwhileblogging @pintsizemama

Let me know if you would like to be added or removed!! 💕

#Writer Wednesday #jack daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x gn!reader #jack daniels x you #Jack Daniels fanfiction #Kingsmen golden circle fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfic #angst #agent whiskey #jack ‘whiskey’ Daniels #agent whiskey fanfiction

[whirlybirbs]

MOONLIT DUNES.    ;    boba fett / reader     ;     1 / ?

summary: you’ve found many things in the dunes. a gravely injured mandalorian is a new thing to add to the ever growing list. set directly after return of the jedi. 

word count: 3.5k

pairing: boba fett / scavenger!reader

tags: some body horror, injury mention, boba loses his leg, reader does first aid,  the great pit of carkoon really did one on our man

a/n: my hand slipped i swear.............. (this has been in the works since may)

In all your years spent drifting about the land of Tatooine, you’ve found many things in the dunes.

Rare racing pod parts that had been discontinued after years of upgrades... Discarded weaponry, no doubt used for something more nefarious than Bantha hunting... and many, many skulls, sentient and otherwise.

Such comes with the life of a scavenger — live off the land and the things buried deep; harvest trinkets of lives long since forgotten in the ever changing tides of glittering sand.

However, never in your life —  in all the days spent beneath the twin brother suns —  have you ever found someone alive in the dunes.

Until today, that is.

You should have known venturing North of Mos Eisley was a bad idea. After all, the plains beyond the space port were ridden with starved sarlacc pits. But, with Tanto — the resident Junk Boss — down your throat about catching up on your few owed debts, you’d decided to weigh the risk and trek on towards the looming beast on the horizon: the Great Pit of Carkoon. With any luck, you’d be able to scavenge what little undigested pieces the massive creature had belched back up — maybe some Gamorian armor, or a blaster or two — after one of Jabba’s usual disposal runs.

Ah, Jabba.

Rumor had it that Jabba Desilijic Tiure was dead.

You knew better than to ask about mere rumors being tossed around the clock-out lines as you turned in your hauls for the day. Like you did every evening, you kept your head down. But, you did listen. You always listen — and from what you could gather, there’d already been a few scavenging parties dispatched to the Northern region.

Something about a jedi, a princess and a hell of a mess.

Not that any of that mattered — because dwelling on some fantastical retelling of a lie by Frokop Golp, the resident drunk swindler, wasn’t going to keep you fed. You were hoping that at the least, the part about one of Jabba’s sail barges going down by the Great Pit of Carkoon wasn’t a lie. Then, you could maybe find a few transistor coolant coils...

The dawning realization that you were betting another day’s ration portion on a spun half-truth embellished by the local drunkard hits you as your dewback, a kindly older male you’d named Scud, finally reaches the crest of the highest dune overlooking the Carkoon wastes. For a moment, as you squint into the setting sun, you wonder if this is even going to be worth it.

You sigh, adjusting the light linen face covering over your nose and mouth, and gently urge Scud forward.

No use in dwelling. You’re already here.

“Hup.”

As you near, the wreckage seems to have been picked over completely. Scud plods slowly towards the wreck, tail swatting cautiously as the sarlacc a few meters ahead gives a low hiss at the vibrations riling it awake through the sand. You rock with the slow canter, one hand on the horn of the saddle and the other moving to reach behind you to your pack.

There rests a longspear — the top is crowned with the head of a gaderffii. You’d made it ages ago, well before your fifteen birthday, and it had become as much as a steadfast companion as Scud himself. With a flick and a satisfying click, the longspear extends from it’s compacted state. Resting the butt end against your forearm as Scud continues his meandering pace, you run the spear tip through the sand to your left.

No give.

The dunes creating a wall around the beast’s mouth stand strong. Over the large ridge, and a handful of meters away, tentacles swing eagerly through the air like malicious little whips, hungry for their next meal. The hulking beast, well over 10,000 years old, knows you’re here now — the desperate moan from it’s gaping maw is enough of an indication of that fact.

For now, keeping your distance and guiding Scud towards the barge, you’re safe.

The party barge had certainly seen better days — seems like a bolt from the main gun had ruptured a fuel line below the deck. Half submerged in an encroaching dune, you’re not surprised to be greeted by the foul stench of sun-rotting corpses as you hop down from Scud. Your boots, made of stretched and tanned Bantha hide, kick up a cloud of dust when you land.

Even with the twin suns beginning to set, the sand is hot.

There are footpaths leading to the barge, partially washed away by the wind pulling the sand closer to the mangled helm of the ship. Patting Scud’s neck as you pass, you grip your staff tightly — one tap of the durasteel spear to the twisted hole in the starboard side sends a scattering hiss of a pack of womp rats caught lounging in the evening shade. Carefully, you duck beneath the warped siding and over the lip of metal, eyes flicking around the cavernous sail barge.

The engine room is where you find yourself… or, well, what’s left of it. The engine has since bottomed out of the barge, no doubt laying in the dunes a few meters away. The smell of propulsion liquid burns in your nostrils, even with your white linen head-covering wrapped tight across your face.

You move on, hauling yourself towards the engine and grabbing two of the smaller propulsion pistons from the transmission. You swing your staff across your shoulder. The strap digs into your neck as you lean into the engine and try to disconnect the main hydraulic line from the engine part.

There’s a part of you, small and girlish, that remembers being scared of dark wreckages like this when you were younger. The terrifying scenario of stumbling into a krayt dragon’s nest used to play over and over in your head; and even now, the irrational little thought nags the back of your mind like a bite from a sand flea. What was rumbling beneath the sand, ready to make you its next meal?

In reality, the most likely scenario would be Tusken scouts roughing you up over encroaching on their territory.

Scud, though, you trusted enough to give holler at the sight of another being — skittish was one of his best traits, especially when sometimes the biggest danger out here in the dunes (aside from sarlaccs) was other sentients.

If the Kiqan tribe spotted you this far out? At worst, you’d lose some of the scavenged parts from earlier in the day as a barter. The Kiqan, the tribe local to this region, knew well enough that the majority of scavengers meant well. Unlike some of the tribes native to the Western lands, the Kiqans have come to terms with the traffic coming in and out of Mos Eisley.

Their chief, a broad and strong woman called Rhaza’hoq, led a clan of twenty Tusken men and women. On more than one occasion, you’d crossed paths with her — you’d come to recognize the womp rat jaw as a part of her head covering and a pelt of bantha donning her shoulders. Though their native tongue felt wrong to you, like prying dry sounds right from your throat, you’d tried to apologize for your trespass.  

That seemed to have been enough respect garnered for the chief to allow you to pass through the Bo’mar Flats in peace. You’d even offered up an armful of rifle components as a gesture of good faith — one you haven’t regretted since.

If they were to catch you here, you’d lose a good lump sum of money. The two battered sheets of durasteel strapped to the side of Scud, each four feet by four feet, would catch a fair price at the Junkyard in Mos Eisley. So, you quietly resign your attempt to dislodge the third propulsion piston and shoulder the two others. Your sack swings heavily against your hip as you plant your boot on the lip of the engine and reach through the hole the ignition blast caused in the floor.

Almost as immediately as you haul yourself up do you regret it.

The smell is wretched, and as you cough and gag you can’t help but recoil in disgust.

Your arrival on the main floor of the sail barge brings with it the cacophonous sound of cave beetles wings; the insects scatter as you press your forearm to your face — you’re left only to stare in horror at the sight before you.

Jabba Desilijic Tiure was very dead.

The infamous Hutt is little more than a snack for the various animals who have come and gone from the wreckage, now. Reduced only to a rotting mess of flesh and bones, you feel the swell of bile creep up into your throat as you tear your gaze away.

“Gods above,” you heave, coughing loudly.

That’s when you hear it.

A weak sound.

A strangled moan.

Small, quiet, and nearly nothing but a whimper.

For a moment, your muscles seize up so tightly that you're left holding your breath — was that you? Had that sound slipped from your throat the moment you’d let your eyes slip to the open windows along the starboard side of the ship, overlooking the Great Pit beyond the dune ridge?

Then, you see him.

It’s the single weak raise of a gloved hand in the dirt that spurs you into motion.

Scud, too, in that moment must have realized you both weren’t alone — he gives a great baying moan as you scramble, slipping through the whole and back down the engine. You scale it with ease, staff swung over your shoulder at the ready the moment your boots hit the ground.

You dart out into the sun, escaping the festering wreck, and bolt towards what you had previously thought was just a mangled, twisted piece of a rear booster. Making your way up the rising dune, you groan and push your muscles to reach what you now recognized as a destroyed jetpack — and beneath it, a man.

Your spear greets his body first, rounded butt end planting itself beneath his side and with one good nudge, rolling him over.

That’s when you realize he is very much alive and he is very much missing a leg.

Almost immediately, you sink to the dirt.

He’s big. His chest bears a cracked and scathed piece of armor. One arm, with a tattered sleeve and no glove, bears a shoulder pauldron with an insignia long since charred away. It seems like the entire left side of his body had been scorched by some sort of blast. His jetpack, mangled and shredded, is the first to go. You unbuckle the straps along his arms with an utterance of apology.

You’re greeted with a low groan. Slight protest.

Confusion.

His eyes do not open. Swollen eyelids stay shut.

Clicking your tongue and hollering in Huttese, your lumbering dewback trods closer.

His face is sunburnt, the plains of his sharp cheekbones blistering from the exposure to the sun and sand — though, something ticks in the back of your mind. These burns are fresh. From the last day at least. Suddenly, you’re wondering if he’s a fellow scavenger who’d fallen into the pit.

The jetpack would explain the escape.

You toss the pack down the hill.

You follow it, tripping down the sand towards the side of Scud as you scramble for one of the durasteel sheets. Laying it flat on the hot sand, you wonder how on earth this man had survived this long…. A day at least, judging by the sand swept around him and the burns along his arms and face. How long had he been in The Pit?

Gods above.

The Bo’mar Flats were not a kind place when left to the elements.

You land beside the man once more, this time speaking loudly.

“I am going to help you.”

You’re not sure if you’re saying it more for yourself or him.

There’s a part of you, as your eyes flick down to the stump of his left leg, that would give anything to turn away. Ride off, forget the gorish scene. Yet, the better part of you knows you’d simply come back come morning and do the same thing you’re doing now.

And then, come daybreak, he may not even be alive.

You tell yourself, as you squat and try and get a good grip, that you’re doing exactly what anyone else would do. But the reality is that’s far from the truth. Out here, it’s eat or be eaten.

With your luck, you’re stumbling into a metaphorical krayt dragon’s nest helping this man.

If only you knew.

You root both your fists in the material around his shoulders, worn enough to show the outline of where armor used to sit. And you pull.

It’s no easy feat. Even with gravity working in your favor, you’re struggling to haul the large man down the dune. The sand simply drags along, digging him into the dune as you curse in Huttese and spit out profanities sharp enough to make Scud shift on his peds. Your knuckles ache, fingernails having dug half moons into your palms through the material of his under-armor tunic. Landing backwards, you curse. But, you get back up again, and you pull.

It takes ten minutes to move him two meters to the durasteel sled downhill — and even longer to maneuver him onto the steel piece of scavenged material. By the end of it, you’re prying your scarf from your mouth to breath. Sweat tickles the back of your neck as your hands hit your knees and you groan.

“Koochoo,” you hiss at yourself in Huttese. Idiot is right. This is stupid.

Throughout this, the wounded man has offered nothing, not a single peep — you wonder if his last ditch hail of his hand was the only bit of energy he had left.

With him now on the makeshift sled, you move towards Scud’s left pack. Inside, you dig out your canteen and a spare bacta pack. The water sloshes around the hollow metal sphere. Once cold from your early hour of embarking, it’s warm to the touch.

It’s been a hot day.

Overhead, the twin suns have melted into a hazy coral color. They hang low across the horizon, suspended in a flickering bob of heat that dances across the clouds.

You fall to your knees in the sand. You need to move quickly. Soon, the sun will set and getting back to your hut just north of Mos Eisley is an hour’s ride at best.

The lower part of his left leg, from the knee down, is gone. The bleeding had long since stopped, clotted up from the sand and what looks like corrosive burns… Sure enough, the same patterning around his wrists tell you he sure as all kriff has been in the belly of the Great Pit of Carkoon. It’s the stomach acid that has melted the skin together just enough to halt the bleeding along his knee.

You exhale. Short and quick. Then, you pour your water across the limb.

That earns a loud groan of protest. Good to know he’s still alive.

The bacta is next, squeezed from the age old tube in a glob that lands above the wound. With an iron gut and quick sense of criticality, you rinse your own hands with water, all before holding your breath and pushing the palm sized amount across the mangled flesh and muscle. You try not to think about the way your own knee twitches, and instead, focus on planting your hand on the man’s chest — for the first time, he gives a true indication he feels it. The man writhes, contorting himself as a painful series of expletives fly from his mouth.

The chest plate buckles slightly, and when you lift your palm, the dirt smeared away shows a small emblem… Tan and green and red. What looks like wheat and a drop of blood…

It’s familiar, but you can’t remember why. You’ve seen it somewhere. Chewing the inside of your lip, you tear your eyes away and you move on. In a flash, you’ve hauled the linen head wrap from your hair. With the sun setting, you won’t need it as much as he will — keeping the sand out of the clean-enough wound will make a difference once you get him back to your home.

A part of you wonders if this man has any credits at all — truth be told you certainly don’t have enough to cover a visit to the local doctor. As you finish tying off his thigh, you reason that conversation is a bridge you can cross when you get there. For now, let’s just hope you can get him back to your dwelling alive.

Away from this wretched wreck.

By the time you’re mounted back up on Scud’s back, the suns have begun to dip below the dunes on the farthest horizon — the stars melt as they disappear, casting the shadows of the dunes in inky blacks. Behind Scud, the stranger is dragged, rigged to the saddle by two extending cables originally scavenged off an abandoned pod-racing setup, out by Bestine. The plating he rests on glides across the sand, leaving patterns in the dunes. You crane your neck, turning in the saddle, and frown.

There was certainly a first for everything.

⋆   ⋆   ⋆

Boba Fett wakes to the sight of a dirt ceiling.

The stirring confusion of unconsciousness subsides and almost immediately he is roused by pain — then comes the startling panic.

Is he dead?

Where is he?

What in the hell happened?

This is not the barge; there is no Luke Skywalker here, nor Solo nor the Wookie... The Pit… He’d fallen in. Yea, yea, he remembers that. But, he got out. Jetpack punctured. Flew him straight into the air. Burns. That’s the pain he feels. Burns? Yes. His back.

His leg. Something feels different. An ache. He tries to move his feet.

Boba groans, angled features contorting into a pained look as he tries to sit up on the cot; but suddenly, there’s a hand on the center of his chest. Gently, the hand pushes him down to the pillows.

Slowly, dark brown eyes follow the hand. Wrist, arm, shoulder, face.

Headscarf.

The first thing he realizes is that your eyes are beautiful, but soft. There’s kohl lining your eyes, making your stare piercing. Your brows are knotted in concern, and though he cannot make out the words that fall from your lips, he can understand the tone to be gentle. You’re speaking Huttese.

… Gods damn it all.

The Hutts.

Jabba.

Son of bitch was probably dead. He’s sure that the Desilijic Clan will have something to say about that.

Boba’s eyes slip shut as he exhales.

Sleep takes him easily.

⋆   ⋆   ⋆

When he wakes again, it’s evening. There are candles burning in the room, and once his eyes adjust he can make out your figure through a blanket covering the doorway at the end of the room — through the crack, he can see that you’re cooking over a small stove-top. He is laid up in the bedroom, he realizes, and on the floor across from the cot he lays upon is a pile of pillows.

You must have been watching over him.

Instantly, he’s looking for his blaster.

Call it a habit.

The mere act of bending sends pain shooting up his spine; and Boba finds himself gritting his jaw tightly as his knuckles tense and he tries to see any remnants of his armor or pack or weapons.

The commotion summons you in a flash.

This time, you have no headscarf on; Boba can now see the swell of your lips and the kind slope of your nose. You’re beautiful — his bruised and bloodshot eyes follow you as you glide into the room and duck beneath the patterned blanket separating the bedroom from the kitchenette.

There’s a plate of food in your hand. A fork and a knife rest on the edge of the painted plate.

“Careful,” comes a gentle utterance as you place the food beside his head on the table there, “Take it easy.”

Your basic is dashed with the light accent of Huttese. The syllables are melodic and gentle. You reach to help him into a sitting position, keen on making sure he’s comfortable —

Like a sand viper, the man before you has snatched the knife from the plate, swinging his hand quickly with a lethal sense of precision that stuns you silent. The coolness of the durasteel utensil is pressed right to your throat.

You can see the muscles in his arms tense, the sharp rise and fall of his bare chest. The blanket across his lap has slipped to his waist. Your jaw tilts upward, expression souring quickly. The kindness in your eyes quickly turns to ice.

When you raise your eyes to meet his, all Boba can see is defiance.

“Who are you?” he grits out hoarsely, “And how did I get here?”

“I found you,” you hiss, words scathing and hot as you raise both hands. There’s a wrinkle forming on the bridge of your nose, giving way to the angered expression flooding your face, “I’m beginning to see why The Great Pit of Carkoon spat you back up.”

The tension that builds settles heavily between you both.

And then, Boba Fett lowers the knife.

#moonlit dunes #boba fett x reader #boba x reader #boba fett imagine #boba fett x you #boba fett reader insert #star wars imagine #mandalorian imagine #I CANNOT HELP MYSELF

[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 1/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall Summary: The year is 1886, William Mulder owns a horse ranch in northern Texas.  The widow of a neighboring landowner has something he wants. Notes: Please be aware that this fic will contain ‘off-camera’ references to violence and abuse of various kinds. I will not be tagging individual TWs on the chapters.

Prologue

Many years from now, when he tells the tales of his younger days, he will claim that this is the day that changed his life forever.  If that horse hadn’t thrown a shoe, well then.  His wife will roll her eyes at this, tell him that any number of events prior to that day had already changed his life forever.  The decision to leave Massachusetts for the open prairie, for example, had changed his life forever.  The fact that his father had sent him to live with his aunt in the countryside instead of keeping him in the city had changed his life forever.  The pony he received for his birthday when he was a child had clearly changed his life forever.

All of that will hindsight one day.  Right now, it’s just an ordinary Thursday, the 9th of September, 1886.  The weather is mild, almost cool compared to the heat wave that had hit in the latter half of August.  And William Mulder’s horse has thrown a shoe.

Chapter 1

Normally, Mulder (only his family ever called him William) sends his ranch hand, Melvin, to take care of small errands and menial tasks, but he hasn’t been to town in almost a month and he could use a change of pace.  He hitches one of his more reliable horses to his wagon and takes one of the ones in training as well, one he’s just broken in, to see how he handles on the hour-long ride.  Their first stop is Gray’s Blacksmith.

After tying the horses to the post, Mulder gives them both a good scratching about the neck for a job well done and receives a snort and whinny of appreciation.  “Well done, boys,” he says.  “Carrots and apples at home for both of you if you keep up the good work.”

The familiar sound of clanking and hammering and the crackle of fire greets Mulder as he steps into the open door of the blacksmith’s.  He tips his hat to the striker, who nods a greeting.  The blacksmith turns and nods as well.

“Mr. Gray,” Mulder says.

“Mr. Mulder,” the blacksmith answers, passing his tongs to his assistant and then removing his gloves to shake hands.  “What can I do for ya?”

“Faithful Jenny’s thrown a shoe.  Melvin’s fixing her up, but I figured it was a good time to pick up a crate of nails and shoes.”

“Come on back and take a look then.  How’s business?”

“Doing well.  We’re training up a half dozen draft horses for the postal service right now.”

“Is the rumor you pulled in a mustang a few weeks ago true?”

“Afraid so.”

“You ain’t got a broken neck far as I can tell, so you must be faring alright with him then.”

“You can see him for yourself when I take this cart out to the wagon.”

“You brung him with ya?”

“I did.”

“I’ll be.”

Mulder feels a surge of pride when the blacksmith comes out to admire the horse.  He slides the crate of shoes and nails into the back of the wagon and then shows off his friendship with the four-legged beast by rubbing his belly.  The horse scratches the ground with his front hoof and shakes his head.

“You sure got a way, Mr. Mulder,” Mr. Gray says.  “If you got any stock you’re looking to sell I heard there’s a new homesteader a ways south that was interested.”

“I’m on my way to the mercantile.  I’ll be sure to ask John.”

The two men shake hands once again before Mulder gets back in his wagon.  He smiles to himself when the blacksmith watches him leave.  He’s made a name for himself in the short while he’s been here breaking and training up horses.  Folks in the area have said time and again that there isn’t a horse he can’t tame, that it’s almost downright spooky the way he seems to be able to talk to them.

There’s a man being waited on in the mercantile that Mulder doesn’t recognize, probably someone just passing through.  He waits for John Byers to finish with the customer, browsing the Montgomery Ward & Co. catalog at the end of the counter.

“Mulder,” John says after ringing the man up at the till.  “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, John.”  He pulls a shopping list from his pocket and unfolds it.  “I’m sure you’re better at translating Melvin’s chicken scratches than me at this point.”

“I believe I can manage.”  John chuckles and takes the shopping list.  He pulls a crate down and begins to collect items off the shelves and William goes back to the catalogue, thumbing past the illustrations of ladies’ garments to find menswear.

“If I put in an order for denim trousers for me and the boys you think they’ll be in by winter?”

“I’d say it’s likely.”

“Mr. Gray mentioned there were some new homesteaders interested in horses.”

“He must mean Mr. Campbell.  It’s oxen he’s after, I believe.”

“If you hear otherwise, send him my way.”

“I’ll do that.  I suppose you heard about your neighbor?”

“What neighbor is that?”

“Jack Willis.”

“Haven’t heard a thing.  What about him?”

“He spent all of Saturday night at the saloon in a poker game and was found dead in a ditch just outside of town on Sunday morning.”

“Robbed?”

“I should actually say he spent all Saturday night losing in a poker game and downing whiskey like water.  I heard he stumbled his way into that ditch of his own accord and met an untimely demise.”

“I only met him the once, but that doesn’t surprise me much.  Far be it for me to speak ill of the dead, but the man had a disagreeable disposition.  He seemed like the type to get himself into trouble.”

“Well, the bank is soon to be after his widow.  I’ve heard he’s in arrears.  I’m actually surprised the Sheriff didn’t stop on at your place on his way out there to tell her about her husband’s death.”

“Didn’t know he had a widow.  And you know Sheriff Doggett, he’s all business.”

“My Susannah saw them together, he and his wife, the day they passed through looking for land, and you know Susannah, she was beside herself at the notion of another woman come to town, but then no one’s seen hide nor hair of her since.”

“I still regret having been back east when Old Man Goodwin passed.  I’ve had my eye on that land for quite some time.”

“Maybe she’ll sell it to you.”

Mulder rubs at his chin in thought.  “You say the bank is about to repossess?”

“That’s the rumor.  I don’t think Mr. Skinner would relish evicting a new widow, but there probably isn’t much he can do if the mortgage is late.”

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt to take a ride out to pay my respects and assess the situation.  Thank you, John.”

Byers nods and gestures to the items laid out on the counter.  “I’ll have John Jr. load the cart for you.  Would you like this on your account?”

“I’ll square up everything now, but go ahead and order those trousers.”

The hour ride back home gives Mulder time to think.  He’s in a position to offer the Willis widow a handsome sum for his neighboring acres.  The one and only time he’d met Jack Willis he was immediately soured on trying to form any kind of friendship with him.  The man had been downright surly and abrasive and he sure hopes the widow is more neighborly.

Melvin takes over the wagon when Mulder arrives home and shows him the new shoe on Faithful Jenny.  The older man is at least a foot closer to the ground than Mulder and proudly displays a life-long love of hearty biscuits around his middle, but there’s no better right-hand man that Mulder could ask for.  He’s foreman and farrier, counselor and cook.  There isn’t anything Mulder doesn’t trust him with.  As they unload the wagon together, he tells him about what he heard from John Byers.

“Well, there’s no harm in asking,” Melvin offers as advice.  “If’n the bank really is after her, she might be grateful for the offer.  You should probably get out there as soon as possible in case anyone else might be sniffin’ around for them acres.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“You know if’n I’d heard about Bob Goodwin any sooner I’d have snatched up them acres for you before I could even send a wire.”

“I know, it’s not your fault.  Do me a favor, old man, tack up Blondie while I try to make myself presentable.”

“That could take hours.  Days even.”

“Decades, in your case.  If it’s even possible.”

The two men laugh over their gentle ribbing of each other and Mulder claps Melvin on the shoulder.  He parts from his friend to go wash his face, comb his hair, and put on a fresh shirt.  His horse is saddled and ready to go when he comes back out.

“Good luck,” Melvin tells him.

A narrow, slow-moving creek divides Mulder’s property from the Willis widow’s land.  It’s one he’s crossed many times when Old Man Goodwin was his neighbor.  He knows where the shallowest spot is to lead the horse and where the shrubs are too thick and have to be avoided.  He tries not to daydream about what he’ll do with an expansion, but he passes the spot he’d like to clear out for a better corral and where he’d like to add another stable and it’s hard not to hope.

The old sod house that Old Man Goodwin had slapped together is still standing, though it looks to have seen better days.  The roof needs patching and the walls are crumbling in spots.  He dismounts Blondie when he’s still a few yards away and leads the horse over to the post he knows is at the side of the house.  The nearby trough which is usually full of water is empty.  The chickens that were usually clucking and underfoot are nowhere to be seen.

Mulder knocks lightly on the clapboard door and moments later a woman with the reddest hair and the bluest eyes he’s ever seen answers.

↭

Katherine is expecting the knock when it comes, though it’s sooner than she thought it would be.  In the days since her husband’s death, she’s racked her brain for a solution to her current predicament, but has come up empty handed.  She doesn’t delay in answering the door.  She may be on the verge of being destitute and homeless, but she’ll face it with dignity.

“Uh, Mrs. Willis, I presume?” the man asks.  He stammers a bit but he has an easy, congenial smile that catches her a little off guard.  She’d been expecting the Sheriff she’d met on Sunday, but perhaps the bank manager in this town takes care of evictions.  

“Mr. Skinner, I presume?” she finally replies.

The man chuckles and removes his hat.  “Ah, no Ma’am,” he says, running his hand through his hair.  “I’m afraid I have a bit more hair than our dear Mr. bank manager.”

“Oh.”  She should have known.  The bank managers she’s had dealings with in the past were stuffy and pinched.  This man is far too rugged and handsome to be a bank manager.

“William Mulder.”  He holds out his hand to her and when she gives him hers, he bows slightly and brings it to his mouth, brushing his lips lightly across her knuckles.  Embarrassed, she pulls her hand back and closes it into a fist to hide her dirty and calloused palms from him.

“Is there something I can help you with?” she asks.

“I know we haven’t met before, but I happen to be your neighbor just to the south.  I heard about your husband and I’ve come to pay my respects.”

“I see.  Would you...care to come in, then?”

“Thank you.”

He has to bend to step through the low-frame of the door.  She has no candles, but there’s enough light from the open door and the unpatched holes in the walls that it’s unnecessary.  She watches him look the place over and she can tell he’s not impressed by the shabbiness of it all.  

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything to offer you,” she says.

He smiles politely.  “That’s alright, Ma’am.  I came to be neighborly, but there is also a matter I wanted to discuss regarding this land.”

“Oh?”  Fear grips her suddenly.  He may not be the bank man, and he may not be the sheriff, but he could be another kind of lawman.  Even if he was telling the truth that he was her neighbor, he could still be there to turn her out, or worse yet, remove her to debtor’s prison.  Unconsciously, she begins to tremble.

“Mrs. Willis?” he asks.  “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she answers, pulling the tattered shawl draped over her shoulders a little tighter across her chest.  “A chill is all.”

He looks around again.  “You’ve no chair to sit on?”

“No.”

“Would you like to come back outside?  Perhaps it will be warmer.  You could sit on my horse.”

The absurdity of the offer makes her laugh and eases her anxiety somewhat.  He bites his lower lip almost shyly and tips his chin down as he turns the hat over in his hands again.  She stares at his mouth, thinking about how the slight overbite he has seems to suit him well.  She notes other things too, in the silence.  Like how his beard is well-trimmed and his nails are clean.  He presents himself as a cowboy, but she knows a city man when she sees one.

“Um, Mrs. Willis, I…”

She flinches at the name.  “Katherine,” she says.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’d prefer you call me Katherine.”

He cocks his head a little to the side and smiles.  “Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom,” he murmurs.

She can’t help but lift her right eyebrow.  It used to irritate her husband immensely when she pulled faces, as he called it.  “Rather Kate the Curst,” she replies.

His eyes widen and seem to brighten.  “You know Shakespeare?”  

“You look surprised.”

“No, no, it’s just...I haven’t had much opportunity to discuss the Bard out here.  Apologies for the Taming of the Shrew reference, but whenever I come across a Katherine, I can’t help but make the association.  Especially when it’s not altogether untrue.”

She feels the heat rise to her cheeks with the compliment that she knows is entirely unwarranted.  She was never very pretty.  Her mother used to complain about how wild and curly her hair was when she was a child, not to mention the dreadful freckles across her nose and cheeks.  It may have been quite some time since she’s been in the presence of a looking glass, but she doesn’t need one to know that her appearance is lacking.    

“I suppose I could have just as easily been a Viola or an Ophelia,” she says, avoiding his flattery.

“Hopefully not a Lady MacBeth.”

“No.”  The conversation stalls momentarily, but then she wets her lips and tightens her shawl again.  “You said there was something you came to speak with me about?”

“I was away on some business when Old Man...ah, that is, when Mr. Goodwin, the previous owner of your land, passed on.  I’d been eyeing this parcel for some time and had been planning to offer Mr. Goodwin a sum to sell it to me.  I’d like to make you that same offer.”

“Ah.”  She closes her eyes and chuckles mirthlessly for a brief moment.  “I’m afraid I can’t take that offer.”

“Have you sold to someone else?”

“No, but I’m not in a position to sell.  My husband leased this land and I have every reason to doubt he ever made good on the rent.  He drank most of the money and gambled what was left of that.”

“I see.”  

“I’m just biding my time now until the bank comes to collect and turn me out.”

“Do you have people back...wherever it is that you're from?”

“Virginia.”

“It’s not but a few days ride to Fort Worth, I could send a wire to someone for you.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course.”

“No.”  She shakes her head slowly and sighs.  “There’s no one back home, but thank you.”

He shifts his feet and tries to speak, but he says nothing.  He looks dumbfounded in a way that almost makes her feel sorry for him.

“Was that all?” she asks.

“Ma’am,” he stammers.  “Mrs. Willis...Katherine...I can’t...I can’t…”

She doesn’t know what compels her to do it, but she reaches out and puts her hand over his where it grips the brim of his hat.  He falls silent and stops his fidgeting.  She squeezes his hand lightly and lets her fingers rest against his wrist for a few moments before she takes it away.

“Since you seem familiar with the bank man,” she says.  “I’m sure you’ll get your wish soon enough.”

“But…”

“Good day to you, Mr. Mulder.  Thank you for coming.”

#i wrote this #broken things #chapter 1 #AU #MSR

[honey-dewey]

Family Reunion

Pairing: Javier Peña /Reader

Word Count: 2,702

Warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, probably inaccurate Spanish, but otherwise none! This is all fluff!

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Returning home is hard, but with you by Javier’s side, he can face anything. Including a Peña family reunion.

“I’m really not sure about this.”

You laughed, putting a hand on top of his and watching the Texas countryside pass you by. “Javi, it’s two days. What could possibly go wrong?”

Javier sighed. “Ay dios míos, you’re gonna regret saying that.”

The Peña family ranch was all set up for the reunion, and for the first time in a long time, Javier was actually able to go. He pulled up the driveway, face already scrunching as three women rushed out and stood eagerly on the edge of the driveway. “Here we go.”

Immediately, as soon as Javier’s feet hit the pavement, the three women were upon him, hugging and squealing that they’d missed him. You grinned, stepping out of the car and simply watching as Javier tried to brush off his sister’s affection.

Finally, once they were all done greeting Javier, he pulled you close to his side. “These are my older sisters, Maria, Cynthia, and Patricia.”

You smiled. “Pleasure to meet you all. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Cynthia bounded back into the house, apparently eager to tell everyone Javier was home. Maria, who you were pretty sure was the oldest, helped you and Javier grab your bags and take them inside. While Javier got lost in the sea of family members who hadn’t seen him in a decade, you found near silence in Javier’s old bedroom, which was where you two would be sleeping.

“Y’know, Mamá couldn’t believe it when he called home to say he got married,” Maria said, setting Javier’s bag on his bed. “Our little Javi, all grown up and married.”

You put your bag down next to Javier’s. “Is he the youngest?”

“Nah,” Maria said, pointing to a framed photo on Javier’s nightstand. “Melissa and Lori are both younger than him.”

Examining the photo, you suppressed a grin. “He’s the only boy?”

Maria’s Cheshire grin grew. “Yeah.”

An unfamiliar woman poked her head into the room. “Is this Javi’s spouse?”

You nodded.

“Ah!” The woman pulled you into a tight hug. “Hi! I’m Melissa!”

“Lissa!” Javier said, and Melissa put you down with a pout. “Bájalos, ahora.”

Another call of Melissa’s name, and she was racing out of the room with a cheerful laugh, Maria hot on her heels.  

Javier fell onto the bed, and you pulled the door shut, falling next to him. “Home sweet home,” he groaned, putting his hands over his eyes.

You rolled over and ended up laying on Javier’s chest, resting your ear on his collarbones. “I like it,” you said softly.

After a few minutes of simply enjoying each other’s company, a loud shout echoed through the house, disrupting your peace. “Lori’s home!”

The house began to bustle, but you stayed on top of Javier, keeping him trapped. He didn’t seem to mind, and actually wound an arm around your back to keep you secure. Voices filtered around you, but they were fuzzy, like they were underwater or behind a closed door.

Finally, someone opened the door to Javier’s bedroom. “Hijo?”

“Si mamá?”

Javier’s mother looked at you on top of him and smiled. “Lori is home. Do you want to say hello?”

Javier sighed, and you laughed as you were lifted up as he breathed in. “Yeah, I’ll come say hi.”

He stood, and you stood with him. “Come on. You’ll like Lori.”

Lori, if you remembered correctly, was the youngest and the most mature. She looked damn near identical to Javier, despite her feminine features and the fact that she was clearly younger.

“Ah, you must be Javi’s spouse!” She said, shaking your hand. “Damn, Javi really knows how to pick them!”

You laughed. “Thank you, but I think I picked him.”

Lori smiled. “Of course. C’mon! Can you bake?”

Turned out, Lori needed help with the pies, and you and her spent almost half an hour making various pie crusts and fillings. Javier tried to help for a few minutes, but he got dragged off to help somewhere else. You waved as he went, following one of the younger cousins.

“So, how was Columbia?” Lori asked, mixing another apple pie mix in a glass bowl.

You took a breath, continuing to knead lest your emotions get the better of you. “Hard,” you finally admitted. “Very hard. I wasn’t even in the thick of the fighting most times, but it was harder than anything I’ve ever done. We had to move four times, and we caught bombs in Javi’s car on two separate occasions. It was a good day if no one shot at him, and then there was all that shit with Los Pepes.”

“Oh I heard about that,” Lori said sadly, grabbing another pie pan. “That must’ve been hell for him, not being there when they finally put a bullet in Escobar.”

“Steve called us immediately,” you said. “The body was still warm, I don’t think the news knew yet. But we did. Javier cried.”

Lori shrugged. “What’s he gonna do now?”

You looked around, making sure the kitchen was empty. “Going back.”

“What?”

You nodded. “They’re sending us back, something about the Cali cartel? I dunno, but apparently it’s big and it’s a problem. They want Javi because, well, he’s had connections with those people.”

“Oh,” Lori breathed, passing the pie to you so you could lattice it. “That’s awful.”

“That’s government work,” you said with a sigh.

Before Lori could speak again, Javier came back with two men, one of whom put an arm around Lori’s waist.

“David, this is Javier’s spouse,” Lori said, smiling as the man kissed her cheek. “The one who was working with the DEA.”

David nodded to you. “Pleasure. I’d shake your hand, but,”

You grinned, holding up your pie crust covered hands. “I’ll spare you the feeling.”

“And this is my cousin Chris,” Javier said, leaning on the counter and watching you expertly lattice the pie in front of you. “How many of those are you making?”

“Three apple, two cherry, one pecan for Cynthia, one blueberry, and a peach pie for Javi.”

Javier lit up. “I thought you weren’t making a peach pie!”

Lori laughed. “Beth brought Georgia peaches, so I had to.”

Chris opened the oven, examining the pies. “Damn, these look divine.”

“Off,” Lori said, giving Chris’s hands a light smack with a wooden spoon. “These are for dessert!”

Once you were finally done and the pies only had to be baked, you were able to wash your hands and sit on the couch. Javier sat next to you, along with a few aunts and uncles you didn’t know. Javier’s father sat in a recliner, his mother sat on a loveseat, and beside her sat a wonderful old woman who you quickly learned was Javier’s grandmother. You closed your eyes, leaning against Javier’s shoulder and dozing a bit. You didn’t fall asleep, but damn you wanted to. Conversation filtered around you, but you didn’t pay much attention.

People came and went, and eventually, everyone was moving outside. Javier nudged you to awareness and you blinked blearily in the Texas sunlight as you followed him outside.

“Veteran DEA agent, bothered by a bit of sunshine,” Javier teased, handing you his aviators. “Ain’t you a sight.”

You huffed at him. “Don’t make me regret saying yes to marrying you,” you said, waving to Patricia and Melissa.

Lunch was a happy affair. You sat beside your husband, chatting eagerly with some of his cousins. His sisters sat with you, happily telling you stories about Javier that made him turn red and you bend over with laughter. Finally, once they’d had their fun embarrassing him, Cynthia, Maria, and Lori all left to go oversee some game the young cousins were playing. Melissa leaned over the table and grinned, Patricia already rolling her eyes.

“Javi,” she said sweetly, fluttering her eyes. “Have you taken Bella out yet?”

“Bella?” You asked, seeing Javier copy Patricia’s eye roll. “Who’s Bella?”

Melissa pointed to the stables that the ranch had. “Javi’s horse. She’s getting old, but she still runs.”

“She’s thirteen,” Javier said. “Not old.”

Patricia smiled. “Javi managed to get her off a man trying to sell her for meat,” she explained to you. “Right up until the day he left for Columbia, she was his pride and joy. Brought her back basically from the dead.”

You tried to imagine Javier caring deeply about a horse, deeply enough to save her. Unsurprisingly, the thought came easy. “Bella, it’s a beautiful name.”

“Short for Belladonna,” Javier said. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”

The ground was warm beneath your feet, still bare because you hadn’t had time to put shoes on before lunch. The Peña stables didn’t have many horses, maybe three or four. Right at the end was a stall painted with gorgeously intricate vines and flowers, the belladonna plant. Javier leaned over the door, whistling.

The effect was almost immediate. He was shoved from the door, a black horse pushing him out and butting against his body, searching him.

“Bella!” He said happily, scratching behind Bella’s swiveling ears. “Hello! Did you miss me?”

Bella snorted.

“I know, I missed you too,” Javier said, lost in his own little world. “Hey, guess what! I got married. Mhm, I think they’re perfect too.”

You smiled, leaning against the wall and watching Javier talk to Bella. “She’s gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Javier said. “C’mon, I’ll take you on a ride.”

He introduced you to another horse, Bella’s neighbor Aristotle. Aristotle was well behaved, and within no time, you were sitting in the saddle and following Javier down a trail. Aristotle was an easy ride, and it helped that you had some prior riding knowledge. Javier, however, was leagues above you, riding as if he’d been doing it his whole life. Which you supposed he had.

“The ranch is huge,” Javier said, leading you through a section of forest. “But even if it wasn’t, we’re all good friends with the neighbors, and they don’t mind when we ride on their land.”

You left the forest and entered a large field that stretched on for miles, a wooden fence bisecting the field. “Is that where the neighbor’s property starts?” You asked, pulling Aristotle to a stop on the edge of the woods.

“That’s still ours,” Javier said. “Technically the neighbor’s land starts at the end of the field on the other side of the fence, but the fence was there when we bought the land and no one wants to take it down.”

You nodded. “How far is it back to the ranch?”

Javier looked at you, confused. “Twenty minutes at a steady trot, maybe thirty at a walk, why?”

Pushing Javier’s aviators up your nose and wiggling in the saddle, you grinned. “Over the fence, race you back!”

Just like that, you were off. Aristotle seemed just as joyful as you as you leapt the fence with ease, using what little riding knowledge you had. Javier caught on to your game and followed suit, laughing as Bella and Aristotle raced side by side.

The trail was likely too dangerous to keep this pace at, but if you weren’t mistaken, you could wind around the forest, staying at your pace. Abandoning Javier at the path, you cut a sharp turn, feeling the wind on your skin as you laughed.

True to your thoughts, within ten minutes, you were coming up on the ranch with no Javier in sight. Jumping the fence yet again into the riding ring, you pulled Aristotle to a stop, jumping down and stroking his nose.

Maria and Cynthia ran up to you as you straightened your shirt. “What happened?”

The sound of hooves alerted you to the return of your husband. “Javier and I went for a ride. I challenged him to a race home. He lost.”

Javier stopped Bella beside you, looking you up and down as he slid out of his saddle. “That was some damn impressive riding,” he said. “Congrats.”

You grinned. “C’mon, let’s put these two away and relax.”

Of course, in the Peña house, there was no such thing as relaxing. You and Javier were halfway to the porch when Javier was hit in the back with a water balloon. He turned, back dripping. Melissa and Patricia both pointed at each other, barely containing their laughter.

“Oh hell no!” Javier said, taking off his shoes and smiling. “Get back here!”

He chased after his sisters, both of which ran away, shrieking with laughter. You sat on the porch swing, watching Javier grab a water balloon and throw it. His aim was off, so instead of hitting Patricia, he hit Maria, who immediately joined the fight as well. Within minutes, all six Peña kids were throwing water balloons at each other and laughing. It was such an innocent sight, and it made you sigh. How long would you be in Columbia fighting the Cali Cartel? When would Javier get a chance to laugh like this again?

A shriek pulled you from your thoughts as Maria took control of a garden hose and began to aim it mostly at Javier, catching Lori and Cynthia in the process of soaking her brother. Javier ducked away from the hose spray, and Melissa snuck around Maria’s back and stood on the hose. It was a simple trick, but one Maria fell for, looking into the hose and immediately getting a face full of water.

“Niños!” Javier’s mother yelled, coming out of the house. “Que estás haciendo?”

“Jugando, Mamá!” Javier called, sitting up in the grass from where he’d been play wrestling with Cynthia, entirely soaked and decently muddy. “Melissa lo inició.”

“Did not!”

“Did to!”

“Niños!” Javier’s mother said again, trying to cut the childish bickering off. “Lavarse!”

“Si Mamá!” The chorus of six voices called back. Javier was up first, shaking like a wet dog and trotting over to the house, followed by his sisters.

Ten minutes later, a significantly cleaner Javier was sitting next to you, his hair still wet and in completely different clothes. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you said softly, watching the large extended family gather for dinner.

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

“Hm?”

Javier took your hands. “You only ever use that tone when something is really wrong. What is it?”

You shrugged. “Just wondering when we’ll be back here. Will it be years, like last time?”

“Not if I can help it,” Javier said softly. “Hey, look at me cariño. This won’t be like last time, okay? I swear it. We’ll be home soon.”

Nodding, you kissed Javier, running a finger over his ring. “I love you.”

Javier smiled, kissing your forehead. “I love you more.”

You leaned against him, taking in the setting sun and the bustling happiness of the yard. Someone started playing music, and you perked up. “Oh! I love this song!”

Javier tipped his head, trying to figure out what was playing. “I don’t know this.”

“It’s from the mid sixties,” you said, standing and tugging Javier to his feet. “Never charted, but my mother loved it.” You started to sway with the happy music, and Javier copied your movements. “Hey, hey, hey, lover, you don't have to be a star,” you sang, making Javier smile. “Hey, hey, hey, lover, I love you just the way you are.”

Javier moved his hands to your waist, and you put your forearms on his shoulders, still swaying and singing. “For love is just the same, without fortune and fame. Just give me true love and understanding. True love and understanding.”

The song kept playing, and you kept singing, dancing with Javier on the porch. About halfway through the song, someone interrupted you. “Hey, dorks!”

You jumped, almost knocking into Javier and hurting him. “Jesus! A warning next time!”

Maria grinned. “Mamá says it’s time to eat, and if you don’t come down, she’ll feed your portion to the dogs.”

Javier smiled. “Yeah, that sounds like Mamá. C’mon, let’s eat.”

You took Javier’s hand, following him off the porch, still singing lightly as the grass crunched under your feet and the warm Texas breeze rippled your clothes.

“Hey, lover, treat me good and nice, and it will be alright. Just give me true love and understanding. True love and understanding.”

#Narcos #Javier Pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

[sokkascroptop]

traitor. (sokka x f!reader) pt 16

part 1 | part 15 | part 17

TW: blood & death. PLEASE heed these warnings

A/N: lmao you guys thought that last chapter was angsty?  

Everything had gone back to normal the next morning; it was like nothing had changed. Y/N didn’t know how to feel about it. On one hand she was grateful that they were able to go about their days like they always had, on the other hand she wished that they had achieved something more. If only Y/N could have opened her damn mouth. At which point she had to remind herself that there’s a very large possibility that Sokka liked Suki which sent her head spiraling into a completely different and unwanted direction that she avoided thinking about at all costs. What did it mean for her to like two people that might like each other? Honestly, Y/N had never realized her life was so complicated. In fact, Y/N had almost convinced herself their midnight confessions were a dream until a week later when they were flying on Appa and Sokka leaned close to her. 

“Do you think we’ll camp by a river we can skip rocks at?”

Y/N cocked one eyebrow. Sokka already knew the answer. He didn’t need her to tell him they always camped near water. “I hope so,” she replied.

The wind was howling in their ears enough that Y/N didn’t think anyone would hear but Toph scoffed from her place near the edge of the saddle. “When do you guys go out and skip rocks?”

At the sound of Toph’s voice, Aang and Katara turned to look at them. 

“Uhhh…” Sokka scratched the back of his neck nervously. 

“Sometimes when we’re not sparring we do fun things!” Y/N said defensively.

“What other fun things do you get up to?” Toph’s voice was innocent, but her face was mischievous. She knew exactly what she was asking. Y/N could hear Aang snicker from Appa’s head. 

Y/N noticed Sokka scooted farther away from her in the saddle, keeping a very appropriate distance between the two of them, his cheeks were a fiery red. She didn’t give Toph the satisfaction of an answer. Mostly because she didn’t even know what to say back. Hahah, Toph, I wish!! Y/N groaned internally at the thought. 

Y/N caught Katara’s eye from the front of the saddle. The girl narrowed her eyes at Y/N. Y/N blinked and looked towards the clouds, when she looked back Katara was still staring at her. She flicked her eyes between Sokka and Y/N in wordless conversation. You two? 

Y/N furrowed her brow, glancing at Sokka and then returning to Katara. Y/N shook her head violently. No way! 

Katara raised a solitary eyebrow and smiled. Her thoughts were clear, I don’t believe it. 

If the embarrassment of a one-sided crush wasn’t enough, now if Katara got a hold of Sokka, Y/N would get to hear him adamantly deny liking her. Y/N slid down in the saddle until her head rested on the edge. Oh endless sleep, take me now! She begged the spirits. None of them ever got back to her. 

“You guys, it’s your turn to go to town to get food.” Y/N turned around from where she was setting up her sleeping bag to look at Katara.

“Who’s ‘you guys’?” She asked.

“You and Sokka.” Aang floated a moonpeach towards Momo who snatched it out of the air and tore into it. 

Y/N groaned and flopped down on her blankets. She looked towards the sky. There was probably a few hours before sunset. “But it’ll be dark by the time we get back,” She pouted. 

“Then I guess we just won’t eat tonight,” Toph snarked. She was laying back on the bare dirt with one leg crossed over the other. Y/N kicked out her leg at Toph’s ankle making her legs fall to the ground. Toph waved a finger and a rock shot up from under Y/N’s sleeping bag, knocking her in the head. 

Y/N sucked in a sharp inhale. “Toph, I don’t care if you’re twelve and blind, I’ll still punch you in the face.”

“Do it.” Toph dared. 

A bag of coins was dropped next to Y/N on the ground before she could get up and threaten Toph properly. Katara stood above her with her hands on her hips. “Maybe the next time you mouth off,” Y/N said as she looked at Katara with a sweet grin.

She grabbed her sword and the money and at the last minute leaned over and flicked Toph on the forehead. She ran away quickly only to be tripped by a stone that wasn’t there a second before hand. 

Y/N sprawled on the ground. She lifted her head just enough to yell, “Aang, it’s not FUNNY!” 

She rolled to her feet and shot a glare back at the others who were trying to contain their laughter and went off to find Sokka who was collecting firewood. She caught him just as he was heading out of the small strip of woods they were near. 

Her eyes immediately bounced down to look at his bare arms and his bulging bicep. Y/N looked away quickly and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Hey, we’re on shopping duty.” She lifted the pouch of coins and jingled it.

“Oh. Okay, here take some.” Sokka unceremoniously dumped half of the logs he was carrying into her arms, ignoring her protests. “We’ll drop that off at camp first and then leave.”

Y/N hummed. “I don’t think I wanna go back. I pissed Toph off and I think she’s got a rock for me to stub my toe on ready and waiting.” Y/N pointed at her already scraped knee. 

Sokka chuckled. “We have to get Appa anyways, come on. I’ll protect you.” He wiggled his eyebrows. 

Y/N’s heart fluttered in her chest. Of course, she knew Sokka was just joking. “My hero,” she said sarcastically. 

---

Y/N hefted the basket in her arms and peered over the top to read the list in her hands. “Do we have everything?”

Sokka looked into her basket and then into his. “I think so. Let’s go back, it’s getting dark.” He was right; the sky was red with fading light. If they wanted to make it back to Appa before the sun set completely, they’d have to hurry. 

Y/N knew the moment they left the streets of that town something was bound to go wrong. That niggling intuition of hers, the one that made her ears ring and the hair on her neck to stand up, was at full attention. They’d reached the woods. Trees lined a small trail and up a good sized hill was Appa waiting for them in a cave. 

Y/N heard a stick snap behind her, but when she whipped her head around there was nothing there.

“What’s up?” Sokka turned his head to join her, giving her a confused glance as he swung his head around. 

“Uh, nothing. I think.” Y/N shook her head and faced forward again. She quickened her pace a touch and Sokka easily caught up with her. Y/N kept her ears pricked for the slightest of sounds around them. She worked to drown out the regular noises like the cicada-bats and the occasional badger-frog and listen for the more unusual sounds; the breaking of twigs under feet, swords being pulled from their sheaths, bowstrings being pulled back…

Then she heard it, the unmistakable sound of a heavy boot on packed dirt. Y/N turned to face them and threw her basket to the side. Damn, the dumplings and the fruit, she’d pay Katara back personally if she and Sokka didn’t die. 

“Sokka, we have a slight problem,” Y/N warned. In front of her was a short man. She could see the sword at his waist but his face was hidden by a broad brimmed hat. Only then did she realize she had seen the same man in the market. She recognized the hat from the stand where they got the fish and the stand where they had bought vegetables for Aang. 

Sokka’s back bumped into hers. “We got a slight problem from this direction too, Princess.” 

Y/N didn’t even spare a glance over Sokka’s shoulder. “Two on two wouldn’t have been so bad if you’d remembered to bring your sword,” Y/N chastised quietly. 

Sokka grumbled something intelligible and Y/N drew her sword. “Who are you? What do you want?” She shouted at the man in front of her. Slowly, Sokka began to shift around to her right side. She saw why, the man in front of them was circling the two of them. He only stopped once he reached his companion. 

“I think it’s obvious what we’re here for,” the first one said. 

Y/N sneered. “Not really. You saw us at the market, we spent almost all of our money on food. If you wanted to rob us you should have done it then.”

“They were following us?” Sokka elbowed her in the side.

“Shut up,” Y/N growled. 

“We’re here for the girl who betrayed her nation.”

---

Y/N stopped breathing. They’d found her. They’d caught her. Even with traveling to a new place everyday and the fancy clothes and the cut hair, someone still recognized her. Y/N could feel herself starting to spiral. She knew this would happen, she told them this would happen...

It was taking too long for her to say something, so Sokka stepped in. “We don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The second man chuckled at them. 

“She does.” The first man had drawn his sword and pointed it at Y/N who snapped her jaw shut. “You think with that new haircut that I wouldn’t recognize you? I’d know those pretty eyes of yours anywhere.”

Y/N’s breathing quickened and a shudder rolled through her body. Who was behind the shadow of that hat? Who knew her face so well? But that wasn’t the only thought running through her mind. She was racing to think of a solution to the problem at hand. It was one on two. She had to get Sokka out of there. He wouldn’t do anything but keep her distracted. She was far too invested in his life for him to stick around. 

Y/N shoved Sokka away from her. “Go! Run and get Appa. Get the others!”

Sokka didn’t stop to question her and Y/N was oh so grateful. 

---

She went for the second man who had yet to pull a weapon. She understood why he hadn’t pulled a weapon when she got within ten feet of him and a knife sliced through the slide of her skirt, ripping the material. Lovely, she thought. A knife thrower like Mai.

The knives were thrown so hard they were almost invisible and she used all her concentration to block them and knock them down. When she got close enough, he pulled a dagger to fight her off with but he was fat and much too slow to be fighting sword against dagger. Her blade pushed cleanly through his abdomen. He fell heavily to the ground, a pool of blood pushing out from underneath him. 

Y/N smacked a hand over her mouth and willed herself not to throw up even as bile built up in the back of her throat. 

“Nicely done,” the other man said. 

Y/N gasped and let out a shuddering breath. Why was he just standing there, watching her kill his friend? 

He lifted off his hat and threw it to the side and the breath was knocked out of her all over again. “Kaito.”

---

Kaito flipped the blade over in his hand as he walked closer to her. Y/N walked backwards until she could no more. “You’re sticking to the shorter attacks like I suggested. That’s good.”

“W–why did you let me kill him!” she screamed. It had been easy. Kaito didn’t even try to help.

Kaito shrugged and looked at his dead companion. “I wanted the reward money for myself. He won’t mind.”

Kaito’s first blow nearly knocked her to her knees and she realized stupidly that this was the real deal. This wasn’t a sparring match on the ship a month ago where Kaito went easy on her; this was the two of them fighting for their lives. This was the match he had patiently explained to her, what seemed like a lifetime ago. She had to win. She could not let the others come back to her dead body in the woods. She wouldn’t make Sokka have to see that. Not after what he told her a week ago. She was not going to let his biggest fear come true. 

---

Blow by blow they were evenly matched. Y/N fighting for her life, Kaito for his honor. He talked while they fought, anything to distract her or throw her off so he could get a stab in. “We’ve been following you for a while. Heard about a little Fire Nation girl who blew up a factory. I knew that’d be you.”

“That was The Painted Lady,” Y/N grumbled as she blocked a swift uppercut. Y/N’s energy was fading fast. She felt like she was being drained by the second. She was sweating, her heart was pounding, her vision blurred with adrenaline. 

She side-stepped and allowed his sword to slice the flesh of her left arm so she could stab at his bum leg. Kaito screamed and fell, clutching his knee. Y/N kicked his sword away in a cloud of dust. She held her sword out threateningly, already beginning to back up to make a run for it. “You aren’t going to keep following us.”

Kaito chuckled darkly. “I’m never going to stop hunting you down. No one will. I’m a soldier and I follow my orders. The penalty for treason is death, and that’s what a traitor like you deserves. You don’t have long anyways,” He smirked.

Y/N saw red. Those words echoed in her head over and over. Traitor. That was her label for choosing the side of the light, the side that believed in harmony and peace. Well then, let it be. 

Kaito slumped face first into the dirt, his head lolling at an unnatural angle. Y/N’s sword was tipped with fresh blood. 

Y/N bent to retrieve his sword from the ground when a stitch tore through her side. It felt like a pulled muscle but that was not a pulled muscle when she looked down; that was a knife in her side. So that’s what Kaito meant by ‘she didn’t have long’. 

---

Y/N let out a hysterical laugh as she pulled the knife out. Blood began to seep out quickly and she vaguely wondered if she should have done that. It didn’t hurt but–woah–that was a lot of blood. The knife slipped from her fingers to the ground. That guy must have had better aim than she thought. 

---

Y/N blinked and Sokka was shaking her shoulders. Where did he come from? His mouth was forming words that Y/N could not hear.

“What?” She asked loudly. That ringing in her ears was loud.

“I was yelling at you not to pull it out!” 

“Oh.”

Sokka grabbed her jaw with one hand, forcing her to look directly at him. “Focus! Are you okay?!” 

Y/N smiled. His eyes were such a pretty blue. Like the deep ocean or the eastern sky when the sun was setting or– “I am now.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sokka peeled her fingers away from her sword and sheathed it. He wrapped her arm around his shoulder and slipped his around her waist. Y/N didn’t know why, she didn’t feel like she needed help walking. 

---

That fuzzy-brained, painless period didn’t last long. 

“Sokka,” Y/N sobbed. She grabbed onto a tree and would have slid down to her knees if Sokka hadn’t been there to catch her. Her other hand clutched her side. “I can’t–I can’t go any further.” She gasped as a sharp pain shot through her side. Every time she breathed it was worse and she was hyperventilating. She squeezed her eyes shut and a few tears leaked out. When she opened her eyes, Sokka was kneeling beside her with a very uncharacteristic serious look on his face. Y/N could have laughed if she wasn’t in so much pain. 

“Just a little farther. We have to get back to Katara.” He shook his head. “Giving up is not an option.”

“Okay, okay.” Y/N scrubbed her face. As she looked to him her chin began to wobble with an impending rush of tears. “I’m scared,” she murmured. It was not something she would normally admit but this was anything but a normal moment. Kaito’s words from the ship echoed in her mind: she had never actually had to face her own death before and now she was. 

“Me too.” Sokka’s face was stoic, but she could hear the shaking of his voice. She held out her hand that wasn’t trying to stop blood from gushing out of her side and Sokka hauled her to her feet. 

---

Y/N was pretty sure in the last one hundred yards it took to get to Appa, Sokka and Y/N tripped over every single root in that part of the forest. It was pitch black, their way only lit by the faint lines of the moon through the tree branches. 

Y/N was relying more and more on Sokka’s strength to get her back to Appa; he was half-carrying her and they were both breathing heavily. 

Appa grunted when they reached him. Y/N didn’t know the context of said grunt. Was he mad that it took them so long? Was he worried because he could smell blood? She was thinking about asking Aang if he could tell what Appa meant by the certain noises he made when Sokka snapped her out of her thoughts. 

“Y/N!” He said sharply. She looked up at him from where she was standing. When did he climb up to the saddle? Y/N started climbing up after him and Sokka reached down to help her. Her arms felt like they weighed a thousand pounds and under any other circumstances her face might have flushed pink if Sokka had grabbed the back of her thigh like he just did to haul her in. She collapsed onto her back, staring at the stars. 

Y/N was pretty sure that Sokka was talking to her but his voice was distorted like she was underwater. Every blink of her eyes lasted longer until she didn’t have the energy to open them anymore. 

Her last thought before fading to black was “Who’s Yue?”

---

Y/N woke up sweating. She automatically began kicking the blankets off, anything to get the heat away from her; she felt like she was suffocating. The motion set off a familiar pain in her left side that left her gasping for air. Finally, after she threw the last fur off, she stubbornly pulled herself to a sitting position. She looked around her. She didn’t remember falling asleep in a tent. Wait, was this Sokka’s tent?!

Y/N pressed a hand against her side, the pressure made it feel better and worse, and crawled to the tent opening. She pulled back one of the flaps just as someone was barreling in.

“Sokka?

“Y/N?”

“I thought I heard you wake up!” he exclaimed, pulling her in for a tight hug. 

Y/N wrapped her arms around him and rested her chin on his shoulder. Her head was throbbing worse than the first time she drank rice wine. “What happened?”

Sokka ignored the question and his arms tightened around her. “How do you feel?”

“I’m...okay.” Pieces of the night before were beginning to flood back. Kaito and knives. “I am so sorry for scaring you like that.” 

Y/N pulled back from their hug. Their faces were inches apart. She could feel the heat of Sokka’s breath on her cheek. Y/N’s eyes flicker to his lips and then back up to his eyes. Slowly, she backed away from him, but Sokka had other ideas. He grasped her face with both hands pressed his lips against hers. Y/N felt her stomach drop and she squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe she was dreaming. 

He pulled back sooner than Y/N would have liked, but left his hands on her cheeks, tracing over her cheekbone lightly with his thumb. There was a dazed expression on his face. 

He immediately jerked his hands away and clasped them in his lap when he noticed her widened eyes. “I’m so sorry. Spirits! I should have asked! I just couldn’t–last night, I couldn’t leave you! I got half way back to Appa and turned around! You almost died and I almost didn’t get to tell you I liked you.” Sokka ran a hand down his face. “Well, I guess I’m telling you now.”

Y/N sat there in stunned silence. Sokka liked her. Sokka liked her. Not anyone else. Y/N was starting to wonder if she was having some type of vivid hallucination from blood loss. She studied Sokka’s face which looked like he wanted to evaporate on the spot. 

“I’ll just go get the others and tell them you’re awake–” Sokka had started to stand up to leave but Y/N grabbed his hand and pulled him back down. She wasted no time in wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in for another kiss. 

“I like you too, Sokka,” Y/N mumbled against his lips.

---

A/N: Did you really think we were going to get out of this with no ‘almost dying’ action?

Taglist: @myexgirlfriendisthemoon​ @reclusive-chicken-nugget​ @astroninaaa​ @aangsupremacy​ @beifongsss​ @crownofcryptids​ @welovediaaxx​ @littlefluu​ @lozzybowe​ @thebluelcdy​ @ohjustlookalive @sugarmoongey​ @fanficdepot​ @teenbiology​ @13-09-01​ @riespage​ @davnwillcome​ @naanlianid​ @creation-magician​ @lunariasilver​ @vintagerose1014516 @bcifcng​ @rockinearthbending-marauders​ @francesciak​ @thia-aep​ @aphrcditeee​ @milk-n-cheese​ @solarsuki​@sendnuwudes @humbleseame​ @my--shitty--art​ @lovingcupcake51002​ @loganrwebb​ @celia-not-cecilia​ @treestarrrrrrrr​ @p--e--a--c--h--e--s​ @velveteencurls​ @izzieserra​ @oddment-nitwit-blubber-tweak @salsasadd​ @nataliahaslosthershit​ @awkwardnesshabitat​ @lanie103​ @emogril​ @im-the-galactic-starfish​ @charlotteisabella​ @alienmotel​ @smarshere​ @crxsshatcht @starxtt @sugamonster22​ @natsbelova​ @mellisophilia​ @calumsfringe​ @whatsuphoesandbros​ @samsmultifandomblogs​ @ask-kfc-siblings @i-love-superhero​ @justasukisimp​ @grouchiest-hufflepuff​ @zukostan221 @feverish-dove​ 

#atla #atla fics #sokka x reader #sokka x y/n #sokka x you #atla sokka #sokka #katara #toph beifong #gaang #mai #ty lee #zuko #azula #avatar the last airbender #avatar: the last airbender #avatar #avatar resurgence #avatar fic

[granddaughterogg]

What’s death’s reaction to his s/o referring to him as their husband? Like maybe they go out somewhere and s/o has to introduce death to a friend they ran into in public and the first thing that comes to mind while they’re all frazzled is “Oh! This is my /husband/!”

It was Friday afternoon - the worst possible time for a grocery haul.

You've tried to communicate this to your Nephilim a few times before, but the message bounced off them. The Horsemen were perceptive people, but they've spent most of their lives under very different stars (or sometimes under no stars at all.) Never before had they to fit their undertakings within a 24-hour timetable. The intricate ways in which human society works were also all but lost on them. Repeated explanations that certain stuff has to be done at certain hours probably hacked a few good years off your lifespan.

 Maybe one day they'll finally learn, you thought, slowly and tenderly losing your shit. Until then - your shared home life was a path full of organizational hiccups. Chaos often took over.

Anyway, you lived with four oversized individuals who didn't really have to eat, but they sure enjoyed it - and three of them consumed heaps. This week it just so happened that Strife went MIA (as he often would), Fury was having a Hair Maintenance Day and War really needed some bonding time with his steed. Or something.

Thankfully Death remained the reliable one. He grabbed you, summoned Despair from his pocket dimension (Death really wasn't the man for cars) and off to the supermarket you two went.

What you faced was a typical Friday after hours stampede. Tired, frustrated consumers teemed the aisles, filling their enormous shopping carts, crashing their carts into other people's backsides and running them over other people's feet. The air was stuffy, filled with maniacally upbeat music and high-pitched wailing of children. 

It was sheer hell.

"Let's make this quick", you pleaded into your companion's ashy ear. "I don't know how long I can take it. Can we split the shopping list? I'll grab the groceries, you go get all the cleaning stuff and we'll meet here, okay, love?"

Death nodded, straightened himself to his whole impressive height and stalked away. You watched his wide frame part the sea of busy heads. No matter how thick the crowd, people always seemed to just naturally skip out of Death's way. A sensible instinct. Many heads have turned, the expression on their faces something between dumbfoundedness and awe. You've heard quite a few stifled "Damn!"s.

You reached for packaged rice, smirking. Your man was seven and a half feet tall, his skin the shade of bone, and no, he wasn't wearing a shirt.

You managed to persuade him to leave all his jangly ironmongery at home. That's enough Fitting In for one trip.

Death's dark head finally disappeared behind the shelves and your thoughts refocused on filling the cart. You were picking up some broccoli in the produce aisle when a high-pitched voice uttered your name.

You jumped.

"No way!!!" Something big and bright filled your field of vision. You picked up the dropped broccoli, blinked a few times, and the yellow shape refocused into a head of hair - a shiny lob dyed sunny blonde. Not one hair stuck out of place.

"It really is you!!!" squealed the head in glee. It belonged to a rather attractive woman in big rectangular sunglasses, her lips very finely painted fuchsia pink. She always looked like those ladies portrayed in the so-called ladies' magazines. Thin and poreless, exuding easy confidence that comes from not being broke even once in her whole life.

"Hi, Julianne", you groaned. There was no escaping it now.

"Honey!!! So glad to see you!!" professed the woman, eyeing you shrewdly from head to toe. She probably calculated the price of your whole outfit in her head right now - and the contents of your cart while she was at it. Drawing conclusions. Always have been good with maths. Fucking Julianne.

"I wrote to you on Facebook so many times!!" Multiple exclamation points have been her thing; apparently, this hasn't changed since high school. "Why did you never answer, silly? We had so much fun during our class reunion..."

"Uh, I bet", you murmured. You wouldn't step back within your old school walls even if they paid you. "Sorry for going no contact. I've had a lot on my plate recently, you know -"

"Like what?" the woman tilted her shapely head, her attitude playful, but also slightly accusatory.

It made you angry. 

Remember the Apocalypse, Julianne? Remember when you slipped into non-existence among most of the human race? I bet you don't. I bet you decided to forget this ever happened. Like so many others did. Well, I didn't die, so I can't forget. Someone saved me and I got to traverse many different realms side by side with a Horseman of the fucking Apocalypse. And then he gave his life away, and later got brought back to life by his brother, who is also a Horseman - and we've been living together ever since...

Of course, you didn't say any of that out loud. You stood there, fondling the lush green broccoli in your hands. What even was the point?

"Oh, you know. I got into a relationship..." 

"You did?"

You looked her dead in the eye - blue and suddenly wide under the swanky shades - and could tell that this was a direct hit.

"Well, yeah." You smiled at Julianne. "Those things happen, you know."

"Sure, sure!! But frankly, out of all of us, I'd never suspect you to settle with a man and all..." 

"Excuse me?"

Julianne held at a strand of her perfect, shiny hair and then let go. "You were always quite the feminist after all..."

"What does this have to do with - " you blurted out and stopped mid-sentence because Death emerged from behind the shelves. His arms were full of various cleaning stuff.

"I've got everything from the list", he said. "I've also got at least partially deaf. Are we done here?"

A wide smile upturned the corners of your mouth - this time a genuine one because Julianne looked like a startled fish. She stared at you, then at the ashy, muscular, hulking giant at your side, then back at your beaming face.

Pettiness is the dish of the gods. 

"Death, love, meet Julianne", you said gracefully. "Julianne, this is Death. My husband."

The words slipped out of you on their own.

You tossed him a panicked, beseeching look, but your Nephilim was game. Maybe his eyebrow quivered a little; it happened so fast that Julianne would never notice. She was too busy ogling rocky abs of this man you've settled with.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance", said Death in his most velvety, bordering-on-indecent tone. Julianne just nodded back stiffly, as if submerged in a trance.

You left the supermarket soon after that.

A strange, playful little smile twirled your Horseman's lips while he loaded all the groceries into Despair's saddlebags. Thankfully those operated on the principle of magic, not physics, or the horse's spectral back would break.

"I assume that wasn't a friend." You spent all the way to the parking lot trying not to look him in the face. The words startled you.

"Hell no. She's a bitch."

"Ah." That was his whole answer. Finally, all the groceries have been stuffed into the magic pocket space. Death turned around, clasped his hands to your waist and lifted you onto the saddle. His movements bore such effortless grace. It happened so many times and you still weren't over how inhumanely strong this man is.

He sat right behind you. You clasped both hands on the saddle's horn, discreetly basking in this soothing feeling that being surrounded by Death's powerful physique gave you. 

His torso pressed into your back, his strong thighs almost touching yours. This bliss would never get old.

"You know, I can't help but wonder." Death's deep voice was like a silky needle, injected into your frayed nerves. "Why did you call me this word?"

"It...just felt right", you said, staring at Despair's pointy ears, wreathed with spectral discharge. The horse turned his humongous head as if asking: Can we go now? But your companion wasn't done yet.

"Do you wish for me to take your hand in marriage?"

You almost keeled over.

"Damn, D! Well...I...I don't want to force any more human stuff on you, you know?"

He leaned over; long, black strands of hair grazed your mouth. Death looked you in the face. You'd rather he didn't.

"Do you or do you not?"

"Damn, I do. I'd absolutely love to. But you have to live in this human world with me and you're constantly surrounded by alien stuff and alien customs which don't hold much meaning to you, and that would just be...another one of those things, right?" you murmured, lowering your head.

"I'm surrounded by alien stuff wherever I go", said Death softly. "I don't have a place I'd call home."

"I know! But it's hard!" you admitted. "You're always asking me what is it that I want. But marriage is one of those things that have to be desired by both people equally, or it means nothing..."

You suddenly felt very small and rather sad.

"I don't want you to get entangled in something that you have no use for", you whispered, pinning your eyes to the worn-off leather of the saddle. "Not just for me."

Death didn't answer for a good while. Then his big hand covered yours and squeezed it slightly.

Before you've met him, you always imagined that Death's touch must be freezing cold. That was not true.

"I understand", he said, "and I am grateful for your candour."

He nudged the horse and off you went, both unusually quiet.

#darksiders #darksiders death #death x reader #death/reader #horsemen as boyfriends #marriage is Serious Business y'all #ask answered #anon ask #ask me anything

[roachzrivia]

It's An Elf Thing

A series of events where the party (mainly Dorian) reacts to the Inquisitor doing weird things. Basically, if video game things actually happened. Supposed to be at least a little bit amusing.

Maybe it's just me who always forgets my horse and walks across the entire Hinterlands before remembering. Idk. I thought of this idea after jumping down a cliff and losing almost all my health because I couldn't be bothered to walk the long way round. Also, the trellis climbing at the winter palace makes zero sense, I'm sorry.How have I put 422 hours into this game? Where did my life go?

Gen, implied Dorian/Lavellan, brief implied Iron Bull/Dorian

Also on AO3 (link in my bio)

“Maker’s breath, can you slow down for a moment?” said Dorian, bending over to catch his breath. “It isn’t as if we’re short of time. Any normal person would allow for travelling time, you know.”

“I am allowing for travelling time,” Lavellan’s voice came floating back to him. “My pace just happens to be faster than yours.” But he slowed down, allowing time for Dorian to catch up.

“Couldn’t we have sent someone else on this task?” Dorian settled himself on the ground. It was damp, but he was tired enough not to care. “There have to be some perks that come with being the Inquisitor.”

“Aside from the castle, the army, and every noble in Thedas wanting to be my friend?” Lavellan sat down beside him, folding his long limbs gracefully beneath him.

“Aside from all that,” said Dorian, waving his hand dismissively.

“Nope, can’t think of anything,” said Lavellan, laughing. He leaped to his feet. “Come on, if we take a shortcut, we can make it by nightfall.” He held out a hand to Dorian, who grasped it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

“Shortcut? There isn’t a shortcut around here,” he said, as he watched Lavellan disappear over the edge of the cliff. “Wait!” He ran over to the edge, heart pounding as he scanned the ground below, hoping desperately not to see Lavellan’s broken body on the ground.

“Ow!”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” muttered Dorian, as he watched Lavellan skid down the side of the mountain, rocks and dirt kicking loose as he went.

“Come on!” Lavellan sprang to his feet. Even from a distance, Dorian could see the cuts and scrapes from the tumble.

“I think I’ll pass on the shortcut,” he said, as he headed along the edge of the cliff, searching for a proper path down.

“Oh, for the love of…” Dorian watched as Lavellan tumbled down yet another cliff, feet sliding on the rocky ground, pebbles and dirt shifting beneath his feet. He took a tumble, somersaulting head over heels, his head bouncing off a rock. He collapsed at the foot of the cliff, body limp and bleeding. “You are going to be the death of me,” muttered Dorian. “You brought this upon yourself. You don’t deserve my magic.” He sighed. “But if I leave you here, Cassandra will probably convince everyone that I pushed you. Very well.” He brandished his staff, reached for the magic, and raised Lavellan back to consciousness with a blaze of green light. “Please,” he called out, as he began to tentatively pick his way down the mountainside. “No more shortcuts.”

Lavellan was already racing away from him, grabbing handfuls of elfroot as he went.

-

“We’ve been walking for absolutely ages,” Sera whined, as she dragged her feet along the path, kicking stones at Lavellan. “When do we get to shoot something? I signed up for more shooting, less walking walking walking!”

The party had been walking for hours. The weather was hot, the road dusty, and no one was feeling particularly cheerful.

“I can’t help feeling as if I’ve forgotten something,” Lavellan mumbled under his breath, chewing on his lip as he gazed around at the small group. “Got my daggers.” He patted the sheaths strapped to his hips, just to make sure. “I’m fully dressed…” He scanned the group. “You’re all fully dressed. Sera has her bow. Dorian has his staff. Bull has… whatever that is,” he said, gesturing at the massive axe strapped to the qunari’s back.

“If I may interject,” said Dorian. “I take umbrage at the comment that we are all fully dressed. What Bull is wearing hardly counts.”

Bull grinned at him. “Would you really have it any other way?”

“I would, actually.”

“Hush, both of you. I’m thinking.”

“Do you perhaps think,” Dorian said carefully, “that you’ve forgotten the horses?”

“What?”

“The horses. You know, the beasts of burden which we spent an awful lot of time and effort securing for the Inquisition, which are, right at this very moment, standing ready for us back at the base camp, half a day’s walk behind us.”

“You mean we could have been riding this whole time?” exclaimed Sera.

“Fuck,” said Lavellan softly, looking back the way they had come. “Horses. I knew I had forgotten something.”

-

“Are we done here?” Dorian watched as Lavellan waded into the lake. The water reached up to his thighs, and whilst Dorian had to admit that the elf did look rather striking in a rustic sort of way, he had been watching this activity for long enough that he was beginning to feel bored. “I would rather we reached camp before nightfall,” he called out.

Lavellan raised a hand in response, and then returned to bending low over the water. He reached down, plucking yet another handful of blood lotus from the water.

Dorian sighed and waited for the Inquisitor to finish.

Finally, Lavellan walked out of the lake, his soaking wet breeches clinging to his legs.

“Ready to go?” Dorian looked pointedly up at the sky, and the sun sinking low.

“Just need to grab a few more herbs,” said Lavellan, darting away to grab at a nearby stalk of elfroot. “And did you bring the pickaxe? There’s an outcropping of obsidian that’s calling my name.”

“Surely the Inquisition could spare someone other than the Inquisitor for this job,” muttered Dorian, as he followed after Lavellan.

-

The party arrived back at camp in good time. The Storm Coast had been wet and grey, as usual, but the rain had finally eased, and everyone was looking forward to a warm meal before crawling into their bedrolls for the night.

“Just a moment,” said Lavellan, stopping in front of the requisitions officer. “Just got a few bits and pieces I picked up enroute that I figured might help the cause.”

“Thank you, sir. Every little bit will help out men in the field.”

Lavellan began opening his pockets. First, out came handfuls of herbs, which he handed directly to the officer. She took them, her arms quickly overflowing as Lavellan laid more and more picked plants into her arms.

“Is this why you fell so far behind us?” Dorian asked, raising an eyebrow. “Planning on quitting being the Inquisitor and becoming a gardener instead?”

“Everyone needs a hobby,” said Lavellan, pulling off his boot and tupping the contents out onto the requisition table. A handful of gemstones tumbled onto the table.

“Now that surely can’t have been comfortable.”

The requisitions officer watched on, eyes wide, as Lavellan opened his coat to reveal reams of fabrics tucked up in his belt and braces.

“For the boats,” he explained, as he laid them on the table.

“And here I thought you had just been eating more than your share at mealtimes,” Dorian quipped.

“Thank you-” began the officer.

“And the metal,” Lavellan said, turning to his horse to empty the saddle bags.

“By Andraste’s sweet arse, how did you manage to carry all of that without collapsing?” asked Dorian.

Lavellan just grinned and continued loading resources onto the requisitions table.

-

“So, the plan is to be as inconspicuous as possible?” asked Dorian.

“That is correct,” said Cassandra.

“To infiltrate the palace without any of the numerous political functions noticing us, and without disturbing the other guests?”

“Yes…” said Cassandra slowly.

“That what in Andraste’s name is the Inquisitor doing?” Dorian jerked his head at the scene behind him. Cassandra’s eyes widened.

“Inquisitor…?”

Dressed in all his finery, and in front of hundreds of guests, Lavellan was scaling the trellis up the side of the palace wall. People were pointing and tittering behind their hands.

“Might want to rethink that plan, Cassandra,” said Dorian, smirking as he watched Lavellan climb up and over the top, disappearing into the depths of the palace.

Later, when Lavellan reappeared, Dorian pulled him to one side.

“I have to ask,” he said. “All of this climbing. Is it another elf thing?”

“An elf thing?”

“You know, because of living out in nature, with all of those… trees.”

Lavellan laughed. “Dorian, darling, not everything I do is an ‘elf’ thing. Sometimes, it’s just a ‘me’ thing. Now, are you saving a dance for me?”

“Of course. If you don’t get yourself arrested or assassinated before the end of the night, it might even be the most scandalous event of the entire ball.”

-

“What is that?” The horror in Dorian’s voice was palpable.

“New horse,” said Lavellan, climbing up into the saddle. “There’s one for you as well.”

“I am not riding that monstrosity. I don’t know who told you it was a horse, but whoever it was has clearly been indulging in too much wine.”

“You’re scared!”

“I am not scared,” said Dorian, eyeing the creature with distaste. “There is a different between scared and sensible and I assure you, right now I am the latter.”

The creature stared back at him; its black, soulless eyes boring into him. It shook its head, and Dorian leapt back to avoid being impaled on the massive horn rising from its forehead.

“Come on,” said Lavellan, voice wheedling.

“Can’t I just ride a normal horse?”

“But we need to match.”

Dorian looked at the second beast, the one which he was expected to ride. It was so thin that its ribcage was visible beneath its black fur.

“I would rather walk.”

“All the way to Crestwood? It’s only a bog unicorn, Dorian.”

“You are an infuriating man,” said Dorian, scowling. “Very well. But next time, please can we use the Fereldan horses? They don’t smell as bad.”

#dragon age fanfiction #dragon age inquisition #lavellan #dorian pavus #fanfiction

[unprofessional-bard]

Chapter 5 - Red in the Face

Losing My Religion Series Masterlist

Unprofessional Bard's Masterlist

Previous Chapter • Next Chapter

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader/OC

Warnings: Mostly fluff but PTSD related events (panic attack).

Summary: An uneventful few months await the reader as her relationship with Joel and a Ellie develops - things take an interesting turn when Ellie stays over at the reader's house.

Word Count: 5.574

Author's Note: Yet another chapter named after a Mad Men episode, I think the name is fitting eheh... And as someone who doesn't drink coffee, I'm leaving what type of coffee Joel drinks to your imagination. Ahh anyways thank you all so much for reading!! 🥰

Enjoy!

Having a cup of coffee in the afternoon became a routine for you and Joel every two or three weeks. Sometimes once a week and with the company of Tommy or (mostly) Ellie, but you'd invite him over either after patrol or on your day off and just enjoy each other's company. You always had the morning shifts and Joel had the night shifts - sometimes you'd be assigned at the same time, but to different places or with different partners. The only thing you two had in common was your day off's, but not once had you two gone on patrol together, until one day Joel noticed how you came across traders on your patrol route more often than him and always brought him some coffee. He felt like he ought to repay that and invite you over for a different occasion other than dinner with the others. He grew quite fond of you in the following months after your first 'coffee session'. It was mid-June when he had asked Tommy to assign the both of you on patrol.

"Why?" Tommy smirked.

"She always comes across traders and brings me coffe, lord knows what she gives up for it..." Joel crossed his arms and stood in front of Tommy as he scribbled something down on his notebook in his office.

"So you're gonna give up patrollin' with me for our beloved Dolly, huh?" Tommy mocked offense as he closed the notebook and pushed it aside, looking up at Joel with a grin.

"She okay with you callin' her Dolly?" Joel raised his brows.

"She's okay with only us callin' her that."

"By us you mean-"

"By god, Joel," Tommy laughed heartily as he got up from his chair. "You can be so oblivious sometimes."

"What do you want from me?" Joel blushed lightly. "She'd break my fingers and shove them down my throat, I don't wanna be on her bad side."

"Yes, she would," Tommy nodded and stood across Joel, snickering. "But have you actually tried calling her that? She likes you, y'know."

Joel had thought on each word that came out of Tommy's mouth: Even if you hadn't admitted out loud, he knew you had a thing for Walt. He had a pretty keen eye for these stuff after all and didn't even bother giving the idea of you being interested in him a chance.

The twist was, his keen eyes will be proven wrong in the future. Twice.

Tommy and Maria were already aware of everything - even Ellie could see the way Joel looked at you, how his attention immediately shifted from whoever he was talking to or whatever he was doing to you whenever you made an entrance. Tommy broke the news of the patrol switch to Maria by saying that if neither of them had asked for it any sooner, I would've done it myself.

What about Walt? Well, yeah, about him...

Walt and Bonnie announced themselves as an official pair not long after your fight back in April. They lasted way longer than any of you had anticipated, which made you lose all hopes of getting with Walt, but it didn't bother you as much ever since Joel and you started going on patrols together. He was with you for a big part of the day and he was somewhat an even better company than Walt.

A few days after your fight, you asked Maria to assign you with Walt for that day's shift.

"Walt?" You called for him, nervous.

"(Y/N)..." His voice indicated that he wasn't hostile, just as stressed to confront you as you were.

"Let's talk?" You rubbed your hands together and he nodded in return, following you outside the gates. You rode on horses in silence for awhile until you reached the lodge lookout.

The both of you moved inside and Walt wrote down your names on the patrol logbook: 23/4; Walt/(Y/N); All clear -W.

You pursed your lips as you placed your backpack on the floor, then sat on a chair at the table. Walt sat across you - he always used to sit next to you, but now he was hesitant.

"Look, Walt," You began. "If I offended you in anyway-"

"No, (Y/N)," Walt interrupted you immediately. "I was being an ass, then in the heat of the moment we both said some stuff, but I hope I didn't cross any boundaries?"

"...No, but, you were acting so strange?" You looked at him, then decided to add: "Even Joel thought you were jealous of us until I told him that you had a thing with Bonnie."

Walt's eyes widened: "He- what?"

"I mean, if I didn't know you, I'd have thought the same..." You studied his face for a reaction, but only got a dumbfounded look. "Walt, look. I know you don't like Joel, but he's done good by me. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have been here."

Walt stared at you, a mixed expression made of guilt and embarrassment on his face. You got up and sat by his side when he stayed silent: "I don't know why you don't like him - you don't have to explain yourself to me. I owe him my life and- well, at least be respectful to him. For my sake."

"But, what about him?"

"Joel treats people the way they treat him. He's struggling to fit in - if he sees that you mean well, he'll treat you the same way."

Walt nodded, ashamed of his childish acts, but hugged you tight when you said Come here and opened your arms for him. You both hugged each other, glad that this tension between you was officially over; but you two were never the same after that. Your romantic interest died down in the following months and Walt started spending more time with Bonnie to the point of ignoring you and, well, Joel being made your official patrol partner didn't help the case. You were really curious to find out why Walt didn't like Joel, but you had already said you didn't care and decided to leave it alone.

Despite the awkwardness, the time you spent with Joel on patrol from mid-June til the end of November had made significant improvements on your relationship. At this point, everyone (Tommy, Maria and Ellie being the most) was impatiently waiting for either of you to kiss the other, but neither of you were aware of each other's feelings. Joel didn't want to make a move to avoid ruining what he had with you because, even if you didn't spend as much time with Walt, he still thought you had a thing for the redhead; thus his 'disinterest' discouraged you to make a move of your own. Although you were sure he somewhat fancied you -because, come on, no one can deny the tension between you two- you also didn't want to make things awkward.

But nothing would've been more awkward than what you had gone through on an eventful December afternoon.

Joel and you were about to go on patrol, when Maria caught up to the both of you: "Joel, Dolly, wait."

"What's up?" You asked as you were about to get on your horse.

"Chad was on the Creek Trails a few days back, he told me there were a lot of infected over there," Maria sighed, then gave you an apologetic look. "You need backup."

It took you a moment to understand that Tommy was, in fact, not going to be the backup: "Maria, no-"

"Too late." Maria shut her eyes and looked away when Walt approached from behind her. There he was, only a week and a half later after his breakup with Bonnie, his posture giving away the fact that the effects of the said breakup were taking a toll on him.

The tension in the air was suffocating. You whispered Fuck me... under your breath as Maria told him to ride with either Joel or you, as they couldn't spare another horse. Walt and Joel weren't on bad terms after your confrontation with Walt, but they just stayed away from each other. This was going to be a hell of a patrol.

"C'mon," you forced a fake smile to your lips and beckoned him to ride with you. He got up, sat behind you and grabbed the edges of the saddle of the horse, then all of you rode off.

There was a blizzard on the way, it seemed, for the weather was cloudy and the wind was sharp against your cheeks as you rode through inches thick snow. Focusing on your horse was a good enough distraction, but the road ahead was short. When all of you arrived, you began biting the insides of your lips.

Walt went up first, helping you up the rope and words weren't quite enough to describe your surprise when Walt also offered Joel a hand. He must've been shocked too, for he took a while to grab Walt's arm and pull himself up. Maybe today won't be so awkward after all! After writing down a new entry on the logbook, you listened to the two men as you pretended to go through the pages of the logbook.

"We shouldn't stay here too long," Walt spoke quietly. "Let's complete the route and go back before the blizzard hits."

"Agreed," Joel spoke and turned to you. "C'mon."

You gladly obliged as you really didn't want to be stuck with them in a blizzard. You didn't go through the Creek Trails too often as the route involved a river beside an old evacuated town, but you acted like it wasn't a big deal. Tommy was the first to show you the Creek Trails and it was going well until you reached the river. A scenario similar to the one with Joel right before you reached Jackson played out. Tommy was fortunately informed by Joel about your condition months ago, so he kept things mostly under control. He wasn't unfamiliar with the situation: There were many people in Jackson who suffered the same way you did from PTSD, but still, he never thought he'd see you like that.

It had been almost a year since you took this route and luckily, the current was slow, almost frozen. Going through the town, you all scouted the houses quickly. Everything seemed okay until you reached the supermarket, where Joel heard distressing noises from inside.

"We need a few people to secure the windows here," You said and got in position, rifle at the ready. You and Walt went in first, Joel following from behind.

"Just like the good ol' days, huh?" Walt whispered.

"You mean our patrol days or militarily?" You smiled, to which he replied Both.

Sweeping through the outer aisles were easy, nothing you hadn't done before. But the further you walked in, you noticed the spores beginning to appear: "Masks on, boys."

You pushed open a door slowly, only to be greeted by three clickers and a few runners in the main isle. The whole sweep went quietly for the most part, until a runner saw Joel.

"Joel!" You ran over to him. Joel, startled, turned around and leaned back on the glass to pull his pistol out but the runner was closer than he thought. It directly ran into him, pushing them through the glass and shattering it. You quickly shot the runner, but were horrified at the sight in front of you: The parking lot was swarming with infected.

You quickly hopped over to Joel's side and pulled him up, Walt right behind you. The noise had obviously attracted all the infected toward you all.

"Shit!" You jumped back as there was no place left to escape from the parking lot. Walt began shooting at them, giving Joel time to go inside, then followed you both back the way you came.

"This way!" Joel beckoned as he went through a different door which led to a long hallway. You put down a couple of runners before closing the door and ran to where Walt and Joel were.

"Through here," Joel said and entered a room to your right. He closed the door and the three of you pushed a vending machine in front of it, breathing heavily as the infected made their way into the corridor, kicking and scratching at the door of the room.

"We need to clear them out-" Walt.

"We can't," Joel interrupted him. "There are too many of 'em. We'll come back with more people but right now we gotta get outta here."

"Through here," you called them over to a hole on the wall. "Boost me up."

Joel and Walt made a move and stopped at the same time, Walt letting Joel go first, once more, to everyone's surprise. Joel pushed you up and you pulled yourself through the wall but lost your balance and fell: "Fuck-!"

You landed on your feet but you were sure you sprained -or maybe even fractured- your ankle when you landed and cried out in pain.

"(Y/N)?!" Both men shouted from the other side in panic, Walt quickly getting into position to boost Joel up: "Go, quick!"

"I'm fine," You hissed, quickly looking around the room to find it empty. "It's clear here."

Joel jumped down and kneeled beside you: "You okay?"

"My ankle, I-" You stared into Joel's eyes but with a loud crash, infected filled the room. Without wasting time, Joel dragged you toward a counter to your right and pulled out his pistol again. A great amount of anxiety washed over you - how the hell were you going to get out of this? And where the hell was Walt?!

But you knew you couldn't give into fear, not now. You always found a way out... Even though your ankle ached really bad and it began reminding you of the time when the Hunters-

You pushed yourself up to see how many infected you were dealing with. Relieved to see only two clickers and four runners, you looked over to Joel and he looked at you: "Cover me."

You nodded as he sneaked over to the closest runner and took it down without attracting any attention to himself. He took down the other one as well, but before he could approach the third, Joel stepped on a broken piece of glass and suddenly had four infected running towards him. You shot down the remaining runners before he retreated back to where you were, stunning a clicker with a brick in the meanwhile. You realized, to your horror, that you ran out of ammo at that moment and had to reload, but there was no time. Joel took down one of the two clickers with his remaining bullets, but neither of you could do anything about the last one. Joel grabbed you by the arm and helped you over the counter before the clicker could get a hold of you, but he pulled you with such panick and force, you fell on top of him with a Oof!

Joel must've hit his head - his movements slowed down and couldn't push the both of you away from the approaching clicker. Your ankle was twisted up in this position, which made you whine in pain as you tried to turn around with Joel's knife in hand, but couldn't. You growled and cried out, a buzzing in your ear similar to the stream drowning out the terrorising noises of the clicker as it made its way toward you.

"Joel, get up, come on!" Tears streamed down your face and you watched as he opened his eyes, which widened at the sight before him.

Joel hugged you by the waist, turned you around and pressed you down on the ground, covering your body with his before the clicker reached you.

Thud!

Your eyes were shut tight, the only thing you could hear was muffled voices of Walt grunting and sounds of stabbing as you struggled to breathe. You opened your eyes and looked to the left to see Walt stabbing the hell out of the clicker. You watched with terrified eyes as he slowly got up, mask covered in blood and looked over to the both of you, breathing heavily: "Y'all... y'all okay?"

Joel slowly raised his head up and looked at Walt, then back to you. Your eyes glowed with your tears as Joel stared at them - his right hand was holding the back of your neck and the left one was tight around your waist. Was he really about to sacrifice himself so that you'd survive?

Was he even aware what that would've done to you?

He got off you slowly, still holding you by the neck and turned to Walt: "Yeah- you clean?"

"Yup, I'm okay," Walt coughed and kneeled beside you. "We need to get out of here."

"She's hurt- Can you walk darlin'?" Joel asked, rubbing the side of your neck with his thumb in slow motions to calm you as your whole body trembled.

"I don't know," You whispered and sniffed. You grabbed both men's hands and pulled yourself up, but cried out when you tried to take a step forward, almost collapsing on spot.

"I got you," Joel walked in front of you and kneeled slightly, then Walt helped you up on his back. He grabbed your thighs and adjusted your form, then began following Walt out of the market.

"Joel..." You pressed your masked face against his coat and whimpered, hanging onto him as if your life depended on it.

"We're almost out, Dolly, you're safe," Joel reassured you. Luckily for you all, there were no infected outside but the weather had significantly gotten worse. Walt quickly got up on your horse and picked you up, making you sit on the saddle as Joel hopped on his own horse. You all rode off the way you came as fast as you could, barely making it back to Jackson without a delay.

The three of you took off your masks once you were inside. Joel immediately rushed to your side while Walt was helping you off the horse.

"I'll take her to the doctor," Joel grabbed you and carried you bridal style while Walt nodded and went over to the stables.

"It hurts really bad," You spoke as he carried you, voice cracking but feeling safer in his arms. "I- I think it's broken."

"You're fine Dolly... almost there. Katherine is going to fix you up, don't you worry."

It turned out that you had fractured your ankle and Katherine told you that had you taken a harder fall, you could've broken it altogether. You spent the night at the infirmary after she insisted, Ellie and some of the other kids staying with you for awhile before Katherine asked them to leave you so you could rest.

"You won't be getting rid of me this easily after you're back home!" Ellie had said before she left.

And she was quite right, for she was the one to help you back to your house with Maria the next day.

"Ellie, I'm fine, it's not like I have a concussion and broken ribs..." As much as you appreciated her help, you felt bad for taking up her time.

"You can't walk without crutches and I know for a fact that you're gonna get bored - you could use some company." Ellie sat beside you on your bed after Maria left. Katherine had said that your ankle was going to take around a month to heal and you wanted to bang your head against a wall then, not wanting to sit around. Maria and Tommy offered you to stay at their house a million times but you just wanted to be alone with your thoughts and trauma. You wanted to think about anything and everything and you knew no one other than Joel and Ellie would grant you such opportunity while being by your side. That's how your first day went: Ellie stayed until late hours and Joel visited when his shift was done.

"How're you feelin'?" He asked, standing by the bed where you'd been sleeping before he came.

"Alright I guess," You sighed. "I can't stand sitting around and doing nothing. It's like my first weeks here all over again."

Joel chuckled, then looked at the frame on your night stand, picking it up. It was a picture of you and Kurt in it: "I've been seein' this picture every time I came here and couldn't help but wonder who he is..."

You smiled and turned to your side a little, patting on the bed so that he'd sit down: "That would be Kurt. You could say he was my... mentor or something."

"Oh, right. Was he...?" Joel trailed off after sitting beside you.

"Yeah, he was there with them..." You nodded, remembering the day when you all got ambushed. "Eugene reminds me of him sometimes."

Joel nodded quietly and put the frame down: "I uh, I got one too. A picture of me and my... daughter."

You gave him a surprised look - you already knew his story, but you were genuinely surprised that he actually opened up to you about it after almost eight months. You felt a little guilty about having heard of this story before as he told you what had happened to Sarah. You keept quiet and let him vent, but hearing the story from Joel himself sent shivers down your spine - as if you were hearing it for the first time.

"I'm so sorry, Joel," You said once he finished. After a short moment of hesitation, you slowly put your hand on top of his. "I really am. I can't imagine how horrifying that must've been for you."

Joel whispered a small Yeah and looked away, not moving his hand from under yours and enjoying your small gesture. His thumb moved out under your own and rubbed it gently.

"I wish I could take a photo of you two right now!" Ellie suddenly appeared from the hallway, making the both of you jerk away from each other. She had gone to get something when Joel arrived a few minutes ago: "I wanted to stay here for the night, is that okay?"

Your eyes widened and so did your smile: "You don't have to, sweetie-"

"If I get too bored here, can she come and stay with you for a few days?" Ellie suddenly asked Joel.

"Now, Ellie, don't force her to do something she doesn't wanna do. She's too kind to decline."

You blushed a little at his comment and playfully slapped his shoulder: "Nobody's forcing me into anything, cowboy. Besides, it's your house - if I have a permission to stay, then I'll consider staying."

Joel smiled shyly: "You're right... Ah, what the hell, why don't you come over tonight?"

It was your turn to blush: "Not today, I'm afraid, I just want to sleep here for awhile."

"Alrighty then," Joel dropped his hands on his thighs, then got up. "Just let me know when you wanna stay 'n I'll come pick you up."

With that Joel left, wishing the both of you a goodnight. Ellie changed into her 'pyjamas' and curled up on the bed next to you before pulling the blanket over her body. The only light illuminating the room was the candle in you gas lamps on the nightstands on each side. You turned to Ellie - she seemed to be lost in her thoughts. You two were laying like you did in that cabin, the memory making you smile.

"So, when are you two gonna get married?" Ellie asked all of a sudden.

"Oh shush, Ellie," You squirmed and look away, making her laugh.

"I still cannot believe you two aren't together already!" Ellie spoke excitedly. "I don't know what's keeping you two... Don't tell me you still want Walt-"

"No, no," You blushed, running your fingers through your hair. "Hey, who says Joel likes me anyways? He's clearly not interested in me, Ells."

Ellie's expression turned serious. Looking you dead in the eye, she spoke, struggling not to curse: "You have got to be kidding me."

"What?!" Your eyes widened. You weren't sure if you wanted to hear the rest of what she had to say or not.

"No offense, (Y/N)," Ellie sat up. "I know Joel is blind, but I never thought you'd be as blind as him."

You weren't sure how to react, so you just stared off to the ceiling and thought: Joel was always so sweet toward you. He was patient, careful, gentle and protective... But wasn't that how he always was? You weren't really that special, were you?

"Oh god..." You sighed and covered your face with both of your hands. "Are you serious?"

"Oh, no I was just joking," Ellie rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm fucking serious!"

"Joel always had this silly idea that after all this time you were still into Walt," Ellie explained as you rubbed your face upwards and ran your hands through your hair. "I sometimes force a few words out of him about you and everyone knows that he has eyes for you... except for you it seems."

Your heart felt like bursting: "Oh dear lord, this can't be real..."

"Awh, look at you!" Ellie snuggled closer to you. "Blushing like a teenager, haha!"

"Says you!" You changed the topic and tickled her sides, making her drop to her side. "I may be blind with my own case, but I'm not blind enough to miss my Ellie's romantic shenanigans."

Ellie suddenly stopped laughing, face flushed red: "Wh-what do you mean?"

"Look who's blushing like a teen now," You smiled softly. "I've worked with children enough to see some things you think we can't see."

You honestly didn't have a clue she liked girls the first month you knew her. It all started adding up some time after Joel and her came back to Jackson. The kids there liked you and you liked them - they were mostly young teens who needed mentoring for patrols or with anything. You mentored Dina and Jesse for a while before Ellie arrived and Eugene began mentoring Dina. You saw the way Ellie got nervous around Cat - the way she blushed and stuttered while Cat was more confident around her. Ellie talked to you about everything but her own 'love life' and you never forced her to, whenever you cracked a few jokes, she'd immediately tense up and change the subject. After two or three times, it clicked - she was definitely into girls.

"How... how long have you known?" Ellie asked and got off the bed, turning around and doing her stressed finger gesture.

"Awhile now," You sat up as best as you could and stared at her worriedly. "Ellie, it's okay." She slowly turned around, panick spread across her face. "Are you okay sweetie?"

"No," Her voice cracked after a moment of silence.

You beckoned her back to bed beside you: "It's alright baby, there's nothing to be scared of..." She sniffed and climbed back to bed, finding her comfort in your embrace. "It's okay, Ellie."

"Does Joel know?" She asked quietly as you brushed your fingers through her hair, hugging her.

"No, I don't think he does. I haven't told anyone what I thought, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh, okay-" Ellie took a deep breath. "Thank you, (Y/N)."

"You'll tell him when you feel ready," You placed a small kiss on the side of her head. "This goes for anyone. Whenever you're ready, you'll tell them."

"But, what if they're not okay with it?"

"Well, fuck them." You smiled when she gave you a look. "If they can't deal with you for who you are, there's something wrong with them, not you."

The words seemed to have an effect on her, for her breathing calmed down and her eyes focused on a spot in your room, probably deep in thought. You two stayed like that for a while, Ellie eventually yawning and cuddling up to you after blowing out the candle on her side.

"Goodnight darling," You kissed her temple and blew out the candle by your side. "Love you."

"Love you too, (Y/N)," Ellie whispered sleepily, then fell asleep in your arms.

You felt like, after that, you had earned Ellie's trust completely. She became more like a daughter to you, which made things between you and Joel a little awkward considering he was like a father to her. You wondered if she thought of the both of you as her parents - if she felt the joy of having parental figures around her with the both of you. She'd come to you whenever she felt down or emotional- or for anything, really. You both had a factor in common which helped you both relate to and understand each other: survivor's guilt. It was upsetting, but you two had each other. You told Ellie what she wanted to hear and vice versa.

By New Year's, she gave you the most precious gift: A masterfully drawn picture of you... with Joel in a frame.

"Christmas comes but once a year!" Ellie chuckled at your reddening face. "I thought you might like this."

"Like?" You laughed. "I absolutely love this- Ellie, you're so talented. Thank you so much, sweetheart."

"Whatcha got there?" Joel leaned forward over your shoulder to take a look at the picture and his eyes widened immediately. "Oh..."

"Right? Isn't it beautiful?" You stared at the picture in awe, cheeks heating up.

"It really is," Joel turned his head to your face slightly, his nose inches away from your cheek. After Ellie had purposefully nonchalantly revealed that your interest in Walt had died a long time ago and that you had said this yourself, much to Joel's relief, he really began thinking on making a move when it was convenient. The problem was, he just didn't know how to, until Ellie came up with a gift idea.

"Did you get something for (Y/N)?" She asked Joel on patrol one day.

"What for?"

"Uh, the word Christmas ring a bell? Well, I found a frame for her, so she can put that picture of hers in it. She always complained about not coming across a frame for it, I think she'll appreciate it."

Joel thought on her words: He had completely forgotten about Christmas - it was his first after many many years, after all. Ellie noticed the thoughtful look on his face and spoke: "You know what? Why don't you give her the frame?"

"I- What?"

"You heard me," Ellie smirked. "I'll get her something else, you should give her the frame instead."

Joel had remained quiet then, but thought about Ellie's offer for awhile and, once he was back at home, an idea presented itself in his little workshop in his house.

"Y'know what?" Joel had given the frame back to her the next day. "You hold onto this, I'm gonna make her something."

And that was what you were greeted with right after you took your eyes off Ellie's gift: "I got a little somethin' for you."

It was a wooden frame, beautifully carved flowers on the corners and the picture of Alpha One in it. Your heart skipped a beat, your breathing coming to a stop, eyes widening at the sight.

You slowly took the frame from him with trembling hands. The happiness you felt was indescribable, did he actually take his time to make this? For you? Your eyes teared up: "My god... How did you get this?"

"You could say a little bandit helped me," Joel smiled over to Ellie, who was watching the both of you with an excited grin spread across her face.

You exhaled with a short laugh, looked between your gift and Joel and then, despite the cast around your ankle, pushed yourself up. His expression turned into a panicked one for a second before you turned around, giggled with tears rolling down your face and hugged him. It took Joel a moment to process what was happening, but he quickly returned the hug and wrapped his arms around your waist: "Thank you, Joel."

"Merry Christmas, Dolly," Joel sighed, content. A genuinely happy smile formed on his lips and his eyes closed unintentionally, finding the comfort he sought for so long in your arms. You felt like, his arms around your waist and chin resting on your shoulder - his body was made for yours, like puzzle pieces.

"Mistletoe!" Ellie suddenly appeared by the both of you, stepping on your seat with the said plant in hand, holding it above the both of you and shaking it.

You pulled away from him, hands resting on his shoulders as you stared at Ellie with embarrassment. Joel, cheeks red like the ribbon which held the mistletoe together, looked away shyly. You bit your lower lip and turned your head back towards him, gazed into his eyes with a soft smile playing on your lips. Your hands moved up to his neck slowly, eyes glowing. This cannot be happening.

Ah, what the hell, just go for it, were Joel's last thoughts before he pulled you close by your waist and pressed his lips to yours. A long overdue, passionate, deep kiss was shared between you two; a kiss that made everyone in the room cheer and clap at the sight.

"Finally!"

#joel miller #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #tlou x reader #the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfic

[king-finnigan]

For the prompt meme: 24, geralt/jaskier?

24. “I needed you! I needed you!”

It takes Geralt months to find Jaskier again after the dragon hunt. He knows Jaskier doesn’t want the Witcher to find him - Jaskier forgoing furthering his bardic reputation in favour of anonimity by using the nickname Dandelion in the towns he passes through, Jaskier skirting dangerously close to Blaviken, and staying in that region, and even going so far as to buy a horse to travel more quickly. But Geralt knows all these tricks, knows because he’s the one that taught them to Jaskier during the years they spent together, just in case Jaskier had to evade someone who was following him.

Geralt just never thought that he would be the person Jaskier would be evading.

But despite Jaskier’s best efforts, Geralt manages to track him down. He doesn’t want to hurt the bard more, but he feels like he has to apologize, has to at least try to heal the wounds he caused.

He finds him in the middle of the woods, too far from any town to reach an inn by midnight. The bard is setting up camp, before taking the saddle off his white horse and brushing the mare down. He looks up when Geralt approaches - the Witcher deliberately making his footsteps louder so that Jaskier can hear him coming.

“Oh, it’s you,” the bard mutters, before looking at his own horse again. “Here to hurt me again? Wasn’t last time enough for you?”

“Jaskier, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

Geralt blinks, then frowns. Surely, it can’t be that easy, right? “So... can we travel together again?”

Jaskier scoffs, starts gathering wood to build a fire. “No. I’d actually very much like it if you left right now.”

Ah. He knew he was getting off the hook way too easily. “But...” His mind comes up blank, as he finds he has no other reason for Jaskier to travel with him, other than that he wants Jaskier back in his life. “I can hunt for you.”

Jaskier scoffs again. “I can hunt perfectly fine myself, thank you very much.”

He frowns. That’s new. “I can earn coin.”

Jaskier grabs his bag from where it’s lying by his feet, shaking it a bit. The rattling coming from inside tells Geralt there’s a very full coin bag in there, already. 

“I- I can...” But nothing comes to mind.

Jaskier laughs without humour, sitting down on a fallen tree. “Geralt, darling, ever since you broke my heart on that mountain, I’ve been making sure to fill in all the gaps you left behind. I can hunt for myself, I can earn coin, I can defend myself, I can do everything myself. I don’t need you anymore.” 

And there’s that glimmer of the Jaskier Geralt knows so well, the one that can’t stop talking, once he’s started. 

“You want to know why? Because when I walked down that mountain, when I saw monster after monster, some of them human, some not, I realized I needed you.” He lets out another mirthless laugh. “I was Jaskier, the great poet and bard, master of the seven liberal arts, and I needed you! I needed you! And when push came to shove you left me on a mountainside. And now you come here with a half-assed apology and when I ask you why we should travel together, you don’t even tell me that you simply want to. Or that you need me.” He cards his fingers through his hair, leaving it standing up unevenly. “So if that’s all you have to say, please leave.”

Geralt stands there for a few seconds, as Jaskier turns his face away, tears shining in those blue eyes. He’s not sure what to do - with the revalation that Jaskier needed him all along, with the knowledge that that’s no longer the case, with the regret and guilt swirling through his chest.

He would lay down his life for Jaskier. That’s all he knows.

And he wants Jaskier to know that, too.

So, he walks forward, kneeling at Jaskier’s feet, as the bard turns to look at him, frowning when Geralt takes the swords off his back, laying them in Jaskier’s lap. 

He clears his throat. “I know you don’t need me anymore, but... but I need you. More than anything. You followed me for twenty years.” He gestures at his swords. “Now let me return the favour. Anything you need- want, I’ll give it to you. I’m sorry. For everything.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes, as Geralt continues staring at Jaskier’s feet, awaiting his reaction. Eventually, he hears a soft sigh above him.

“I knew it,” Jaskier whispers, and Geralt resists the urge to look up. “I always knew you had a flair for the dramatics, Witcher.”

A soft finger under his chin tilts his head up, and he’s greeted with a gentle smile on Jaskier’s face.

“Alright! I can’t say no to a grand gesture like that, can I? Yes, I forgive you, and yes, we can travel together again, but, I better see you hold true to your word and spoil me rotten, do you understand?”

Geralt nods, the spark of hope lighting him up from the inside. “I understand. Anything for you.”

Jaskier lifts one eyebrow, cocky smile on his lips. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

The bard smirks, leaning back, stretching his legs. “Be a dear and massage my feet for me, then. They’re killing me.”

And, well, how can Geralt say no to that?

#Anonymous #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #squish answers #drabble #750 followers celebrations #gonna finish the last drabbles up tomorrow!

[slippinmickeys]

The Earl (6/13)

To read this on AO3, you may go here.

CHAPTER SIX

The men had returned from their day of shooting in high spirits. The game had been plentiful and there would be quail for their evening supper.

Mulder entered their chamber to find it empty -- no real surprise, as Scully had taken to visiting with the few other women of the party in the drawing room the last few days during the rain. He would likely find her there.

His clothes smelled of the outdoors, the woodsy tang clinging to his wool coat and breeches. He felt a peace and a happiness that he had not felt in nearly two years --  not since finding the ‘X’ marked envelope amongst his father’s possessions in the bottom of his desk drawer.

The former Earl of Wexford had been a stalwart man, but also gruff and often taciturn, saying very little to his son in the form of praise or affection. Mulder sometimes felt as though he didn’t know him at all, and never more so than when he’d found that note.

But something in Scully brought out the joy in him, completed him in a way he had not previously thought possible. Sometimes he felt as though Scully were truly the other half of him -- that they were perhaps put on the earth for the sole purpose of finding each other.

Perhaps the poets had the right of it after all -- love had a way of making everything seem rosier than it otherwise would, for even a bucolic smell clinging to his clothes brought him a sense of peace and rightness that it never would have before he met his wife.

Thinking of her, he shucked a majority of his clothes and rang for a bath, thinking he’d like to be clean and dressed smartly for dinner when she next saw him. For all the scents of clover and pine, he was also getting whiffs of himself and while he thought that his wife appreciated a manly man in the full bloom of his manhood, he rather thought she was more likely to engage in sexual congress with him if he embraced the modernity of regular bathing.

Later, as he reclined in the copper tub, his thoughts once again drifted to the mysterious ‘X’ note and its disturbing contents. He’d brought it with him on impulse, thinking that perhaps Byers and his business associates might be of some use in its interpretation. While they were mainly publishers, they had dabbled in the odd investigation, and Mulder trusted their discretion above any other.

Once the water had cooled almost completely, Mulder rang for Mr. Valedeo, his valet, and they began the somewhat arduous task of getting him dressed for dinner. When Valadeo was putting the finishing touches on his cravat, Mulder looked about the room -- it had gone dark outside and he had yet to see Scully. She usually came up to dress for dinner about the same time he did.

“Danny, has Lady Wexford dressed for dinner already?”

“Not as far as I know, my lord,” Danny said, giving his work a critical eye and then reaching out for a brush to smooth out Mulder’s coat. “Prudence was still below stairs waiting for her when you rang for me.” One last swipe and pull on his coat, and Mulder was out the door.

Mulder made his way toward the drawing room with purpose, only to find it empty, save for a maid tidying the space.

“Miss?” Mulder said to her, and she half startled at being addressed, and then curtsied. “Do you know if Lady Wexford had been with the other ladies here this afternoon?”

The maid curtsied again, and spoke shyly.

“The Countess was not present when I delivered the tea this afternoon, my lord, but I’m afraid that’s all I know.”

Mulder nodded at her, and turned from the room, glancing at the mantle clock before he left. It was nearly time for supper and if Scully wasn’t dressed for the meal, she would need to be quickly. As the highest ranking members of the party, they would not start eating without her present, and he knew that Scully would feel terrible for not just the hungry guests, but also the kitchen staff, who would have the meal ready at a certain time and would have to put themselves out to keep it warm and edible.

Finally he decided to just grab the bull by the horns and ring for Prudence. If anyone knew where her mistress was, it would be her.

When Prudence arrived in the foyer, where Mulder was waiting, she looked flush and out of breath.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting, my lord,” she said, panting, “I have just come in from the stables.”

“The stables?” Mulder asked.

“Yes, my lord,” she said, “Lady Wexford went riding this afternoon, and she must have been delayed. I was hoping to find her there so that I might get her dressed for dinner. It is nearly mealtime! Alexander, the new footman, mentioned that he thought he saw her return, and I thought perhaps she was spending a bit of time with Queen. She does love her wedding gift so. But the grooms there said they hadn’t seen her. They were most unhelpful.”

A low feeling of worry blossomed in Mulder’s chest.

“Alexander saw her return?” Mulder asked.

“That’s what he said,” Prudence said.

“Come with me, Prudence,” Mulder said, turning smartly on his heel. “We’ll go back to the stables. Perhaps I can inspire the grooms to be a bit more helpful.”

When Mulder strode into the stable, he found the head groom coming down from the hay loft looking angry. He looked to Mulder in surprise.

“My lord!” he said, “Can I help you?”

“We are looking for my wife,” Mulder said simply, gesturing to Prudence.

“As I told the young lady not ten minutes ago, the Countess is not here, nor has she been, as far as I know. Queen has not left the stable since she returned from the pasture yesterday.”

Without waiting for another word, Mulder made his way to Queen’s stall to find her calmly chewing hay while Peter, their own groom, brushed her.

“My lord,” Peter said kindly, nodding at him.

“The head groom tells me that Queen has not left the stables all day.”

“As far as I know that’s true, my lord,” Peter said. “Terrance accompanied you and Hercule to your shooting today, and I spent a fair amount of time working on the axle of your baggage carriage. But so long as I have been here, Queen has not left. I thought I would give her a nice rub down.” He gestured to Queen’s flank.

“But Lady Wexford went riding today,” Prudence said.

Peter stood up straight. “She did?” he said, a hint of alarm creeping into his voice, “but Queen has not been ridden.”

Mulder turned to the head groom who had come up behind them. “Could my wife have ridden a different horse?” Mulder asked him.

The man’s brows creased, and he nodded. “One moment, my lord,” he said, and went into the tack room. When he returned, his face was pale.

“The Countess’s saddle and tack is hanging where it should be, but it is wet -- covered in horse sweat -- it has been used today.”

“Which horse did she ride?” Mulder asked.

“I would have to ask Duane, one of our grooms. I came to the stall of Easterly not an hour ago  to find the horse had been put away wet. When you entered the stables I had been looking for Duane in the hay loft thinking he had gone up there to take a nap without rubbing down Easterly first. I had every intention of giving him an earful.”

“Could Lady Wexford have ridden Easterly, then?”

“That is my fear, my lord. If my grooms valued their life, they would never have saddled that beast for the Countess,” the head groom said, “straight from the devil that gelding is -- too much spirit and not enough sense.”

Mulder felt the cold edge of dread. If Scully had gone riding and been thrown from the horse, she could be out there now, hurt, or worse. The horse had returned to its stable, as horses always would. But someone had removed Scully’s tack and stalled the beast and no alarms had been raised. They needed to find Duane, the missing groom. They needed to find Scully.

XxX

Byers had sent the worried houseguests to dine without him and Mulder, and had called for an assembly of every servant not currently in the dining room serving dinner. They amassed in the foyer of the manse, lined up all in a row, looking worried. Mr. Headly, Byers’ butler, stood at the head of them, his eyes sharp.

The groom, Duane Barry, was still nowhere to be found, though there had been a thorough search of both the stables and the main house. Scully had still not returned.

Mulder and Byers were in the process of interviewing every servant who may or may not have seen either Barry or Scully. The maid sent to the stables to request that Scully’s horse be saddled had told them tearfully that she had spoken only to the groom Barry about the Countess’s request.

“You said you saw Lady Wexford return, Alexander?” Mulder asked the young footman.

“I thought I had, my lord,” Alexander said, “though it was from a distance. I had offered to accompany the Countess earlier in the day, though she declined. I saw her riding out past the estate not ten minutes later. I saw the same horse return not long ago when I was standing at the servant’s entrance, and it had a rider.”

Mulder nodded. “But you cannot be sure the rider was the Countess?” he asked.

“I suppose not, sir,” Alexander said, hanging his head.

“Any word of your missing groom?” Mulder asked Byers.

Sir Byers turned to look at his butler, who gave him a curt shake of the head.

“I’m afraid not, Mulder,” Byers said sympathetically. “We’ll put together a search party at once. For both Mr. Barry and for the Countess.” At that he nodded at his butler, who snapped his fingers and all the assembled servants instantly scattered to find torches and assemble small groups.

Mulder grabbed Alexander as he was leaving.

“Which way did the Countess go when she was riding out?” Mulder asked him.

“To the West, my lord,” Alexander said, giving Mulder a stiff nod and scrambling off after the other footmen.

After a moment, Mulder found himself alone, worry roiling in his gut, and his heart in utter turmoil. He would go west as well.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully came to consciousness slowly, her head pounding. When she raised her hand up to feel for the source of the pain, she found her hands had been bound together, her riding gloves absent. Her mouth felt as though it were filled with cotton and she struggled to amass enough saliva to swallow. She was having trouble focusing her vision.

She was laying on what felt like the ground, on a thin, scratchy wool blanket, and could feel a cool breeze and hear the rustling of leaves from above her. Finally, as more of her faculties returned to her, she raised her bound hands to her face to find that she was wearing a blindfold that was half off one of her eyes. She pulled it down and looked about her.

Darkness had descended, but there was a small campfire several feet away, the flames licking up into the black night, the firewood snapping and crackling. She sat up slowly, realizing that there was a rope tied about her waist - the knot impossibly tight - which was secured to a nearby tree, the cord looped and knotted over a branch she’d never be able to reach.

Moving had been a mistake. Her vision swam and she felt as though she might vomit. She took several deep breaths, willing the contents of her stomach to remain where they were. After a few moments, her stomach settled and her head cleared enough to take stock of her situation.

Her hands, tied in front of her, were bound tightly -- she could not pull her wrists out of them, though they were not so tight that she had lost feeling. She was being held in a wooded area or forest, and the groom who had spooked her horse -- and, she assumed, brought her here --  was nowhere to be seen.

The wind was picking up and blowing through her meager clothing. Her body gave an involuntary shiver and she tried scooting herself closer to the small fire. As she sat absorbing whatever heat she could, her head cleared and she started coming back to herself, peering around the woods surrounding her, trying to get a sense of where she was.

From far, far off in the distance, she thought she heard her name being called. She took a deep breath, preparing to give an almighty shout, when, from seemingly nowhere, suddenly standing in firelight was the groom, Duane Barry, his eyes staring intently at her. She gasped and he lunged forward, wrapping a gag around her mouth and tying it tightly around her head, pieces of her hair getting caught up in the knot. He doused the fire quickly, plunging the area into darkness and then was gone.

Heart pounding in her chest, she scrambled backwards toward the tree and blanket and fell upon it, waiting for the man to come back.

He never came. After several tense minutes, she willed herself to calm down and leaned back against the tree, grabbing the edge of the blanket upon which she sat with her bound hands and trying to pull it over herself for warmth. She heard the distant calls getting further and further away and then the forest took on an eerie, unnatural silence.  

Mulder, she thought, pulling experimentally at her bindings, where are you?

#The X-Files #Fanfic #AU #Regency #The Countess #The Earl #Sequels #My Fic

[to-fangirl-or-not-to-fangirl]

Freedom

Levi watched her from a distance, jotting down notes as she yelled to him. Hange had dragged him out at dawn, begging him to go to the ocean with her. He'd agreed, if only to get away from the chaos of life for a day.

Despite her incessant begging, Levi stayed on the shore. Hange had grumbled and complained, but now she was knee-deep in the ocean, completely preoccupied. Levi was fine with that. He was perfectly comfortable on the beach, curled up beneath a tree with his cape over his lap like a blanket. He enjoyed watching her as she inspected every aspect of the ocean life. Levi hadn't seen Hange smile like that since she became commander; even if it included waking up before the sun, he was glad she'd dragged him out.

"Levi!" Hange stuck both her hands in the air, waving for his attention. "Come here!"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm good, thanks."

Water splashed around her legs as Hange made her way back to the shore. Levi set aside Hange's journal, pushing his cape off as well, just in time for Hange to stretch her wet hands down toward him.

"We had an agreement," he said.

"But I want to carry some of these rocks back and I need more hands!" Hange wiggled her fingers, like that would somehow change Levi's mind.

"Make trips," he replied, crossing his arms.

"Oh, don't be such a baby," Hange complained. "The water won't hurt you! It's just like that little lake in the woods! I mean, it's saltier, so I wouldn't recommend drinking it. . . . But still!"

Levi sighed. "You're not going to walk away, are you?"

"Not unless you're coming with me."

Exasperated, Levi accepted her hands, letting her haul him to his feet as she cheered victoriously.

The water was colder than Levi had expected, and Hange simply laughed as he jumped in surprise.

"You're evil," he stated.

"Last I heard, I was psychotic," Hange said. "Come on, it warms up quick enough."

Levi cupped his hands as Hange started to deposit shiny, colorful stones into his palms.

"Why do you want these?" he asked.

Hange was already leaving toward the shore with her own collection, and Levi scowled, trailing along behind her.

"They'd really brighten up headquarters, don't you think?" Hange asked, placing the stones in her saddle bag. "Everything's been so dreary lately. I think the kids would really like these."

Levi narrowed his eyes. "That's why? You made it sound so important. . . ."

Hange placed her hands on her hips. "High morale is important, Levi. We can't keep working the kids like veterans and not give them anything in return. Sure, these aren't much, but I'd much rather wake up to something sparkly than bare, empty walls. Wouldn't you?"

Levi held a single rock up to the sun, squinting. "I think it'd give me a headache."

Hange plucked the stone from his fingers, tossing it into the bag. "Okay, you can go back to your nap now." She ruffled his hair as she walked past, leaving him scowling behind her. "You know, I think I'm gonna go deeper."

Though he'd started stalking back to his spot, Levi froze. "Deeper?"

"Mhm!" Hange began unbuttoning her shirt. "I wanna see what's out there!"

"I don't think—"

"I'll be fine. I can swim." She dropped her shirt and pants with the rest of her stuff beside Levi. "You could always come."

Levi sat down, picking up her journal and flipping to the nearest blank page. "I'm good, thanks."

"Suit yourself." She settled her goggles over her eyes, tightening them as she made her way back to the ocean.

Honestly, Hange didn't mind if Levi wanted to spend the day tucked away in the shade. She'd only brought him with her because she knew, otherwise, he would've been working all day. He'd barely stopped working since the battle, always finding something new to focus on. He talked often about how Hange needed to take it easy, but Hange thought that was just the pot calling the kettle black. So, she dragged him out of his room and out to get some fresh air. She hadn't expected him to agree as quickly as he had, but she wasn't about to complain.

Levi watched her run toward the waves, disappearing beneath the surface the moment she could. Though it made his chest tighten, heart threatening to break free, he had to trust Hange. Instead of worrying, he flipped through her journal, scanning the words until his eyes ached, and he shut them for a brief moment.

He hadn't noticed his thoughts slipping away until they were gone completely, and he quickly opened his eyes, shaking the urge to sleep away. He squinted into the distance, barely making out Hange's form as she surfaced for a breath before diving back under. He scanned the horizon, searching for visible threats. He was sure most of the dangers of the ocean lurked beneath the waters, but he would do his part on the surface.

It was after his third time almost falling asleep that he decided to stand, stretching out limbs as if that would get rid of the exhaustion. He watched Hange's head appear, and an excited yelp carried through the wind before she dove back under in search of whatever she'd found. Levi shook his head, fighting a smile.

His eyes flickered to the side, catching a glimpse of something disappearing beneath the waves. He understood that it was nowhere near Hange, but he found himself moving closer to the waves anyway, staring at the spot the object had disappeared. A moment later, it showed itself again. A gray triangular shape, larger than Hange's head, had crossed half the distance between it and Hange in the moment it had gone beneath the waves.

Levi broke into a run, ignoring the chill of the waves. "Hange!" He yelled as loud as his voice would allow, and watched as she surfaced.

"Levi?" She frowned, looking around her. Instead of appearing afraid at the shape, Hange grinned, disappearing beneath the surface.

Of course, this was the woman who found entertainment in socializing with Titans. He really shouldn't have been surprised, but his mind didn't seem to want to cooperate as usual.

Hange surfaced a moment later with a howl. "Levi, you have to see this!"

"Hange, get over here!" He wasn't a strong swimmer, and just the feeling of the ground disappearing beneath his feet had his heart stopping. But he couldn’t leave Hange.

Hange obeyed, to her credit, and swam toward Levi, the creature behind her following.

"But it's so cool!" Hange said, looking over her shoulder. "You should see how many teeth it has!"

"Hange!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!"

The creature turned and swam away before Hange had even reached Levi, but she continued to swim toward him anyway. She recognized the urgency in his voice; she didn't want to push her luck.

"I'm okay, I'm fine," she insisted once they'd reached the shore. "But really, you should've seen it, Levi! I've never seen anything like it!"

"I don't care!" he said, and she frowned in offense, crossing her arms. "I don't care what it looked like! I told you it was a bad idea, but you never listen to me! You always let your curiosity get the best of you, and it's going to get you killed! What if I hadn't been here? What if—"

"Levi," Hange started, reaching out.

"Titans aren't our only threat anymore, and you need to understand that! I'm not always going to be here! You need to grow some common sense—"

"Levi." Hange clapped her hand over his shoulder, squeezing. "It's okay."

"It's not—"

As she frowned at him, expression holding that warm concern she showed when an expedition went wrong, Levi realized with a start that his vision wasn't blurry from anger.

"I know I can't always rely on you to save me," Hange said, cupping his cheek. "You have to focus on other things sometimes. I understand that. But I can take care of myself. Whatever that thing was, I don't think it wanted to hurt me. If I saw it as a threat, I would have done something. I promise." She tipped his face up, forcing him to meet her eyes. "I need you to trust me, Levi. Trust me with my own life, like you trust yourself."

He squeezed his eyes shut, and Hange felt his entire body going rigid. "I need you to be careful," Levi said softly. "I can't . . . I can't lose you, too."

Hange swept him into a hug, squeezing him close. His arms immediately found their way around her body, locking in—Hange couldn't let go, even if she wanted to. She gave him a moment to soak in the embrace, to process that she was safe and sound. She understood that sometimes the anxiety of losing someone close became so overwhelming that it was all one could think about. She'd spent countless nights with Levi, wide awake as they worried together about what the next day's expedition would bring. Since becoming commander, Hange had spent countless nights alone, staring at the ceiling and wondering what she would do if—when—she lost Levi. She understood exactly how he felt, as he hid his face against her neck, like she wouldn't be able to distinguish the difference between the drops of water from her hair and the drops from his eyes.

"I won't leave you," she promised after a moment. It wasn't a promise she could logically make, and they both knew that. Still, Hange continued. "When I die, I'll be taking you with me, rest assured." She received a short, sharp laugh in return, and she smiled, resting her cheek against his head. "I promise, I'll take care of myself. For you."

"Good."

After a moment longer, he pulled away, eyes downcast.

"Can we go home now?" he asked, and Hange laughed at the hope in his tone.

"Yeah," she said, shaking her head. "We can go home."

Hange longed to explore the ocean, to see what rested within and what lied beyond. There was a whole world past the dark waters. Humans would no longer be trapped within stone walls, but free to roam where they chose. If Hange could figure out how to brave the waters, they would have unlimited freedom.

At least, that's what she'd always thought. As she rode side by side with Levi, fingers intertwined between them, she wondered if she was wrong. A new world or not, Hange would always be free, so long as she had Levi at her side.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction #levi ackerman #hange zoe #snk #aot #hurt/comfort #shameless fluff #probably ooc #but i needed it in my life #levi needs a hug #so hanges gonna give it to him