#— fight because you don’t know how to die quietly ( in character )

[herstuf]

Steve and Eddie form a very strange almost-friendship after the whole Vecna thing that is entirely reliant on the kids being little shits and then rolling their eyes at each other about it. They bond over finding ways to drive Dustin crazy, and the fact that Dustin thinks it’s so weird that they became actual friends even with all the Vecna stuff.

And then Eddie asks Steve if he wants to join DnD one day and Steve actually agrees and Dustin Loses His Shit.

He talks about it nonstop the entire week leading up to the session, hypes it up while simultaneously berating Steve for never agreeing before. Eddie and Steve continue to trade eye rolls over his head every time.

Then the session arrives and Steve is definitely confused. The character sheets are complicated, the multiple die confused him, and he doesn’t really understand the scene Eddie sets- but it’s okay because he’s got the spirit! He’s very enthusiastic and willing to listen to everyone’s advice and recommendations and it’s going very well until they get to Eddie’s big road block of the day.

There’s a giant Paladin blocking their path and it quickly becomes obvious that nobody, together or separate, can him fight and win. Eddie likes to do this sometimes, throw in a character they have to do something other than brute force their way around.

The kids start arguing of course, Mike and Lucas think they should pay him off- Dustin and Will tell them that’s stupid he’s a paladin he’s can’t be paid off. Gareth offhandedly says they should seduce him, and everyone laughs for a second before getting right back to arguing about what to do.

Steve asks if they can go around and is immediately shot down by six shouting voices, and he quickly retreats from the debate. Nobody’s seems to notice, except for Eddie of course, but he only keeps half an eye on him while also trying to focus on the debate. As much as he wants to coddle Steve a bit, he knows it’s better to let him get used to how the game usually goes than trying to go ways on him. Steve would t appreciate that anyways.

Gareth brings up seduction again and they contemplate for a few seconds before saying no, that none of them want to be the ones to do it, and besides they all know Eddie never lets the seduction tactic work when they can’t convince him. They keep arguing.

Nobody else was paying attention to Steve anymore, too caught up in the discussion, so Eddie is the only one that hears Steve quietly whisper, “I wouldn’t mind seducing him.”

Eddie chokes on air, Steve turns bright red, gaping at him in mortification, and everyone else is just like “what the fuck just happened.”

Meanwhile Steve is looking anywhere but at Eddie, Eddie is blinking wildly at him. Eventually, after a very awkward pause of silence, the debate slowly begins again, ignoring the two of them on Dustin’s recommendation that “they’re just being weird, ignore them, anyways-“

The argument keeps going and Eddie can tell it’s going nowhere so he turns to Steve and says “roll for persuasion.”

Cheeks still red Steve carefully takes the die Eddie points to, and lets them fall. They’re not quite enough but it’s not like Steve really understands that. He scoops the die up just in case anyone looks over. He doesn’t need to be accused of playing favourites, even if he totally is.

“A successful roll, well done Stevie. How are you going to seduce him?” Eddie asks, still in a quiet tone so the others don’t hear.

“I was thinking,” Steve says and swallows, “that maybe I’d ask him about his sword. I’d say something like “that’s a very handsome sword you have there, nearly as handsome as you are.”

Eddie kind of wants to laugh, kind of wants to cry, because Steve really hasn’t gotten the hang of voices, so he’s not acting like a character, and because that’s a terrible pickup line. And yet Eddie’s cheeks are heating up and he’s very quickly making some recalculations in his mind for the rest of this campaign.

“What do they call you?” He asks in the voice he used for the Paladin before.

“Sir Hair-ington, but if you want you could call me Stevie,” Steve says, and he’s looking in Eddie’s eyes and that is not the first name of his character, not even close. Eddie swallows thickly and blinks, pulling his gaze from Steve’s, who immediately shrinks back.

“Sir Hair-ington successfully seduces the Paladin, and he agrees to let you all pass,” Eddie shouts over the noise of the others, who are still arguing.

Everyone at the table goes dead silent and stares at him and Steve. Eddie can tell Dustin is about to Say Some Shit, so he glares hard at him until he looks away, mouth snapping closed.

“The Paladin asks if he might join you,” Eddie says to Steve, finally turning back to face him, and Steve turns even redder and nods. The rest of the group keeps staring at Eddie incredulously, but luckily no one says a word. The Paladin joins them and it takes all of two seconds for Eddie to decide to pay his cards out on the table. Just to make sure he’s being clear.

“Greetings travellers, thank you for allowing me to join you,” he says in something that is almost his normal voice, and definitely not the one he used before, “my name is Sir Edwin the Eighth, and I look forward to our many adventures together! Especially you, Sir Hair-ington.” And he adds in a wink for good measure.

Gareth sends him a deeply unimpressed look, but Eddie doesn’t even seem to see it because he’s too busy watching the way Steve’s eyes light up and his lips turn into a bashful but wide smile.

A week later when Dustin shows up at the trailer unannounced and walks in on the two of them making out the first words he says are, “I KNEW Sir Edwin the Eighth was supposed to be you!”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things season four #steve x eddie #the way I would make this a full length fic #if I didn’t have deadlines for my actual book #le sigh

[herwritingartcowboy]

Being The Girlfriend/Wife Of The Archons

A/n: I am taking out Nahida cause she is a child and two ew and no.

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Character(s): Venti, Zhongli, Ei, Focalors,

Warning(s): Slight spoilers , fluff, death, angst,

Readers Gender: Female

Venti-

Everyone knew venti was dating you due to all his songs would have your name in them

Does play music for you when waking up, going to sleep, to relax, even just random times and you do enjoy them

Always there when he is drunk and yes does try to make you drink with him

Can’t sleep without you so please be beside when sleeping

Loves holding your hand walking, sitting, even when eating this man will try to hold your hand

Give him head pats cause when you do it he will melt

Loves resting his head on your chest

Hugs are things he loves to give you

His biggest fear is losing you he may not show it but that is his biggest nightmare

He was terrified when you saw his archon form thinking you will be scared of him but grew more in love with you when you said “I don’t Venti cause I think I’m the most luckiest girl in all of Teyvat

Loves going on adventures with you

A cuddle guy

Does love receiving kisses and giving kisses

You do help him with his braids and style his hair for fun, putting him in fun hair styles

Very understanding

Small spoon

Give teasing but simp energy

Zhongli-

Will pay for all your dates

Tells you stories if you ask if it’s because you are curious or need help falling asleep

Will remind you embarrassing things you did

Did make a contract for you two to stay together forever and it was so cute you had time sign it

Gives you ride in his dragon form

If you ask he will give you advice

Give you all sorts of gifts and if you ever give this man a gift he will die cause he feels so in love and embarrassed

Treats you very fragile cause he doesn’t want to hurt you

Biggest fear is if one of you two forget the other, he doesn’t want you to leave cause he does want to forget you

Loves peppering your face with kisses and if you do it to him his face will turn pink

Big spoon but if you ask he will be a small spoon

Gives you flowers as gifts, knows what each flower means and will tell you

Does make tea for the both of you

Takes walks with you

One time very shyly asked you if he could rest his head on your lap and ever since than he will ask

Gives me loser boyfriend/husband energy

Ei/Raiden Shogun-

Loves you very much but would never say it outloud

Buys you allot of gifts

If you tell her you love her she will be extremely embarrassed

Like Zhongli she is big spoon but wouldn’t mind being small spoon

Loves spending time with you

Always tells Yea Miki about you

Give kisses to your forehead and gets happy when you give her kisses

You two do each others hair while she tells you stories

You have to cook all meals but you do help her or let her be your assistant when cooking

Smiles when think of you

Holds your hand

Always laughs at your jokes no matter how stupid

On dates might order more than enough food but that’s because she wants to make sure you are fed well

Does teach you how to fight

Is also scared of you losing you and not wanting you to get hurt

Has thought about making a puppet like you so if anything were to happen you can truly never leave her

The only person that can make her smile and laugh

Is the girlfriend that will say “She asked for no pickles”

Focalors-

Always impressed by anything you do

Likes tasting new treats with you

Does your hair in cute styles and compliments you allot

Very easy to talk to

She loves telling all sorts of things

You two feel very calm in each others presence and can just sit quietly but just love being next to each other

You always tell her you love how smart she is and she gets very embarrassed

Gives you cheek kisses

Does song you lullaby’s

Playing in the water is something you guys did once

Scared that the celestials will do something to you and wants to make sure you are protected

She is a very caring girlfriend

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x female reader #Genshin impact x fem reader #fem reader #girlfriend #fluff #death #angst #headcanons #imagines #venti x reader #venti x you #venti x y/n #venti x fem reader #venti x female reader #genshin x reader #Genshin x reader fluff #genshin x female reader #Genshin x fem reader #zhongli x reader #zhongli x y/n #zhongli x you #zhongli x female reader #Zhongli #ei x reader #Ei x female reader #focalors #focalors x reader #Focalors x fem reader #raiden shogun x reader

[slicznymartwy]

and all at once i knew

part i (request)

read it all on ao3

billy lenz x gn!reader - billy watches you kill. he could have hurt you but he doesn't because he loves you. warning: includes minor character death(s), brief suicide/self harm mention, obsessive behavior

Billy’s a stray. He’s a kicked dog. He’s going to bite and hump anything that moves. He’s been abandoned at the park, or maybe he just ran away and forgot how to get home. But you own him now. He caught your scent, and he loves you. He’s your good doggy and he’s so terrible he should be put down for what he’s done. 

He’s so loyal to you. You’re so nice to him. You rub his scalp and give him food and water. You don’t beat him. You only make him feel so so so good. He loves you so much. He could bite you. He has, but you forgive him. He loves you. He doesn’t mean it when he draws blood. He’s so lonely and cold, and you let him sleep at the foot of your bed.

You plan in the dark. Sometimes, you face each other; other times, you hold him from behind, arms wrapped around his waist. You hold hands and let your legs touch under the covers. You fix his hair when it gets messy, and he brushes an eyelash off your cheek with the pad of his thumb. 

“We’ll do it one by one, while they’re asleep,” you tell him one night, tracing the line of his nose. His eyes are closed, relishing in your touch. 

“Tie them up so they can’t fight. Stupid sluts,” he whispers a week later. He entwines your fingers together, staring at them. You think he likes seeing how close he can get to you. He watches how your body wraps around his with reverence and worship.

“We could set the house on fire. They’ll never know it was us,” you giggle, laying on top of him. His hands are on your hips, and his touch is so warm that it makes you want to take your sweater off. 

“I’ll cut off their heads if they talk to you again. I’ll saw them off and kick them like footballs,” he says darkly, drying your tears with his palm. He’s so angry you think he might kill them right then. 

When Susan left, no one thought to ask you where she went. They knew how she treated you. They all watched her mock you, and they laughed along like it didn’t make them complicit. They cried and wrung their hands while the police questioned them, and you tell Billy about it at night.

“Tonight,” he hisses, holding you down on the bed. He pins your wrists down against the mattress and he sits on top of you. Sometimes, you realize what he is. Rabid, feral, untamed. He can be mollified with fresh food and pets along his back, but he’s wild, even when he manages to speak clearly. “I’m going to kill them tonight. They’re all going to die.”

“Wait, please. One more day,” you say, trying not to look afraid. “Just hold me. Please.”

He does, but you wonder if you let him go too far. You gave him too much lead, and now you won’t get him to heel again.

Like Billy entering your bedroom in the dead of night, some changes happen so quietly you don’t realize what’s happened until it’s too late. You wake up one ordinary day, and your sisters are nice.

Maybe you’re just easier to be around, with how happy Billy makes you. Maybe they felt guilty and wanted to make amends. Maybe Susan had your sisters under an evil spell that made them act like complete cunts to you and, by killing her, you freed your housemates from her mind control. 

They laugh with you, they invite you to eat lunch with them. They still get teary eyed when they think about your missing sister, but they don’t say anything when you don’t cry. They know, and they’re sorry, and it feels good to hold that over them. 

“Billy,” you murmur at night. He moans low and quiet at the back of his throat, and the sound vibrates against your chest. You brush you hand through his hair gently. “I don’t think we should hurt them anymore.”

Billy doesn’t respond. He’s so still, you wonder if he’s asleep. 

“They’re not so mean anymore. It’s better now,” you explain. “I think they’re sorry.”

Still, Billy doesn’t respond. You pick your head up to look at him, but he’s already staring at you. His eyes are hauntingly empty of emotion. You try to smile, as placating as you can. 

“I’m sorry, Billy,” you whisper.

He turns his face towards your chest, pressing his nose against your bare sternum. He groans, but it sounds like a growl. 

“So stupid,” he mutters, sounding far away. “Stupid Bambi. Stupid slut.”

“That’s not nice,” you whisper quietly. You can feel his lips against the swell of your breast, and he kisses you like a lover. 

“Stupid. Can’t see what Billy sees. Stupid disgusting lying whores,” he says against your chest.

“I’m not stupid,” you defend yourself meekly. “Stop being mean.”

“Billy can help. Billy will help his Bambi,” he promises.

“I don’t want your help anymore, Billy,” you say, pushing at him. He doesn’t budge.

“Need Billy. Bambi needs Billy,” he mutters. You wonder if he’s even listening to you, if he’s ever listened at all.

“No, I don’t,” you say, trying instead to stand up. Billy effortlessly keeps you down. “Stop it.”

“Stop it,” he says, matching your tone. “Stop it, Billy.”

You sob out of frustration, trying to squirm out of his hold. He doesn’t let you go.

“I hate you,” you say, looking into his dark eyes. “I wish I didn’t know you.”

Billy freezes at your words. The room falls quiet. He stares at you like you’re food. 

“Something’s wrong with you,” you say, voice shaking. 

“I love you,” he finally manages to whisper.

“Leave me alone. I don’t need you,” you say, turning your face from him. You can still feel his eyes on you, they burn through you like the sun through a magnifying glass.

When you don’t say anything else, Billy stands. He stares at you from the side of the bed, and you pull your sheets up to hide your bare chest. It feels strange, hiding from someone that you’ve already shown everything. 

Billy leaves without shutting your door.

The next night, you lock it. You can hear him on the other side, twisting the knob. He rattles the door, wanting it open. Your pillow is so wet you have to turn it over to go to sleep. Your bed is so cold without him.

In the morning, the house is quiet. No one’s in the kitchen. There’s no line for the bathroom. No sounds are coming from any bedroom. There’s nobody in the house. You find some eventually, a pile of five girls in the bathtub. The tile is wet with their dark blood, so are their pajamas. You scream when you see them. Clare is on top, staring at you accusingly.

Sobbing, you fall onto your ass and kick your legs to get away. You feel like a kid again, throwing a tantrum when faced with consequences. You did this, you tell yourself, you asked for this. 

When he appears by your side, you hug him without a second thought. He cradles you in his arms on the bathroom floor and he lets you weep.

“I love you,” he whispers against the crown of your head. “I love you. I love you.”

You sob. You keep your eyes screwed shut. You can’t look at them, laying like logs for a fire. You fist your hand in Billy’s sweater, remembering what it was like to hold the knife for Susan. 

“Billy won’t leave Bambi,” he promises. It feels like a death sentence and a wedding. You’re the only two living souls in the house, and maybe the entire world. You love him because of it, but you wish you didn't.

“I need to clean before it stains,” you say, sniffling as you pull away from his chest. There’s so much blood. You wonder if there’s more in their beds, but you don’t want to know. Maybe it’ll be easier to burn it all to the ground with you and him still inside.

You find the bucket and gloves under the sink and turn on the faucet. Through the mirror, you see Billy rise and walk towards the tub. The water burns your hand and fogs the glass until you can’t see him anymore.

© slicznymartwy 2023, please do not repost or copy.

a/n: reblogs and replies are really appreciated

#billy lenz #black christmas (1974) #billy lenz x reader #slasher x reader #billy lenz x gn!reader #billy lenz x y/n #billy lenz x you #₊*. ⋆༘ — uli writes

[screamingendlesslyintospace]

thinking about Orca again.

Why did she choose to challenge Queen Coral when she was only 7 years old? we don’t really know what type of relationship Orca and Coral had, or why Orca decided to challenge Coral when she did. at first i thought it was because the queen was going to try to use her animus powers in the same way she is using Anemone, but Orca hid her powers from the queen. was it because she hated queen coral and wanted to be queen so badly that she couldn’t wait longer?

clearly she thought she would win the challenge, her statue in the nursery being already enchanted to kill future heirs BEFORE she entered the fight proves that. But Queen Coral ended up winning, and as she was dying Orca said “I did this all wrong. you’re going to rule forever, aren’t you, mother? you should thank me…” … but if Orca was an animus dragon could she not have won the fight easily using her powers? she probably wanted to keep her powers hidden, but because nobody knew she had magic, could she not have quietly used magic to assist her and make it look like it was a natural kill instead of a magical one? she would have saved her own life and secured her win by doing that. did she care about it being a fair win enough to not use her powers? or was there another reason?

if she was concerned about her soul turning evil from using her powers to kill Queen Coral, i’d understand not wanting to use them during the fight. HOWEVER … isn’t the concept of her statue pretty dark? it implies that—if Orca had won—she would have just been completely fine with every single one of her female eggs being smashed. now that could be just how Orca was; just kind of ruthless and power hungry (ig ?), and willing to see her eggs die if it meant she wouldn’t have competition for the throne. but, could it also have been partly because of her soul beginning to turn due to the use of her Animus powers? we don’t really know how much she used them or what she was using them for. though the statue would lead us to believe she used them—at least sometimes—for selfish reasons, which could mean that her soul had begun to turn slightly.

if Orca had enchanted the statue as she was dying as a way to take revenge on queen coral, her whole situation would have made more sense. but based on the fact that she chose to challenge the queen so young, AND she wanted to ensure all her own dragonets would be murdered just so she could remain queen, it kind of seems like her soul was already being corrupted by her powers. but if she had been corrupted, did nobody notice any changes in her behavior or thinking? even if they were subtle changes.

Because even when queens plan ahead and think about how to keep themselves from being challenged for the throne, they usually have at least one dragonet who’s a direct heir, even if they take measures to keep control over them. because longevity of your own kingdom and species is obviously (or, at least most likely) important to every type of queen, even if it’s for selfish reasons, because every clear-thinking dragon knows they won’t live forever. unless it was Orcas plan to win the queen challenge and then secretly enchant herself to live forever like Jerboa I?? would she have kept her animus powers a secret as queen??

i don’t know, i’m just very curious about the Orca era and Orca as a character. many brainworms.

#dragonets of destiny #wings of fire #tsunami #princess auklet #tsunami wings of fire #orca wings of fire #princess orca #queen coral #seawing #skywing #mudwing #sandwing #nightwing #tui t sutherland #animus dragon #wings of fire: the lost heir #wof #wof seawing #wof orca #wof tsunami #wof anemone #wof coral #wof auklet #wof: the lost heir #wof theory #wings of fire theory

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Catch and Release

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: AU where Jason doesn't die in the explosion and he and Tim end up attending the same high school months later.

Chapters: 10/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Sebastian Ives, Jack Drake, Janet Drake

Relationships: TBA

Additional Tag: Jason Todd Lives, Jason Todd-centric, POV Jason Todd, POV First Person, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake is Not Robin, Jason Todd is Not Robin (Anymore), Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alfred Pennyworth Knows, Stalker Tim Drake, Jason Todd Has Chronic Pain, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unlikely Friends, Injury Recovery, Emotional Baggage, Rage, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating

Chapter Ten: Snow Day

I made dinner for Tim and me at the beginning of March. It was snowing out, so we skipped school that day, and Tim’s nanny bought groceries. Real food. Celery, carrots, lamb cutlets, potatoes. All the fixings for Irish stew. Tim sat in the kitchen with his laptop, offering me the occasional glance of gratitude. Tim didn’t say much that afternoon. “This isn’t a pity meal… I’m making this because it’s freezing out, and I’m going to commit fratricide if I have to eat another greasy pizza,” I half-joked. Tim grinned.

“Jason, you’ve been here for a few weeks-.” We heard the front door open.

“Tim! Tim?” Janet shouted. She sounded excited, but Tim and I were petrified. We didn’t know how his parents would react to me living in their house. Tim shut his laptop and stared at me.

I nodded. “In the kitchen, Mom!” Tim called.

“Hey, something smells good-.” Mr. Drake looked at me and then Tim.

“Jason’s making dinner, Dad,” Tim explained. Janet rushed into the room and embraced Tim. It was a while before she noticed I was there. “Mom… Hi… Jason made dinner. He’s living with us now.”

His mom’s smile faded, and she ran a hand through her hair. “Jason, is something going on at home?” Janet asked.

“My-. Bruce and I had a falling out,” I answered.

“How long have you been-? Sorry, I don’t mean to interrogate you,” Janet whispered.

“Does he know you’re here?” Mr. Drake questioned. I nodded.

“I’ve been here for a little over a month-.”

“Jason’s a great influence,” Tim commended, “He helped me raise my grades and made dinner.” Tim’s parents seemed concerned with my presence and that Bruce hadn’t asked me to come home.

They didn’t say anything else about it, though. I made everyone a bowl of stew, and Tim poured drinks. His parents had wine, and we had sparkling grape juice. We quietly ate before Janet leaned over, kissed Tim's head, and whispered something. Tim smiled. "Okay," Tim replied.

"Bruce Wayne?" Mr. Drake questioned.

"Jack-."

I nodded. "Hey Tim, how's your part of the group project going?" Jason questioned.

"Almost done," Tim replied, "Stew's good…"

"Thanks,” I smiled.

Dinner was mostly quiet. Janet sent us upstairs afterward so she could talk to Mr. Drake. Tim could hear them arguing. “Tim, I’m sorry-.”

“It’s okay. Mom and Dad always fight like this. You just happen to be the subject of tonight’s civilized disagreement,” Tim replied.

“What are they saying?” I asked.

“It’s not like he brought home a stray puppy or kitten from the snow,” Tim mimicked his father.

“He’s having problems at home… And he’s a good influence on Tim. It’s not normal for a boy Tim’s age to spend so much time alone,” Tim replied in Janet’s voice.

“Your dad doesn’t want me here,” I mumbled.

“It doesn’t matter what Dad wants. Mom told me during dinner that you can stay as long as you want,” Tim replied, “Dad’s more worried about the legal stuff… He thinks Bruce might sue him or something for harboring a runaway.” He rolled over and bumped into me.

I playfully pushed him over, and we lay on his bedroom floor, hoping things would work out. “Come with me when I get my cast off tomorrow?” I asked. Tim nodded.

He patted me on the chest. “Hey, it’s coming around… My dad told my mom that whatever happens is on her from here on out. He’s upset, but he’ll get over it. Mom’s gonna make him come up here… Let you know you can stay here,” Tim explained, “Five… Four… Three… Two-.” Janet knocked on the door.

Tim jumped up and answered. “Mom-.”

“Your room is spotless,” Janet whispered. “Look… That’s not why I’m in here. Jason, does Mr. Wayne know you’re here?”

I nodded. “I told my-. I told Bruce I didn’t want to come home and that I was safe here with Tim,” I whispered, “He doesn’t like it, but he won’t fight you on it. As long as I’m safe and in school, he won’t bother you or Mr. Drake.” Janet pulled up a chair, sitting in front of us.

“How old are you, Jason?” Janet questioned.

“Sixteen… I’ll be seventeen in the summertime,” I answered.

“You’re sixteen… My son is fourteen… And I see how your influence on him has been nothing but positive. We’re so happy to have you here, but I still think my husband is right about one thing. We need to talk to Mr. Wayne about this,” Janet suggested, “Can you call him for me?”

“Right now?” I asked.

Janet nodded, and I pulled out my phone and reluctantly dialed his number. He answered before the first ring finished. “Jason, what’s wrong? Do you need me to come-?”

“No, I don’t need anything… I’m fine. My friend’s mother would like to speak to you about my staying here,” I explained, “You might have to speak to both his mother and father-.”

“Why can’t you come home so we can talk-?”

“Please be an adult about this, Bruce. I don’t think I should come home right now,” I replied.

“You want me to be an adult about this, but you won’t listen to anything I say. I’m the parent, Jason-.”

“And I’m tired of listening to you telling me how you’re the parent when I’m shouldering all this by myself,” I interrupted, “Now, do me a favor and talk to Janet Drake, please.”

“Fine… I’m sorry… You can hand the phone over to Mrs. Drake now,” Bruce replied.

I wanted to be kind… But I couldn’t force myself to forget. I handed the phone over to Janet. “Hello, Mr. Wayne. Can I call you Bruce?” Janet asked. “Cool… Hi, I’m Janet… The resident mom. Jason’s a wonderful kid, and it’s not a problem keeping him here. I wanna know if he can stay here until he’s ready to go home… Uh-huh… Yeah… No, I get that. I understand… No, Jason’s a sweetheart. That’s no problem.”

Tim threw a footbag at my head, and I caught it without looking. “Sick,” Tim whispered.

“You’ve gotta be a lot faster than that,” I grinned as I tossed the bag to him. I hoped Bruce would let me stay. I always wanted a brother to joke around with and laugh with, but Dick and I never had that chance. I don’t blame Dick because of how things started out.

With Tim, it was different. It felt like we’d been brothers my whole life. I almost forgot his mom was talking to Bruce. “Think we can take the stew to lunch?” Tim asked.

“Mr. Ames might let us use the microwave if I promise to check in with the counselor,” I replied. We lay on the floor next to each other, staring at the ceiling. “I kinda like the counselor.”

“Like a crush?” Tim questioned.

“No, not like that… Mr. Finney’s just-. Mr. Finney’s nice. I’ve only been there once, but I like talking to him,” I explained. Janet returned my phone.

“Bruce said okay, but only as long as you keep all your appointments and behave yourself… I don’t think that’ll be an issue. I’m leaving you alone, but don’t stay up too late. It’s a school night,” Janet warned.

#fic #catch and release fic #batfam #Jason Todd #Bruce Wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #Tim Drake #Dick Grayson #Barbara Gordon #Sebastian Ives #Jack Drake #Janet Drake #Jason Todd Lives #Jason Todd-centric #POV Jason Todd #POV First Person #Tim Drake Has Issues #Tim Drake is Not Robin #Jason Todd is Not Robin (Anymore) #Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug #Alfred Pennyworth is the Best #Alfred Pennyworth Knows #Stalker Tim Drake #Jason Todd Has Chronic Pain #Jason Todd Has PTSD #Angst with a Happy Ending #Unlikely Friends #Injury Recovery #Emotional Baggage #Rage

[happy-beeeps]

Hi again :) could I request Rex X reader where reader comes back from a mission gone wrong and Anakin scolds her and then Rex sees her crying?

Hi lovie! SO sorry this took so long! I hope you love it!!! Rex is an angel as per usual and Anakin is an ass but we love him for it. TCW Anakin is one of my favorite platonic characters to characterize because he’s just so tragic in a way that makes him so fun to work with. 

Little Brothers

WC: 1k

Warnings: none! Angst and injury but it’s quick and resolved this is a hurt comfort fic!

A/N: We meet my two clone OC’s in this chapter! I’m going to expand on them later, but they’re part of the 811th battalion, led by Commander Leo (who rivals only Hunter with his mane of thick hair) and ARC Trooper Bubble (the last to pass his swim test following a traumatic incident with the pool as a cadet.)

* * *

“I just don’t know how you could be so irresponsible!” Anakin bites, anger written plainly across his face. It’s one of the things you appreciate about your friend, he seems to be the only other person in the Jedi to really let you have it when you deserve it.

And kriff, do you deserve it.

It was supposed to be a simple mission, slip into a low guarded base quickly and quietly, extract the necessary information on the munitions factory nearby, and leave. You had a small squad of your men, the 811th. It was supposed to be quick and easy, Commander Leo had made quick work of locating the central computer, and his second in command, a spirited, down for anything trooper named Bubbles, was watching your flank, along with about five other men. It was supposed to be easy.

And then you saw the hostages. Not many of them, maybe about four, and none of them eager for your help. Turns out, they were other separatists caught in a territory battle with the owners of the munitions factory, and were cautious at best about being helped by a Jedi. You and Leo restrategized and sent a smaller squad of men while you two and Bub worked to free the hostages. It wasn’t an entire failure, the separatist civilians made it home to their families which counted as a win in your book. The chaos that the 811th can bring, however, coupled with the added attention from the hostages, resulted in a firefight that gave away your squad’s position in the base and landed one of your men in the medbay. You retreated efficiently, sans plans. And so you find yourself back aboard the Resolute, arguing with Anakin.

“So you would have just let them die?” You huff back, hands firm on your hips.

“They were not on the mission. You should’ve commed for backup, it’s not like we weren’t on system.”

“Oh please, Anakin, I’ve known you long enough to know that you don’t listen to ‘suggestions,’” you draw heavy air quotations around the word, “from anyone but yourself.” 

“I would if it was important, which, in this case it wasn’t. They didn’t want our help. You should know better.”

“Master, I really think she-” Ahsoka starts, but Anakin shoots her a look that wills her into silence. She’s seen the two of you fight like this before, and she knows better than to interject.

“General, the General has a point, I can easily take responsibility-” and it’s your turn to bring a hand up in front of Leo’s face, silencing him. The two accomplices look at each other and send a look, waiting for this to escalate further.

“Stop treating me like I don’t know what I’m doing, I know what I’m doing,” You respond, shooting daggers at Anakin.

“Exactly. Which is why you should’ve known better and not endangered your men, isn’t one of them in the medbay right now?”

And there it is, the winning blow. You look at him with wide eyes and you can tell even he regrets it by the way his breathing has shifted, but he refuses to back down. 

“Don’t hold the injuries of my men over me, Skywalker, at least I don’t use my Commander as a projectile!” You shout, hands in the air as you storm out of the briefing room towards your quarters, hot tears burning down your face and making your vision blurry. You don’t even notice Rex walking past you, his eyes shifting worriedly between yourself, Anakin, and Leo.

* * *

You don’t hear the sound of the door hiss open over your own hiccups. You’ve got your back to the door and you’re furiously typing on your datapad, blowing up Bub’s comm trying to get more intel on the injured trooper. The door shuts behind you with a resounding click, and your hiccups turn to sniffles, until you see him. Rex is quick and deliberate with his movements, grabbing the datapad out of your hand and setting it down on the small desk near your bed, before pulling you up and into his chest. The sobs return, and he’s holding you so tight on a normal day you’d be punching his chest for air.

“He’s fine,” Rex murmurs into your hair, holding your cheeks between his hands and swiping away the excess tears. “I stopped and talked to Leo and Bubble, he’s fine. In fact, he’ll probably be thanking you, the 811th is going for leave next.”

You sniff in response, “I don’t like being responsible for hurting your brothers.”

Rex smooths your hair and gives you a warm smile, “You and I both know you’ve got probably the most compassion for clones of any natborn we know. You did the right thing. Leo’s got a good head on his shoulders, he knows how to care for you and his vod. He wouldn’t let you put yourselves in danger. I trust him with your life, that says enough.”

Your cheeks bloom under the sentiment. “Would you have done it?” “Sure. If the roles had been swapped the same thing probably would’ve happened.” He moves to sit down on your bed, it’s tiny so the two of you are squished against one another. “Course, I would’ve called for reinforcements, and you and the 811th would’ve been there to save our asses.”

You sigh and crane your neck to look at him. “Thanks, for always being there for me. Anakin just knows how to hit where it hurts everytime.”

He chuckles, “Cody is the same to me. It’s just how brothers are.”

“But he’s not my brother.”

“Isn’t he though? I thought you guys were younglings together.”

He’s not wrong, and you shrug. “Sure, Master Ti and Master Kenobi got along, I feel like I was always training with him. But,” you bring up a hand, “I’m older.”

“Right, so you’re just his Cody.” He sets his head down on your shoulder. “There’s always gonna be problems with your vod. But you just have to do what’s right to you.”

His words settle around you and warm your heart and your conscience, and you melt into him more. “So you think I did the right thing?”

“Yeah, like I said, we’d do the same thing,” and his voice is a whisper in your ear, “though I heard you don’t like his use of projectiles.”

You gasp, and spin towards him as best you can, voice rising “You could get hurt-”

And he cuts you off with a kiss. “As always, my verd’ika.”

#captain rex x f!reader #captain rex x reader #captain rex request #rex x reader #clone trooper rex #captain rex #commander rex #requests

[tropes-and-tales]

Black Sun Squadron

Characters:  Poe Dameron and F!Reader (plus-sized)

WC:  10,617

Other Pieces:  This is a one-off piece.

CW:  Angst (oblique jokes about weight); smut (PiV, unprotected).  18+ only.

AN:  Requested by the lovely and patient @winchestershiresauce​ 🌻

Everyone wants to be a pilot.

In the social hierarchy of the Resistance, pilots rank the highest.  There’s a certain swagger about them, a magnetism that draws others into their orbit.  Perhaps it’s the fascination with being so close to death.  Each mission may be the last:  if a pilot dies in battle, they become immortalized as a hero.  If they return from battle victorious, they are toasted and feted as heroes.

Win-win, in Poe Dameron’s book.  Die a hero or live as a hero, and it’s the most he can hope for in such desperate times.  Maybe it’s a selfish hope, but he grants himself this small bit of innocent greediness.  He’s given up entire years of his life to the Resistance, and proudly so, but if he had kept his head down and accepted the First Order’s rule, he could perhaps further along in his life.  Have more to his name beyond a few personal belongings, a starcraft that can generously be described as “vintage,” and a custom BB-8 unit.

Everyone wants to be a pilot, but the Resistance lives on the support roles.  The less glamorous, less magnetic roles that are the beating heart of the scrappy revolution.  The mechanics and engineers and intelligence officers.  The people who cobble together weapons and supplies.  The people who operate lonely, hidden outposts.  The spies and diplomats.  The people who manage to keep them fed and clothed and housed, sometimes at a moment’s notice.

More practically, though, not everyone can be a pilot because there just aren’t enough starfighters to go around.  The Resistance lives on hope and very little credits, and they’d happily put more pilots in the skies….if they just had more ships.

Which is the point that General Leia Organa tries to impress upon you, while Poe stands nearby and smirks. You had been in intelligence, a ghost twisting in the wind for the Resistance for as long as there’s been a Resistance.  You’ve been gathering intel, spreading misinformation about the First Order.  Quietly arming citizens.  Teaching civil disobedience.  Poe had never met you until now, but he knew your code name—Black Sun—and had heard the whispered stories, the awe-laced voices as they told some tall tale about your exploits across the galaxy.

Your spy-cell had been ratted out, though.  Half of your team had been captured or killed, and only half of you escaped.  Those of you that remained had made your way carefully back to D’Qar, one by one.  You were the last to return:  you had carefully tracked your remaining team members’ progress home, covered their tracks, threw First Order operatives off of their scent.

When you return to D’Qar, you promptly go to Leia and demand to be reassigned as a pilot.

“We just don’t have enough ships,” Leia tells you gently.  “I’d love to put more up there, but we don’t—”

“I’m one of the best,” you interrupt, and Poe frowns at you.  You catch his expression and narrow your eyes at him before turning back to Leia.

“I grew up in the Outer Rim,” you continue.  “I ran the supply routes for my father’s company.  I’ve been dodging pirates and scrappers since I was thirteen—”

“Pirates and scrappers?”  Poe scoffs and crosses his arms.  “Not the same thing as a First Order fighter, sweetheart.”

You turn and glare at him this time.  You cross your arms, mirroring his own stance.  

“They aren’t the same,” you agree.  “Pirates and scrappers, once they engage you, fight to the death.  They want their payday.  They are greedy beyond all else.  First Order, though?  Half of their army is conscripts or flat-out slaves.”

“So?”

“So I’ve been out in the field.  Do you know how many of their soldiers just abandon their posts?  The average First Order soldier—I’m talking the grunts, here—just want to escape with their lives.  They aren’t going to fight the way a pirate or a scrapper does.”

Poe rolls his eyes again.  How many times has he heard some variation of this story?  Some bright, eager thing from a nowhere planet joins them, is convinced that they are the best pilot in the galaxy because they used to shoot around their planet’s canyons in a beat-to-shit tin can.  Pirates in the Outer Rim?  It wasn’t the same thing at all.

Leia clears her throat.  “Either way, we just don’t have the ships available,” she says.  She offers you a sympathetic smile.  “But if you don’t want to return to your intelligence assignment, we can find something here for you.”

You gaze back at her, and your glare softens.  “What if I found a ship?”

Another sympathetic smile, while Poe scoffs.  

“If you found a ship, then yes, you could be a pilot.  We could find a squadron to add you to,” Leia tells you.

“Is that true?  If I found a ship, I could fly it?”

Leia’s smile widens, and it becomes indulgent.  Like a mother humoring her fanciful child.  As if spare starfighters are just lying around for the asking.

“If you can find a ship, then yes.  You could be a pilot.”

You uncross your arms with a grin that lights up your entire face, and Poe’s glare loses some of its heat.  He can guess the love you have for flying:  he has the same love, bordering on madness.

“Do I have your word?” you ask Leia, and the General nods.  You stick your hand out and shake on it, and you turn on your heel and leave.

Poe Dameron doesn’t see you again for a month.

-----

It’s serendipity that Poe is in the flight control room when a TIE fighter appears out of hyperdrive in the airspace above D’Qar.  He’s already halfway out of the room, his hackles up and his adrenaline pumping, when a voice comes through the comms.

Your voice.  

“Permission to land,” you say.  You give your name, rank, and the latest access codes.  It makes the flight controllers and security team nervous, though, seeing a First Order-type ship in their airspace.  So they make you wait until they can get Leia, and it’s finally decided that yes, you can land, but they’ll have cannons trained on you just to be safe.  Just in case it’s a trap.

It’s not a trap.  Poe and Leia make it to the hangar in time to see you land.  Poe realizes once he’s close enough that it’s not just any TIE fighter.  It looks sleeker.  It looks like it has state-of-the-art weaponry and technology.  

It’s a prototype, he realizes.

“How’d you get this?” he asks, openly bewildered.  He glances at you, but his eyes keep getting pulled back to the ship.  It looks fast.  Deadly.  It looks like a dark blade that could cut through the sky.

“I’d say I stole it, but stealing has such negative connotations,” you tell him with a grin.  “So let’s just say I liberated it from the Sienar-Jaemus facility.”

“How?”  He’s flabbergasted.  SJFS builds state-of-the-art ships and has state-of-the-art security out of necessity.  You shouldn’t have even been able to get into their airspace, let alone into their facility, let alone into whatever secured hangar where they kept their prototype tech.

If nothing else, you shouldn’t have been able to escape with it.

You shrug, a modest little lift of your shoulders.

“Been in the field a long time,” you simply say.  “Picked up stuff.”

Picked up stuff.  Stuff being the ability to steal a starfighter more powerful than anything in their fleet.  Poe is so impressed that he forgets to question your supposed piloting abilities for a moment.  

He’s so impressed that when he can finally tear his eyes away from the TIE fighter to really look at you, it’s the moment it starts for him.  It’s like a virus, though:  Poe doesn’t realize it at the moment, doesn’t feel anything discernably different beyond his open admiration for your thieving—liberating—skills.  There’s no sped-up heart rate, no fluttery feeling in his stomach, but he’s infected all the same.

Like with many illnesses, by the time he actually starts to feel symptoms, he’s already incurably in love with you.

-----

When does Poe start to actually feel his burgeoning love?

Mere days later:  that prototype TIE fighter is a lot of ship, and there’s an entire squadron of pilots clamoring for Leia to override her handshake agreement with you.  Everyone wants that damned ship, to the point where you sleep in it a few nights to keep its admirers and their grasping hands away from it.

Leia splits the difference, and Poe thought you might be outraged, but you only stand with your arms crossed and a small smile on your face.

“It is the most advanced ship we have,” Leia says apologetically.  “And we don’t know your abilities as a pilot.”

“You’re gonna make me try out for it?”

Leia nods.  “We have a training protocol.  You’ll take the TIE fighter up with one of our other established pilots, and if you pass, the ship is yours.”

Your smile twists a little at one corner, somewhere between teasing and smirking.  “I stole the ship outright.  Maybe I’ll just take it and go off on my own.”

Leia matches your smile with her own, equally mischievous.  “You know, the Yellow Squadron recently lost its leader.  How about if you pass the training protocol, you not only get to keep the ship, but you get your own squadron too?”

-----

Of course Poe is your established pilot.  Leia trusts him, and moreover, she likes him.  Likes his spirit, likes his passion.  She probably sees a lot of herself in him, he realizes.

The other pilots try to convince him to rig the test.  There’s offers of credits, of good spotchka, of never having to pay for another drink as long as he lives.  

Poe wouldn’t dream of it, though.  That first symptom of love:  the little half-smirk, half-teasing smile when you and Leia negotiated.  It had made Poe smile too, involuntary.  Made him watch you a little closer, pay closer attention to your expressions and body language.

Like now, when the two of you climb into the TIE fighter—you at the controls, him behind in the gunner’s turret which isn’t a turret, since the ship is sleek and streamlined.  The gunner’s seat is just a console where every button lights up, where no button sticks from being old, where every screen is crisp, and where a ridiculous amount of firepower is at his fingertips.

He tugs his helmet on, and he sees you do the same.  His is beat-up, scored and dirty.  Yours is new, and he studies the stylized sigil on the side when you turn to do a systems check.  It’s a black sun.  Your code name from your spying days.

“I like your helmet,” he says.

“Thanks.”  You check the screen in front of you, then half turn to look back at him.  “It’s a black sun.”

“I can see that.”

You turn more in your seat and make eye contact with him, and the smile on your face is that same teasing, smirking one from before.

“Think I’ll name my squadron Black Sun too,” you tell him.  “Something with a little more élan than just a color.”

He scoffs.  “I’m the leader of the Black Squadron.”

“Exactly, Dameron.”

You turn around and miss his answering smile.  He likes the way you say his name, with just a little lilt of challenge to it.

-----

Of course you pass the testing protocols.  The TIE fighter is a lot of ship, but you navigate it like it’s some dinky speed-racer.  You are confident with the controls, not oversteering, not letting the ship get away from you.  You’re assured but not cocky, assertive but not domineering.  The ships rolls and dips and drifts through the canyons of D’Qar’s fourth moon, and you hit every target with ease.

The last stage is to take the ship in open space, to travel via hyperspace from D’Qar to a safe second location.  The ship’s computers are appallingly fast, and one second you and Poe are in the airspace above D’Qar, and in the next, you’re in another system altogether.

There’s a blue star nearby, and you throttle the power way down.  You let the ship drift, and Poe wonders for a moment if you’ve forgotten that he’s there.  It happens to him all the time, the way the world narrows down to just him and his ship, to just being in the vastness of space.

You haven’t forgotten him.  After a moment of quiet, the two of you watching the cold fire of the blue star, you ask, “do you ever just get furious that we live with such wonders and have to waste our time fighting against the First Order?”

Your voice is quiet; Poe can’t hear an ounce of humor in it.  He thinks he might hear a hint of fury, actually, and he looks at the back of your head.  He sees the way your shoulders draw up a little, tensing.

“You asking if I have things I’d rather be doing than fighting a war?”

“I suppose.”

He waits a beat before answering.  “Maybe.”

It’s not a real answer, but it’s honest:  the Resistance gives him a purpose, gives him pride after the shame of his spice-running days.  And sure, he had dreamt of fighting against oppression when he was a boy, especially since both of his parents had been in the Rebellion.  

But now that he’s been in it for years, there’s a part of him that is tired.  A part that yearns for a gentler life of adventure.  A life with space for more of the good things, instead of just grasping at the crumbs when he can.

“I’d travel,” you tell him decisively, that bit of fury still in your voice.  “I’d travel and explore all the unmapped regions of the galaxy.  The space beyond the Outer Rim and even further.”

He doesn’t have a good reply for that, and it doesn’t seem like you were expecting one.  The two of you are silent for another moment, then you ask him—your voice steady now—if there’s anything else he’d like for you to do to prove your mettle as a pilot.

-----

By all accounts, you and Poe should have a rivalry:  he’s the Resistance’s poster boy for pilots, the cocky Fly Boy with the nervy pluck to be general one day.  You’re new to the scene, just as nervy to steal a ship and steal a squadron and rename it as your own.  You should be rivals, and while there is a playful competition between you, you and Poe become fast friends.

If he’s the Fly Boy, then you’re the Fly Girl, and when there’s downtime and you’re at the small cantina, others flock to where the two of you hold court and compare your exploits.

By now, he’s fully in love.  He loves you; he’s in love with you.  All the signs are there now.  His stomach twists and flutters when he sees you or hears your voice.  His eyes are pulled to you like magnets.  You invade his thoughts, especially at night when he’s alone in his tiny quarters.  

When he has to send BB-8 away or power the little droid down so Poe can relieve the tension on his own, can shut his eyes and pretend it’s you touching him, you whispering in his ear, telling him everything he wants to hear.  Telling him that you’ve wanted him just as long as he’s wanted you, which is to say:  almost as long as you’ve known each other.

It’s inconvenient:  it’s hard to keep the friendly competition from turning flirty.  It’s hard not to be jealous when others flirt with you, and it’s even harder when you flirt back.  

Poe Dameron may be cocky outwardly, but there’s a deep channel of insecurity in him.  His mother had been a Rebel pilot, and his father had been a member of the Pathfinders.  When he was young, he hadn’t seen much of them and had lived with his grandfather.  His parents, especially his mother, held an outsized, almost legendary status.  

Poe often holds himself against their legacy and finds himself lacking—especially after his spice-running days.  He’s the son of Shara Bey and Kes Dameron.  That’s as close to royalty that a person can get without actually being royalty.  Poe wonders all the time if he’s honoring his birthright.

You don’t seem to have that insecurity.  And why not?  You spent years running a spy cell that arguably kept the Resistance going.  Now you’re commanding your own squadron.  You’re impressive, Poe knows.  You’re a more natural successor to his parents than him.

Poe’s never struggled so much with love before, though maybe that’s the difference between you and everyone that came before you.  It was always an easy thing to charm his way into someone’s bed because it was always a shallow encounter, two starships passing in the night.  With you, Poe isn’t quite sure he deserves you.

-----

You have your ghosts, though, just as he does.

Sometimes the two of you share a flask of blue mappa and sit in a hidden-away corner of the hangar and just talk.  He tells you a little about his spice running days, his heart in his throat the first time he admits it.  He worries that you’ll judge him, but if you do, you don’t say so.  You just nod, take another sip from the flask, and pass it back to him.

Your own shadowy history comes out in measured bursts.  The invasion of your home planet by the First Order.  They had targeted your father’s company—highly-sought microchips that ran ships and weapons alike—and when your father resisted, they killed him.

They killed most of his employees, for good measure.  Killed your entire family.  Obliterated most of the population, in fact, because your home world was sparsely populated aside from the families that worked for your father.

You had only been spared because you’d been off-world on a delivery run at the time.  You had returned to a graveyard:  everyone you ever knew or loved dead.  You barely escaped with your own life, and you spent the next year in a berserker’s fury, killing anyone and everyone even tangentially related to the First Order.

Once your fury was under control, you joined up with the Resistance.

It’s one night in the hangar that you ask him, your voice uncharacteristically uncertain, “do you think I’ll ever be able to wash all of the blood off of my hands?”

Poe doesn’t know.  Can he be clean of the blood he’s spilled either?  War is a messy, ugly business, and everyone on both sides is dirtied by it.

He doesn’t answer you.  He only puts an arm around you, lays a hand on the side of your head until you sigh and rest it against shoulder.

-----

The problem of being in love with you—the Resistance’s Fly Girl, the bold Black Sun Squadron leader in her dark blade of a ship—is that Poe never knows if each time he tells you good-bye will be the last time he sees you.

Your squadron is good.  You’re a great leader:  you handle your team like you handle your ship—assertively but not domineering them.  You know when they need discipline and when they need to let off steam, and Poe knows they love you.

But the Black Sun Squadron is good (maybe better than his own Black Squadron, though Poe will never, ever admit it out loud), so Leia uses you for the riskiest missions.  The most critical ones.  Sometimes Poe goes entire long stretches without seeing you—the two of you separated by your disparate orders from the General—and he always worries that he’ll return to D’Qar and find you gone forever.

There’s a long period where he doesn’t see you, and he’s sick to his stomach the whole time.  You are in a distant star system, impersonating a First Order officer.  It’s your spy work again, made a shade easier with your TIE fighter, and Leia cajoled you into it.  Poe frets the whole time, agonizes during his long sleepless nights to BB-8, who chirps and beeps at him in sympathy.

When you finally return, you’re hollow-eyed and ragged.  You look worn to the bone and exhausted, and there’s a deep cut hastily bandaged on the underside of your jaw.

When you catch sight of him, he sees the tears that spring to your eyes.  When he takes the few quick strides to get to you, when he pulls you into a tight hug, you hug him back so hard that it steals his breath away.

-----

It isn’t all chaos and tragedy, though.

You and Poe are friends, and you’re similar in a lot of ways.  

One way you’re similar?  Poe can be flirty, knows full well that he’s appealing to some, and he plays up the charm to his full advantage.  Bats his big brown eyes, leans in close, calls people “sweetheart” to wheedle things to his own benefit.

You’re flirty too.  You’re not as aggressive about it as he is; like your flying, you’re subtler.  You finesse it, you play it delicately.  You draw people in gradually, turn on your charm by slow degrees until the person is caught in the tractor beam of your personality.

And since you and Poe are friends….well, you flirt with each other.

To you, Poe guesses it’s just you being you:  making him feel like he’s the only person in the room, drawing him in with your charm and wit and good humor.  You call him Fly Boy with a faint lilt of sarcasm that is defanged by the dazzling smile you pair it with.  

Once, he brings his ship back badly damaged after a fire-fight in the Outer Rim.  That night, the two of you go to the cantina, and you—half-tipsy on spotchka—recall the time Poe jokingly said that he makes love like he flies.  The joke, all those months ago, had been something he drunkenly said, trying to flirt with you.  Something about having good hands and understanding what the ship was telling him.  You had only rolled your eyes at the time, but you had clearly filed it away in your memory.

“Remember when you said that?” you whisper to him now, a devilish look in your eyes and that half-smirk curving your lips.  

He nods, and you nod back, then you turn and lift your half-empty glass to the rest of the table in a toast.  You give a shrill whistle until they are silent and watching you, and you toast Poe.

“To Poe Dameron, the Resistance’s poster Fly Boy:  may he fuck better than he flies, and may the Resistance win this war before he runs out of ships and lovers.”

The table erupts in roaring laughter, and whistles, and applause, and everyone throws their drinks back after shouting “hear, hear!”

Poe can only grin back at you.  He shakes his head ruefully.  

“You’re a menace, Fly Girl,” he says.

-----

It’s moments like that where Poe mulls them over late at night in his quarters.  He argues with BB-8, who takes an extremely optimistic view of you.  The little droid loves you as much as a droid can love, and Poe finds himself wondering if you’re just being flirty with him or if it’s more.

Because while it’s true that you’re friendly and flirty with a lot of people, you certainly seem to be more with him.  And Poe knows that he’s the only one you have your deep talks with, your purgative discussions where you bleed out some of the darkness of your past.  

That has to mean something.  You let him see the darkest parts of yourself, and you accept the darkest parts of him.  That’s deeper than flirting at the cantina.  That’s real foundational stuff, and Poe is certain you don’t do that with anyone but him.

-----

Maybe Poe would have time to finesse the situation, to draw you out carefully.  To test the waters.  He has an idea to increase the flirting, to dial it up and see how you react.  The two of you are casually touchy, but he could try to deepen those moments.

If he took your hand during one of your deep discussions, would you pull away?  

If he brushed a kiss to your cheek at the cantina, would you turn away?

He wants to try.  He’s desperate to try.  He hasn’t had someone in his bed since he met you, and he yearns for you.  It’s the sweetest torture, those casual touches the two of you share.  When he sits beside you, it’s like his skin is aflame, so close to your own.  When he goes back to his own lonely bed, it’s like he carries the echo of that near-touch with him, burning him, branding his skin as he tosses and turns and thinks of you.

-----

He has the vague plan to try and draw you out, but fate intervenes.

Fate, in this case, is a pair of pilots from the Jade Squadron.  They are middling pilots, nothing special but solid as far as support goes.  Poe can’t even remember their names, just thinks of them as “Tall” and “Short.”

You and Poe are in your hidden-away corner of the hangar, just chatting amicably about happier childhood memories.  Him playing on Dameron ranch with his grandfather.  You doing little odd jobs in your mother’s workshop, building droids together.

The hidden-away corner is hidden, but not soundproof.  The Jade squadron pilots, Tall and Short, walk nearby and pause near where your TIE fighter is parked against blocks.

“Look at this ship,” Tall says, and his voice carries across to where you and Poe sit.  The two of you go quiet, your words trailing off, and you both listen.

“It’s like two models beyond what Kylo Ren has, I heard,” Short replies.

“Do you really believe she stole it?”

“What do you mean?” Short asks.  “You think she’s First Order?”

Tall scoffs, and the harsh noise carries to Poe’s ears.  “Nah, c’mon.  She probably just offered a favor to some hangar guard or something.”  

He must make some gesture, or maybe he says something quieter, but Short bursts into laughter and Tall joins in.  The implication is something rude, that you traded off a sexual favor for a ship.  Poe glances over at you, and he can see how your shoulders tense up around your ears in the shadows of your corner.  He clenches his fist against his thigh.

When Short’s laughter trails off, he says, “I bet that’s Dameron’s angle.”

“Angle for what?”

“His X-wing is a piece of shit.  You seen it?  Black Leader, and he’s up there in a taped-together relic.  You know he wants that TIE fighter.”

“Yeah, but General Organa let her keep it,” Tall points out.

“Yeah, but,” Short counters, “Dameron can charm a Wookiee out of its fur.  Why else would he stick so close to her?  They are inseparable.”

Poe’s face burns in fury.  He peers over to where the two pilots are chatting, and he can see Tall shrug.  “Maybe he actually likes her.”

“I doubt it.  You know the type of women he used to pull.”

Tall snorts.  “Yeah, the type that could fit in that TIE fighter with some spare room in the seat.”

“Exactly.  Hence the long con.  I’d bet my own X-wing, but it’s a piece of shit too.  He’s playing her for that ship, and once she gives it up, he’ll drop her.”

Tall reaches out and runs an appreciative hand along the sleek black curve of your ship.  “I’d never give up a ship like this, but the way she looks at him?  I bet you’re right.”

The two of them laugh again, and they walk around the ship, but their words trail off.  Then they leave, and the silence that lays over the hangar is heavy.  Poe glances over at you, and your fists are so tight in your lap that your knuckles show white under your skin.  There’s tension radiating off of you, and Poe swallows hard.  Clears his throat, tries to think of what to say….

You don’t give him a chance.  You spring to your feet and stride away—not towards the living quarters or the cantina, but outside, into the dense overgrown forest outside of the packed-dirt runway.

“Hey, wait!” he calls out, and he has to jog to catch up.  By the time he does, you’re already deep into the verdant overgrowth, and while it’s only early evening, in here, it’s darker.

“Leave it, Poe.”  You toss the words over your shoulder, and they sound bitten off, like you’re pushing them between your clenched jaw.

“Sweetheart—”

“I want to be alone!”

He shakes his head even if you can’t see it.  He’s only a step or two behind you, and he reaches out a hand and manages to catch ahold of your arm.  He tries to still you—or at least slow you—but instead you pivot on your heel and turn on him.

“Is it true?”  Your face is thunderous—eyebrows knit together, eyes narrowed, fierce frown on your lips.  You put your hands on your hips and brace your feet wide, ready to fight him.

Poe is stunned.  “Are you serious?  You believe them?”

“Yes!  No!”  You throw your hands in the air, exasperated.  “I don’t know!”

“Why would you believe them?  They’re jealous of your ship.  You heard them.”

“Both things can be true,” you spit out.  “They can be jealous of my ship and you can be…”  You trail off, falter.  Unable to say the accusing words, and Poe’s initial stunned feeling flares into anger.

“Say it.”  He crosses his arms and squares up to you, just as challenging.

“No.”

“No, I want you to say it.  Say that I’m just using you.  Say that I’m trying to con you out of that fucking ship.”

You don’t back down, not really.  You glare at him, watch him for a beat.  “It’s not the first time I’ve heard that, you know.”

“That I’m using you?”

A bit of your fury fades from your expression, and there’s a shadow of pain that passes across your face. “That there has to be a reason why we’re friends, because….”  Another trailing off, another sentence you can’t seem to voice.

“Because why?”  A bit of his own anger dies down too.

“Because I’m not….your usual type,” you say, pulling back at the last minute, and your voice sounds so pained now that the rest of Poe’s anger burns off.

“What’s my type, sweetheart?”  He says it softly, and he uncrosses his arms.  Holds his hands out, open.  This is my chance, he thinks.  His heart is pounding in his chest, so hard it seems to knock against his ribcage, and his mouth feels dry.  There’s no opportunity to try and tease you out now, so he’ll have to just plunge in, admit his feelings….

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you reply.  The pain is apparent in your voice, strained, and you dodge around him, try to get past him, but he’s faster.  He hooks his hand around your wrist and holds you fast.  Pulls your firmly, but slowly back to him until you are standing in front of him.  You drop your head and refuse to look at him, and it’s so out of character for you—you, the bold pilot, the assured spy-mistress—that all of Poe’s questions about you are answered then and there.

You must feel something for him.  If you didn’t, you would have laughed at those Jade Squadron pilots, made some derisive joke about them, elbowed Poe in his side.  

“What’s my type?” he asks again, and he drops his voice to a near-whisper.  

And he answers his own question for you.  The two of you are on uneven ground—he’s on surer footing—and he wants you to be clear of the situation.

“My type is you,” he says.  “C’mon, how can you not know that?”

“You’re not funny, Poe.”  You raise your face and glare at him, and whatever feelings are churning through you, you seem to read his words, his tone wrong.  You seem to think he’s teasing you or worse….that those Jade Squadron assholes are right and that he’s only being friendly to get your ship.

You break his hold and stride away, and Poe is so stunned that it takes him a beat to follow—and by then, you are long gone.

*****

It’s easy to avoid Poe.

You’re in separate squadrons, and you’re often sent on separate missions.  All you have to do is keep away from the common congregation areas—the small, cobbled together cantina, mostly.  

It’s easy to stay away from there, frankly.  Those Jade Squadron pilots put a bad taste in your mouth, a bitterness that creeps up the back of your throat when you are in social settings now.  They awakened that self-doubting voice in your head, the one that makes you think everyone is looking at you and judging you.

Ironic, that in a galaxy full of every conceivable species and body type (from Hutts to Jawas and everything in between), you could still be made to feel unwieldy and ugly.

It’s that self-doubting voice that convinces you that you can’t possibly be Poe’s type, despite that weird, charged moment in the jungle.  That he was only being nice, trying to diffuse the tension that had sprang up with the Jade pilots’ cruel speculations.

You’re so angry with the entire situation.  Angry at those Jade assholes, angry at yourself.  Angry, a little, at Poe himself.  Angry that he turned out to be such a nice guy.  Angry that it took no time at all to be friends, and just as angry that you fell for him.

You would have been happy for things to stay exactly as they had been:  a friendship that was deep and true.  The playful flirting, the deeper talks about your respective pasts and your future hopes.  The pining that makes you sigh and makes your heart ache.

But the entire friendship has skewed in an embarrassing way, and you don’t know how to navigate it.  You know from your spying days and your time now as a squadron leader:  there’s always three paths through a problem.  

You can hide, you can flee, or you can fight.

You don’t want to fight Poe, and you can’t flee the Resistance.  Besides, the safest path is always to hide, so that’s what you do now.

-----

Your quarters are cramped and small, and every other public space holds the potential of Poe finding you. The two of you used to sit in a cozy corner of the hangar, but that’s the first place he’d look.

When you aren’t on a mission, you slip off to your private place.  Outside of the hangar, off into the wild green verge, there’s a small clearing that opens up on a little stream and pool.  You often take a flask of spotchka there, kick off your boots, and dip your feet in the cool water while you sit alone with your thoughts.

You’re lonely.  You miss your friend, and you miss the convivial evenings with the other rebels in the cantina.  But those Jade pilots broke something in you, and you’d rather be lonely than mocked….or rejected.

It takes a few missions—you coming and going, Poe coming and going.  A few star-cycles.  It takes a little time before Poe finally tracks you down, and in the end, it’s BB-8 who finds you first.  

You’re sitting with your back against a tree, your feet gently paddling against the water of the pool.  No spotchka tonight—just you gazing up at the darkening sky, missing your family and your home world.  Feeling sorry for yourself.

You hear the rustling in the undergrowth, and you start to reach for the vibroknife you keep at your side, but then you hear the familiar beeping of the little droid…and the heavier tread of boots, and a murmuring voice that you’d recognize anywhere.

There’s nowhere to run to.  You’ve been found—probably by BB-8’s heat-seeking technology—and anyway, your little hiding place has been discovered.

The two of them break into the clearing, and the droid chirps happily, whizzes over to you and bumps against you gently, over and over until you can’t help but laugh.  Then it rolls back to Poe for the praise it’s owed for finding you, which Poe freely gives.  

Then he glances at you, and he sends BB-8 back to the base, leaving just the two of you.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says.

Why bother lying?  Poe’s too smart for that.

“Yes,” you reply simply.

He sighs and walks over to you.  He kicks his own boots off and sits beside you.  He rolls his pants up to the middle of his shins, then eases his feet into the water too.  Then he just sits there for a long stretch—not talking, not looking at you.  He only gazes into the water, and it’s just as it always was—that charged way you start to feel when you’re near him, the way every cell of you seems to come alive.

“Do you really think I was just trying to get your ship?” he finally asks.

Deep down, you don’t.  Poe’s charming, and he often uses his charm to get his way, but he is never malicious with it.  It would have been cruel to befriend you just to get the ship, and Poe is never cruel.

“No.”  You pause and glance at him, but he’s still focused on the water.  “I don’t think that.”

“Then why haven’t you spoken to me since that night?”

Poe’s too smart to bother lying to him.  You tell him the truth, or at least the simplest version of it.

You shrug in embarrassment, give a bitter laugh.  “Because those Jade squadron pilots struck too close to the truth.”

“Which is?”

“That I have feelings for you, but that I also know you’re so far out of my league that if everyone else sees it, you must too.”

The sudden admission must shock him, especially after so many days of you dodging him.  He swivels his head to look at you, and you can see him out of the corner of your eye, but you refuse to meet his gaze.

“I’m out of your league?” he asks, incredulous.  “You got that backwards, sweetheart.”

You laugh again, bitter, not a hint of amusement.  “Sure, Poe.”

He turns more, twists until one leg is tucked under him and his entire body is facing you.  You can feel the weight of his eyes on you, and you shrink a little at the force of it.  

“You’re serious.  You seriously think I’m out of your league?”  He shakes his head.  “You’re delusional.”

He sounds so skeptical that his voice goes up a half-octave, squeaks a little when he says the word delusional, and you laugh.  You can’t help it.  It’s one of his talents, making you laugh when you feel like you’ll never smile again.  He’s done it plenty of times:  when you’re in a low mood about a recent loss in the field, when you’re missing your family.  

Your laughter makes him laugh, and for a long moment, it feels like old times.  You think, for a moment, that you and Poe can go back to the way it was, awkward feelings buried again and the two of you good friends.

The laughter dies off, though, and the moment turns serious again.  Tense.  The tension lays over the two of you, thick and heavy, and you know that no matter what, there’s no going back to the fun, flirty way the two of you used to be.  You’re not going to be able to sit in that dark corner of the hangar either, sharing secrets, comforting each other when dark thoughts threaten.  

You feel the sting of tears in your eyes, and you turn your head away from Poe, but he must see the tears before you do.  He moves again, into a kneeling position, and he reaches out a hand to touch your face.  To turn your head, gently, back to face him.

“C’mon, don’t cry,” he whispers.  You still can’t meet his gaze, so you close your eyes.  One tear, two…they creep out and start to roll down your cheeks, but he reaches out and brushes them away, gentle as air.  

“Don’t cry,” he repeats.  You can hear him moving again, rustling near you, and then you feel his arms around you.  Kneeling beside you, pulling you against the broad span of his chest.  “Why are you crying?  Is it that bad, having feelings for me?”  

He asks the last question with a teasing lilt, and it draws a watery laugh out of you.  You sniffle and try to push away from him, but he holds you fast.

“I was being honest, before,” he says against your head.  “You are my type.”

“Poe—”

“No, I need you to listen, sweetheart,” he interrupts.  He holds you against him, and you are all too aware that this is the closest you’ve been to him, the most you’ve touched him.  His heart is under your ear, and you can hear the quiet thud of it.

“I don’t know when it started,” he explains.  “I knew you were this hot-shot spy, and then you came back to base and demanded to be a pilot.”  He chuckles against your head and adds, “you were super irritating, so it probably didn’t start at the beginning.”

You laugh again, sniffle again.  “Rude.”

“I think it started on your test run that Leia made you do.  Remember?  I was floored that you even managed to steal that ship, but then….we went on the trial run.  It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen, the way you handled that ship.  Like it was a part of you.  Like it was made for you.”

He sighs, and shifts a little.  One of his hands drifts down to the middle of your back, and he rubs a comforting circle there as he continues.

“I had this thought of trying to flirt with you, but then we went into hyperspace.  That blue star, remember that?  We circled it.  We just drifted, and you said that if this war wasn’t going on, you’d be out exploring the regions beyond the Outer Rim.”

“I remember.”

“You sounded so furious that you had to fight in the Resistance.  That’s when it started, I think.  Not just wanting you for a night, but wanting all of you for….for longer, I guess.  For as long as you’d have me.  I remember thinking, ‘she’s got some darkness in her past, like me.’  I remember thinking that maybe we were the same.  Or at least similar.  I thought, ‘maybe I could let her really know who I am.’”

You snort, and when you push away from him, he lets you.  You brush the back of your hand across your eyes and then glance at him.  He’s watching you; there’s not a bit of guile in his expression.  He looks open, expectant.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything then?” you ask.

“Why didn’t you?”

“You heard those Jade assholes, Poe.  And there’s a hundred different women who are better—”

He cuts you off with an unhappy grumble and a stern shake of his head.  “I’ve never thought that about you.  I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Okay, sure.”  You roll your eyes and stand up, brushing the dirt off of your pants.  You shake both of your feet, trying to get most of the water off of them, and then you put your boots back on.  Poe stands up too, puts his own boots on, but something in him snaps.

“Why are you so stubborn?” he asks, and the quiet and calm is gone from his voice.  Now he sounds pissed, and when you look at him in surprise, he’s glaring at you, both of his hands on his hips.

“What?”

“Why are you so fucking stubborn?” he repeats, amending it with a curse word.  “You are so damned convinced that I’m out of your league that you aren’t even listening to what I’m telling you.”

“Hey, I—”

“No, I sat here and poured my heart out to you.  I’ve told you twice now that I have feelings for you, and you wave me off.  You’d rather believe those assholes from the Jade squadron?  You think they know me—know us—better than we do?”

“No, but—”

There’s no stopping him, though.  Poe Dameron, you’re discovering, has been suffering in silence too, and you’ve walked him right up to his limit…and beyond it.  He doesn’t let you get a word in edgewise now—he’s fully ranting.

“I’ve wanted you for months!” he yells, throwing his hands in the air.  “Since that trial run, and every day after was like torture!  Flirting with you at the cantina, sitting in the hangar and spilling my worst secrets to you!  Every time I thought, ‘this time I’ll tell her how I feel,’ but every time, I lost my nerve.  Every damned time!  You’re the fucking Fly Girl who steals prototype ships and runs the best squadron in the fleet, and I’m just the guy who’s trying to forget the fact that he’s Shara Bey’s son and he ruined her memory by being a spice-runner.”

“Poe, come on—”  You reach out a hand to him, but he bats it away, angry.

“You have no idea how sick it makes me when you’re off on a mission.  Leia sends you on the most dangerous ones, and I get sick to death, worried I’ll never see you again.  Worried that you’ll die and I’ll never have the chance to tell you how I feel.  But when I finally do tell you how I feel, you roll your eyes and say it’s a mistake.”

His words—and the passion behind them—stuns you.  You can only stare at him, open-mouthed, as he breathes heavy, through his nose, snorting and chuffing like a bantha.  He glares at you, and for a moment you think he might actually hate you…you never realized the depth of his feelings, and he’s right to be angry at your dismissive attitude.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly.  You reach your hands out to him, palms up, like he’s a skittish creature you’re trying to soothe.  “I’m sorry, Poe.  I didn’t realize.”

“You didn’t want to realize,” he snaps.  “You notice everything little thing, but you never noticed me?”

“Maybe I didn’t believe it.  Maybe I was so wrapped up in my own low moods that I couldn’t believe that you felt the same way.”

He snorts again, shakes his head, but he doesn’t reply.

“It makes me sick when you’re on a mission too,” you tell him, quiet.  “I’m always terrified that when you take off, it’s the last time I’ll see you.”

“Then why did you avoid me?”

You drop your hands and shrug.  You rub the back of your neck and look away, up at the stars glittering in the now-dark sky.

“I don’t really know how to do any of this stuff, Poe,” you admit.  Which is the truth:  you’ve had a few brief flings, but never a relationship.  The rise of the First Order and the decimation of your planet put a halt to any of that, and you’ve been almost singularly focused on your revenge ever since.

“I just thought you were too good for me, and I never wanted our friendship to suffer,” you continue.  “Being your friend was enough for me, because at least I got to be near you.”

“We can’t go back to being just friends,” he tells you.  

You nod, miserable.  This was exactly what you were avoiding, and fresh tears rise and blur your vision, but before you can open your mouth to say another wrong, stupid thing, Poe snaps a second time.

He’s on you in an instant, his hands cupping your face, drawing you to him, and then his mouth is on you too, hot and insistent.  His lips against yours, and when you gasp in surprise, his tongue invades your mouth too.  You can taste the heavy mint on his breath, and the spotchka beneath it, and beneath that…him.

He backs you up until you are pressed between him and the smooth bark of the tree, and he doesn’t give you a single moment to catch your breath.  Not a single inch of relief as he kisses you, as he groans into your mouth, as he rolls his hips against you.  One hand is still on your face, cupping against your cheek, but the other drifts lower—his knuckles drag over the side of your throat, then over your collarbones, until he is palming the curves of your breasts, kneading at the softness there, groaning again.

Your brain can’t seem to comprehend what’s happening.  You kiss him back—or try to:  his mouth works against yours, his tongue insistent, stealing your breath from you.  Your hands settle on his shoulders, but you keep trying to understand what has happened.  

You started the evening sitting alone, maudlin and full of self-pity.  Now the length of your body is trapped between Poe Dameron and a tree, and he’s kissing you like a dervish.  How did you get from there to here?

Poe senses your confusion, and he misreads it.  He stills his hands, and he breaks the kiss with you.  He peers into your eyes, his own narrowed as he tries to read whatever is going on in your mind.

“What do you…don’t you…” he starts, but he trails off.  Then there’s hurt on his face, his handsome features twisted in pain.  He sighs, and you can see where the moment may go:  more misunderstanding.  More hurt.  Him stalking away from you, and that tight-throat feeling that one of you may die in a dangerous mission without the other knowing…

“I’m just catching up,” you whisper.  You shift one hand to the back of his neck, pushing your fingertips into the curls there.  The other hand…you press it against his chest, over his heart, and this time you can feel it thudding away against your palm.  

“Too fast?”

You shake your head.  “No…still in disbelief, I guess.”

The frown disappears from his face, and Poe smiles at you.  It’s like the sun breaking the line of the horizon after a long night.  He opens his mouth to say something—maybe one of his flirty lines, or maybe a teasing one—but instead he just leans forward and kisses you again.  Gentler this time.  Slower.  More deliberate.  

He breaks the kiss a moment later and presses his forehead against yours.  His hands have slipped to your waist, and he gives you a gentle squeeze.

“Can we go back to the quarters now?” he asks.  “Because I’ve waited forever.”

You’ve waited almost as long.  You smile back at him, then slip your hand into his.  It’s dark now, after all, and you’re on surer footing here in your private little spot.  You lead him back to base, and then to your quarters.

*****

It probably wasn’t fair, setting BB-8 on your trail, using the little droid to track you down, but Poe was tired of waiting.  Waiting for you to turn up, waiting for a chance to talk to you and explain his side of things.  

He was already so tired of fighting—his own demons, the First Order, the weighty expectations that come with being Shara Bey’s only son—that fighting you was the thing that broke him.

But it paid off:  BB-8 found you, and the entire stupid unrequited misunderstanding between you and him is over.  Now he’s in your room, the cramped space a mirror to his own quarters, and if you’re shy as you strip for him—your hands shake, he notices, as you pluck at the buttons and buckles on your vest and shirt—at least you’re here.  With him.  Your eyes darting to his face from time to time, seeking reassurance.

It breaks his heart to think that all this time, you thought you were the one lacking.  You thought you were the one with something to prove.  He can still see a shade of that even now, the tiniest bit of hesitation when you look at him, as if you’re expecting him to change his mind and leave.

It takes him less time to shuck off his own clothes.  He doesn’t bother to make it look seductive—he just undoes his pants, shoves them down and kicks out of them.  Tears his shirt over his head, mussing his hair.  He’s ravenous for you, absolutely slavering to get you into bed, and the moment you’re finally stripped bare too, he does just that.

His hands on your waist again, pivoting you and then gently shoving you backwards onto the narrow bed. He takes a single moment to gaze down at you, to burn the image into his mind.  You’re so fucking gorgeous that it breaks his heart here too—that you thought you weren’t.  That you believed other people when they said you weren’t.

Then he’s on you.  Poe Dameron has an entire catalog of moves, step-by-step seductions, but he doesn’t think of a single one the moment he’s on you.  He has waited so long, has made himself content with the small, incidental touches at the cantina or in the hangar.  The way you would nudge him, the few times he chanced to put his arm around your shoulders.

Now?  

It’s like a feast of sensation.  Not just touch, though the feeling of you underneath him—the length of him pressing you into the thin mattress of your cot—feels like paradise.  You’re soft and warm, and when he places a hand on the inside of your thigh, you part your legs eagerly to make room for him.  When he settles against you, bracketed by your raised knees on either side of him, when he brushes the throbbing length of him against your core….well, it’s not just touch.  

It’s sound, too.  The choked-off whimper you give.  The way your breath hitches in your throat.  The sound of his name when you whisper it, when you plead for more.  His own answering groan at the feel of you, then again at how you touch him:  one hand tangled in his hair, steering his face to yours, but the other hand reaching down and grasping his ass, spurring him on.

He should tease you.  Punish you, just a little bit.  There’s still a thin thread of irritation in him.  Irritated that you never noticed how he felt, when you noticed absolutely everything else.  Irritation that you thought him shallow, maybe.

But there’s no weight to his irritation.  Not really.  Deep down, he knows that it’s just your own insecurity, and he recognizes it because he has his own struggles with feeling insecure.

So he doesn’t tease you, and he doesn’t draw it out.  He’s absolutely aching for you, and your hand is on him—first on his ass, then the curve of his lower back—driving him on.

He kisses you again, then breaks away to look at you.  The entire moment by the stream, you avoided looking at him.  Now you gaze back at him, and he can see the whole spectrum of emotions you’re feeling.  Love, desire.  Fear.  

He recognizes them too.  He feels exactly the same.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs.  

You slide your hand around from the back of his head to cup his face.  Your trace the tip of your thumb over him—trace the shape of his lips, rubs against his stubbled cheek.  The trace of fear in your eyes fades, and all Poe can see is the love and desire there.

“I want this,” you murmur back.  “I want you, Poe.”

You feel so fucking good.  He watches your face carefully as he pushes into you, and you must feel it too.  You gaze at him, but then your eyelids flutter shut, and you breathe out his name and a curse, gasping when he finally bottoms out in your velvety depths.

There will be softer moments (in the morning, in fact, when Poe will ease into you as he spoons you, a slower, quieter moment).  This is decidedly not a soft moment, though:  it’s been a chain reaction since he kissed you by the stream, and now that he’s inside you, he combusts.

You must be feeling the same way.  You open your eyes wide and stare up at him, a stunned look on your face, but you wrap your legs around his waist.  It shifts the angle, allows him an extra fraction into you, and you groan when he takes it.

He draws out halfway, rolls his hips as he sinks back into you.  Repeats it, tries to go slow, but you spur him on—your heels digging into his ass, pressing him forward each time he tries to pull out.  

“Poe, please,” you beg him, and damned if it doesn’t make him twitch inside you, hearing how sweet it sounds, both his name in your mouth and your pleading.  “Please, please.  Please.”

“So polite,” he growls near your ear, but you turn your head and nip at him, catching him right near the hinge of his jaw.  

It’s not a painful bite, nothing but the straight line of your teeth pressed against his skin for the briefest moment, but it makes him go absolutely feral.  He growls again, captures your mouth with his own, and he thrusts into you.  Hard.  Enough to jostle you under him, but you take it, and you whine for more and press your heels into him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he mutters.  “Feel so good.”

You do, and he must feel good to you, because you raise your hips as best you can, chasing more of him, begging for him.  Poe reaches out and hooks your right leg under the hinge of your knee, presses it up and out, spreading you wider for him.  Granting him more of you, and he must be hitting some spot in you, the thick drag of his cock against your clenching heat.  You whimper each time he bottoms out in you, a whine in the back of your throat.

“Close,” you manage to choke out.  Your eyes are wide, glassy with tears, and you’re panting underneath him.  “Poe…’m so close.”

“You gonna come for me?” he asks, and he changes his rhythm, adds a second, stuttering thrust as he bottoms out.  A doubling press where the end of him is hitting the end of you, and it makes your eyes flutter shut again.  A tear creeps out from the corner of your eye.

He can feel the sheen of sweat break out across his back and shoulders and chest.  He fucks you harder, hammers you into the mattress of your bed, and he has the mad thought that he might actually merge with you.  It’s the first time he’s ever felt so connected to a lover, and Poe realizes deep down that because of the love between the two of you, even if neither of you have voiced it yet.

He comes first, technically.  He feels the unbearable tension suddenly snap, the heat and warmth spiraling out from the center of him as his hips judder against you.  He comes with a low groan, spilling inside you, and its either those final strokes or the sensation of the heat of his release….you come a beat after him.

You’re so quiet when you come.  Only that same whine in the back of your throat, only his name whispered against the skin of his neck, where your face is buried.  You arch underneath him, your arms trembling, and he can feel how your pussy clenches at him, tries to draw him in.

-----

Immediately after…that’s when Poe feels a sting of shame.  He moved so fast, and while you had moved just as fast alongside him, maybe he should have gone slower.  Been more romantic about it.  You aren’t just a hook-up, a one-night stand, but he has to make sure you know that.

“Hey,” he says.  He lifts his head from where it’s resting against your chest, and he bumps your nose with his own.  “You okay?”

“Better than.”  You smile up at him, a goofy, cock-drunk grin, and he returns it with one of his own.  “You?” you ask.

“Absolutely.”  A beat.  “I’ve wanted to do that since forever.”

You hum at that, and he leans down to kiss you, soft and lingering.  You kiss him back, tangle your fingers in his hair again.  You stretch the moment into something so sweet, so infinitely tender, that every sharp-edged doubt Poe has ever harbored is ground down a bit.  They lose some of their sting, and for the first time in a very long time, Poe thinks he might deserve good things after all.

-----

It’s only later—after a second round, just as frenzied—that the two of you talk.  Just a little:  you’re both tired.  Sated with each other.  Your bed is narrow, and the two of you are pressed close together, facing each other.  Your legs are tangled together, your arms around each other.  Poe reaches down and tugs the thin blanket up to cover you, but you’re both so warm, you really don’t need it.

“I meant everything I said, you know,” he tells you.  Bumps your nose with his own again, makes you smile again.  “I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

He doesn’t say “love,” not yet.  He won’t say it until later, when you return from a routine supply mission that goes badly.  Poe won’t say it until he thinks you’re dead, and when you return in your ship and stagger out of the cockpit, he’ll be right there, the words already out of his mouth even as he pulls you to him.

You don’t say “love” right now either.  You’ll say it first when he’s asleep, days from now.  You’ll say it when you watch him sleep, the sharp ache in your heart pushing the whispered words right out of you.

“I’ve wanted you too,” you reply.  “I’m glad you came and found me.”

He kisses your forehead and settles back down against the pillow, and a drowsy quiet falls over you.  He can feel himself relaxing, and he knows he’s not far from sleep.

But you speak up before he does.  “I was wrong, you know,” you say.

“How so?”

“At the cantina, remember?  I made that toast, but I was wrong.”

Poe doesn’t know what you’re talking about at first, and he casts his mind back to all those evenings in the smoky bar.  A million moments with you:  side by side, regaling the assembled crowd with tales of your respective exploits.

“I don’t remember,” he says, and he just catches the glint of humor in your eye, that teasing smirk on your lips before you respond.

“You definitely fuck better than you fly, Dameron.”

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas  @massivecolorspygiant​   @imspillingcoffee​   @amneris21​   @paintballkid711​   @mad-girl-without-a-box​   @bestattempt   @rosiefridayrogersunday​   @strawberrydragon​   @hoeforthefictional​   @greeneyedblondie44​  @leannawithacapitala​   @stardust-galaxies​  @buckybarneshairpullingkink​   @harriedandharassed​  @thatpinkshirt​   @xoxabs88xox​  @ataraxydreams   @blunt-cake-yes​  @castiellover77​   @shesbiochem4​   @isvvc-pvscvl​   @frankie-catfish-morales​    @foxilayde​  @blacksquadron-roguetwo   @zizzlekwum​

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #star wars

[aquadestinyswriting]

How It Ends

Summary: Meredith can finally start to think about what happened right before the final battle against Ionah once the mother-in-law from the hells is Banished to the Pit.

Words: 705

Warnings: off-screen character death, grief, trauma.

Tags: @flashfictionfridayofficial, @druidx, @sparrow-orion-writes , @warriorbookworm, @mariahwritesstuff, @writeblrsupport, @ashirisu, @thesorcerersapprentice, @blind-the-winds, @philosophika

Note: this is another one based on events that happened during a d&d campaign session and is a dramatised version of what happened.

It was finally over. Ionah had finally been Banished to the deepest level of the Pit that I could manage to get her to and she wasn’t coming back. At least not for as long as I lived at any rate. 

My heart squeezes painfully as Elowyn looks over to me,

“That… thing she did with the symbol. What was that?” She asks quietly. I take in a shuddering breath, not wanting to acknowledge what that velskvinne had done as my already shattered heart broke further. I hate the way my voice cracks when I finally reply,

“That was – That was a connection to – to him.” I reply softly, not daring to look up at the literally angelic features of the woman kneeling next to me. I flinch a little as Elowyn’s Polymorphed form shuffles closer,

“And is he alive?” She pressed. As much as I know I can be vulnerable in front of her, I can’t bring myself to break. Not entirely. It’s probably because she’s so tall at the moment. The form isn’t right for the voice that comes with it. I close my eyes and shake my head. 

“I don’t – I don’t know.” I reply, my voice cracking some more as the reality of what happened at the beginning of the fight finally hits. I know I’m trying to deny it, hoping that somehow not seeing Yoruk die in front of me means he might still be alive somehow. The walls I was trying to hastily build up around my heart crumble as Elowyn reaches out and pulls me into a tight hug. I collapse into the warmth radiating from this angelic form, holding onto it as tightly as I can manage as my world finally shatters.

“You know that I would go back and beat her in the Pit a second time if it would bring him back.” Elowyn murmurs. The feathers of her borrowed wings tickle at my nose, but I pay it no mind as I try, and fail, to compose myself. It didn’t matter now that Ionah was gone. She’d got what she wanted. Yoruk was gone. Forever. His soul was obliterated, and not even a True Resurrection was bringing him back. We’d been married all of four months and now I was a widow.

I suddenly feel a smaller hand, brimming with arcane power, gently land on my shoulder. I jerk my head up and look over said shoulder, only to come face to face with a smiling Felix. The symbol on the back of his hand flares from blue-purple to white as he speaks,

“I Wish for all things to be well with you and all those you love.” he says, voice quiet and calm. His smile widens as a pulse of arcane magic washes over the three of us and out across the shoreline of Celestia. My breath catches in my throat as I feel the magical weave react to the gnome's desire. A Greater Wish. A spell so powerful it could reshape the very fabric of reality. And Felix was using this power to…

I immediately let go of Elowyn and grab Felix into the tightest hug I can manage, sobbing and hiccoughing into his shoulder,

“Thank you.” I finally choke out, relaxing my grip a little so my gnomosh friend could breathe. I feel Felix shake his head and pat me on the back,

“Well I know what it means to have a true love.” he murmurs, “And I know that you’d do the same for me if you could.” he adds softly. Of course. Had our situations been reversed, I would have done everything in my power to bring Dwena back for him and Felix is exactly the kind of person to put the needs of his friends above his own. I give Felix another squeeze and let him go, wiping my eyes on the sleeves of my vestments. Now that things have been set right, I can return to the Material Plane with my head held high. Well, there was one last awkward conversation to have to finally end this chapter of my journey, but first I’ll need to have words with Snotgrut about dropping the Polymorph he put on Elowyn…

#aquadestinyswriting #titan fighting fantasy #flash fiction friday #grief tw #off-screen character death tw #meredith gruksdottir #elowyn o'toreguarde #felix parker-tinker

[tunastime]

On Finales (Stretching Endless Night)

Here you guys go: the joke chapter for Stretching Endless Night! I couldn't help myself on AO3 and the 'Major Character Death' warning was too good not to indulge in.

Here’s the thing: things don’t always end up how they’re supposed to. 

It’s a well known fact—it’s also a caveat. The unknown is a fear, too, a liability, a risk. It’s a well-known one of those, too, one that both Etho and Bdubs were familiar with.

The thing about that risk is that sometimes it can be ignored. It can be put to the back burner and set aside and have something be thrown over it to obscure it from view so that risk becomes out of sight, out of mind, and Etho and Bdubs were very good at having things go out of sight when they were out of mind. It was like their whole relationship balanced on not knowing and forgetting and apologizing for not knowing and forgetting and wasn’t that just the funniest thing.

They don’t make it.

That’s the other thing—the other thing that ends up not how it’s supposed to. Which is horrible, given how much they tried. But isn’t it worth trying anyway? Isn’t it worth always fighting against the odds, to not accept that there’s a no-win scenario? Isn’t that what Xisuma used to say? When did he start saying that; was it after he lost Tango? Maybe after he came back?

You normally don’t have to deal with altitude sickness in space. Given that the altitude normally doesn’t have an effect anymore because there simply isn’t any oxygen left to thin. But it thinned on the STS-143, and the bends kill faster than altitude sickness, and infection does, too. And in the end, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Maybe it’s better that there was no one to blame.

Hands locked together, fingers pressed to the shallow valleys of knuckles, of space between fingers, heads tucked against once warm shoulders, canisters of oxygen left at hips. If it were any other time, it might be sad. If it were any other universe, it might be poetic.

When Bdubs and Etho are found together, curled in like two parentheses with oxygen between them, it’s poetic. And it’s a touch sad. And it’s a story. And it’s just one more entry into a data log. Etho and Bdubs die, and the smooth rotation of the Prometheus continues, and the Spacer is tugged along behind the Rift, and nobody speaks. Nobody has the words.

But that’s not how this really ends, is it?

Somewhere, quietly, an EKG continues to beep.

Tango sets the Rift on autopilot.

#ethubs #ethoslab #bdoubleo100 #senau #spacer au #hermitcraft #text #hermitcraft fic #mcyt #mcyt fic #fics #to the people in my ao3 comments i'm very sorry i did this to you but it was for the bit #to laurie and honey i love you dearly #and i am so so sorry /lie #it was worth it #i wrote this in like one sitting and went. okay yeah full send #anyway enjoy!

[zaceouiswriting]

A final decision

Character: Derek Hale x male reader

Universe: Teen Wolf

Warnings: Break up

A thump echoed through the house. It was enough to break me free from my deep sleep. Seconds later, I was fully awake, adrenaline pumping through my veins. Not long ago, a mob of hunters tried to kill everyone I knew. Of course, I was on edge. Even with the new house we now live in. I did not feel safe, actually the exact opposite.

When I almost jumped out of bed, I was already gathering all my strength to fight again. But when I opened my bedroom door, I couldn't see anything strange. No, unfamiliar smells and no other noises. Instead, it was almost eerily quiet.

Slowly, as quietly as possible, I walked down the hall to where I thought the sound was coming from. But when I got to the door, a knowing sigh came out of my mouth.

I already knew what I would find behind it. Still, I opened it on the other side, most of the room was destroyed. The last thumb I heard was the malefactor falling onto his butt, which he was still sitting on.

Big tears were running down his cheeks. I don't know why he was still having trouble with it, but it had been like that for weeks.

After the first few days, I was already over it. But didn’t want to make it even worse for him. This has to stop! „What do you think you are doing, young man?“ My threatening voice caught the boy off guard. With wide tearful eyes, he looked up at me. It almost broke my heart.

I tried to stand my ground, but he just looked so broken. So I sat in front of him to pull him into a hug. This time, he didn’t even try to fight me. He just leaned in and cried on my shoulder.

We sat like that for a while, my hand stroking his head, fingers slowly and carefully running through his middle, long hair. I tried to talk to him to get to know the big problem, but he wouldn't tell me. 

„Okay, then you are ready to get out of this room and at least eat with us!“ I ordered him. I knew he didn't agree the moment I said it.

But I took him with me nevertheless. He wasn’t as strong as me, and we were the same height. So no overpowering me in any way or form.

„Derek, I took the puppy out of his room. He needs to socialize. Before I lose my mind. We have to buy new furniture… again,“ but my husband didn’t seem fazed. He just had a sour expression on his face.

I knew he was against me turning Gabe. But I couldn't let the poor boy die because he believed in the wrong ideology. Everyone deserves a second chance.

But he still believed in this ideology, at least it seemed like it. He was our only topic of argument lately. Still, I didn't let him take the boy down after the first few times.

„I don’t think the rest wants to socialize with a murderer they-“

„They also connect with you, Sulkywolf. And with me, Peter, Theo, Jackson, and even the twins. But they wouldn’t talk with Gabe?“ I asked him loudly for the entire house to hear. It wasn’t long until the first of our children arrived in our kitchen. All with questioning looks on their faces. They heard us arguing at least once a day for over a month since the last fight with the hunters.

„It’s not the same! We didn’t-“

„Yeah, he was a hunter. Doing something he believed was right would save people's lives. Just as every one of us does. We kill because we see the need in it.“

Still, we couldn’t get to a good point with our loud discussion. I know one of the reasons the others don't like Gabe is that I pay more attention to him. If they knew what it was like to be ripped out from the place you think you belong to and believe in, to be forced into the camp you were against, they wouldn't be so disrespectful, but as long as they do not want to see it, nothing would change.

Gabe is not my first hunter who turned into a werewolf. So I know some of the struggles. But for some reason, he took it exceptionally poorly.

"We don't kill, (Y/N)," Scott added softly to Derek's argument.

„How did this work out for you, Scott? Where is Lydia? Malia maybe? What about Erika? How did your none-killing mentality work for you and your pack? You are not even an alpha anymore. Because the moon god doesn’t favor you anymore!“

„That's enough! Don't talk to him like that!" Derek yelled in my direction.

I was utterly flabbergasted at his tone. He never raised his voice in this manner. And everything I did, was telling this brat how it was.

„Derek, I'm a born alpha from a lineage much older than yours could ever be. I know things you only could dream of. And you tell me that I don't know what I'm doing? Who helped you and paid to get your family property back after you lost almost everything?“

Even with all of these arguments, Derek wouldn’t step down. After all, he was a proud man. But I had it with this bullshit.

„You know what? You seem to have forgotten whom you're talking to. I am your husband and current alpha of this dysfunctional pack. But I'm also the son of an alpha, who would be very happy if I would go back to him to take over.“

Before Derek could realize what was happening, I was already taking the ring off my finger and throwing it into his face.

„Take this as me cutting myself free from you and this bullshit here!“ I screamed finally back at Derek. No one in the whole house has ever heard me screaming. Let alone get angry unless one of them got hurt.

„I will not foster this behavior. If I had been here sooner, I could have raised some of these brats better. But I'm sick of cleaning for all of you, taking time from my day to cater to all of the needs of everyone here. And I'm sick of not being respected by the brats you raised, Derek!” I finally finished my second outburst.

Without letting anyone say anything, I stormed upstairs again. To pack my stuff. But it wasn't long before I heard quite a chaotic mess downstairs.

It didn’t take long until I had most necessities. Which I used to work my way back down. Where I found Gabe cowering in a corner, „What the fuck happened?“ I asked in silent rage.

„Gabe get your things,“ he did not need anything else to be said. He was running as if his life depended on it.

„Please, you can’t do this to me, Babe. You are these kids’ mother figure, and you know this,“ Derek told me this often. I've never had a problem with that. I'm a motherly dude, after all.

„Isaac, Aiden, Ethan, Theo, Liam, Corey, get your things,“ they all scrambled before I needed to repeat myself. It was all a blur, none of them registering that I hadn't told the others to pack their things.

„Mason and Boyd, you both need to decide yourself. Boyd, I know you are loyal to Derek. So I won’t take it as an offense, and Mason, we would need to ask your parents beforehand. But in Canada, we also have a beneficial school system and many opportunities.“ The two boys, who barely knew each other looked stunned. For a moment, they stared into each other's eyes. Boyd said nothing but still left the room, and Mason was faster on his phone than anyone could’ve thought was possible.

I waited while the remaining people looked at me, only one person wearing a smile on his face, Peter. „I told you that was going to happen," he whispered in his nephew's ear before walking away, laughing at his nephew's stupidity.

I waited not even for ten minutes before everyone came back with all their things. Gabe was close to me, in fear of the others. I didn't know what happened while I was gone, but it must have been unpleasant.

„We're going now. Mason, are you ready to?"

„Yeah, we only need to get my things from my parent's home. And they need the address so they can visit sometimes.“

„Great, I would like to show them my hometown. They're wonderful people, after all,” I told him before looking back at Derek.

„We will clear the rest in court. Because the house is in both our names,“ my voice cold as ice, as I told him my final decision.

Finally, I could free myself from this situation. Derek is a good guy until it comes to Scott, then he gets irrational, like a needy puppy or something. Always being on his side, should they be happy with each other. With this last thought, I left the house I once called home, right after the ones I consider my children.

[Masterlist]

#Derek Hale x male reader #Derek Hale imagine #Teen Wolf x male reader #Teen Wolf imagine #x male reader #male reader #teen wolf #derek hale

[recovering-poetic-writer]

Here are my top manhwa picks

Category: reincarnation/rebirth

Death Is The Only Ending For The Villainess: Penelope Eckart reincarnated as the adopted daughter of Duke Eckart and the villainess of a reverse harem dating sim. The problem is, she entered the game at its hardest difficulty, and no matter what she does, death awaits her at every ending! Before the “real daughter” of Duke Eckart appears, she must choose one of the male leads and reach a happy ending in order to survive. But the two brothers always pick a fight with her over every little thing, as well as a crazy crown prince, whose routes all lead to death. There’s even a magician who’s enamoured with the female lead, and a loyal slave knight! But somehow, the favourability meters of the male leads increase the more she crosses the line with them! Alternative Name: Death Is The Only Ending For The Villain / Villains Are Destined to Die

What's Wrong with Being the Villainess?: Yoon Dohee transmigrates into the body of a villainess born with a silver spoon in her mouth and succeeds in completely turning her life around.With fierce and confident looks so unlike her actual timid personality, she becomes perfection itself by utilizing her knowledge as a graduate of a prestigious university.I thought as a villainess I would find only hatred and my own quick death, but this is totally the jackpot!!! Alternate name: Being A Wicked Woman Is Comfortable And Pleasant / so what if am the villainess? It's such a nice and comfortable lifestyle

The Way to Protect the Female Lead’s Older Brother: I accidentally took possession of someone in a 19+ reverse harem novel. The problem is that I became Roxana Agriche, the older sister of the sub-villain. My damn father kidnapped the heroine’s brother. Now, is the only thing left to meet a terrible end from the vengeance of the heroine? But what if I can avoid that horrible development? “I’m also interested in this toy.” ‘I’ll protect you until you can get out of here safely.’ The heroine’s brother, Cassis Pedalian, will definitely be able to pay me back later. Alternative Names: How to Protect The Heroine's Older Brother/ The Way to Keep the Older Brother of the Heroine Safe

The Golden Haired Elementalist: I thought I was dead, but when I woke up, I was reincarnated as a nobleman's daughter?! The only thing I did in the seventeen years of my first life was studying. Now that I'm alive again, I won't live just to study! The second life of an ordinary middle school girl with a slightly strange personality, Jean, begins an unstoppable journey on this continent!Alternate name: The Golden Haired Wizard

The Duchess’ 50 Tea Recipes: When I opened my eyes I had become the duchess. But something isn’t right. I went as far as becoming a character but I’m just a duchess in name that gets mistreated by the maids and ignored by her husband. What a crappy life! Gosh, I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ll just quietly enjoy my tea, was what I thought. “Can you prepare tea for me again next time?” Something’s gone wrong with my cold husband!

My Husband Hides His Beauty: There is a family, who for generations, were rumored to be monsters. The lord of the Halstead castle, Erden. He adorns a mask to hide his scary face. Leticia, who was sent to marry Lord Halstead in place of her sisters, began to be referred to as ‘the woman who married the monster’ and was pitied by others. but there is a secret that they don’t know. “I’m always grateful to you, wife. You’re so kind to the unsightly me…” “well, since I’m Erden’s wife.” “I need to divorce you soon so you won’t be troubled by such things anymore… I’m sorry but I lost the divorce papers.” Well of course, that’s because I burnt them. “So I need more time…I think it’ll take more time.” I need to spread more scary rumors about the north to the lawyers. I am definitely not divorcing such a handsome husband!!! Alternative Name: My Secretly Hot Husband

This are some of my favs, hope you enjoy them too...

I can't drop site you can read them on but just search them and you'll find it. Note and follow for more book, manga, manhwa, manhua, anime, kdramas recs

#writers and poets #writing community #writers and readers #manhwua #manga #romance manga #manwha recommendations #manga recommendation #villain #villainess manhwa

[rust-bearer]

https://www.tumblr.com/were--ralph/738710446832500736/you-become-infected-in-a-zombie-apocalypse-how-do

Link to a poll for reactions to getting bitten by a zombie above, and I figured I’d send it your way because it makes really good brain material for thinking about what our poor survivors might do in such a terrible situation.

I gave some simple answers for Combaticons/First Aid in a separate post but I’d love to hear your thoughts on it, if you had any. Bonus points if you’re like “character x wouldn’t do any of the above, they’d do this” etc etc honestly no wrong answers but I love the endless potential. Also, you probably already know this, but any and all characters you wanna study for this would be great, I’m down for anything. Just love your zombie au thoughts ngl.

Ok I spent a few days thinking about this one. And obviously I’m going to go with First Aid first because of course I will.

Drawing inspiration from Delphi, the infected patients pose no threat as we know. Aside from wandering around maybe, and dying. First Aid isn’t shown to be very affected by this- both literally and metaphorically. And even before he found out he was ‘immune’, he and Ambulon took on the burden of care for those infected. (Meanwhile, Pharma- KNOWING exactly how this disease worked, how it infects, how it triggers, what it does to you- hid.). It speaks a lot to how First Aid is. The same sort of, self sacrifice and care and firm badassary without meaning to.

So First Aid would logically get infected in the zombie au. If it was any sort of real life scenario. Maybe he’s a carrier for the disease actually. But, he absolutely would realize he’s infected when he’s bitten. Even if it’s a scenario where only 99% of bites lead to zombification, he would treat it as 100%. He would never risk anyone’s life for even the idea that maybe he could survive.

If he’s fast enough, I can see him severing his own limb. Otherwise, he doesn’t tell anyone. He is infected and he’s going to die, and so he quietly leaves one day under some pretense. He still has one last thing to give everyone else, and that’s hope; hope that he’s okay, and he’s alive out there, even if he’s dead and he knows he’s dead. He gives them that hope. And he goes to die alone.

Vortex never really saw much of a big deal on zombies. ‘Turning’ into one isn’t a change, in his eyes, it’s just sort of… a logical conclusion to his life, he thinks. Any life. It’s not so bad. You live forever, probably, you’re never hungry, you don’t even kill each other- only the guys you want to. And that doesn’t seem so bad. So if he’s infected, he’s the wild card that might not tell anyone, or might tell everyone. Who knows what he does.

Swindle blames someone else. He likes his family, but uh, hey, come on, him? Infected? There’s a 1% survival chance too, and he’s got all these meds stockpiled; come on, as if he’d die? You don’t really believe that, right? And he’s not even infected; it was someone else. Someone else got bitten. He wasn’t bitten, he was scratched. This even his blood. This is just a bruise. Don’t look under his sleeve.

Brawl doesn’t have much feelings of sorrow about the thing. If it was later on in the apocalypse, he’d be remorseful, and even scared. But early on, it’s just… well, that’s that then. He’ll go down fighting. He tells everyone, and then goes out and kills as many zombies as he can before he dies to.

Onslaught is also a contender for chopping off his own limb. Though, this isn’t like First Aid, who knows medicine and knows where to cut, how to cut, what to do; this is, grab a knife, and cut. Of course he’d tell the group. But only because he isn’t going to die. He’s the guy who’s not in denial, he absolutely believes he can beat this infection. The person who fights anesthesia before surgery. That kind of guy. Sort of a flipped mirror of First Aid too; where there’s life, there’s hope.

Blast Off tells a few people. Maybe only one, even. He doesn’t want to die, but he’s- he’s realistic. It’s terrifying, isn’t it? To suddenly realize your mortality. He doesn’t want to die. But maybe that’s all he can do now. He tries to hold it off, but it doesn’t work; and the group can’t decide what to do with him. He asks First Aid, in the end, to help him out. He doesn’t want to die as a zombie; he wants to die human. So Blast Off spends the last day alive with his family, shooting zombies from afar. Before he, quietly, turns in and does the same to himself. First Aid will lie and say he died in his sleep.

#first aid #zombie au #vortex #transformers #Onsalught #brawl #blast off #swindle #BIG biiig long post #many thoughts

[i-am-still-bb]

No. 6

“Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.” | Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”

Anders/Mitchell Rating: T

745 words

--

A/N: Um... all I can say for this one is catharsis??

I have a half-assed AU that all the Norse god stuff and Mitchell being a vampire are delusions Anders has as a result of Bipolar 2. And some of his traits in the show are symptoms (hypersexuality, charm, etc.)

Warnings: main character suicide, off page suicide

--

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Dawn asked, her hand on Mitchell’s shoulder.

Mitchell nodded his head sharply. 

“Okay, then.” She gave him a tight, forced smile. “Please don’t hesitate to call either of us if you need anything. You’re always welcome to come over even if all you want to do is lay on our couch and watch crap television in the company of other people.”

“Any time of day,” Ty added. “For as long as you need.”

“Will do,” Mitchell  replied tightly. “I’ll be alright on my own.”

Dawn looked like she wanted to say something more, but Mitchell had his hand on the doorknob, already turned, and he made a quick escape. He leaned against the now closed door from the inside of Anders’ apartment. 

It was definitely Anders’ apartment. Despite the years that Mitchell had lived there it was always Anders’. Anders chose the furnishings, the paint colors, even where to put the furniture. And now, without Anders’ quick smile and laugh, his sarcasm and warmth, the apartment was cold, sterile. It wasn’t a home anymore. 

Mitchell could hear Dawn and Ty talking quietly to each other just on the other side of the door. But he did not care if they were arguing about him, which is what it sounded like. He had been adamant about coming back here, about not going back to their house with them and sleeping in their guest room. Even though this wasn’t home anymore it was the only place that Mitchell wanted to be.

He slumped against the door until he found himself sitting on the cold stone tile. He stared blankly at the floor in front of him. He did not know how long he sat there like that. Time had no meaning. The floor of the hall was where he had curled over into the fetal position on his knees and howled after he got home that first night. It was where there had been drops of blood, smeared by the feet of the EMTs. Spots that would be gone the next day after the cleaning service arrived to wipe away all traces that anything bad had happened in that bathroom. But the damaged door and doorframe from where it had to be broken down remained. Those things were not so easily taken care of at a moment's notice. It is where Mitchell didn’t even remember his feet touching the floor as he rushed through the apartment, spurred on by a gut feeling that something was wrong, only to find out that something was terribly wrong, that nothing may ever be right again. 

The howling had come when he felt like he was going to split open from the pain. 

And now there was nothing. 

He had been a silent, dry eyed observer during the funeral service. 

He had fought Mike tooth and nail for that, his eyes black. He had cut one of his own lips with a fang. A split of red that is still scabbed over because it has not had time to heal. 

He had gone with Anders’ brothers to the woods and they had carried out some older ritual that Mike said was a family tradition. There were supposed to be ashes, but there were none of those. Mitchell could not allow Anders’ body to be burned, to be so removed from this plane of existence even though he wasn’t so sure he believed in any sort of afterlife. 

Now there was a catch in his chest when the thought of his final words to Anders pushed through the haze. Not “I love you.” Not anything remotely like that. The words hadn’t even been kind. They had fought. Over something so stupid that Mitchell can barely acknowledge that fight to himself, but what he said was still there. They weren’t the words that Mitchell thought would be the last ones that he would ever say to Anders. 

And he can’t remember what Anders had said to him. 

It’s dark now. 

Hours have passed.

He is mindlessly swiping through his phone to pass the time. It had gotten too dark for him to see anything much in the apartment. 

And then he was in his voicemails. There were a handful of spam messages, condolence calls. But then there were some saved messages from months and years back. 

Mitchell tapped on the oldest one.

“Hey, Mitchell, it’s Anders. I was wondering if you wanted to grab that drink we…”

--

A/N: If you're dealing with a partner, friend, loved one, with a serious mental illness, I'm here to listen. A lot of people listened to me including friends, family, people in our little community here on Tumblr, hotline workers in the wake of my partner's commitment and subsequent diagnosis. I know Bipolar best, but can listen for anything.

--

Taglist: @silvermoon-scrolls

#whumptober2023 #no. 6 #recording #the almighty johnsons #being human uk #fic #suicide tw #serious mental illness #bb writes #anders/mitchell

[rxgueone]

LIVE FAST, DIE YOUNG PT. 1

Word count: 2.2k

Pairing: Austin Butler x oc

Summary: A 19 year old by the name of Austin is pretty much homeless and living in the streets with his friend. He sleeps at a coffee shop every day, a girl gets curious about him. Which sparks a friendship.

Warnings: hard substance is mentioned, dealing, manipulation, physical fights, and blood. Can’t think of anymore.

Tags: none.

Note: I was just randomly writing. Didn’t know how to write the main character so I just chose Butler. Have mercy on me because this is my first fanfic, I didn’t know where to post it but Tumblr seemed like a decent choice. If you have any criticism please tell me. PT. 2

She was sitting at the coffee table. Leaning forward with a chair on the other side of a table. Without saying much, she tilted her head up slightly from the book she was reading. 

There he was. A boy around her age that was leaning back in his chair. Completely silent. He was here, every day, the same spot. He wore a black hoodie, it was two times his size, with some baggy sweatpants as well. His head was tilted to the side, head against his fist, elbow on the arm chair with his legs apart. From what she could make out, he had his eyes closed. He was sleeping. 

This, wasn’t surprising at all. He was always sleeping at the coffee shop. She was surprised that the owner never kicked him out. He never drank anything, all he’d get were three beignets, sit in the same spot. Every day. 

The boy was bruised. She came to the shop to study at 5PM. The boy would come around 5:30PM. He’d push the door open, walk in quietly. Every day it was something new. He either had a bruise across his face, on his eye, or something. 

Her eyes moved down to his free hand that was resting on his lap. His slightly tanned skin was bleached with splotches of crimson. He had pins for each finger, and another for his thumb. “You interested in him?” A voice broke her thoughts free from her mind. She looked up, seeing the owner of the coffee shop. He was an old soul with a beer belly, a stubble, and a full batch of metallic hair. 

“Yeah,” she couldn’t lie, “you always let him sleep here. I’m sure customers complain.” 

“They do.” He didn’t deny it. “But, he’s a good kid. As long as he doesn’t disturb anyone. I don’t mind.” 

“Yeah alright Mr. Reed.” She rolled her eyes, looking back at the book below her. 

“You should talk to him.” He recommended. 

“No, I’m alright.” She didn’t want to bother someone who already looked troubled as is. 

—

The same routine. The door chimed, but her eyes remained on the pages of the book. She could see a shadow suddenly cast over her book. Blinking, she looked up. Seeing the sleeping boy. “Heard you talk about me with Mr. Reed.” She was blinking repetitively. Amazed that he had heard them. Not only that, but now that he was closer. She could see his face more clearly. A few tufts of blonde hair poked out the hood he wore. His eyes were a very light shade of grey. But they looked gentle, his nose was masculine, a good bridge but slightly crooked as if it had been broken. A V shaped face, as well. 

Her brow perked. Blessed with genes, I see. She thought to herself. In response to her, he wrinkled his face. A look of pure disgust. “You want something?”

“Oh,” she cleared her throat, “yeah, I was talking about you.”

“Does my sleeping bother you.” His voice was surprisingly calm. He eyes looked sleepy as he asked that. 

“No.” She claimed firmly. “I just wonder if anyone wants to sit there.” She rasped when flicking her head to the table in the corner. He looked at the table that sat at the corner of the shop. Looking back at her, he walked to the chair in front of her table. Pulling it to him so he could sit. “Hey- what’re you—“

“If someone wants to sit there cool.” He had a laid back tone. “We can share this table. So someone can have it.” He murmured, crossing his arms over his chest. His head tilted back, and in a minute he was asleep. 

She stared in amazement. Holy shit, he really doesn’t care. Giggling to herself, she turned the page to her book, reading it. 

—

10PM… and he’s still asleep. The coffee shop was to close soon. 10:30PM. She sat for another 20 minutes, seeing Mr. Reed walk out from the back of the coffee shop. She watched as he scoped his surroundings. Then spotted the couple, walking over. “Why’re you still here Aurilia?” 

“I can’t leave him alone, I’d feel bad for walking out on him.” 

Mr. Reed gave an understanding nod. He turned to look at the boy, gently laying his head on the hood. Suddenly violently throwing the hood off, revealing his blonde locks. She raised her brows, in spite of his bruised face, his hair was beautiful. Golden locks. It was messy but it looked good on him, he had wavy hair. It was short and curled towards his ears. It looked like he was growing a soft mullet but with a full batch of hair. Not to mention his left ear was pierced, coincidentally his left hand had the five pins. 

“Hm?” A soft hum left his lips as he lazily opened his eyes. Straightening his posture. “Hey Reed.”

“It’s ten-thirty, Austin. You also got Aurilia waiting on you. And she always leaves at seven.” Mr. Reed scolded. 

“Yes sir, I apologize.” He dipped his head in apologies. Getting off the chair, he turned to look at Aurilia who was already packing her things. Reed side eyed Austin, pat his back harshly then walked to the rest of the workers. Austin glanced back at Reed, then Aurilia. “I’ll walk you home.” He promised. She didn’t attest to this, just simply grabbed her backpack and nodded affirmably. 

Holding the door open for her, she walked out. He slid his right hand in his pocket, falling to her side. “You have a good nap?” She piped up.

“Yeah.”

“That’s good.” She glanced at him after, looking at his left hand with all the pins. “What happened to your hand.”

“Oh nothing. Just a fight.” He brushed it off. She looked at his left hand further, seeing how it was covered in scars. 

“Right…” she muttered. “I always see you at campus by the way. But you’re always alone.” Aurilia would study at the library as well. Every time she went to the back of the library, Austin would be there. Leaning back and sleeping like usual. 

There was a few moments of silence. “I’m friends with Nik.” He suddenly said. His left hand coming up to his hair so he could brush it back, only to have it staying in place. “Midnight is when we hangout though. Probably why you don’t see us.” Who the hell is Nik? Aurilia blinked. Austin side eyed her, sensing her confusion. “Nik is the tallest kid at campus.”

The tallest kid in campus was someone who was 6’8” a giant. “And your height?”

“Six one. You.”

“Five ten.”

“Nice.” It was a genuine compliment. 

The rest of the walk was met with silence. By the end, Aurilia had turned to Austin to ask him something. She admired his face for a moment. He was indeed blessed with genes. He stood there, right hand in pocket. “You should come in. Get some water. Maybe a cookie too. If you want.”

Austin pulled his phone out the pocket to check the time. “Five minutes.” Hand back in pocket, he had walked to her. Where she held the door open for him to walk in the dorm. 

—

Austin walked beside Nik. Who had a cigarette in his mouth. Hands in his pockets as they walked side by side. Nik and Austin were both close friends. Having known each other for over a whole decade. They met when they were 8. Now they were both 19. 

Nik’s hands were bruised. His knuckles cut from previous fights. Austin’s pins had been removed, just last week. And he had gotten closer to Aurilia, meeting her at the same time every day, walking her home, then meeting up with Nik. 

Nik skipped forward, his towering figure loomed over Austin in the dark. They had been walking through the fairly empty park. “Wanna go?” Nik, who had a cigarette in his mouth seemed excited. 

Austin knew what that meant. They’d go at it. And he gave a nod. Taking one last drag and flicking the cigarette away, Nik flew to Austin. Hooking both arms around his waist, Austin grabbed at Nik, trying to push him away. Getting picked off the ground, Austin’s back slammed on the cement floor. 

Getting on his knees, he grabbed at Nik’s legs. Which he had fallen, and they struggled on the ground. Austin was much smaller than Nik, and he tried his best to crawl onto Nik. Putting his leg over him, Austin was able to get on. Balling up his hand, he violently hit his best friend. Another hit to Nik’s face, both were flailing their arms at each other. 

Feeling as if he had no choice, he slammed his head against Austin’s jaw. Recoiling back, he was kicked off. Recollecting himself quickly, he felt a knee to his jaw. Austin sprawled back, already bleeding. In fact, both were bleeding already. Their knuckles were already cut up as well, just from the few punches they kept throwing. 

Finally Austin landed on top of Nik, blood was drooling out of his mouth. He spat it out onto his friends face, who shoved Austin away. Wiping it off with his hand. 

Austin scrambled to his feet, breathing heavily and hooking his arms underneath Nik’s armpits. He pulled his friend onto his feet, his friend was struggling with standing. For all Austin knew, this guy was seeing stars. Austin’s shaky hand went to reach into Nik’s right pocket, pulling out a box of camel unfiltered as well as a box of matches. Popping a cigarette into his mouth, he lit it ablaze then handed it to Nik. Who gladly took it to smoke. 

“We should go see Al.” Austin muttered, Nik gave a nod of agreement. 

—

Opening the door to the bar. They both made their way in, Nik puffing down on his third cigarette. Austin turned to the right, seeing the basement door. He opened it, greeted with one flight of stairs. He walked down with Nik lazily following behind. 

Austin could see Al, he had been sitting on a box. His arms were crossed. He had dirty blonde hair but pale skin, with blue eyes. His brother, Keith, was the opposite. Keith, who stood behind Al, had black hair with brown eyes. He unlike his brother was tanned.

Keith slapped Al’s back quickly pointing to Austin. Al lazily looked up, but his eyes brightened when he saw the pair. “Hey little man.” Al greeted as Austin stood in front of them. Austin, was their little brother. 

Austin, Al, and Keith all had the same father. But different mothers. But unfortunately Keith and Al’s mothers had abandoned them, so Austin’s mother had taken them in until she passed from an accident. 

Austin reached in his pocket, throwing out a bundle of cash that was at least 300 dollars. The same went for Nik, but his bundle had 200 bucks. The bundles were made of ones, fives, and twenties mainly. “I sold the three pounds just like you asked. Ten bucks per ounce.” 

“It’s only been two days.” Al looked at the cash. 

“Drugs sell.” Nik said. Al split the money between them. Like usual, Austin and Nik kept 100, his brothers kept the rest. Al reached into the pocket of his flannel, a pill bottle filled with small white bags. Austin and Nik reached their hands out, allowing for Al to place them in their palms. 

“Five bucks per bag.” Al instructed them. 

“These are hard drugs,” Austin knew what these bags were. Al had been talking about selling heroin, “you sure?”

 “Austin,” Al was staring at him. Austin knew what that meant and he gave a nod. Turning around he could see the others, they were all moving quickly. Al could see Austin’s confusion. “They’re making soap.”

“Soap?”

“To sell. Soap sells.” Keith said a-matter-of-factly. 

“Word.” Austin shoved the bottle into his pocket. Nik did the same and they both turned their backs on them. Both walking out of the bar, Nik flicked his cigarette away, already getting another one. 

“How we gonna sell these.” Nik asked with sheepish shoulders and lazy eyes. Austin looked at Nik as he lit another unfiltered. Austin stood there for a moment, thinking to himself. 

At the same time his phone rang. Without thinking Austin took the call. “Hello,”

“Austinn.” A feminine voice filled his ears. He knew who it was.

“Lia,” he said her nickname, “you okay?” The background noise was loud. He could hear shouting, as well as loud music mixed in. 

“No.” She said frankly. “I’m drunk, and I.. need to walk back to campus.” She was already slurring her words. 

“Yeah.”

“Could you come and pick me up?” She asked in a soft tone. 

Austin glanced at Nik who was taking a long drag. Blowing the smoke away from Austin’s face. “Where you at.” He had a low tone. She told him everything he needed to know. Nik who was dozing off, grabbed yet another cigarette, lighting it with a match, puffed a few times, then a light drag. “Nik,”

“Eh?” He turned to face his best friend Austin.

“We found some customers.”

#austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #austin butler #austin butler x oc #austin butler fanfiction

[shadowsxgwynriel]

Gwyn’s Trauma

(Disclaimer: this post deals with sensitive subject matter)

The notion that Gwyn can’t be in a relationship because she won’t be comfortable having sex after what happened to her, well it’s just stupid as fuck. Anyone who tries to use that as an excuse to make themselves feel better about their ship, really needs to educate themselves on the matter before talking about it. SA survivors can have relationships, and that includes a healthy sex life, too.

SJM has shown that she loves to write about female characters who overcome trauma, and are sex positive. I can’t see her not allowing Gwyn the opportunity to heal and reclaim her body.

“I don’t know what became of the other survivors. But I’m glad one wound up here. Safe, I mean. With people who understand, and wish to help.” “So am I,” Nesta said quietly.

“I hadn’t yet participated in the Great Rite, and we were so remote up there that I never had the chance to lie with a male, and he took that from me, too. ”

“The first five months I was at the library, I barely spoke. I didn’t sing. I went to the priestess who counsels all of us, and sometimes I just sat there and cried, or screamed, or said nothing. And then I began working with Merrill, upon Clotho’s request, and the work focused me. Motivated me to get out of bed each morning. I started singing during the evening service. And then you came along, Nesta.” Gwyn’s eyes slid to hers, brimming with tears and pain and—hope. Precious, beautiful hope. “And I could tell something bad had happened to you, too. You were fighting it, though. Not letting it master you. I knew Catrin would have been the first to sign up for training, so … I did, too. But even training these months hasn’t erased the fact that I let my sister die. You asked me once why I don’t wear the hood or the Invoking Stone. That stone is a sign of holiness. How can someone like me wear it?”

Of course, every SA survivor is different and heals at their own pace, and Gwyn still has a lot of healing left. But I think that Azriel would be nothing but patient and respectful with Gwyn.

And for those who imply that we don’t care about Gwyn because we’re trying to force her into a relationship when she’s not comfortable around men? First, Gwyn is uncomfortable around most men, yes. But we’ve seen that she’s comfortable enough around Azriel that she doesn’t mind being alone with him. Second, we don’t expect Gwyn to start dick riding Azriel at the start of the book. We want her, both of them, to heal, separately and together. We want for Gwyn to learn her body and discover what she likes and doesn’t like. We want for Gwyn to be able to reclaim her body and find enjoyment in sex.

There is something purely beautiful about Gwyneth Berdara as a character, and she deserves to be happy. Her trauma doesn’t define her.

#gwynriel #gwyn berdara #azriel #acosf #pro gwyneth berdara #sjm

[slvtforoldermen]

Forget Me Not

Chapter Two: The Party

Forget Me Not Masterlist

Navigation List

Summary: A few months after the train, you encounter the twins again as a formal event, your boss makes it extremely clear that you can’t cause a scene, but that’s quite difficult considering you have two brothers trying to murder you…

Pairing: Tangerine x Fem!Reader

Trope: Enemies/Rivals To Lovers

Chapter Warning: Violence, fighting, alcohol consumption, no use of Y/n but reader is implied, Scar Face being a creep, a little bit of predatory behaviour (not committed by Tan, dw <3)

Word Count: 1.7k

Lemon and Tangerine sit on the floor of their hotel room in Tokyo, sipping whatever alcohol was in the tiny bottles that Tangerine had stolen on the way in.

“I really don’t understand how you didn’t notice she switched the cases up,” Lemon mutters, putting another bottle on the carpet.

“I think I was a bit distracted,” Tangerine slurs a little, leaning his head against the wall.

“What happened, you’re never distracted, mate,” Lemon asks, before popping open another bottle.

“You really wanna know?” Tangerine hissed as the alcohol burned his tongue.

“Yes, I’d really like to know the reason for why going to die for failing this mission,” Lemon says sarcastically.

“You know the girl who bumped into me on the train?” Tangerine started. “That was the Stalker.” Lemon starts to laugh hysterically.

“You let a little girl beat your arse,” He chuckles, but once he sees that Tangerine doesn’t even smile with him, he stops. “You’re serious?”

“Why would I joke at a time like this?”

“Shit, she’s a Diesel then, innit,” Lemon says.

“If you mention Thomas the fucking Tank Engine one more fucking time, I’m gonna cut your bollocks off and send them to your mum,” Tangerine takes a sip of the bottle and throws it away. “Do you reckon if we find her and send her the Bolt, he won’t kill us?” Lemon nods.

“Well we’re gonna still have to find her anyway… but how do we find someone who’s known internationally for not getting caught?” Lemon asks.

“Don't know. We've got her name though. And we've got a bit of time...so we'll start off by looking for that Forget-Me-Not on all our databases,” Tangerine explains, Lemon looks at him confused and grabs the note.

“Are you delusional? The note says it was the Stalker, not this ‘Forget Me Not’ character?” Lemon says.

“I know it looks bloody confusing, but I think her identity is Forget Me Not, she had this tattoo of the flower on her neck, it’s a shot in the dark but I bet you that that’s her code name,” Tangerine explains. “And she's been spotted on missions as the Stalker. No one knows what she looks like, which makes her a bloody good spy.”

“Apart from you,” Lemon states.

“Yeah, I’ve got a pretty good idea of what she looks like now,” Tangerine nods.

“Brill, then we can hunt her down, can’t we?” Lemon asks.

“It’ll be a piece of cake,” Tangerine smirks.

A Few Months Later…

You enter the birthday party of the daughter of a man you’ve been tasked with assassinating. This wasn’t the day you’re supposed to kill him, today you were sent to the party to grab more information on him, to find a time and place where you could kill him with little witnesses as possible.

On the other side of the room, stands Tangerine, wearing a three piece and a tie, blending into the crowd. He sees you walk through the door, and nudges Lemon.

“She’s here,” He says quietly. Lemon nods and steps forward, but before the bigger man does anything, the smaller one pulls him back. “What are you doing mate?”

“I’m gonna go get her.”

“Are you stupid? Or did you just not read the briefing, again?” Tangerine asks sarcastically. “One, we can’t kill her here because if anything happens at this party, we’ll get shot before you can say ‘Forget Me Not’, and two, if that girl recognises any sign of danger, she’ll run, and we’ll have lost her again, you hear?” Lemon nods. “She also knows what we look like, so we need to somehow, make sure she doesn’t see us too.”

You take a champagne flute from one of the servers and thank him before he walks off to go to someone else. After taking a sip from the glass, you tap your earpiece to speak to your woman in the chair.

“I’m in,” You say, scanning the room.

“Good, now, you’re not going to make any type of hostile moves towards anyone today, because today, you’re Lady Redison, married to the Duke of Babbington,” She explains into the earpiece.

“Duke of Babbington?” You mumble. “Where have I heard that before?”

“Lord Babington from Sanditon,” Sharon replies.

“Right…” You say. “Well hopefully the Koreans don’t have the BBC.” As you spot the president of South Korea, you put your empty champagne glass on a table and straighten out your dress. You see the President’s daughter and clear your throat.

“Ah, 딸아, 이쪽은 배빙턴 부인이야. 영국에서 온 내 좋은 동료야,” President Seo says in his native language. “How are you, Miss Babbington?”

“I’m good, thank you Mr President,” You bow as you speak. He laughs and waves at you dismissively.

“Oh, your father and I have been friends for years, no need for honourifics… Chaebin is fine,” He chuckles, you shake your head.

“It only feels suitable to call you by the appropriate titles, Sir,” You smile.

“How is your father doing these days?” He asks, walking to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“Um… he’s good, he’s very well,” You say; in your earpiece, you hear Sharon say something about John Redison getting a promotion in the government. “He just got a promotion in parliament.”

“You know he’s never mentioned having a daughter until I got the call a few weeks ago,” He says.

“Yes, Dad doesn’t like to talk about me much,” You reply, before you clear your throat and stand up straight. “May I excuse myself.” You rush away and leave the room. You weren’t supposed to get close to the target yet, and that was too close for comfort.

You enter the foyer and there aren’t many people there, just the security guards. You take a sigh and then feel something cold press against your back and your earpiece gets pulled from your ear and stepped on, but before you can do anything, you hear a voice.

“You do or say anything and I’ll shoot you, right here, right now,” Tangerine whispers into your ear. “You’re a fucking bitch, ya know that? Thinking you could get away with such a fucking sly move.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, I have a good name here you know,” You hiss.

“Yeah, course you do, Forget-Me-Not,” He says.

“Fuck…”

“You’re really starting to get on my tits, ya know that?”

“I don’t even know you,” You whisper, and the guards look at you.

“You’re gonna pretend we’re together and that we’re leaving,” He says, his voice sounds so familiar but you can’t put your finger on it. Another man, whose face you recognise from somewhere and again, you cannot remember where from.

“Miss Redison? Are you alright?” A security guard asks, approaching you.

“Yes, I’m perfectly alright, this is my friend, we were just having a conversation,” You chuckle, and pat his arm. They nod before opening the door and the man guides you through them towards a black car.

“Oh, Miss Babbington!” A voice called, the man, who still held the gun to your back, turned you around. It was a man you saw was staring at you. “You forgot your bag!” He handed it to you and you smiled, taking it.

“Thank you…”

“You know I was thinking-“

“Look mate, we’ve got to go somewhere so if you could piss off that would be great,” The man said, and that’s when it hit you. This was Tangerine, the guy from the bullet train a few months back. The man backed away and you squeezed your eyes shut and you were pushed into the car. Tangerine got in next to you and Lemon hopped in the driver’s seat.

“I don’t have your money, if that’s what you want,” You say.

“Oh we know darlin’, probably spent it on the dress you’re wearing right? Would hate for it to get ruined,” Tangerine speaks in a mocking manner, you sigh shakily.

“I didn’t spend the money, I returned it to the man who hired me,” You mumble. Tangerine tuts.

“Well that money was something we were tasked to take, and if we didn’t, we’d get killed, but we managed to convince our boss that if we brought you in, he’d let us go Scott free,” Tangerine explains.

“Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed, love,” Tangerine smirks, tying the zip lock around your wrists. You hit your head against the seat and groaned. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure your death is quick and easy.”

“Fucker.”

About an hour later, the car stops, and two men open the door, pulling you out, you struggle for a while before the back of your legs get kicked from behind and you hiss in pain. They pull you into a large house, and then into an office. Tangerine and Lemon follow behind.

“Sir,” One of the guards said and pushed you forward. “They brought her.” A tall white man with a scar across his face turned around, facing you.

“Miss Stalker?” He smirked. “God, you’re even prettier in person.” He played with the rings on his fingers. “So, you stole my money.”

“It was never yours-“

“Ohhh, don’t do that, don’t, no, not unless you wanna die,” Scar Face coos.

“You’re gonna kill me anyway,” You spat in his face. He takes his index finger and wipe the saliva from his cheek. He then approaches you and grabs your cheeks.

“That’s true, you don’t miss a trick do you,” He chuckles. “But, I can decide to kill you now, or give you a little fun before I do that.”

“You’d die before you get anything like that, you pig,” You whisper.

“Hm… I’ll take that as a no,” Scar Face laughs cruelly, he glances at his henchmen before pushing you back towards them. “Take her to the cells.” He turns around and sits back at his desk, but before the guards can take you out.

“Oh and them two as well.”

“What?!” Tangerine yells. You look back to the room and see the two men getting knocked out before you lose consciousness yourself.