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jangofctts · 4 years

Text

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met.

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things.

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income.

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing.

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster.

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles.

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship.

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back.

Whatever.

Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off.

Maybe.

-=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you.

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.”

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?”

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think.

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.”

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots.

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.”

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.”

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…”

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own).

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that.

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

-=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show.

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will.

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans.

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal.

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter.

Eh.

Could be worse.

At least you aren’t dead.

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun.

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light.

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room.

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.”

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.”

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.”

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt.

Damn it.

-=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this.

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn.

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red.

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.”

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it.

“Leave.”

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.”

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved.

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side.

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.”

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”

You wince.

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.”

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet.

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch.

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage.

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?”

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.”

You frown. “Poor guy…”

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp.

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?”

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder.

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.”

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.”

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.”

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them.

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right.

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath.

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning.

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet.

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man.

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell—

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling.

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?”

“She isn’t made of glass.”

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.”

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance.

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.”

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.”

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.”

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin.

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again.

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole.

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.”

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope.

Here you are—asphyxiating.

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it.

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off.

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on.

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.”

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah.

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?”

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.”

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree.

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk?

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.”

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.”

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.”

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din."

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb.

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing.

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees.

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch.

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds.

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm.

“Paz—“

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh.

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough.

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.”

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.”

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.”

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you.

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?”

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered.

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation.

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.”

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration.

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip.

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind.

Din’s kiss is devouring—

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning.

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.”

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on.

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside.

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth.

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now—

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit.

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away.

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure.

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth.

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.”

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.”

“Neither will your arrogance.”

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out.

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.”

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.”

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic.

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further.

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words.

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips.

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?”

Din.

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position.

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath.

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.”

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him.

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete.

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.”

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need.

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much.

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours.

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear.

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder.

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?”

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.”

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts.

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before.

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.”

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems.

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air.

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.”

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future.

You shrug it off.

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear.

“You love her, don't you?”

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak

or’dinni--dumbass idiot

vod--brother/comrade

tag list:

@bobafctts @djxrxn @teaofpeach @corrupt-fvcker @nelba @datmando @ben-is-a-hoe @dreams-like-clockwork @aerynwrites @auty-ren @huliabitch @anxiety-riddled-mando @phoenixhalliwell @trippedmetaldetector

#happy SINday :)#pls accept some mando schlong #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla #paz vizsla #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #sw #fanfic #my writing #reader insert

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grailfinders · 3 years

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Fate and Phantasms #175

Today on Fate and Phantasms we’re entering the Dead Heat Summer Race! That’s right, we’re finally doing some Summer servants... in the Summer! We’re still a year off, but at least they’ve got the spirit!

As an added challenge, I’ll make sure all the teams get their own car! Fran & Maid Alter get a pass since they’re teamed up with people that already have cars (Babbage & Nero, respectively), but the others will all have their own vehicles to ride!

Anyways, today we’re building Nero Claudius... again. I promise this is... probably(?) the last time. She’s a Creation Bard to build up her golden theater on the sea as well as a sick car. She’s also a Draconic Soul Sorcerer to grab those giant guns she’s got on her back.

Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!

Next up: Team Electric Steam feat. Papa!

Race and Background

Nero is still a Human Noble. This gives her +1 to any two stats, and her Constitution and Charisma will need rounding up in a second, so go with those. She also gets proficiency with History, Persuasion, and Performance, plus the Lucky feat to re-roll her attacks, saves, and checks plus incoming attacks three times per long rest. You might be in a bikini, but you’re still the emperor. You get what you want, and what you want is just about everything.

Ability Scores

Surprising no one, your Charisma is your highest stat. The race was basically a popularity contest, and you won almost every leg of it. Second is Dexterity- you’re fighting in either a dress or a swimsuit, but in either case it’s definitely not armor. Your Constitution is next, races take a while and there’s no time to stop for snacks, so you’ll have to toughen up a bit. After that is Intelligence. You’re flighty, not dumb. Your Strength isn’t amazing, you don’t really need big muscles to look good, but we’re dumping Wisdom. It wouldn’t be high at the best of times, and the caster class suits you to a dangerous degree.

Class Levels

1. Sorcerer 1: Starting off as a sorcerer may get you less health and fewer proficiencies, but you still get Constitution and Charisma saves, as well as Arcana and Religion. You’re a caster now, it’s time to act like one.

The big reason we’re starting here right away is for the goody you get from being a Draconic Bloodline sorcerer, Draconic Resilience. Thanks to your great-great-great-great-great-grandparent Dragon Ancestor being a red dragon, you get an extra 1 hp for each level of this class, as well as a doubled proficiency bonus on charisma checks involving dragons.

You also get an unarmored defense of 13 + your dexterity modifier. Now you can wear a swimsuit anywhere you like without issues. I’d still recommend you don’t meet the king dressed like that, but you’re a noble, I’m sure he’s already expecting a bit of eccentricity.

You can also cast Spells using your Charisma, grab Light and Minor Illusion to put on a good show, Sword Burst so you can actually use a sword (we’ll get better options later), and Magic Missile and Create Bonfire for some quick shots from your cannons. You also get Absorb Elements, because this and Blade Ward are the easiest to get “weakness nullifying” spells, and this one’s actually good.

2. Bard 1: Bouncing over to bard real quick gives you another set of Spells that also use Charisma. You also get Bardic Inspiration, d6s you can hand out as a bonus action to allies. While they have one, they can add it to an attack, save, or check they have to make. You have Charisma Modifier inspiration dice to give out per long rest.

You do whatever you want, and while Prestidigitation isn’t quite that open-ended, it’s still pretty good for a single spell. You also get Friends, Command and Charm Person to be your usual charming self. Grab Cure Wounds for just a touch of healing, and Feather Fall. You’ve got giant metal wings, they should be good for something, right?

You get proficiency with Animal Handling as well.

3. Bard 2: Second level bards are Jacks of All Trades, adding half their proficiency bonus to all ability checks. You can also perform a Song of Rest on short rests, adding 1d6 to healing done. Your dulcet tones inspire everyone around you! (Usually to put as much distance between themselves and you as possible, but hush)

Your inspiration also turns into Magical Inspiration- creatures can use your inspiration to add to their spell’s damage or healing potential.

Finally, you get the spell Unearthly Chorus, which doesn’t have any damage or healing potential! It just makes you even better at charisma checks. It’s also very flavorful for someone about to open a theater.

4. Bard 3: Third level bards graduate from their college, and the College of Creation will one day allow you to afford a car! For now, you only have a Note of Potential, adding extra effects to your inspiration depending on how they’re used. Adding one to an ability check gives the user advantage on the die roll. Adding it to an attack roll deals thunder damage to the target and each creature next to it that fails a constitution save. Adding it to a saving throw adds temporary hp to the user equal to the roll plus your charisma modifier.

You know how I just said you only have the note? We lied. You can also make a Performance of Creation once per long rest or by spending a second level spell slot. You can create any nonmagical item, as long as it is worth less than 20 times your bard level in GP, and medium or smaller. Neither of those restrictions will help you make a car, but they’ll improve as you level up.

Finally, you get Expertise in Animal Handling and Arcana, doubling your proficiency bonus in both skills.

For your spell, Enhance Ability makes it easier to do whatever you set your mind to, giving advantage on one kind of ability check for the duration.

5. Bard 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement to bump up your Charisma for stronger spells and more inspiration.

You also learn the Dancing Lights cantrip so you can put on even better shows, and Pyrotechnics for pretty much the same reason. You need an existing source of fire to set it off, but you can always combo it with Create Bonfire in a pinch.

6. Bard 5: Fifth level bards are a Font of Inspiration, recharging your inspiration on short rests instead of long ones. Also, your inspiration grows to d8s.

You can also make a Motivational Speech with a third level spell slot, giving your party temporary HP, advantage on wisdom saves, and advantage on its next attack if it gets hit by an attack.

7. Bard 6: Countercharm is okay, spend an action to give advantage to your party on charm and frightening saves, but we’re really here for your subclass specialties. Your Performance of Creation can make Large objects now, and you can spend an action to make an Animating Performance, turning a large or smaller (gee, that worked out nicely) object into a Dancing Item for up to an hour. It’ll only dodge on its turn unless you use your bonus action to command the thing, but you can inspire people and command it in the same action. You can make a dancing item once per long rest, or by using third level spell slots. Also, you can only have one at a time. I’m pretty sure a functional car in a medieval setting is worth more than 120 gold though, so we’ll work on it some more later.

For your spell, I’d suggest Suggestion, it’s very useful for making the world revolve around you.

8. Sorcerer 2: Second level sorcerers become a Font of Magic (you are just becoming a font for all sorts of crap, huh?), giving you sorcery points equal to your sorcerer level. You can turn spell slots into points, or points into slots, or even cooler stuff next level!

For now, the big new thing is you can cast Shield. Those giant metal wings make it harder to hit you than you’d think.

9. Sorcerer 3: Third level sorcerers get that cooler thing I was just talking about, Metamagic! When you get it now, you get two metamagic options that can alter how your spells work; Heightened spells force disadvantage against their save on one creature they effect, and Twinned spells target two creatures instead of only one (Note: twinned spells only work on spells that target a single creature.)

You also get Scorching Ray, giving you a macross missile massacre of fire out of those organcannons you’re hauling around with you.

10. Bard 7: We’re stopping back in bard real quick to grab your fourth level spell, Hallucinatory Terrain. Somehow you always bring the waterfront with you when you use your NP, and now you really can do that!

11. Sorcerer 4: Use this ASI to max out your Charisma for the best spells possible. Speaking of the best spells possible, you can cast True Strike now for advantage on an attack next turn! You can also cast Shadow Blade so you have a sword you can attack with. A cool, spooky sword that deals psychic damage and has advantage against targets in the dark. Yes, it took us half the build to get a sword, that’s what happens when you’re a cavalry class.

12. Sorcerer 5: Fifth level sorcerers are even better at skill checks now thanks to their Magical Guidance, using your sorcery points to reroll failed checks for, essentially, permanent advantage on whatever you do.

You can also cast Water Walk. Eventually your NP will involve actual water, so you’ll want to be prepared for that. Forcing your whole party to do the doggy paddle every time you want to cut loose isn’t a great look, be a team player here.

13. Sorcerer 6: Our last stop on the sorcerer train is sixth level, giving you an Elemental Affinity for fire. All your fire damage spells get your charisma added to their damage, and you can spend a sorcery point after casting one of them to gain resistance to fire damage for an hour. Always remember to apply sunscreen throughout the day. Now more than ever, that shit gets hot.

To take advantage of this new affinity, you can cast Melf’s Minute Meteors, launching chunks of those cannons off and firing a couple per turn at your enemies, dealing fire damage in a small area around their destination. Creatures have to make a dexterity save, and if they succeed they take half damage. Like scorching ray, these are multiple instances of fire damage, so add your charisma to each one.

14. Bard 8: Back in bard for good now! Use this ASI to bump up your Dexterity so you can start being good with a sword. Just in case that’s still not enough, you can cast Charm Monster now too. You have enough gravitas to bend the authors to your will, I’m sure you can handle a manticore or two.

15. Bard 9: Your Song of Rest grows to 1d8 now, but more importantly you get fifth level spells! Animate Objects is another way to build your car (we’re still 5 levels away from performance of creation building it) or to get your cannon bits into position.

16. Bard 10: Tenth level bards get another cantrip! Honestly, we probably should’ve gotten Mending earlier. Adventuring in an outfit where a single snapped string can completely remove your top isn’t a great idea. You also get Magical Secrets, giving you two spells from any spell list. Flame Blade gives you a more thematically appropriate weapon, and Fireball is a big boom you can fire off.

On top of that, you get another round of Expertise, doubling your proficiency in Performance and Persuasion.

You also get a bigger inspiration, letting you hand out d10s.

17. Bard 11: Eleventh level bards get sixth level spells, like Mass Suggestion. It’s like Suggestion, but for the masses.

18. Bard 12: Use this last ASI to bump up your Dexterity again for a higher AC and better swordplay.

19. Bard 13: Your song of rest increases to a d10 as well, and you get the seventh level spell of champions, Mirage Arcane! If you make an illusion you can really feel, is it still an illusion? Anyways, you can make your golden theater now and the ocean surrounding it, and it all lasts for 10 days!

20. Bard 14: Your capstone level of bard lets you hit a Creative Crescendo, creating up to five items at once when you use your Performance of Creation. One of those objects can be Huge, the rest all have to be Small or smaller. You also don’t have to worry about cost when making objects, so that car is finally within reach!

You also get Magical Secrets again for two more spells. Prismatic Spray gives your golden theater some big ass cannons, creating a 60′ cone of light that deals different kinds of damage and effects. You also get Tenser’s Transformation, turning you from a full caster class into a proper fighter once more. You get temporary HP, permanent advantage on weapon attacks, you deal extra force damage, gain proficiency with all weapons as well as strength and constitution saves, and you can attack twice per action. The downsides are you can’t cast spells and after it ends you have to make a constitution save afterwards to prevent exhaustion, but I think it’s appropriate that we finally gave Nero those migraines she’s always complaining about.

Pros:

As usual, nero’s build is pretty adaptable, with a little bit of everything to help out any dedicated role in the party. She has healing, dps spells, utility, social graces, pretty much all skill checks, and also literally the ability to make whatever item she might need in a given situation.

Tenser’s Transformation is meant to turn wizards into melee fighters, and you’re (more or less) a bard. With almost 200 HP thanks to this spell and the ability to make your own armory, you can turn yourself into a terrifying war god practically at will.

Elemental Affinity can be really scary if you game the system right. Max out a casting of scorching ray to deal 20d6+50 damage to a single target. That’s better than a 9th level fireball. It also gives resistance to one of the most common damage types!

Cons:

Fire is one of the most common damage types, so it’s also one of the most common resistances. You have other stuff to fall back on, but it’ll put a crimp in your style if you go up against fire elementals. Or water elementals. Or fiends. Or- you get the picture.

We don’t improve on physical stats until level 14, which means you’ll be stuck with an AC of 15 for a majority of the game, and your sword skills won’t be that useful until very late in the campaign.

The big moment where the build really comes together as Nero is around level 19-20, meaning most players will never actually reach that point. Sorry guys, Nero is a luxury few can afford.

#fate grand order #FGO #D&D 5e #DND #Nero Claudius (Caster)#Sorcerer #Bard

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itsamejin · 4 years

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it’s you || part 1 || taehyung angst/fluff || hanahaki au

Part 2

Summary: You’d rather live with thorns endlessly scratching the back of your throat than be devoid of the light that Taehyung brought into your life. Even if your love for him was slowly killing you, you didn’t mind as long as you could keep the warmth of his presence until the very end.

Warning: Mentions of throwing up, coughing up blood, death, some slight violence

Genre: Fluff, Angst, hanahaki!au, college!au, fuckboy!tae

Premise: Hanahaki Disease comes in different forms in this universe. The disease would eventually disappear if your love wasn’t that strong to begin with, but if you truly, deeply love someone, your flowers will rip at your throat. Throwing up flowers wasn’t a rare occurrence and for most people it disappeared after a few days. If Hanahaki persists, surgery is recommended, but it would severely dull the positive emotions of the person under surgery. Due to this, some choose to die with their unrequited love.

Commission Request: @guksflavor

Word Count: 8,313 words

—

Taehyung was obnoxiously handsome, too handsome to be a normal guy majoring in Psychology at one’s local university. Often mistaken for a celebrity, frequently breaking girl’s hearts, Taehyung was known as the campus “flower boy”.

It was never meant as a term of endearment. In fact, it offended Taehyung deeply when people would whisper about his private life as if he was incapable of hearing the slight jabs to his character. The nickname came from the notorious fact that Taehyung would cause several people to spit out flower petals from his mere presence alone.

It was the common case of “love at first sight”, a kind that never lasted very long after getting to know him.

Of course, throwing up petals was the first sign of the feared Hanahaki Disease, but it was never that serious when it came to Taehyung. The flowers would stop after a day or two and the girls who convinced themselves that Taehyung would be their future husband soon realized that their feelings never reached below the surface.

Their love was shallow, for no one really loved Taehyung outside of his good looks and he didn’t really mind.

Why should he when he hasn’t fallen in love either?

That’s why he was thankful for you and the rest of his close friends who scoffed at his blatant attempts at flirting. He was grateful for you helping him study or telling creepy girls off when they got a little too close to him at parties. He liked that you rejected his advances and that you cared deeply for him despite his tendency to annoy you. He appreciated having a friend that just... wanted to be a friend.

So why were you in the campus restroom stall, for the fifth time that week, spilling your guts out into the toilet? Why were you grasping at the wall, holding onto it for dear life, as you stared at a striking bundle of yellow flowers coated in toilet water? Why did you cry at the sight of beautiful and fully bloomed daffodils?

You swallowed back the incoming wave of discomfort but it kept coming. All because you couldn’t help but have your heart flutter when he put a hand on your shoulder. Your mind swam in thoughts of him and you weren’t quite sure if you could go on like this. If you could continue to want someone when it only brought you pain.

Why were you in love with Kim Taehyung when that was the last thing he wanted from you?

—

“Want to see something cool?” Taehyung asked, sprawled on your living room floor next to you. It was one of those lazy days you had with him, the kind that was only meant to be enjoyed by friends.

“No.”

Taehyung gave you a dirty look but sat up anyways.

“I’ve been working on my flexibility lately,” he chided. “I can touch my toes for 30 seconds now.”

You closed your eyes and gave him a fake smile.

“Good for you,” you sighed. Sometimes Taehyung had too much energy that you couldn’t match up with. You liked to humor him on days like this when he got extra pouty.

“So you’re not even gonna look?” he said, feigning sadness.

You rolled your eyes behind closed eyes and sat up to face him. You regret opening your eyes because his face was far too close to yours. You would have given him a flower shower right when your eyes locked.

“What was that?” he chuckled. “You looked like you saw a ghost or something. Am I that scary to look at?”

He squeezed your cheeks with both hands and you attempted to pull away from him, only to have him squeeze harder.

“Yes, you’re hideous,” you said through broke sentences. “A beast. You look like a half-eaten mango.”

Taehyung burst out in laughter and let go as he let himself collapse back on the floor. He was that confident in his looks to not mind your snide comments.

“That’s rich coming from you,” he cackled.

You glared at him and hit his stomach with your fist, earning a big ‘oof’ from the oversized child in front of you.

“Say one more word and I will never set you up on that date with my friend,” you threatened, hurt that you had to mention another girl for Taehyung to quit his laughing.

“I’m sorry my queen,” he said dramatically, pretending to kneel at your feet. “I have wronged you.”

You scoffed at his antics and pinched his ear as he wailed for you to stop.

“This is what you get for being stupid,” you said through his cries for help. You lifted his head up to your face and was met with a dazzling grin. Why did he have to smile like that towards you? Why did he lead you on in the most innocent way possible?

“You love when I’m stupid though,” he teased, attempting to tickle your sides.

‘I love you even when you’re not stupid,’ you yearned to say out loud, but the words never escaped your lips.

—

As the days passed it was getting harder and harder to speak. The thorns of some of the flowers made permanent etch marks in the back of your throat. You could muster yourself to sound normal on most days, but just earlier you had thrown up a dozen roses at a small social gathering and the embarrassment and pain had become unbearable.

You wished there was an easy explanation for your pain, but any time you tried to voice your thoughts out loud, you felt suffocated.

Your friends had noticed pretty early on that you had Hanahaki, but like everyone else, they thought it would disappear just as quickly as it came. Taehyung probably would have noticed if it weren’t for him being so desensitized to the disease that he never even bat an eye when you’d excuse yourself from the bathroom every time you two hung out.

He was the naive type, the one that needed to have it spelled out to him when an explanation was due. Maybe that’s why your heart would hurt so much at the thought of telling him about your condition. It would probably break him if he knew.

“[Y/N], at this point in time it’s imperative that you get surgery,” your doctor said sternly, twisting around in his chair. “It’s not safe to continue on without treatment.”

When the three month grace period passed, it was strongly recommended for you to get the surgery before your vocal cords were damaged beyond repair.

If you continued to suffer from Hanahaki, death would be awaiting any moment.

“I know,” you said softly. “I’m willing to take that risk.”

You had your reasons for not wanting surgery. It’s not like you wanted to die, but getting the procedure came with its consequences. Emotions would not come easily and there would be an absence of love in your life... not just for the person you have feelings for, but for everyone around you. So here you were, six months in and losing your voice more and more as the days went by. You were aware of what awaited you next.

You would know. Your mom went through the same procedure.

“You’re very young,” your doctor started, sighing at your stubbornness. “I know that this is a difficult situation, but getting this surgery will save your life. I can’t force you to change your mind, but I want you to weigh your options.”

You nodded at him but tuned out his words as to not be convinced. You couldn’t bear to see Taehyung as just another face, no longer finding the meaning behind his smile, no longer seeing the beauty in his movements. You would rather die a painful death than let go of the love you had developed for a man who didn’t feel the same for you.

“I’ll let you know if I decide differently,” you replied with a whisper. He looked at you with a tinge of disappointment.

“I can’t prescribe a higher dosage of painkillers,” your doctor said solemnly. “Any more and that would be killing you just as much.”

You looked down onto your knees and felt tears stream down your face. Whatever you choose to do, it would end with you in heartbreak anyways. You figured this was the least painful option.

—

Taehyung was always the type to mess around and flirt without thinking. You could count time and time again of him getting kicked out of bars or clubs from talking to other guy’s girlfriends and leaving Jungkook and you to clean up the mess.

The intense gaze his eyes would hold when he’d see someone he found attractive, the way he’d confidently saunter towards them without feeling nervous. You admired Taehyung because he was someone you could never be. So himself, so unafraid of what the world would think of him.

You took a shot of whiskey and swallowed harshly. Your throat was burning from the petals that had invaded it earlier in the day, but you needed to drown out your feelings of sorrow somehow. Taehyung had managed to sneak back into the club, now making his way onto the crowded dance floor looking for his next target.

“You feeling okay?” Jungkook asked, patting your back as you coughed a bit at the taste. Jungkook was your mutual best friend with Taehyung, the defining person that made you the Three Musketeers. He was your rock when times were tough.

“I feel like shit,” you sighed deeply, watching as Taehyung grabbed an unassuming girl by the hand and blew her a kiss. “It’s like the flowers get bigger each day.”

Jungkook knew about your disease. In fact, he was the number one supporter of you getting that life-changing surgery that would impair your emotions for Taehyung permanently. He wanted you to live more than anything, even if it meant costing you a semblance of your happiness.

“Why don’t you just confess to him?” Jungkook asked bitterly. “I mean it couldn’t hurt, right? You’re basically preparing to die at this point.”

You scoffed at his straightforwardness. He was obviously upset with your decision to refuse the surgery and he was showing it to you in a very Jungkook way by making petty comments in a shady club.

He’d never gotten Hanahaki so he would never understand, you thought.

“If I told Tae, wouldn’t you think he’d hate me?” you asked genuinely, tilting your head up at Jungkook. He stared down at you and you could tell he was holding back... because you knew the right answer to the question was yes. He’d have the same reaction as any other womanizer who couldn’t keep a relationship to save his life.

Taehyung would hate you if you loved him.

“He’ll probably ignore you for a bit, but that’s him being stupid,” Jungkook sighed, patting you on the head to comfort you a bit. “I mean, he’d probably try and force himself into falling in love with you if you told him about your... situation.”

You pursed your lips. You could see Taehyung do exactly just that. That was his classic way of ghosting the girls he messed around with, but Taehyung would never commit to those same tactics with you. He considered you like family and he’d probably blame himself until the end of time if he were to find out.

“See what I mean?” you avoided eye contact with Jungkook as you felt your eyes tear up a bit. “It would be all fake. He’d hate me and then pretend to love me and then I’d die either way. It would hurt a hell of a lot more if I let that happen.”

Jungkook furrowed his brows and glared at you.

“There’s always the possibility that he does fall in love with you, y’know?”

You shook your head and fiddled with your fingers.

“Taehyung doesn’t fall in love,” you muttered softly.

The two of you stayed silent, aware that the words you uttered were true. Even as he danced with beautiful women around him, you couldn’t help but keep your eyes solely on Taehyung. He would never let himself be so vulnerable as to fall in love with somebody, let alone a close friend like you.

So why did you let him worm into your heart so easily?

—

Six months ago...

“[Y/N], I’m asking you just this once,” Taehyung begged, puppy eyes activated. “I am begging you to give me her number.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. He always wanted to bother you when you worked your shift at the bookstore. Somehow, Taehyung still didn’t want to make himself useful by helping you put away books.

“Tae, we’re in the same class,” you sighed as you stacked up some magazines on top of each other and pushing a bunch of them into one of the higher shelves. “You could just ask her yourself.”

He whined and gave you that infamous pout known to make every girl on campus swoon. If it weren’t for your self-control you would have punched him right then and there for trying to act cute with you while at work.

“I can’t be too direct,” he replied with those pouty lips. “The other girl I'm trying to get with in that class will notice.”

You scrunched your nose. For someone who hated giving people Hanahaki, he couldn’t help but play around with girls as if it were a sport. He was practically an expert in making himself hated amongst his exs.

“You’re gonna regret being such a fuckboy one of these days,” you warned, but taking out your phone to pull up her number anyways. “Mark my words.”

He let out a cheer and hugged you from behind, squeezing you until the oxygen left your body. You tried to push him off of you, but he didn’t budge. It was better to just let him get his clinginess out of the way and then kick him in the shins later.

“I’ll treat you to dinner for this,” he said, grinning as you sent him her number through text message.

“Yeah, yeah,” you sighed. “Please let go of me I feel like I’m about to throw up.”

He laughed and kissed your cheek, a sound that resounded from the store so loudly that it made you wince.

“Love ya,” he smiled, rushing out of the store like a giddy teenage girl. You clenched your fists and touched the area he pecked. Somehow it made you angry at how excited he looked at the thought of another girl.

What did they have that you didn’t? Did you not exist to him at all?

You clutched onto your stomach as you felt something rumble. You felt an uncomfortable itch in the back of your throat and asked your boss if you could be excused. You tried making it to the bathroom in the back of the bookstore but you stumbled on a pile of books before you could reach your destination. You were on your knees, clutching your stomach as you hurled the contents inside of your stomach onto the wooden floors.

‘I’m so getting fired for this,’ you thought, as you kept your eyes clenched. When you decided to open them, you weren’t met with the soupy substance of the pizza you ate earlier that day, but with an array of pink peonies scattered across the floor. You shook your head out of disbelief.

No one throws up that many flowers on the first day of contracting Hanahaki. It was always one or two petals and it never came in full blooms of flowers. You had experienced this before with a boy back in middle school and it never turned out so... dangerously beautiful like this.

The sight in front of you was astonishing, the books stacked behind the scattered petals made for a picturesque view. Something about it didn’t sit quite right with you though, as if this signaled your demise.

You whisked through the flowers to see if anything abnormal was found in the flowers and there you saw it. Small specks of blood on the petals.

You realized then that you were screwed.

—

Present

The club continued to stay lively as Taehyung danced his heart out, simultaneously avoiding the bouncers that made their rounds around the club. He couldn’t risk getting kicked out again.

While you enjoyed seeing how much fun he was having, it made you sick to your stomach at how up close and personal he was with other girls. It made your blood boil at how easily it was for Taehyung to be so enamored with someone he could meet just five seconds ago, but feel nothing for you when you’d been friends for much longer. You held onto Jungkook’s arm to keep you steady as you felt another vomit session come up. You were starting to get dizzy and it wasn’t from the alcohol.

“You look like you’re about to faint any second now,” Jungkook said, worry etched all over his face. “Do you need me to take you home?”

You just laughed softly and grabbed onto the table in front of you instead of Jungkook. You weren’t leaving tonight knowing that Taehyung was still having the time of his life in front of you, even if it hurt to even stand. You just needed to take your mind off of him, that’s all.

“Jungkook, if you just randomly got amnesia one day and forgot everyone around you, how would you feel?” you asked him, pouring another round of whiskey into your glass to ease the headache.

“What does this have to do with you fainting?” he grumbled, stealing your shot and gulping it down for yourself. You scoffed at his blatant attempt to keep you from drinking.

“Just answer the question,” you said, now eyeing a girl Taehyung had his body pressed against. She looked about ready to pounce on him any second.

“I don’t know, I’d probably feel like shit,” he shrugged, motioning for you to pour him another drink. You obliged.

“Well that’s how getting that fucking surgery would feel like,” you said rather aggressively as now the girl was taking Taehyung to the back of the club, where the restroom stalls were. You felt the familiar feeling of choking occur but you muscled through it.

“You’re overreacting,” Jungkook said, rolling his eyes. He didn’t drink the shot yet and instead handed it to you. He noticed Taehyung getting dragged to the restroom too and felt like you needed it, even if your hands were shaking as you grabbed it from his hands. You clenched your fist as you swallowed the cold liquid. It had flushed down the flowers temporarily.

“Not overreacting. I’ve seen it first-hand myself,” you said.

He looked at you, surprise written all over his face, but didn’t press any further. That’s why you appreciated Jungkook so much. He never overstepped his boundaries, unlike Taehyung who practically invaded your personal space each time you saw him. The two were so different from each other and you were so different from them. You wondered how the three of you even became friends.

“I don’t want to turn out like an empty shell for the rest of my life,” you continued, still holding the empty shot glass to your lips. “I’d rather die doing everything I wanted to rather than live a meaningless life.”

He glanced at you, slightly impressed by how stubborn you truly were. Nothing would get to you and no amount of pleading would make you change your mind. You weren’t going to get that surgery.

“So are you gonna make like a bucket list or what?” he asked, taking the whiskey and chugging it straight from the bottle. You looked at him in disgust as he detached himself from the liquor. It seems like both of you were drinking to forget.

“I should, shouldn’t I?” you smiled, finally setting the glass down as you saw Taehyung exit the bathroom looking disgusted. “Might as well since I’m gonna die anyway.”

You two laughed at the morbidity of it all. It wasn’t a funny situation to be in, but you had to make the most of it. Would this be the last time you go clubbing with Jungkook and Taehyung? Would your life end before it even really started?

“That girl puked hydrangeas on my fucking shoes,” Taehyung yelled, rushing to the two of you. “We gotta leave, I am not having her follow me around after this.”

Jungkook and you scoffed at his silliness. This was better, you thought. The atmosphere between Jungkook and you earlier was so grim. Typical Taehyung brightening up the mood wherever he went.

Even as the feeling of thorns pricked against your throat, you couldn’t shake off the smile that was on your face. For Taehyung had made you happy and you couldn’t imagine not feeling any emotion other than love as he looked at you with such sincerity.

You couldn’t bear the idea of Taehyung not having an effect on you.

—

“Please, Jungkook,” Taehyung cried, shaking him back and forth as all three of you stood in the university hallways waiting for the lecture hall to open. “Just give me the notes, I’ll give them back I promise.”

Jungkook clicked his tongue and tried to pull his backpack away from Taehyung who was furiously trying to make a grab at it.

“Fuck off dude, you should’ve studied when you had the chance,” Jungkook sighed, searching for some assistance from you. “It’s not my fault you got wasted at the club last night.”

Taehyung whined at Jungkook’s reluctance to help him out. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t cram any information that morning with that stupid hangover of his. Pretty soon, Taehyung was looking at you too, expectations written all over his face. You huffed out an annoyed breath and opened up your own bag.

“Tae, just use my notes,” you shook your head lightly, taking out the composition book tucked near the back of your bag. “Stop bothering Jungkook, he looks ready to start a fight with you any moment now.”

Taehyung’s eyes lit up in a way that made your heart stop, naturally gravitating towards your direction. He looked so pure and innocent in moments like these when he gets something he wants. You couldn’t help but feed off from his positive energy.

You handed him your notebook as he stared at it in awe.

“You are the only person who wants to see me succeed,” Taehyung said dramatically, kissing your notes as if it were the seventh wonder of the world. Jungkook scoffed and smacked Taehyung’s head.

“What are you gonna do without [Y/N] always covering you?” he rolled his eyes. Somehow his words stung a bit.

You didn’t think Jungkook really knew the weight of his own words, but you were thinking deeply about it. What would Taehyung do without you being there for him all the time?

Taehyung shrugged.

“Doesn’t matter, [Y/N]’s gonna be my guardian angel forever,” he teased and put an arm around you. You clenched your jaw and looked down a the floor. You could not let yourself yack some damn petals in that hallway during exam season.

"Do you not feel sorry for her one bit?” Jungkook scoffed, clearly done with Taehyung’s childish antics.

“Why should I?” Taehyung asked innocently, nuzzling into your hair as he held you tight. Somehow his touch felt suffocating, even though his arm was lightly placed on your shoulders.

“It’s not like she can live without me either,” he teased, booping your nose.

Jungkook and you exchanged glances and both simultaneously pulled on his ears.

‘If only he knew,’ you thought to yourselves.

—

After the quiz that Taehyung most likely failed, he invited Jungkook and you over to his place to eat some ramen.

“Sorry man, we actually have a life outside of you,” Jungkook said, declining his offer. “I’ve got extra shifts at work to cover anyways.”

You nodded at Jungkook’s excuse and proceeded with your own.

“I have some stuff to catch up on, so I can’t go,” you replied, trying to act nonchalantly. “Maybe next time, Tae?”

He shook his head at you two, feigning sadness.

“Both of you always act cold towards me, I’m starting to feel like this is a one-sided friendship,” he sighed, clenching his heart as if he was shot. It took everything in you to not step on his foot right then. He might not know about your condition, but the comments were unnecessary regardless if you had Hanahaki or not.

Jungkook and you simply stared at him and he awkwardly put his hand down when none of you showed a reaction.

“Fine, go do whatever,” he said, pompously. “I was gonna invite a girl over for dinner anyways.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes.

“Alright, bro. Have fun or whatever,” he said, trying to shoo Taehyung away. “I’ll walk [Y/N] to her dorm, you just leave.”

Taehyung clicked his tongue at him, but eventually left, leaving you to be with Jungkook alone.

“He’s the worst,” you sighed, and to that Jungkook nodded in agreement.

“You’re still choosing to die for him, though,” Jungkook muttered under his breath. You flinched at his words, saddened by Jungkook’s word choice. If he put it like that then you sounded like a weirdo.

An awkward silence fell between the two of you. You half-expected Taehyung to come back to you guys and interrupt your conversation to help lighten the mood, but he never came. Jungkook expected you to talk first since you were the one that asked to talk to him anyway, but it was clear his underhanded comment had made you uncomfortable.

“Why did you want to meet up with me anyway?” Jungkook asked, easing the tension just a bit.

You coughed awkwardly and looked up at him with a new sense of determination in your eyes that he hadn’t seen in a while. You seldom looked motivated these days.

“It’s about that bucket list thing you mentioned yesterday,” you started. “I want to do one of the things as soon as possible.”

He furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Why?”

You bit your bottom lip, not quite knowing how to phrase what you were about to say without making Jungkook upset. He’d probably nag at you like he usually does.

“I don’t have a lot of time left, Jungkook,” you said softly. “I just want to do as much as I can before I get stuck in a hospital bed.”

He stared down at you with sorrowful eyes. He wished there was some other way to help you, one that didn’t ultimately end in you dying.

“What do you need?” he asked kindly, surprisingly taking your words pretty well.

You smiled up at him and pulled out a piece of paper from your bag. Jungkook took it from your hands and was met with small sketches of flowers that you had presumably drawn. He studied the designs carefully, confused.

“Okay, how the hell am I supposed to know what this means?” he asked you, angling the paper in different ways to see if he was supposed to crack a code or something.

You shook your head in disappointment. You thought he’d get it by now, considering it was in his line of work.

“Tattoos,” you said simply. “I want a whole sleeve of flowers on my right arm and a bunch of small ones on like my thigh-”

“Stop stop stop,” Jungkook said, waving a hand in front of your face to shut you up. “You want a what now?”

You smiled brightly and spoke with more confidence.

“I want tattoos!”

He scoffed and handed back the paper to you.

“Are you only saying this because you’re gonna get discounted at the shop I work at?”

You shook your head rapidly, not amused by his assumptions.

“No, I’ve just always wanted them,” you said seriously. “I was always too scared with the needle but since I’ve got nothing to lose, I thought why not?”

Jungkook poked you with his index finger in the area between your eyebrows.

“You need to stop talking like that [Y/N],” he said seriously. “I hate when you get all negative.”

You smiled sadly at him.

“Give me the tattoos and I’ll stop talking,” you teased, but your words lacked genuine feeling.

Jungkook heaved out a sigh.

“Fine, but don’t come crying to me if you regret it,” he said, turning his back to you so he could make a call to his boss. Turns out he actually would be working that day.

—

The feeling of Jungkook’s needle on your skin didn’t hurt as much as you nearly thought it would, the pain only coming in dull waves.

After throwing up flowers consistently for the past few months, nothing could quite match up to the pain of thorns poking at your throat at random times of the day. To you, this was child’s play.

“You’re taking this pretty well for a beginner,” Jungkook complimented, still focusing on the light curves of the forget-me-nots he was etching onto your skin. A whole array of flowers would be drawn on your arm eventually.

“I’m good with my emotions unlike some people,” you said, clearly referencing how agitated Jungkook had been recently. He seemed to lash out every little thing and even made snide comments when he thought no one was listening. Jungkook was definitely taking your situation harder than you were at this point.

He only smiled at your words, not making any big movements as to not disrupt his work.

“I’m just shocked you’d want the stuff that’s gonna kill you to be on your body forever,” he replied back. Although he spoke too morbidly, he made a fair point.

“Well, the flowers mean more to me than just that,” you started, slightly wincing as Jungkook’s needled started drawing on a new patch of skin.

Jungkook noticed your discomfort and tried to ease your mind.

“Tell me about that,” he asked, hoping you didn’t feel even more uncomfortable with the question. He anticipated your reply as you coughed awkwardly.

“I’m actually doing this for my mom,” you said softly, avoiding eye contact with him. “She had Hanahaki too and it didn’t turn out well.”

He took a step back to get a good look at your sleeve. He had been working at this tattoo for two hours now and he only seemed to finish just one small section. ‘This would take several sessions of hard work,’ he thought to himself.

“You never talk about your mom,” he pointed out, lightly dabbing the bleeding parts of your skin to avoid infection on your skin.

“My mom got the surgery,” you said slowly, suddenly feeling a sting as the needle hit your skin again. “She found out my dad cheated on her after throwing up flowers for a couple of nights.”

He stopped his movements for a bit, shocked with your revelation. He knew you were hiding something, but he never expected it to be this big. He looked up at you and regretted seeing your sad expression so up close. It seemed you were about ready to cry.

“It literally broke her,” you continued. “She didn’t find joy in anything anymore. Like, she was a completely different person.”

Jungkook stopped his wrists from moving and pulled back a bit. He didn’t know how to comfort you. It was always Taehyug’s forte when it came to emotional stuff. What was he even supposed to say?

“Did you tell her?” Jungkook gulped, his words were shaky. “About not wanting the surgery.”

It was then that you started to break down and it wasn’t from the pain of getting a tattoo. It was the look of complete and utter worry from Jungkook that set you off into a fit of tears.

“Who is there to tell, Jungkook?” you whispered through the tears. “She’s dead.”

He looked at you in shock, not really registering your words. Obviously, your mother hadn’t died from Hanahaki, she already got the surgery. The reason, he knew, must’ve been much more sinister. He didn’t quite know how to approach you as you hiccuped through your tears. He patted your back in reassurance and repeated time and time again that it was okay, that Taehyung and him would be there for you.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” you mumbled. “I’m a shitty friend.”

He shook his head and was about to reply when an unwelcomed guest came bursting through the tattoo parlor doors.

“Jungkooooook,” you heard a yodel, belonging only to a voice you two could recognize perfectly.

Taehyung.

You made swift movements to wipe away the tears from your face and Jungkook pretended as if he was in deep focus on drawing something on your skin. Taehyung entered Jungkook’s station, unassuming and bright as ever. He held a plastic bag with takeout boxes in his hand, presumably food.

“[Y/N]? You’re here too?” he asked in confusion, eyebrows slightly furrowed. "Getting a tattoo?”

You nodded hesitantly and he gave an even more worrisome look.

“Can someone explain what’s going on?” he asked slowly, trying to decipher what was really happening.

Jungkook coughed awkwardly.

“I think I’m gonna check out the other clients for a second,” he said, standing up and setting down his tools. “I’ll be right back, [Y/N].”

You looked at Jungkook pleadingly to stay, but he shook his head. He did not want to get involved in whatever discussion was about to go. You sighed and brushed the strands of your hair that was getting on your face. You just hoped your red eyes from crying went unnoticed.

“How come you didn’t tell me you were getting a tattoo?” he asked sadly, sitting on the stool Jungkook once occupied. “Is this what you meant when you said you were ‘catching up on things’?”

You pursed your lips, not quite knowing how to respond.

“It was a personal thing,” you whispered, massaging the back of your neck. You felt the flowers in your stomach once again.

“What, so you told Jungkook and not me?” Taehyung pouted, setting the food he brought on a nearby table. “I texted him if he was at work and he said yeah. I usually surprise him with Thai food. I didn’t think you were gonna be here too so I only bought enough for two.”

You smiled at him. Taehyung was still as considerate as ever.

He took a look at your tattoo, slightly confused with the realistic flower patterns. His fingers ghosted over them as if to make sure they were real.

“Why flowers?” he asked. He never thought of you as a flora type person. He’s probably never seen you hold a flower in his life.

“None of your business,” you scoffed trying to face away from him. You didn’t want him to see your flustered expression and the puffiness of your under-eyes. He pouted at your words and lack of eye contact.

“You’ve been so distant from me lately, [Y/N],” he said in a cutesy voice. “I feel like Jungkook and you have been hanging out with each other more than with me. I’m starting to feel really left out.”

You chuckled. You weren’t mad at him for barging in during your tattoo session, but you were frustrated with his naivety. There you were getting the most feared items on the world tattooed on your skin and he questioned very little of it? How dense was he really?

“We can hang out some other time, alright Tae?” you said, ruffling his hair lightly. “I just want this first session done and over with.”

He grinned up at you and squeezed your hand that was on his head.

“Then let me stay here to be your emotional support,” he teased, taking your hand into his. You nodded with a smile, but an uncomfortable feeling had erupted in your stomach.

“Will you excuse me for a second?” you asked urgently, pain laced in your voice. He nodded worriedly as he watched you rush off into the restroom. ‘You were having a lot of stomachaches lately,’ he thought to himself.

You covered your mouth with your palm as soon as you were out of Taehyung’s sight, making sure not to throw up anything on the tattoo parlor floor. Jungkook saw you escaping from his station and followed you into the unisex bathroom. He rushed over to you as you threw up into the toilet bowl, some excess flower petals hitting the floor instead. Tears welled up in your eyes as the flowers kept coming in several colors, all different sizes. They were all tulips, stained in blood and mucus, a truly disgusting sight to behold.

Jungkook patted your back gently and tried to ease you through the pain. Your mouth ached as the last petal left your lips and you desperately grabbed onto Jungkook’s thigh as you coughed out blood. Your lips were horribly stained with a deep rouge.

“Water, please,” you pleaded with your strained voice in between coughing fits.

Jungkook got you the water and while you tried to act like nothing happened when you came back to Taehyung who was playing Candy Crush on his phone, he couldn’t help but notice how raspy your voice had gotten since just a few moments earlier and how tired your eyes looked when you stared at him.

“Are you sure you wanna keep on going?” Jungkook whispered to you. “We can have another session tomorrow. I think it’s probably best you go home.”

You shook your head.

“I just want to be with him a bit more,” you said softly, glad that the boy of your affection was so deeply engrossed in his mobile game. “I didn’t lose that much blood.

Taehyung, at the corner of his eye, couldn’t help but see a small pink petal on your shoe with tinges of red splattered on it. He saw the way Jungkook would ask you every 30 seconds if you were feeling okay when he was never the type to talk while he tattoed.

He wondered if it was any of his business to ask.

—

Throughout the next two weeks, Jungkook had finished the various tattoos you wanted through grueling sessions with Taehyung bothering the two of you in the sidelines. Within those weeks, your health had massively deteriorated as well. The number of flowers you threw up increased by the day and the amount of blood that showed up was worrisome, to say the least. You knew your time was coming up, so it was only fair that you were to complete something you desired most before your eventual demise.

Go on a proper date with Taehyung.

Not like the one-on-one hangouts you had with him where you’d throw on whatever. No, you wanted to get dolled up and pretty this time, so you asked him if he wanted to go watch a movie with you and eat dinner after. You knew it wouldn’t change how Taehyung felt about you since he wouldn’t even consider your invitation as a date, but you still wanted to look your best regardless.

You got ready hours before he intended to come over to pick you up. You lathered on several layers of lipstick, not really knowing what you were expecting to happen anyways. When you finally made your way outside, you were satisfied the starstruck look in Taehyung’s eyes

“Wow you dressed up today,” he chided as he saw you exit your dormitory. “You have someone to impress or what?”

He winked at you and you only scoffed in response. It was obvious that he was staring intently at the new tattoos you had embedded into your skin. It was nice seeing him look at you in a way that you weren’t used to... like he actually found you attractive.

“Please, I look good for myself,” you said confidently. “Can’t say the same for you considering you wore that shirt yesterday.”

He clicked his tongue in your direction.

“Whatever, whatever,” he said, waving his hand in front of him. “I get to have you all to myself today. No Jungkook in sight. I could rub this in his face later.”

You laughed at his silliness. If you wanted to delude yourself, you’d have thought Taehyung was jealous. He was so cute, with his hands stuffed in his pockets as he looked at you with a flushed face. You only had to tolerate the fluttering feeling in your stomach for a few hours or so, how bad could it be? You just needed to endure it until Tehyung left and you were free to throw up all the petals you needed to.

“Let’s go to the movies?” you offered and he smiled, agreeing with your suggestion.

It was nice like this, walking by his side without a care in the world. It made you sad to think that this too would be taken away from you. That you’ll never get to hear him babble about dates gone awry or see how his smile would get wider when he saw his favorite food again. It would all be taken away from you eventually, one way or another. You clenched your fist, attempting to focus on his voice rather than the nausea that had overtaken your body.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that you had to love him all alone.

“I don’t think I get to tell you enough how much I appreciate you,” Taehyung said, breaking the comfortable silence between you two. “You always look out for me even when you look like you aren’t.”

You smiled at his compliment.

“There’s no need for that,” you replied. “What kind of friend would I be if I just watched you suffer alone?”

You tried to swallow down the hypocrisy that came with your own words. He had no idea that you were lying through your teeth right then and there. You tensed at the sound of Taehyung chuckling at your comment.

“That’s what friends are for after all,” he said in agreement.

It happened almost suddenly. The first cough and then a second and then you couldn’t stop your knees from hitting the concrete of the city sidewalk.

“[Y/N],” Taehyung shouted, kneeling next to you on the crowded street. His voice was distorted among all the other sounds you were hearing. There were bells, whistles, the sound of an incoming storm. You started hyperventilating.

‘Not here, not here. Anywhere else but here,’ you screamed to yourself in your head.

You clenched your stomach and tried to hold back the impending contents that were soon to escape your lips. You shook your head as tears threatened to spill out of your eyes. You didn’t want Taehyung to see you like this.

“[Y/N], tell me what's wrong,” Taehyung pleaded. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong!”

You couldn’t help as the tears rolled down your face as the first petal left. And then another. By then, a crowd had formed around you two and someone was in the process of calling an ambulance. You couldn’t stop the bloody white roses that escaped your lips, slashing the inside of your throat as more of them came. All parts of your body ached, but your heart hurt the most. Taehyung’s face was in such distress and you were the reason for it.

You were the reason for his pain just as he was the reason for yours.

The last thing you heard before collapsing in his arms was Taehyung screaming your name, the blood mixed with lipstick on your mouth staining his shirt. He called for help and eventually, they did come. They came but it felt like he had already failed you somehow. Like he could’ve done more to protect you.

As the EMTs hauled you off into the ambulance truck, he took one last glance at the pile of flowers that stained the concrete.

It looked too similar to the flowers drawn near your shoulder.

—

Taehyung sat near your hospital bed, clenching his hands together and shutting his eyes to even out his breathing. ‘I’m a dumbass for not realizing earlier,’ he thought to himself.

The nurses had filled him in about your condition just a few moments earlier. He found out that you were six months into being diagnosed with Hanahaki and that you had no intention of getting surgery. It hurt his heart to think that you were suffering all alone, carrying the burden of a terminal illness all by yourself. He hated to think that the person you loved had no idea you were in such pain. Taehyung found himself hating the person you longed for, even if he didn’t know who that was.

He took a glance at your resting features.

You looked so pale in the dim hospital lights and the sound of your heart monitor made him apprehensive. You had Hanahaki and you never bothered to tell him? Was this another one of your secrets you were hiding from him lately? He sighed, burying his face into his palms.

"You don’t deserve this [Y/N],” he said solemnly, brushing away some strands of hair from your face. “Anyone would be lucky to have you be in love with them. That person doesn’t know what they’re missing out on.”

Taehyung went through a list of people in his head who could’ve been your possible unrequited love. It couldn’t be Namjoon, the guy that was helping you out all the time at the bookstore. You two barely talked. It wasn't Seokjin from lecture hall either, you said he wasn't your type. Was it Hoseok from the same department? Perhaps was it-?

He webbed his fingers through his hair out of frustration. Who could it possibly be?

Taehyung was disturbed from his thoughts from a slight knocking sound that continued on for a few seconds.

"Come in," he replied back cautiously.

To Taehyung’s surprise, Jungkook opened the door, a bouquet flowers in his hand as he walked through. Taehyung's body tensed at the sight of him. He had put two in two together and now he clenched his fists together, tightening his jaw.

It was him. It had to be him.

"I would've come earlier, but I wanted to get these for her when she wakes up," Jungkook said solemnly and set the flowers down near the hospital nightstand. "How's [Y/N] holding up?"

Taehyung stood up from the seat next to your bed, cracking his neck to the side to release some tension. He came close to Jungkook, glaring at him in a threatening stance. Taehyung grabbed at his collar.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing bring flowers to a patient with Hanahaki?"

Taehyung's voice didn't sound quite like he usually did. There was a growl akin to anger in the way he spoke. Jungkook pushed him off of him, confused as to why Taehyung was picking a fight with you when you were sleeping just a few meters away.

"It's just a nice gesture," Jungkook seethed. "Why are you being so fucking hostile when you didn't even know she had Hanahaki in the first place?"

Taehyung scoffed, shoving Jungkook by the chest.

"You knew?" he squinted his eyes at Jungkook. "You fucking knew and you didn't do anything about it?"

Jungkook took a look at your sleeping form. He was glad you weren't awake to be hearing this because he was ready to do something he'd regret. He didn’t mind getting kicked out of the hospital if it meant putting Taehyung in his place.

"Why should I do anything, huh?" Jungkook sighed. "I’ve been begging her to get the damn surgery. She won't fucking listen to me!"

Taehyung punched him right then. His wrists were bound to bruise by the impact of it all and Jungkook just stared at him in shock, clutching his cheek.

"It's your fault that she's dying," Taehyung started, tears welling up in his eyes. "You should have fucking tried harder to convince her. You could’ve stopped this."

Jungkook charged at him and pushed Taehyung against the wall. It was a miracle you hadn’t woken up from all the noise they were making. There was bound to be complaints from neighboring rooms for the ruckus the two boys were causing.

"Me?" Jungkook gritted his teeth, taking a good hard look at Taehyung. "You’re saying I'm the reason?"

Taehyung scoffed at his face and pushed him off.

"Who else then? Who else is fucking killing [Y/N]?!" Taehyung cried, his voice echoing in the hospital room.

Jungkook took a step back from him until he soon brought his fist back to hit Taehyung square in the jaw. He fell onto the floor and cringed at the pain.

“I know it’s not my business to say anything,” he mumbled, but loud enough for Taehyung to hear him. “And that it’s between [Y/N] and you but I’m really fucking sick and tired of seeing her break down over someone as incompetent and stupid as-”

“Can you just spit it out already, you piece of shit-”

Jungkook threw another punch at Taehyung when he made his way to stand. He had collapsed on the floor again, trying to readjust his jaw. Jungkook’s hand was bleeding at that point, but he didn’t care one bit. Taehyung deserved everything that was coming to him.

“It’s you,” Jungkook seethed. “You’re the reason why she’s fucking dying!”

Taehyung stared up at him in a state of shock as your body had started to wake up into consciousness. The two boys stared at each other, dripping in anger.

“What did you say?”

—

A/N: Another Taehyung fic up my sleeve! Sorry to leave it on a cliffhanger like that :P The second part will be a lot more intense. Special thanks to @guksflavor for commissioning this and also buying 2 coffees for me, I really appreciate it. It was a whole lot of fun writing this first part and I hope you guys enjoyed it. It’s my first time writing about Hanahaki Disease, so I wanted my interpretation to be slightly unique. I’m so glad I got a request like this from the get-go, since I love these kind of angsty stories. If y’all want to commission for stories or simply donate, my Kofi is linked on my blog. If not, that’s totally fine, I’m thankful for your support either way.

PS. Trash part two comes out at the end of this week, please anticipate it a lot!

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abyssnessmage · 3 years

Text

Broken Promises

ZhongChi/ChiLi angst one-shot (zhongli’s banner)

word count: 1.6K

Watching from a distance, the starry night hat of the astrologist flickered warily as she stared at the falling stars shining in front of her. Her eyes subconsciously counted the passing stones: 22, 25, 40, 53 and so on. As the numbers increased, the more anxious she felt.

Turning to the figure that sat a few feet from her, she pursed her lip and sighed, "They're calling for you, you know?"

The broad shoulders of the figure moved slightly, but no response was heard. Heaving a louder sigh from her chest, she stepped closer to him.

"Zhongli-Laoshi, the wishes have reached 70," she tried emphasizing the number in hopes to stir up alarm in the geo archon, but he was still as stone.

"It's not my time," he responded softly, neither turning to look at the astronomer or lifting his head in the direction of the falling stars

"Not your time?" She scoffed in disbelief, "If you haven't noticed, your time is running out and access to the mortal world will become even more strained."

"Since you seem very unsettled about this, Mona, perhaps you should answer their calls before they continue to waste their resources," he whispered sternly.

Taken back, Mona made her way to stand in front of the geo archon, heels clicking impatiently as she walked. Anger boiled in her veins, "If I go down there, do you expect them to forgive you for this? Do you expect him to forgive you?"

Hearing "him" being mentioned, Zhongli lifted his eyes until it met hers and she was suddenly hit with a wave of guilt. Without another word, she sighed and nodded.

"I don't expect their forgiveness," he said solemnly, "I brought this misfortune on myself and I intend to bear the consequences of my actions in exile."

Mona nodded again in full understanding. If there was one thing she learned from the geo archon, it was that he never let's a broken promise go unpunished. His contracts made up who he is as an archon.

Feeling defeated, Mona made her way to the open sky that led to the mortal world. Turning her head to look at the Laoshi one last time, she caught a ride on an incoming star. Her presence transformed the blue shade into an illuminated golden hue and she made her way down to earth.

*Lumine's POV*

"There! Look! Lumine, it's a gold wish!"

The excited, child-like shout came from her recent team member, Tartaglia "Childe," and she watched him jump from a nearby rock he sat at. Beidou and Kaeya jumped to their feet as well as they watched the golden star make its way down.

Without hesitation, Childe began running in the direction where the star would hit, his other team members trailing behind him in excitement. With a bright burst, a figure stepped out of the illuminated star and slowly made their way to meet the group.

Just as Lumine caught up to Childe, he stopped in his tracks and stared at the newcomer. Confused, Lumine turned her attention to the person. It was not Zhongli that had come down, but Mona, the famous and powerful astrologist.

"Who the hell are you?"

Lumine flinched at the anger that laced the 11th Harbinger's voice. She lifted her head to meet his eyes and gasped. His dull blue eyes were filled with rage and the curve of his lip twitched slightly. Heavy breathing was heard and Childe's gloved hands were balled into fists, almost ready to strike the newcomer in the face.

"I'm not who you wished for," Mona replied, her eyes mirrored the same sympathy Lumine felt and she could see the regret painted on her face. Lumine could see how much she wanted to go back. To not be there and to have someone in her place. Someone that everyone was hoping to see.

"This is a mistake," Childe snarled, "Do you have any idea how long we called for you? How long we waited?"

Lumine realized he was no longer talking to Mona, but his gaze was fixed at the blue sky.

"Is this a compensation? A sorry gift for your selfish choice?!" The tone in his voice began to increase and water started to pool around his feet. Electricity followed and Lumine could see his inner power beginning his Harbinger transformation.

"Calm down," Mona firmly stated, "You out of all people should understand-"

"Don't you dare finish that," he sneered, "He promised me he'll come back. He made me promise-!"

"And who do you think had to pay for the broken promise?!" Mona shouted over the waves of fury beginning to swirl around them, "Or are you not aware of how contracts work?"

"You take that back!"

Suddenly, Lumine surged forward, wrapping her arms around his waist to hold him back from doing something he would regret.

"Let go of me!" He wrestled in her grasp, causing Kaeya and Beidou to reached for his hands to hold him down, "Let me go!"

Lumine shook her head, holding as tight as she could. Pressing her chest on his back and gripping the cloth of his jacket, she whispered calmly to him to stop fighting.

"This is for the best and you know it," Mona replied sternly, "There's nothing you can do."

"Bullshit!" A wave of force surged from his palms, pushing the three team members off of his body. Lumine cried out in pain, but immediately went back to grabbing his waist to which Childe responded with more force to push her back.

"Childe, please. Stop. You're hurting yourself," Lumine cried, smelling the metallic scent of blood coming from his hands. She tried to use her anemo to blow the liquid away, but more kept pouring.

"I've been hurting," he whispered and the sound of his voice shattered Lumine's heart. She never heard him this broken before. She never heard this much pain.

Gripping tightly to his clothes, Lumine continued to withstand the sudden bursts of water no matter how painful it was. In the corner of her eye, Mona stood watching his unstable figure, shouting and crying to the sky. She tilted her hat downwards, covering her glassy eyes and turned away.

After a few moments of constant power bursts, the force subsided and Lumine was left hugging a huddled figure in her arms. Childe's figure shook in grief as he clawed the demolished grass beneath them. Tears sprinkled the back of his hands and Lumine could hear the exhaustion echoing through his labored breathing.

"Why?" He whispered, slowly lifting his head once more to the sky. The now thundering and rain filled abyss, "Is this what you want?"

Lips quivering and eyes blurring with tears, he brushed his orange bangs out of his face. Never before in his life has he felt so abandoned. So left behind.

Lumine lightly rested her head on his shoulder, "He'll come back. I promise."

His chest heaved and released what sounded like a coughing fit, but was actually an empty laugh from a broken soul.

"He'll come back," he echoed, "but I won't promise I'll be here waiting."

Lumine's eyes widened and she was gently pushed aside by the tall man. Watching him walk away, she could see droplets of blood leave his torn, gloved hands as he made his way back to Liyue.

Extra:

Hearing the anguished sounds of shouting and cursing echo from below, Zhongli squeezed his eyes shut, begging for it to stop. The sound of Childe's broken voice rang through his mind and his chest ached to quiet the painful sounds of his beloved. With a heavy heart, he stiffly moved as far away from the source of the noise as possible. Anything that will distance himself from hearing his name constantly being cried out.

But, no matter how far he walked, the voice kept returning, more painful and rage driven than the last. He wanted to hide. To shut himself away and never have the ability to hear again.

Though he also wanted to scream back. To shout in response and tell him that he was there. That he will return. That he didn't abandon him. The desire and desperation to follow a star down to the mortal world was overwhelming to the point he wishes he could chain himself back.

But the promise they made echoed in his mind and held him back from doing anything more. The broken promise that separated them and the consequences he must face alone. The consequences that Childe was spared so that he won't have to suffer. The only one who will, would be him.

Deep down, however, they were both equally suffering. The distance was too much to bear already and with the added years to his sentence, he wished death would knock on his door.

But he was immortal. He couldn't die and which was why he chose to bear the consequences himself and take responsibility so Childe wouldn't have to.

This was for the best. He kept telling himself over and over. Desperately trying to drown out the continuous screams he heard from Childe. Desperately trying to break free from his force and desperately trying to forget.

But he knew he couldn't. Hands reached to his face and he screamed in helpless rage. hearing more cries pour into his ears. Hearing his name being shouted over and over again and hearing the break in his voice when no one responded.

In all the 6,000 years he's been alive, Zhongli never felt pain like this before. These emotions of anguish and utter devastation consumed his whole heart and he let the tears fall from his eyes, welcoming the coldness of grief and embracing it.

"My beloved and dearest, Ajax," he whispered into the tear stained palm of his hands, "I will see you again."

#genshin impact #genshin oneshot #genshin impact one shot #zhongchi #chili #genshin childe #genshin zhongli #genshin mona #genshin lumine #genshin beidou #genshin kaeya #zhongli x childe #me when zhongli didnt come home #went through the 5 stages of grief

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faetxlity · 3 years

Text

Here’s A Health To The Company

@save-a-witcher-bingo Prompt: At Sea Characters: Witcher Gerd, Togeir the Red, Jerome Moreau

Torgeir was looking up at the ruins of what had once been his home. What was his home. Is. The flames were spreading quickly, Fort Tuirseach was all but destroyed. Like the Jarl who had filled its halls with laughter and mead- ruined.

At his side, stained in blood, sat the Witcher Gerd. His jaw was tight, his hands were fisted in the fabric of his own filthy shirt, but his eyes were clear. He did not watch the ruin of his adopted home, rather he watched the blood seep from the bandages that he had wrapped around Torgeir’s leg. Already they were in need of changing but they had no fabric with which to do so, his original job had been so hasty... Unless they ripped apart the sails there was nothing to be done. But to do such a thing as that was a death warrant.

The little ship they had taken was not meant to go much further than around the cape but they had set out for sea with no choice. They had with them five men and a woman, of whom only two were well enough to take up oar, not counting the Witcher who had rowed them the first half hour from shore nearly on his own with eyes blacker than coal.

The Witcher rested now though, so much as he could with his life burning on the shore.

“We will die out here.” The Jarl said, voice was devoid of emotion. Gerd looked to his friend’s face then, to his lover’s eyes. The anger, the grief , all the emotions he had expected were nowhere to be found.

“No.” Gerd replied, “we will live. We will see them pay for this and you will see it rebuilt.” He received no answer, no acknowledgement as the jarl’s hand did not return the gentle pressure that he put upon it. Gerd looked at the island they were sailing from, the land they may never get to set foot on again.

They would live; he would accept no other outcome.

~seven days~

For seven days the ship rocked, sailing for some imagined safe haven on the mainland but without hope or half a crew. One man had succumbed to his wounds on the first dawn and another had followed two evenings after. Torgeir had said nary a word since his ominous assertion of their fate, his leg had steadily grown worse over the days and it left him with little ability to do more than lay down and sleep. When awake he stared across the sea as if expecting death to appear to him with an outstretched hand.

Gerd had taken over easily enough, tucked Torgeir into the captain's quarters and spent both days and nights looking for either a miracle or their end.

On the seventh day it came to them in the form of a ship thrice their size. No man aboard their own was fit to fight but still Gerd drew his steel and braced himself. The dark hull of the incoming vessel felt like an omen and he was flanked by Andrea and Koll, the only two who remained in good health- though weak from hunger they would die on their feet. Of that they were sure.

A figure leaned over the edge of the ship above, their back was to the sun and so Gerd could not discern any features. “Are you in need of assistance?” The voice was, clearly, not Nilfgardian and that alone was enough for the man on Gerd’s left to sag. Andrea looked to the Witcher, her eyes wide and hopeful.

Please, let this be a mercy.

“Yes!” He called up. “We are!”

The ship called itself a merchant’s vessel though a pirate’s den is what it looked. They had been pulled aboard with canvas and rope, the men of the ship quick to provide them with fresh water and food while their medic checked each refugee for wounds. If the crew were upset to have a witcher in their midst they did not voice it. Their captain was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh dear.” The medic said, in his hands were the bandages that Gerd had re-applied to Torgeir’s leg on the third day of their voyage, made from scraps of a shirt found in the captain’s chest.. The odor once they were removed turned even the Witcher’s stomach. “I need a knife.” Gerd tensed but produced his own blade, edging closer to see what was going on.

Torgeir was sweating, his skin deathly pale and feverish as he had been for the last day. In that moment though the jarl’s eyes were wide open- “Where’s Gerd?” It was slow and slurred but clear enough.

“I’m here, Torgeir.” He sank to his knees and took one scarred hand in his own. With his other hand he brushed the tangled mess of the jarl’s hair back from his forehead. The infection was nasty, but it hadn’t spread far. He smiled though surely it was more of a grimace, “Just here.” It took all his strength not to snatch the medic by his throat when the knife began to cut away flesh. It took nothing at all to blame himself for the state of the wound. He was a witcher, he should have known better.

You had nothing on hand to help. You did what you could. He reminded himself. It could have been much worse, the beam that had splintered and slashed the jarl’s thigh had nearly taken his head instead.

Green eyes rolled back and the man’s labored breathing evened. “Witcher?” The medic hedged, “I’ve patched what I can but he will need someone to keep an eye on the wound. We’re still some ways away from the next port but we’ll find a proper healer there.”

“I’ll look after him. Thank you…” he pushed himself to his feet. “Where is your captain?” The men pointed him across the deck to where a slight man was coiling rope, seemingly unconcerned with the new arrivals. He was dressed in a loose fitting shirt and a pair of garish calico pants.

“Cap’n.”

The supposed captain turned and Gerd’s first impression of the man was ‘pretty’. He had light brown hair and blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He was handsome in a plain sort of way, surely a charmer in any tavern he wished. The bear’s second impression was Witcher. Which couldn’t have been right.

There was no such thing as a blue eyed Witcher.

“Jerome Moreau.” The man-maybe witcher introduced himself as he passed the rope off to a deckhand. At the silence he continued, “Maybe we should speak somewhere private.” Gerd followed him across deck, listening to the slow beat of his heart. The captain’s quarters were decently large and Gerd had the ability to put space between himself and ‘Jerome’ once the door was closed and the lantern lit.

“As I said, I’m Jerome School of the Griffin.”

He wasn’t sure why he snapped. Perhaps it was the time at sea, trying to hold together men on the brink of death while the only one who he could have turned to for help laid on a cot in pain. Perhaps it was how long it had been since he’d seen another of his kind. Perhaps he simply needed to hit something to keep his meager sanity. Perhaps, it was because there were no witchers with blue eyes.

It was a laughably short fight. An embarrassingly short fight that Arnaghaf himself would have thrown Gerd from the highest mountain peak should he have witnessed it in his youth. Seven days at sea with limited water and only small bites of food to stop the hunger pains had done him no favors: against a man he would have been fine, perhaps even against two or three by sheer luck of size. But against a witcher? He hadn’t stood a chance. The Griffin-turned-pirate ducked his blow and tripped him backwards, before he could hit the floor a strong hand pushed against his chest and slammed him against the wall, pinned him there on the floor while the stranger watched him with those blue eyes. Jerome bared his teeth and Gerd found himself far too close to fangs unlike any he’d seen before, a feral snarl tore from the other’s chest like a beast. It was a sound that the bear could do without hearing ever again. But, just as quickly as the anger came, it left and the Griffin spoke softly,

“I am not your enemy. Do not bring such strife onto my ship or I will not hesitate to feed you to the first kraken that threatens us. You and your men have been through a lot; I can see that.” Jerome shifted back on his heels and eased the pressure on Gerd’s chest. “If I cared about having another Witcher on board I would have left you to die. We Griffins are not quite as fickle as your lot.” he smiled as if sharing a joke. “Well, you are here, so tell me your name.”

“Gerd.”

“And your friend is Torgeir the Red then.” The Griffin moved away so that they were both sitting on the floor, Jerome with crossed legs and Gerd with legs akimbo from his fall. “Don’t worry, your safety on this ship is assured so long as I’m alive. We’ll reach a port in a week’s time, you’re welcome to go ashore and we won’t expect any payment for our help; though we’ll discuss other options later. For now, I think it best if you have a meal and rest. You can answer my questions once things have settled.” It was a very one sided conversation but Gerd had both too many questions to begin with and not near enough energy to ask them. If most of them were about the captain himself? Well,

He was a strange thing, even for a witcher.

Gerd was given a water skin for himself and Torgeir and the captain put them in a private room that was used to store trade cargo. It was empty for the next weeks, as had been explained to him by a young lad, and therefore made for a good place to rest. An extra cot had been dragged within. Torgeir’s fever broke after some hours and in the darkness Gerd watched him crawl from his heavy slumber. He hadn’t allowed him to get a word out before pressing the water skin to his lips.

“Drink.” He urged and the skin was nearly empty by the time Torgeir pushed his hand away.

“Where are we?” The room was black as pitch once the sun went down. “A ship came through to help us. We’re a week from port. Your leg… we’ll get you medicine for it soon.” “What?” Torgeir asked. “Fucking thing got infected. They’ve got a decent healer on board though. Stitched it up fairly nice.”

“Fucking great-” the red head pushed himself up and Gerd was quick to move closer and support him. “The others?” “We lost Ragnar and Beorn. The others are having dinner and resting. No sign of Nilfgaard chasing us so far.” With his lover awake and clear eyed Gerd felt the weight of the last week and a half hit him in full force. His eyes drooped and he began to list to the side like a sinking ship.

Torgeir shifted and pressed their shoulders together more firmly. “Come on, y’ bastard. Lay down.” “Can’t.” “You said we’re as safe as we can get. When’s the last time you slept?” Torgeir’s hand squeezed his thigh, kitten weak compared to what it should have been. When Gerd didn’t have an answer for him the jarl sighed. “Tha’s what I thought.” Gerd let himself be poked and prodded until he was reclined against the hull of the ship with rags and old feed bags piled behind him as a comfort. One leg stretched out in front of his while the other hung over the side of the cot, Torgeir laid between them. It was a familiar enough position even if the environment around them was not. He had planned to meditate again, afraid that if he slept then he would not wake for quite some time, but the moment that he had Torgeir’s weight against his chest his eyes closed and sleep dragged him under.

He woke when light spilled across his face, feeling only half as rested as he should have and mortified that he hadn’t been able to fight off the slumber.

Jerome was standing in the doorway, a white shirt half open across his chest and a look on his face that was far too soft. “Your crew demanded that I bring you something to break fast with. Andrea, I believe? She said that if you didn’t take it, I should send her in here in my place.” Again, that smile graced his lips. “I can leave it here and let you sleep.” It sounded good, to be able to close his eyes once more and sink into slumber. Perhaps to wake only when they were docked. He extended a hand instead.

“I’ll take it.” They were hunted men for all he knew. They would need their strength.

“Good,” as witchers they did not need to light an oil lantern and Jerome closed the door behind himself, some sunlight crept in from above. “While none here should voice any judgement, I would advise you to keep any overtly forward displays within this room or in my study should you need it. My men are good but they have loose lips in port, drunkards are not half as lovely.”

Gerd was handed bread and a bowl of thin porridge. It was meager for a man his size and even more so for two. But, they were a week from port and The Hawksea, as the Griffin’s ship was called, had not been prepared for five more bodies on board. Particularly not those of warriors and witchers.

“Thank you.” The words were rough.

“Don’t mention it. I’ll be putting you to work before long. Lots of things to do here that could use a witcher’s strength.” Jerome sat on a crate, one leg pulled up to his chest with his arm draped over it. “Can’t have any freeloading going on, might start talk of mutiny.” His eyes crinkled at the edges as if he’d spent a lifetime laughing rather than fighting monsters. Maybe he had, with a face like that.

“I thought you Griffins were supposed to be chivalrous bastards.” Gerd grunted.

“Chivalrous? Yes. Bastard? Most certainly.” Those fangs were flashed at him again. “I was under the impression you bears were the loner sorts.”

“We are.” Gerd didn’t miss the way Jerome’s eyes lingered on the redhead asleep on his chest. Caught even longer on the scarred arm wrapped around the human like a shield.

The Griffin hummed, “I see.”

The witcher left them alone with their breakfast and somewhere above them a man began to sing.

#witcher #witcher gerd #fic #my writing #sawb

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shortprince-cos · 4 years

Text

Sanders Asides Reactions

Putting it below cut because uh spoilers

-ITS CALLED "GAY OR NAY" HZJSNSMSJOBS

-"Flirting With Social Anxiety" Its about time you realized Roman

-speaking of Roman, ROMANS ON THE THUMBNAIL HSBSJSBHSBSB HE'S HERE

-art is also on the thumbnail, is this what he meant by "different"?

-intros the same besides (ha) the drawn on "A" so I'm guessing this will have a lot of animation in it?

-oh!!! Its 24 minutes!!! That's more than I thought which is good!!!

-"This episode is a central viewing for the overall storyline-" w h a t

-IT IS GONNA BE AN ANIMATIC I KNEW IT

-THE PREVIEW CLIPS LOOK SO CUTE AND FUNNY I'M SO EXCITED!!!!!

-omg they might do it live action too????

-oh the patreon thing is real alright, I'm ready for all the negative posts to come back on my dash

-"a little sampler...side" JDVDHNSJSB THOMAS I LOVE U

-WAIT THE TWEET WHERE HE SAID IT FEELS LIKE HIS OWN SATURDAY MORNING CARTOON WAS TOTALLY A HINT WASN'T IT

-"Flirt or Flight" GDDTDTDTDYFYFHFDYD

-oh Thomas we all do it

-me too Thomas

-ROMAN AND VIRGIL ARE GONNA POP OUTTA NOWHERE FOR LIKE 3 MINUTES AREN'T THEY

-GOOD BECAUSE I LOVE THIS

-Roman and Virgil making fun of Thomas' age DUVSJSDBDJJ YES

-the "I love you" thing omg dubdjsnsjdbhs

-"...you made me say that!" Hdjsbsjbsj

-"STOP PLAYING WITH PEOPLE'S HEARTS THOMAS" STSDYDDYDGDCUFFU ROMAN KNOWS FROM FIRST HAND EXPERIENCE

-i really like how Roman is playing a role in Thomas' anxiety, I wonder where the flirtings gonna come from tho

-Roman and Virgil, c'mon, that liar song is SO season one.

-AWWW WHO'S THIS HANDSOME GUY

-"We don't know if he's not gay." "You have used that argument on me far too many times" HA

-"He's got stickers on his laptop" "pretty gay" this is what happens when I try and find out if a girl is gay or not.

-"without having to do anything too extreme...like talking" ME TOO VIRGIL

-VIRGIL AND ROMAN BOTH LOVING THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS STICKER IS THE SOLIDARITY WE NEED

-"Pins!" HOW DOES VIRGIL DO THE SAME THING I DO WHEN TRYING TO FIGURE OUT SOMEONES SEXUALITY DHBSNSJSB

-also Roman's "-and needles? I'm on them too." Is adorable I love you Roman I missed you so much-

-"those jokes are old-" "you would know" OMG BUD

-"the sticker-button system" omg he has a system i love that

-OMG THEY'RE BEING THE SPORTS TALKER PEOPLE I LOVE THEM

-"I don't want me to be doing this either" MOOD

-GAY

-"great he's gay." U don't sound that excited?

-"No man!" "Uh its ROman. With an R" THE HIMBO IS BACK

-"...gay eyes?" "Gay eyes." WHAT ARE GAY EYES I NEED TO KNOW

-OMG ROMANS LITTLE SHOULDER SHIMMY HSBSJSBSJDBD

-"and this works?" "Most of the time...no." Hdbdjbshsb all gays are useless its ok

-dtdtdydyxydufyxyx Virgil's test spiel hhsbsjhsh

-"that's gotta mean something." "...that he likes basketball" Thomas has been DONE this entire video and I am here for it

-"i hate to rain on your black parade, Gerrard Gay-" UXVDJDBDJBXJXBXNDN ABOUT TIME

-"you're making a mistake!" "If I am, I'll add it to the list!" WHAT LIST WAIT ROMAN-

-omg Roman and Virgil are basically playing soccer with Thomas dhdbbdndjdb they keep pushing him xudbbdhdhd

-no one:

Thomas: 👉👈

-no one:

Thomas: oh hi thanks for checking in im ✨still a piece of garbage✨

-"that's like cyberstalking...but real life" "so...stalking" "...OH YOU'RE RIGHT" WHAT KIND OF INCORRECT QUOTE DID THIS COME FROM GSHXBJXNDJDN

-the guys gonna come out from the stall isn't he

-oh this got deep real quick ahhh my heart

-OMG I WAS VERY CLOSE THIS POOR RANDOM DUDE

-w h a t

-virgil what does this mean

-WAIT

-"will Deceit continue to be the answer to all your problems?" OMG WE GOING THERE TODAY BOIS

-OMG CUTE BOI INCOMING

-"HE FEARS THINGS TOO?" VIRGIL IS A HIMBO TOO OMG

-OMG NOOO GAY PANIC WHYYY

-"one more chance at happiness...squandered." Roman are u ok

-haha jk

-hes never ok

-OMG VIRGIL

-the tiny panickey breaths hit really hard for some reason

-you're gay for Roman I know u are why else would u do that

-omg Thomas this is so cute the gayyyssss

-I would die for Nico

-"...THAT WAS YOU?" YES NICO ILY

-"nothing but a bruised ego" "*annoyed prince noises*"

-OMG MY PRINXIETY HEART ROMAN JUST PUT HIS HAND ON VIRGIL'S SHOULDER AND THEY'RE HAVING A HEARTFELT CONVERSATION AHHHHH

-omg that's it

-"emphasis on the old" ROMAN YOU'RE HERE SHDVDHBDJDHDH

-"Janus' patreon" omg Janus dghdjdhdhdh how did u do this

-"Janus' Corridor of Storred Rewards" dudbdnndbdb only Janus would have the title be that extra

-I want the shirt ahhh

-OMG THEM ALL COMING HOME EXCITED IS SO CUTE I LOVE THEM

-OMG VIRGIL WHAT HAPPENED WITH YOUR EYESHADOW IT LOOKS AWESOME

-wait does it change depending on his mood?! Omg that's so cool!!!!!!

-omg Virgil is so happy my heart cant take this!!!!! Is this the first we've seen him extremely happy and that's why his cool eyeshadow is changing?!?!?!

-"join me! No thinking!" OMG HE'S AWARE THAT HES A HIMBO HSVSJSBDHDH

-"its in France" "im listening" our biggest mistake was thinking Virgil wasn't a himbo hdbdjdnjdjdj

-omg virgil is an adhd mood

-oh and we're deep again ok

-"AHH DEMON" OMG VIRGIL ITS JUST A DOG GSBDJDBDJDN

-"DONT TELL ME TO RELAX" FSTFYFCHCCHFU

-omg im

-I cant

-that was so good dhdbdjdnjd

#sanders sides #ts spoilers #sanders sides spoilers #prinxiety #ts virgil #virgil sanders #ts roman #roman sanders #character!thomas #sanders sides reactions

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fanaticfangirl001 · 3 years

Text

Like Real People Do Ch 5: An Assassin, A Terrorist, A thief, and A Bird Walk Into Madripoor

Taglist:

@p3nny4urth0ught5, @kissofvenom922

Ch 5:

Author’s note:

“I’m going to go in alone.” Bucky turns to Winnie and Sam.

“Why?” Sam asks.

“Bucky does have a better chance of getting answers.” Winnie adds.

“Also you’re an Avenger. You know how he feels about that.” Bucky says.

“It’s not like you two are known for frolicking in the sun together.”

“Zemo would be a good informant though, Sam.”

“He was obsessed with HYDRA. We have a history together. Trust me. I got it.” Bucky walks off to speak with Zemo.

Sam turns to Winnie “ Why aren’t you volunteering to go in with him?”

“I can’t, I doubt Zemo likes me much.” Winnie scoffs.

“Right, SHIELD.”

“Yeah.” Winnie nods hoping Sam drops it.

“So.” Sam changes the subject, “ You were kind of out of it when I mentioned Sharon.”

“I said then that I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“How about now?”

“Look, right before Shield fell I found some documents connecting the dots.I saved them to a flash drive and drove my ass home to the apartment Sharon and I shared. I tried to tell her, she got defensive, we got in a fight. She claimed I was a part of Hydra. I called her a bitch and left.” Winnie explains.

“That’s rough.”

“Yeah, I don’t see us working it out. “

“There’s always couple’s therapy.” Sam suggests with a laugh.

“Oh right, how’d that session go?”

“Got to stare into his baby blues.”

“Did that help?”

“No.”

“I could do better than that.”

“Oh I bet he’d like that.” Sam smirks.

“Not what I meant.” Winnie rolls her eyes.

“What are you talking about breaking Zemo out of jail? Where the hell are we Buck? Have you lost your mind?” Sam asks.

“That’s a fantastic idea, Buck.” Winnie says sarcastically.

“We have no leads, no moves, nothing.”

“What we have is one of the most dangerous men in the world behind bars.”

“That Bucky wants to let out of those bars.” Winnie sidesteps by Sam to avoid tripping.

“We also have eight super soldiers on the loose.”

“Shit, he’s gotta point, Sam.”

“Zemo is gonna mess with our minds. Especially yours.”

“He also probably doesn’t like me either.” Winnie adds rubbing the back of her neck.

“Offense, super soldiers go against everything he believes in. He is crazy but he still has a code.”

“How crazy?” Winnie asks.

“Bag of cats.” Sam answers.

“He blew up the UN, killed King T’chaka and framed you for it.” Sam continues.

“We don’t know how they’re getting the serum.”

Bucky says.

“We don’t even know how much serum is out there.” Winnie replies then adds “ Or who put it out there in the first place.”

“What did you do?” Sam asks.

“I didn’t do anything.” Bucky says calmly.

Winnie takes a deep breath and puts her hands on her guns. If Bucky did what she thinks he did, then it’s only a matter of time before shit gets real.

“The weakest point in any system is not the software, the hardware, it's the meatware.The human element…” Bucky continues.

Three seconds to draw, two seconds to fire, three seconds to draw two seconds to fire, Winnie thinks over and over.

“I don’t like how natural, you’re being about this, and where are we, man?”

More lights fill the area and a door opens.

“Woah Woah Woah, What are you doing here!”

“I didn’t want to tell you cause I knew you’d never let this happen.”

Winnie follows the two with a gun in hand.

“What did you do?”

“We need him, Sam.”

“You’re going back to prison.”

“If I may..” Zemo starts.

“No!” Both shout.

Winnie stands besides them with her gun pointed at Zemo.

“Apologies.”Zemo says softly then looks at Winnie.

“When Steve refused to sign the Sokovia Accords, you back him.” Bucky continues.

“I really think I’m invaluable.”

“Shut up.” Sam turns to Zemo.

“If we do this, you don’t make a move without our permission.” Sam says to Zemo.

“Fair.”

Zemo turns to Winnie and says “You’ve been very quiet. Penny for your thoughts.”

“Don’t let him mess with you.” Sam says as Winnie puts her gun back in the holster. “Okay, Zemo, where do we start.”

“So our first move is grand theft auto?”

“These are mine, collected by family over the generations.” Zemo starts collecting his things out of the cars.

“Nice wheels.” Winnie gestures to a vintage cadillac.

“So she speaks.”

“Leave her alone.” Bucky says.

“I ended the Winter Soldier program once before. I have no intention of leaving my work unfinished. To do this, we’ll have to scale a ladder of lowlifes.”

“Well, join the party. We’ve already started.”

“First stop is a woman named Selby.” Zemo says carrying his bags away. “Mid level fence I still have a line on. From there, we climb.”

Walking up to the private jet, “ So all this time you’ve been rich.” Sam asks.

“I’m a Baron, Sam.” Zemo says as the four climb on the jet, “ My family was royalty until your friends destroyed my country.”

Zemo drinks the champagne his butler serves him.

“It seems like you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know your name, and if I had known such a treasure would be with those two idiots, I’d escape sooner.” He says to Winnie.

“She’s Winnie, she’s a hacker. That’s your introduction.” Bucky says gruffly.

“ A hacker...interesting.” Zemo sips at his champagne.

“Not really.”

“Oh no, it is. You’re not with an agency, I guess.”

“No.”

“No health insurance or dental, no pay check.”

“None of that.”

“Do you live in a house?”

“Yes.”

“With no income?”

“Yes.”

“Must have a wealthy family?

“No, I’m an orphan.”

“Then pray tell how you get paid.”

“Easy, like Buck said, I’m a hacker, To make money I hack into bank accounts of the rich and take very little in the grand scheme of things. One percent of the richest men in the world’s wealth.”

“Winnie.” Sam nudges her.

“It’s the truth.” Winnie adds. “Besides not like he needed it in prison.”

The conversation lulls to a deafening silence.

“Why don’t you tell us where we’re going?” Sam asks.

“Sorry I was just fascinated by this. I don’t know what to call it, but this part seems to be important. Who is Nakajima?”

Bucky jerks across and grabs Zemo by the throat.

“If you touch that again, I’ll kill you.”

Zemo nods understanding and Bucky sits back down.

“You okay, Buck.” Winnie asks.

Bucky nods.

“I’m sorry. I understand the list of names.People you’ve wronged as the Winter Soldier.”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’ve seen that book.” Sam adds. “It was Steve’s when he came out of the ice. I told him about Trouble Man. He wrote it in that book. Did you hear it? What’d you think?”

“I like ‘40s music, so...” Bucky answers.

“You didn’t like it.”

“I liked it.”

“It is a masterpiece, James. Complete. Comprehensive. It captures the African-American experience”

“He’s out of line, but he’s right.”

“Extremely right.” Winnie adds.

“Everyone likes Marvin Gaye.”

“I like Marvin Gaye.”

“Steve adored Marvin Gaye.”

“You must have really looked up to Steve.But I realized something when I met him. The danger with people like him, America’s super soldiers is that we put them on pedestals.”

“Watch your step, Zemo.”

Winnie watches Bucky, and nudges his leg with her foot. He nudges her foot back with a small smile.

“They become symbols. Icons. And then we start to forget about their flaws. From there cities fly, innocent people die. Movements are formed, wars are fought.”

“There is no avoiding war; it can only be postponed to the advantage of others.” Winnie quotes Machiavelli.

“Clever.” Zemo says then adds “ Do we want to live in a world full of people like the Red Skull? That is why we go to Madripoor.”

“What’s up with Madripoor? You talk about it like it’s Skull Island.”

“It’s an island nation in the Indonesian archipelago. It was a pirate sanctuary in the 1800s.”

“It’s kept it’s lawless ways.”

“Well let’s get the show on the road.” Winnie picks up her bag.

“We can’t exactly walk in as ourselves. James you will have to become someone you claim is gone.”

“We have to fix this.” I’m the only one who looks like a pimp.”

“Only an American would assume a fashion forward Black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing. The sophisticated, charming, African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”

“Who am I?” Winnie asks. She dressed in a glittering short golden dress with black thigh high boots.

“A sugar baby.”

“Why am I the sugar baby?”

“It’s a role I thought you would be the most comfortable with.”

“Is this payback for stealing money from you.”

“No.”

“Oh well then Sam and I will be constantly vigilant. I have extra guns strapped to my thighs just in case.”

“The Smiling Tiger doesn’t have a sugar baby.”

“Then who am I..” Winnie’s face falls as she realizes who she’s paired up with on this mission.

“That.” Zemo points to her face,” is payback enough.”

“I don’t like you at all, but good play.” Winnie admits holding out her hand.

Zemo takes her hand and kisses it.

“Oh you don’t have to do that.” Winnie adds.

“No matter what happens we have to stay in character.”

The four of them climb into the car headed for Low Town.

Winnie stays close to Zemo looking around.

Zemo wraps an arm around her and whispers “Relax and fake like you’re meant to be here.”

“Right.” Winnie straightens her postures and twirls her hair between her fingers.

“We’re here.” Zemo then speaks to Bucky in russian: Ready to comply, Winter Soldier.

Once at the bar the bartender welcomes them “ Hello Gentleman, and lady, Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

“His plans changed, we have to do business with Selby.”

“The usual?” The bartender suggests.

“Ah, Smiling Tiger, your favorite.” Zemo says.

Winnie puts a hand on Zemo’s shoulder and lightly squeezes it.

“I love these.” Sam takes the glass

“Cheers, Conrad.”

Sam takes the drink and swallows the snake organ.

A man comes up to Zemo and Winnie lets go of his arm. Zemo wraps his arm around her.

“I got word from on high. You ain’t welcome here.”

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists, he can either come and talk to me…”

“New haircut.” The man nods towards Bucky.

“Or bring Selby for a chat.”

“Power broker, really.”

“Every kingdom needs its king. Let’s just stay under his radar.”

“Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation. In Madripoor he is judge, jury, and executioner.” Zemo begins walking to the middle of the room speaking Russian to Bucky.

‘ Oh no, Winnie thinks, it’s showtime.’

Bucky attacks the man standing beside Zemo. People begin recording. Multiple men are attacked until a gun is cocked.

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.”

“You’re undoing so much therapy.” Winnie adds softly.

“Keep in character or the whole bar turns against us.” Zemo adds softly before ending Bucky’s commands.

“Selby will see you now.” The bartender says.

“You good?” Sam asks.

Bucky doesn’t answer, just walks off.

The four go up the stairs.

“You should know, Baron.” Selby says “ People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.”

“Not a demand, an offer.��

“A lot has changed since you were here last.By the way I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?”

“People like us always find a way, don’t we. I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.”

“You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger.”She purs, “ What’s the offer?”

“Tell us what you know about the super soldier serum. And I give you him.” Zemo touches Bucky’s face. “Along with the code words to control him, of course.He will do anything you want.”

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember.”

“I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately. It’d be a bad date for the pretty thing on your arm. You were right to come to me. Arrogant but right. The super soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you want to thank. Or condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum but things didn’t go as planned.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?”

“Oh the bread crumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute. Don’t think you can find Nagel without me.”

Sam’s cell phone buzzes.

“Answer it.”

Winnie stands with her hands by her side ready to grab her guns.

“On speaker.”

“Hello.”

“Hey, um we need to talk about this situation. It’s been driving me, nuts.”

“What situation exactly are you talkin’ about?”

“Are you high? You know what situation, it’s the only situation me and you have.”

“What situation, Sarah? Say it.”

“The damn boat. And watch your tone. Okay? I let you slide at the bank.”

“The bank, yeah.” Sam scoffs. “Laundered so much… Yeah they’ll come around.”

“If that was the case, then why’d they dog you out, Big time.”

“Yeah you damn right I’m Big Time. You’ll see when I have that banker killed.”

“Cass! What’d I tell you about the Cheerios! I don’t have time for this! Sam I’m sorry let me call you back.”

“Sam? Who’s Sam? Kill them.”

The window breaks and Selby falls shot in the chest.

Bucky and Sam fight the two guards with Bucky grabbing the gun. Winnie follows Zemo to the door.

“They’re going to pin this on us.”

“We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow my lead.”

As they walk out, phone’s all over the island begin buzzing with a bounty on the four of them.

“This is not good.”

“Obviously not good.” Winnie says

A man with a large gun begins shooting at the four, Sam and Bucky go in one direction, Zemo and Winnie in the other.

Winnie begins to notice the pattern of the sniper killing all those who want us dead. It reminds her of the cover she had on missions with Sharon. Winnie and Zemo keep going until they meet up with Sam and Bucky.

“We seem to have a guardian angel.”

“Well this is too perfect.” A woman says walking out of the shadows. “ Drop it Zemo.” She has him at gunpoint.

“Sharon.” Bucky says

“You cost me everything.” Sharon takes a step towards Zemo.

“Sharon wait, someone recreated the super soldier serum and Zemo had a lead.” Sam explains.

“That explains why you guys are here. And Selby’s dead.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I stole Steve’s shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass to save his ass, from his ass. I didn’t have the avengers to back me up. So I’m off the grid in Madripoor.”

Winnie clears her throat,” Sharon.”

“Winnie.”

“Don’t blow smoke, I was on the run too.”

“Was, is, big difference. I don’t speak to my family anymore. I can’t.”

“Listen Sharon we need your help.” Bucky asks.

“No we don’t.” Winnie argues.

Sharon laughs.

“Please.” Bucky tries again.

“Bucky.” Winnie interjects.

“Winnie, we need her help. You two can get over it.” Bucky turns to Winnie.

“I have a place in High Town, You’ll be safe there.”

“Looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well.”

“I thought if I had to hustle, I might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. You know how much I can get for a real Monet.”

“You never liked art before.” Winnie mentions crossing her arms.

“Deactivate your hustle mode. You sell fake Monets.”

“No, she means real. This gallery specializes in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. Classics.”

Winnie stops by one painting, and Sharon stands beside her.

“The Beach in Pourville, it was your favorite, right.” Sharon points out.

“Yeah, I didn’t think you were listening, when I spoke about it while experimenting.”

“You said that if you could jump into any painting like Mary Poppins, you’d choose this one. So you could lay on the beach after jumping in the waves and watch the sun set.”

“I know what I said.”

“Have you?”

“Do I look like I’ve been to any beaches?”

“There’s a beach on High Town. You could stay.”

“I can’t leave Buck and Sam.”

“You call him Buck.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice,” Sharon turns to the group away from Winnie “ You guys need to change I’m hosting clients in an hour.”

Winnie changes into the gown that Sharon picked for her. Albeit not as sparkly as the one Zemo picked out. It was nice and understated. A short lilac halter dress with a black belt paired with her same thigh high black boots, Zemo had picked out.

Sharon opens the door.

“Sure, Sharon, you can come right in.” Winnie puts on the pearl earrings Sharon picked out.

“You look great.”

“Thanks.”

“You were right.”

“About.”

“Everything, shield, the government, being pessimistic. I didn’t believe you, and then I stole the shield and after being on the run I realized I was wrong the whole time. I shouldn’t have called you a hydra agent, especially after everything you did for Shield and the inventions.”

“The rocket boots work.”

“Course, they did, you made them.”

“You think apologizing after more than seven years is going to fix everything.”

“No, because I know you, and you hold grudges like no one else I know. But it’s a start to not hating me.”

Winnie sighs, “I don’t hate you, that’s too strong of a word but another start would be helping us a little more.”

“I thought you didn’t need my help.”

“Buck was right. Any other information you have is going to help us.”

“ Speaking of Bucky, what is your deal?”

“Deal?”

“Yeah are you two friends or more, because I…” Sharon starts but gets interrupted.

“Don’t.” Winnie says sharply.

“Oh.” Sharon smiles.

“Not like that. It’s just, you remember when we’d go out together, and I’d flirt with a guy and then they’d ask me for your number.”

“You don’t want that to happen to Bucky.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Noted. Just uh he might have heart palpitations when he sees you in this dress.”

“Sharon, go check on the guys.”

Sharon walks in the room as Sam’s changing shirts.

“Much better.”

“What’s going on Sharon? You don’t ever wanna come back home?”

“They’ll lock me up if I step foot back in the States.”

“Madripoor doesn’t allow extradition.”

“Look I’m sorry I didn’t call. But after the blip and the chaos. I just..”

“Look you know the hero thing is a joke, right. The way you gave up that shield.deep down, you must know it's all hypocrisy.”

“He knows. And not so deep down.”

“By the way how is the new Cap?” Sharon asks.

“Don’t get me started.” Bucky answers.

“I punched him in the face.” Winnie enters the room in her new dress.

“You look nice.” Bucky looks away from Winnie.

“Thanks.” Winnie sits on the other couch by Zemo.

“Please you buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit. Before you were his pet psychopath, you were Mr.America! Cap’s best friend.” Sharon sits down by Bucky.

“Wow, she’s kind of awful now.”

“Karli Morgenthau and at least seven others have taken the serum.” Sam starts.

Winnie looks down at her phone tracking the shield and John just to see that they are still in Germany.

“You guys really should steer clear of all this for your own safety. Winnie, seriously, you can and should stay here with me. You know all about art and I can get you drawing again, or inventing. Plenty of people would pay big money for rocket boots, or taser whips, boomerang daggers.”

“I can’t.”

“We know it’s a risk, but we won’t leave until we find the person that cracked the code.”

“We got a name, Wilfred Nagel.”

“Nagel works for the Power Broker.”

“We need your help Sharon, I can get your name cleared.”

“You haggling with my life?”

“Not like that.”

“I don’t buy that.”

“You pretending like you can clear my name.”

“Okay maybe it is hypocrisy. Maybe you’re right. What happened to you. But I’m willing to try if you are. They cleared the bionic staring machine, and he killed almost everybody he’s met.”

Sharon looks at Bucky, he’s glaring at Zemo, who’s talking to Winnie about art.

“You draw and paint?” Zemo asks.

“I did, when I had the stuff or the time.” Winnie shrugs and pulls out her tattered sketchbook with pages falling out. She opens it flipping through a few landscapes and portraits of people she saw at coffee shops.

“You stole money from a billionaire and you didn’t steal enough for art supplies.” Zemo questions.

“I only stole money from you for rent, groceries and to sponsor a few Sokovian families.” Winnie explains. “ I make a tight budget and stick to it.”

“You.. what?” Zemo looks surprised.

“I sponsored a few Sokovian families to emigrate to the United States. It was anonymous so I don’t know where they ended up.”

“I heard that.” Bucky adds to Sharon.

“I don’t trust charity.”

“All right, a deal then.”

“You help us out, and I get your name cleared.”

Sharon shakes his hand.

“Well I sell to some well connected people. Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party. Try to stay out of trouble. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Trouble.”

Loud electronic music plays. People are everywhere, dancing with everyone. Winnie feels a little out of place.

“A part to play,again.” Zemo says from behind her. “Relax, your friend said to have fun.”

“Ex-friend, and secondly parties like this aren’t fun for me. I’d rather be..” She’s interrupted by Zemo.

“You’d rather be in some greasy spoon hole in the wall diner with James, sharing a milkshake.”

“Malts, and second why do you think this?”

“On the plane when after James choked me, you asked if he was okay.”

“Friends do that.”

“Again on the plane when I made James uncomfortable, you kicked his leg.”

“Yeah, checking up on him without asking if he’s okay. “

“ He stares at you when you aren’t looking.”

“He stares at everyone.”

“When he stares at you though, his features soften.”

“And.”

“Also when we were talking about art, he was glaring at me.”

“He doesn’t like you much anyway. He has reason to glare at you that doesn’t have to do with me.”

“I’m just saying if you two both feel the same way, why wait? No one is guaranteed time on this earth.”

“You’re ridiculous. Also you might want to change your pin code. Your dead wife’s birthday isn’t a secure code.” Winnie walks off from Zemo.

Winnie finds Bucky by himself on the outskirts of the dance floor.

“Need a breather.”

“Yeah.”

“Winnie, stay away from Zemo. He plays mind games”

“I can handle myself. We were talking about you.”

“That’s another reason why you should stay away from him.”

“He said you like me cause you stare at me, but..”

“I gotta find Sam.” Bucky walks off to find Sam.

The moment Bucky is out of sight Zemo walks back to her.

“Did you get the answer?” He asks.

“Yeah, I did. Not the one I wanted” Winnie nods then says “ Let’s dance, Zem.”

Bucky looks around and finds Sam.

“Winnie knows.” Bucky says nervously to Sam.

“She’s a genius and a hacker. What specifically does she know?”

“She knows that I..” Bucky trails off when Sharon arrives.

“Don’t let me interrupt this.” She says. “ Winnie knows that you..”

“I’m fond of her being around.” Bucky finishes.

“That was a secret?” Sam asks.

“Yes, did you know?”

“Of course I knew. The real question is does she like you?” Sam looks towards Sharon.

“I’m not violating Winnie’s trust. She just stopped hating me. I also found him.”

“Okay Bucky, let’s put in a pin in your love life problem for now, and let’s get this guy. Here we go.”

Sharon signals Winnie and Zemo and they follow the three out of the party.

“Madripoor can give New York a run for its money.”

“They know how to party.”

“You’re not a bad dancer, Zem.”

“Neither are you Win.”

“With that bounty on your head, the longer you’re in Madripoor, the less likely you’re ever leaving. All right. He’s in there. Container four-two-six-one. I’ll keep an eye out while you guys talk to Nagel.”

“Need help out here.” Winnie offers.

“No I got it.” Sharon insists.

Winnie follows the three guys inside putting in her ear piece.

“Completely empty.”

“I’m positive it has to be.”

Walking around on the inside with a flashlight Zemo pushes in the false wall. Music is playing softly.

“Mel Torme, good taste.” Winnie whispers.

“Agreed.” Zemo motions for Bucky and Sam to go forward with the guns.

Winnie pulls out her guns, ready for anything and follows walking through the makeshift lab.She listens out for any signs of struggle from Sharon outside.

Zemo stops the record.

“Dr.Nagel?”

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“We know you created the super soldier serum.”

“Get out of my lab.”

“Hey. You know who he is right.This is Baron Zemo.I know you've heard of him too. You seem like a pretty smart guy. So you better become conversational real quick.”

“How about a counter proposal? Make me a better offer and I’ll talk.”

Winnie looks around at the chemicals and the serum making process. It would take years to make sense of this.

“Guys we have company.” Sharon says from the ear pieces. “Every bounty hunter in the city is here we gotta go.”

Bucky grabs the doctor and puts him in a chair with a gun in his face. He fires the gun near him.

“Okay.I was brought into Hydra’s Winter Soldier program to pick up their work after the five failed test subjects in Siberia. When Hydra fell I was recruited by the CIA. They had blood samples from an American test subject, with semi-stable traces of serum in his system.After much labor, I was able to isolate the necessary components in his blood. I was a god. I did what no other scientist since Erskine was able to do. But mine was going to be different. No clunky machines or jacked up bodies. Mine was going to be subtle, optimized. Perfect.”

“How have we never heard about this?”

“Because before I was able to complete my work. I turned to dust.Then when I returned, it was five years later,the program had been abandoned, so I came here. THe Power Broker was more than happy to fund the recreation of my work.”

“How many vials did you make?”

“Twenty.”

“Karli Morgenthau stole those, so I can only imagine what the Power Broker has planned for that poor girl.”

“Where’s Karli now?”

“I don’t know where she is. But a couple of days ago she called and asked if I could help someone named Donya Madani. Poor woman has tuberculosis. Typical of overpopulation in displacement camps like that.”

“Well, what happened to her?”

“Not my pig, not my farm.”

“Is there any serum in this lab?”

“No.”

“Now what?”

“Guys we’re seriously outta time here.”

Zemo shots the doctor.

“No!”

A large explosion throws the five on the other side of the lab.

Bucky, Sam, Winnie, and Sharon on one side with Zemo on the other.

“Anybody see Zemo?” Sam asks.

“Let’s go.” Bucky pulls Winnie and Sharon up.

“Alright wait for my signal.”

Gunfire breaks out.

Sam goes early.

“Damnit.” Bucky says running after providing cover for Sam.

“You know the drill, right Winnie.” Sharon says.

“Yeah yeah, go.”

Sharon and Winnie run and fall into their old routine, as though it’s been no time since they were partners. The four find cover and keep shooting.

“And you like living here?”

“It’s not terrible.”

“It’s pretty terrible, Sharon.”

“I thought you were going left.”

“You went the wrong way.”

“I was clearing the way.”

“Do they always fight like this?” Sharon asks.

“Pretty much.” Winnie answers.

“I came out first. You had to follow me.”

“And where are we now!”

“Guys, Not the time!”

“I’m out.”

“This is a barricade.”

“It’s in every action movie.”

“Might have some more in my backpack.” Winnie tells Sharon.

“You carry ammunition in a Jansport.”

“I didn’t judge you in your home with the off season prada purse you were carrying.”

The four look up and see Zemo with a purple mask sniping the way clear.

“Go.” Bucky taps Winnie and Sharon

They grab each other and run.

Bucky and Sam follow into a shipping container.

A car screeches to halt with Zemo in it,

“Supercharged.”

“You’re going back to jail.”

“Do you want to find Karli or not?”

“He’s right, we need him.”

“There’s three of us and at least twenty of them.”

“Fine but if you try that shit again…”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Well that was one hell of a reunion.”

The four get in the car.

“Come back to the states with us.”

“I can’t. Just get me the pardon you promised me. And here.” Sharon gives Winnie back the flash drive with all the hydra information on it.

“Thanks.”

“You’re not gonna move your seat up, are you.”

“No.”

On board the private jet Sam calls Joaquin about Donya Madani.

“Oh ask him about the secret Winnie project.”

“Sure.”

“Do you have information on some secret Winnie project?”

“Yeah yeah it’s a bad name, she’ll work on it. Nothing, yet, okay more importantly is Donya Madani.”

Winnie looks down at her phone tracking John with earbuds in listening to his conversations.

“You okay?” Bucky asks seeing Sam flop down into a chair.

“Yeah. Just thinking about all the shit Sharon had to go through, and Nagel referring to the American test subject like Isaiah wasn’t even a real person. Just makes me wonder how many people have to get steamrolled to make way for this hunk of metal.”

“Well it depends on who you ask. That hunk of metal saved a lot of lives.”

“Yeah I get that. All right. Maybe I made a mistake.”

“You did.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have put it in a museum. I should have destroyed it. “

“Look that shield represents a lotta things to a lotta people, including me. The world is upside down, and we need a new Cap. and it aint gonna be Walker. So before you destroy it, I’ll take it from him myself.”

Joaquin calls Sam back and Zemo comes back with plates of food.

He gestures towards Winnie and says to Bucky“ Can she hear us?”

“No, she’s in survelliance mode. Put a tracker on the new Cap.”

“Smart.”

“Surprised she hasn’t put one on you.”

“Winnie is quite special, isn’t she?”

“Whatever you're thinking about saying or doing, don’t.”

“Oh I have no interest in her. Besides a financial one.”

“You want her to hack on your behalf, not gonna happen.”

“No, she’s an artist.”

“You want to pay her to draw and paint.”

“Yes, she’s very talented. She showed me her sketchbook, you’ve seen it haven’t you?”

“No.”

“Hm, interesting.”

“Stop.”

“They found Madani. Dead. She died in Riga, a city near the Baltic Sea.”

“I have a place we can go.” Zemo says. “I for one am looking forward to coming face to face with Karli. Oeznik we’re changing course.”

“Walker knows you two broke out Zemo.” Winnie says taking out her earbuds. “ He’s also not too concerned with his rules of engagement.”

Walking down the streets of Riga, Latvia, Zemo begins talking. Winnie looks at the small buildings lining the street, it looks like painting by the sea.

“I don’t suppose any of you bothered visiting the memorial, at least the thief donated.” Zemo gestures to Winnie.

Zemo stops at a large building, “We are here.”

“I’m gonna go on a walk.” Bucky says.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

“Be careful.” Winnie adds.

“Always am.” Bucky nods.

Once Zemo and Sam are inside Winnie follows them.

Sam turns towards Winnie with a smile.

“What?”

“Be careful.” Sam mimics her.

“Not you too.”

“No it’s cute. It’s adorable actually. That you have no clue.” Sam says.

#bucky x oc #bucky barnes imagines #plus size oc #falcon and the winter soldier #marvel #marvel imagines #bucky x winnie

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idliketogreet · 3 years

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How does it feel to have a dengue fever?

It doesn’t feel nice, like at all.

I used to get sick easily when i was in primary school to the point that sometimes a little bit fever didn’t feel so bad. I mean one day off from school seemed like a nice thing for a 11 years old me.

However, the last dengue fever that i got 5 days prior to my 22nd birthday didn’t feel nice, like at all. The sickness just ‘simply’ reminded me how uncomfortable having a sickness could be.

I literally had 3 cycles of migraines due to the high fever. I got lots of headaches from foods which are slightly too salty or too sweet for my own ‘standard’, but these were the worst headaches that i’ve ever had in my life. Not to mention the nightmares that keep popping up everytime i slept. So, it was either holding on to my migraine or sleeping while having those nightmares on my rests. For the whole 3 days, my normal (healthy) hours could reach 2-3 hours/day in which i used them to have my lunch/dinner. I thought i was going better, until i got another cycle of high fever and migraine and went back to my sick mode.. During the whole 3 days, i felt like i was in the edge of my consciousness..

The sickness was so uncomfortable that i wish to live.. I said to myself (in which i believe that God must be listening at that moment),”If i’m going to recover from this sickness, i’m going to stop pretending that i’m studying in front of my father when in fact i was not.. That’s first. And the second one, i haven’t figured out how to recover from my own method of entertainment that some people might include them as ‘non-halal’, but i will find the way out by the way. As long as i have the right intention, as long as i start to make a progress, i will figure it out.”

I didn’t realize that it was dengue fever, until the fever cycle kept going on and i opened up my long sleeves of my sweater and discovered lots of red pimples on my hand. And just like that i got my suspicion that i got a dengue fever.

I got a slight panic from this discovery tho because the most critical day from my dengue fever at that moment are going to come (the 4-5th day), where i would feel much better and the fever were going to be less. But, the trombosit level were going to go down hill from there that from what i’ve heard, the patients are going to need a hospitalization or else we’re going to die. No joke, i was being a bit paranoid that i was way too eager to have an infusion of whatever substances that are necessary for my body.

And turnt out that i don’t have to be hospitalized. But still, i got 2 bottles of infusion 1 day prior to my birthday. The infusion itself doesn’t contain the substances that could increase my trombosit significantly. They were just some nutrition to re-energize myself due to a possibility of dehydration and malnutriotion from the suspected nausea. I got my infusion from 1-8 p.m. My father waited for me for the last 4 hours. On the first hours, he brought me full package of bedcover and pillow since the clinic didn’t provide an adequate amount of comfort for patients being infused. But still, we were being grateful that i got to be infused without having to sign myself up to the hospital. We sincerely wish the best for the clinic’s future development.

And just like that, with my parents understanding that people with dengue fever need to take a rest in order to maintain or having their trombosit level increase to the normal level, i got better.

What did i learn from this dengue fever?

As what i’ve talked to my father about me using long sleeves tshirts as always, yet still i got the dengue fever. Not my father who spend most of his times on the first floor of my house where the mosquiotes are at its most, or my mother. But to me whose room is actually lightest or the room with the most sunlight exposure. Of course i was kind of grateful that it was me who suffered. There must be some lessons that God wanted me to learn from this.

This phenomenon has taught me to be focus on what i’m doing. I’ve read several books about teh science of learning, about deep works, the power of now, etc. And at that moment i was wondering how do i keep myself focus on the task without having to be a deadliner. I’ve tried several methods and application such as Forest app, and now i’m using Pomodoro App.

Prior to my sickness, my brain was kind of activated at its most activity. I just started to write on my diary and making my own life plan including being a voice actor as my extra income in the few years to come. The night before i got the dengue fever, i even learned seriously how to make a clear pronounciationa and the other practices needed to be a voice actor.

Turnt out that i had been thinking way too far from my own capability.

From this dengue fever, everytime i was thinking about progressing myself by thing which are actually way too forward such as learning some pharmacology from diabetes mellitus (one of the most well-known sicknesss from my country), or to have a revision of pharmakokinetics basics, i will try to stop myself, and started to ask to myself, “is it related to your closest deadline aka your thesis?”, if it wasn’t, then i’ll decide to avoid them and started to imagine myself being inside a buble with a topic of my thesis right in front of me only.

This dengue fever has proved to me that my physical body has its own limitations, especially when she doesn’t coorporate with my mind. This dengue fever has proved the importance of being focus on what i’m doing.

This dengue fever might provide an answer toward my problem.

Even further, this dengue fever has proved to me, no matter how complicated your problem is, as long as you have the intention to be better, as long as you make one little tiny progress, the universe are going to help you finding out the solution. InshaaAllah..

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chilling-seavey · 3 years

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Passchendaele WW2 Extension - Another Year Gone

Dad,

I wish you’d write me. I cannot bare to go without speaking to you for this long and I swear I’m going mad. I miss you terribly and mum signing your name on her letters is not the same. I feel like I’ve done something to upset you and that you’re punishing me. Why is it that Corbyn writes his son – and even writes me – more than you write me? It’s not fair, Dad. I didn’t ask to be sent out here and all I want is your advice and guidance and some fucking love once in a while. I could die, Dad. I could crash and die tomorrow and you will never hear from me again and yet, you don’t seem to care. I know I have Uncle Christian watching out for me, but I also want to hear from my own fucking father once in a while and that he’s praying for me and that he’s proud of me. My namesake can only do so much. I don’t want to be angry with you because I know you hate this stuff and it brings back bad memories but I miss you, Dad. I miss you so bad and I’m so scared. Please pick up a fucking pen and write me. This isn’t a game anymore and you can’t ignore the very real ‘what if’s’; I don’t want you carrying more regrets than you already do. Please.

-Charles Christian

April 2, 1941

Evelyn sat at the kitchen table with an excited smile on her face, a vanilla cake on the table in front of her. It wasn’t her best work since they had to make do with the limited ingredients they got from their rations but she was still more than pleased with herself. She waited, hands folded on her lap as she kept her eyes on the stairs, her excited heart racing in her chest. She always liked to bake for as long as she could remember but baking birthday cakes was always her favourite thing, ever since she was tiny and she would stand on a kitchen chair with her mother and pour a whole bag of sugar into the bowl when she wasn’t looking.

At age twenty, Evelyn felt no different from that youthful excitement that surprising her father on his birthday always brought.

She had gotten up early to bake – she was awake before either of her parents – and was waiting for their decent of the stairs with a cake and a small wrapped present on the table in front of her. The minutes ticked by slowly and soon, the stairs finally creaked. Evelyn perked up, grinning towards the incoming person but her smile fell again when it was just her mother.

Elizabeth stopped at the bottom stair and sighed sadly at the little spread her daughter had prepared. She looked so little again sitting at the table with an impatient pout.

“It’s a bad day today, darling. He’s going to stay in bed.” Elizabeth said softly, walking over to press a kiss to her daughter’s head.

“But it’s his birthday.” Evelyn frowned.

“I know. So we should be extra respectful of his wishes.” Elizabeth replied calmly. “Would you like some tea?”

Evelyn looked to the tabletop, her bottom lip trembling, “Yes, please.”

The women ate breakfast together, leaving the vanilla cake on the kitchen counter for the following day (or whenever Daniel would manage to get himself out of bed), and then Elizabeth had to get some laundry done. Evelyn left her mother to go wish her father a happy birthday herself.

The master bedroom door at the top of the stairs was closed and she paused outside of it and a listened for a moment. There was silence from inside. Evelyn knocked lightly before opening it slowly and peaked her head in. The room was dark with the blackout curtains still pulled shut over the window and the lump under the blankets on the double bed was facing away from the door. Evelyn slunk over quietly and climbed up onto the bed, gently setting her hand on her father’s shoulder.

He flinched, meaning he was awake, and Evelyn leaned over him a little to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Happy birthday, Daddy.”

Daniel only scrunched his eyes closed and turned to nuzzle into the pillow. Evelyn rested her chin on his arm and stared at him.

“I baked you a cake. It’s downstairs whenever you want some. It’s vanilla. Your favourite.”

Silence.

“Daddy?” Evelyn shook his arm a little. “What’s the matter today?”

Daniel muffled a sob into his pillow and turned farther away from her as if to hide his obvious crying, gesturing haphazardly to an open letter on his bedside table. Evelyn reached over him and picked it up, recognising her brother’s handwriting as she began to read, keeping a protective hand on her father’s shoulder. Charlie’s angry words didn’t surprise her – although they did frighten her a little – and she set the letter back on the table before cuddling right up behind her father.

“Why haven’t you written him?” she asked softly.

“I can’t.” Daniel sobbed. He took a jagged inhale, “I c-can’t!”

“Dad.” Evelyn frowned sadly, “It’s okay.”

She draped her arm around his middle and rested her head against his back to hold him as he cried, his breathing shuttering underneath her cheek. They fell into silence for a moment, just Daniel’s soft crying as his daughter held him. She stared into space, her mind whirling and her own tears brimming in her eyes but she refused to show any sign of fear or weakness in front of her so broken father.

He had enough to deal with.

“Why haven’t you left your room in days?” Evelyn asked after a few moments. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

Daniel stumbled over his next breath, “Bring Charlie home.”

Evelyn whimpered lightly in her struggle to hold in her tears and she just held onto her father tighter and scrunched her eyes closed, “I know, Daddy. He’s going to be okay though, I’m sure of it.”

“Don’t say that.” Daniel shook his head.

“Why not?” Evelyn leaned up to look at him over his shoulder.

Daniel licked his chapped lips, his blue eyes staring blankly towards the opposite wall, “It’s not realistic.”

“Sure, it is.” Evelyn tried to reason with him. “Charlie’s a brave boy.”

“Bravery doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yes, it does.”

“No.” Daniel said sharply, taking her by surprise. “Bravery doesn’t imply that you’re going to live; it just means you’re not scared to die.”

Evelyn took a moment to keep herself composed under his blunt opinionated statement and Daniel took her silence as a sign to continue.

“My brother was the bravest man I knew. Mum said he was going to come home because he was brave, but then Dad said he died because he was brave. And th-that I didn’t die because I was coward.” Daniel sobbed, filling the room with his sorrowful weeping that he tried to smother into the bedsheets.

Evelyn rubbed a hand over his arm, “You’re not a coward, Daddy, you’re the bravest man I’ve ever known. And Charlie is going to come home to us.”

“I miss my brother.” Daniel whimpered.

“I should have made him a cake for his birthday too like we always did. I’m sorry. We just didn’t have enough sugar for this week, and I wanted yours to be special…”

Daniel shook his head to cut her off but he didn’t say anything in response.

“Please come eat some cake with me, Daddy. I’ll make you some tea and we can sit in the garden and I can read to you.”

“You deserve better than me.” Daniel whimpered.

“No. Don’t say that.” Evelyn scolded lightly.

“It’s true. You deserve a father who can protect you…instead you have one who can hardly get out of bed all day.”

“You do protect me. All of us.” Evelyn said, sitting up a little to look at him. “You are such a great dad, I swear it. I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

“I couldn’t protect Zach or my brother.”

“That’s not your fault, Dad.” Evelyn reminded him. “You did your very best.”

“I could have done better…and now I can’t do anything while my son is…”

Daniel faded out with a whimper and scrunched his eyes shut.

“Your son is doing just fine. Just write to him and tell him you love him…that’s the best you can do right now. That’s the best protection you can offer him. We all protect each other in this family, right?”

Daniel only cried on, fisting the bedsheets in his hand and pressed them to his mouth to try and keep himself quiet. Evelyn kissed his shoulder and cuddled up behind him again, holding her arm securely around his middle, even as his chest shuttered with messy gasps and breaths through his tears. They laid there together for a while, the daughter just holding her father while he cried on his birthday.

After a while, Daniel’s tears had lessened and he managed to turn over slowly and draped his arm around his daughter to pull her closer and she cuddled into his side, resting her head on his shoulder.

“I wish you could have met my brother.” Daniel breathed shakily, closing his eyes to press a lingering kiss to the top of her head. “He would have absolutely adored you two.”

“Me too.” Evelyn mumbled.

Daniel sighed deeply, staring at the ceiling flatly, his fingers twisting haphazardly around his daughter’s light blonde hair as she held onto him. His chest felt heavy and he couldn’t help but let his mind wander back to that rainy spring afternoon twenty-six years before, feeling the weight of his brother’s body in his arms and the cold rain down his back. He shuttered. Evelyn shuffled closer to him.

“I don’t want him to be in pain.” Daniel breathed, as if he was speaking to God, seeing his little boy’s sweet face in the back of his mind, “If he has to be taken from us, I just hope he doesn’t suffer.”

Evelyn let a silent tear fall down her cheek and she shut her eyes tightly as she clung onto her father. She hadn’t the slightest idea of what he had seen or experienced in his lifetime but all she knew was it was obvious he was mourning his son before he even had a chance to be killed.

Taglist: @randomlimelightxxx @hopinglimelight @jonahlovescoffee @hiya-its-amber @chanelwonders

#✉#daniel seavey #why dont we #daniel seavey imagines #daniel seavey fanfic

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tigerkirby215 · 3 years

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5e Tahm Kench, the River King build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Pan Chengwei. Made for Riot Games.)

I guess I’ve still got demons on the mind after Halloween. Truth be told while I do hope to someday make a build for every champ I’m very hesitant to make builds for the “monsterous” champs. Cho’Gath, Kog’Maw, and Tahm Kench were all on that list for one reason and one reason alone: you can’t say “I puke on / eat / lick the enemy” without drawing a few strange glances. But the good folk over at Doran’s & Dragons did a Tahm Kench build and while I get where they were going for I’m personally not the biggest fan.

D’s&Ds tries to capture the flavor of the character much more than their abilities, which I can greatly appreciate. I think if you want a smooth-talking demon who swindles people out of everything, including their lives, than D’s&Ds’ build for Tahm is great. But I’m more interested in the mechanics of Tahm Kench: with literal thick skin to absorb incoming damage, a tongue that can leave our opponents stunned, and the ability to... vore your friends to keep them out of harm’s way.

No there aren’t vanilla rules for eating your friends alive! It’s all going to be reflavoring! See this is exactly why I didn’t want to do Tahm.

GOALS

I am enthralled by your class and refinement - Tahm Kench is a demon of greed, luring in unsuspecting hopefuls with promises of prosperity. We’ll need a tongue as sharp as a sword, and a sword as sharp as our tongue.

You have succeeded only in ruffling my attire! - To walk around looking like a Disney Caricature you need to have some thick skin. While other champs wear armor Tahm just has Thick Skin.

All the world's a river; and I'm its king - With a mouth that big you’ve gotta put it to good use, helping your allies across the river... regardless of if they want to go. (Well, most spells that target allies in D&D have to be willing...)

RACE

While I appreciate D’s&D and their take by making Tahm Kench a Locatha they were made for a Second Life charity module, which means they’re not officially endorsed at Adventurer’s League or other such gatherings. Also the friend who shares content with me on D&D Beyond doesn’t own Locatha Rising.

Also technically this build isn’t AL legal since it uses multiple sourcebooks (Mordenkainen's + others) so uhhhh...

Also this build is going to use a subclass that wasn’t available when D’s&D made their build.

With that being said Two-Coats is a demon so we’ll go for the demon race: Tiefling! More specifically we’ll get acquainted with the icy depths of the river as a Levistus Tiefling. Levistus Tieflings see their Charisma score increase by 2 and their Constitution increase by 1 for some protection thanks to the cold. Additionally you get some innate spells thanks to Legacy of Stygia, which I’ll cover when they come up.

All Tieflings have 60 feet of Darkvision, Hellish Resistance to Fire damage, and the ability to speak Common and Infernal. The only thing that changes with your Tiefling subrace is your ability scores and your innate spellcasting, and truly your brand of demon doesn’t matter much. "Call me king, call me demon - water forgets the names of the drowned."

ABILITY SCORES

15; CHARISMA - For a truly delicious meal you need to soften them up a little first. Take it smooth and let them relax before going in for the kill.

14; CONSTITUTION - Kench is a chunky lad who can take quite a beating. It takes more than a blade to slay the king.

13; STRENGTH - You need quite the strong stomach to hold down tougher meals. “Needs salt!”

12; WISDOM - You need a bit of natural intuition to know how folk tick.

10; INTELLIGENCE - Live long enough and you learn quite a bit. At least enough to promise knowledge to anyone looking for it.

8; DEXTERITY - As said before the river king is a large demon of a man, who can take as much time as he wants to get a meal.

BACKGROUND

No surprises here: Tahm Kench is a Charlatan, swindling folk all across Runeterra out of everything they once owned... including their lives.

Well, maybe a few surprises. You will still be taking Deception but instead of Slight of Hand take Persuasion proficiency, because you’re more of a smooth talker than a con artist. I’m also going to suggest taking two Languages instead of two Tools: take whatever language you think you may need, but to talk your way to your next meal they’ll have to be able to understand you.

Regardless you can’t have them knowing your a demon, so take a False Identity as the king. Most folk think you’re a kind soul, with plenty to back you up. And you can always get any papers they may desire.

(Artwork by Alex “alexplank” Flores. Made for Riot Games.)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - FIGHTER 1

Starting off as a Fighter because funny Constitution saving throws, among other things. "My constitution is unflappable!" Regardless you get proficiency in two skills from the Fighter list so take Insight and Athletics to know who’s ready to be carried down river.

You also get a Fighting Style of your choice and while I’d love to get a Reach weapon or indeed any two-handed weapon one of Tahm Kench’s best assets is the Protection he can provide his allies. For this you’ll need a shield (and you can take a regular Strength weapon along side it) but if an attack is coming their way you can grab them in your maw to give the attack disadvantage... Or you could not vore your allies, and take the Defense Fighting Style instead to get more AC.

Well at least if anyone gets mad at all the vore comments you can tank it with your Thick Skin and regenerate it with Second Wind. (The Fighter ability, not the rune in the Resolve tree.) And to fight back with a lashing of your tongue Ray of Frost from Legacy of Stygia will do some damage at range and slow down your foes. It’s not a stun yet... not yet.

LEVEL 2 - BARD 1

What? Did you think we wouldn’t have some tricks of the charmer’s trade? As a Bard you get one proficiency in any skill and one instrument proficiency. Choose Intimidation because my what big teeth you have! (But truthfully take whatever proficiency works for your party, as Tahm Kench can be whatever you want him to be.) As for instrument I’m going to have to go for Lute: it’s the closest you’ll get to a tongue guitar, and don’t you dare say “tongue guitar” at your D&D table.

Regardless Bards get Bardic Inspiration at first level, to make sure you fulfill the support role through the use of honeyed words and sweet nothings. You get a pool of d6s that you can give to an ally to add to their attack rolls, skill checks, or saving throws. You can give a d6 as an action and have a number of them equal to your proficiency bonus, and regain them all at the end of a long rest.

But wait! There’s more! You also get Spellcasting as a Bard: you get two cantrips from the Bard list. A man of fine tastes needs to keep his outfit in check, so take Mending to do that. Vicious Mockery meanwhile will let you use that trademark Tahm Kench sharp tongue (not the literal sharp tongue) to taunt your foes and make it harder for them to hurt your allies. "The baseness of your appetite repulses me!"

As for leveled spells you can pick four of them at first level: naturally you’ll need Charm Person to tempt mortals with pleasing bargains. To worry them that you’re coming to collect Dissonant Whispers will fill their minds with unease. To open up your foes for your friends to take them down Bane will loosen their resolve. And to make sure everyone laughs at your jokes? Tasha’s Hideous Laughter.

LEVEL 3 - BARD 2

Second level Bards are Jack of All Trades, letting you add half your proficiency bonus to any skill you’re not proficient in. Tahm Kench is a demon, and he needs to be able to help wherever he can to tempt others to ask him for help.

Speaking of help you also get Song of Rest to give allies an extra d6 of healing during short rests. Since I doubt Tahm Kench is much of a singer, consider this more of him telling stories of grandeur that only the king of river would know. Or perhaps you’re cooking everyone some food? Who knows.

And finally you can learn another spell, but I’m actually going to wait for next level since we’ve gotten all the first level spells we really need already. But you do get Armor of Agathys thanks to Legacy of Stygia, for some Thornmail to boost your defenses.

LEVEL 4 - BARD 3

Third level Bards get Expertise in two skills to double your proficiency bonus: naturally we’ll go for Deception and Persuasion to have little trouble striking up a bargain.

But much more importantly you get to choose your Bardic College, and I think it’s safe to say that Tahm Kench is a self-taught master of the College of Eloquence. Eloquence Bards have a Silver Tongue, making any roll below a 10 on a Persuasion or a Deception role default to a 10. Notice how we just gave ourselves Expertise on those checks? This means that the lowest you can get on one of these checks is a 17, which for most folk is an automatic success! "How delectable!"

Additionally, your works make it harder to resist the effects of magic. Unsettling Words lets you spend a Bonus Action to roll Bardic Inspiration on an enemy. The next saving throw they make they have to subtract the number you rolled on the Inspiration die. This has synergy with both yourself and your friends. Honey your words before charming folk to hear you, or soften up a foe for some crazy mage to take them down.

Speaking of crazy mage: more spells! The great part about a character like Tahm Kench is that I am completely justified taking utility / roleplay spells like Gift of Gab, letting you backtrack in case you say something silly during a conversation. (With a small royalty fee to the good folk over at Acquisitions Incorporated, of course.) But if you want something more immediately useful then Hold Person will let you stun foes with your words, keeping them in place for allies to cut them down.

LEVEL 5 - BARD 4

Fourth level Bards get an Ability Score Improvement but I’m going to suggest something a little different. Old Yawn-Belly is a demon with a hunger for fine clothes so there shouldn’t be much issue taking the Eldritch Adept Unearthed Arcana feat, soon to be in Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything! With a Mask of Many Faces you can cast Disguise Self at will. This will let you wear a fine jacket while still being in heavy armor. "How did I leave my jacket pocket unadorned for so long?"

I really like unlimited Disguise Self for Tahm Kench for a number of reasons. It’s said that he can take whatever form he desires to lure in his victims, which makes sense given the nature of his character. Unlimited Disguise Self also obviously has use for a charmer, letting you get away with a lot more discussion than normal. But the most important thing is that while Tahm Kench doesn’t wear anything heavy in-game he’s far from stealthy. But disguising your armor doesn’t make it any quieter, which is unironically perfect for our affairs.

Regardless you can learn another spell at this level, along with another cantrip. For your cantrip Prestidigitation is great for life’s simple pleasures, recreating simple things like heating food, chilling drinks, or making things taste like whatever you desire.

For leveled spells may I make a suggestion of the Suggestion spell? It’ll let you make simple suggestions for things that folks should do, and they’ll be inclined to do it. They won’t do anything dangerous like stand in the jaws of a demon, but asking them to walk alone down river is a pretty harmless ask. Oh and to top it off a Tiefling gets Darkness at 5th level, thanks to Legacy of Stygia.

(Artwork by robynlauart on DeviantArt)

LEVEL 6 - BARD 5

5th level Bards get Font of Inspiration to recover their Bardic Inspiration at the end of a Short Rest, which is good because your Bardic Inspiration also increases to a d8.

Additionally you can learn third level spells like Sending to check up on some old deals. If you can’t tell it’s really hard to translate Bard spells onto Tahm Kench, but we kinda need a few more levels in this class.

LEVEL 7 - BARD 6

6th level Eloquence Bards get Unfailing Inspiration. If an ally uses your Bardic Inspiration but still don’t succeed on their roll, they get to keep the die. Simple! You also get Universal Speech, allowing you to choose a number of creatures equal to your Charisma modifier to understand anything you may say. There’s no reason you can’t strike a deal with the local wildlife. And finally you get Countercharm for some Tenacity against Charms and Frightening effects, or you could not do that.

Unfortunately you can’t understand them when you use Universal Speech, but that’s where the spell Tongues comes in. Along with ha ha Tahm Kench Tongue you can make sure anyone understand what you or an ally might be saying. Keep Universal Speech for the simpletons of the world. "You're strong like bull, and smart like cow."

LEVEL 8 - BARD 7

7th level Bards finally get 4th level spells, and as we know "It is my mouth into which all travels end." Take Dimension Door to grab a friend (in your mouth... or not) and go far and wide.

LEVEL 9 - BARD 8

8th level Bards get an Ability Score Improvement and seeing as our last ASI went to getting a top hat we may as well increase that uneven Strength and Charisma.

You can also learn another spell and there are quite a few nice ones at 4th level. Confusion and Compulsion will let your words do the fighting for you, and Locate Creature will help you find anyone looking for a bargain. Or of course you could take your own spell, since these builds are only suggestions after all.

(Artwork by MirthSpindle on DeviantArt.)

LEVEL 10 - FIGHTER 2

Now that we can get people to sign a contract it’s time to take what’s rightfully ours. But firstly Fighters get Action Surge at second level to take two actions on a turn. Perhaps a Hail of Blades, or maybe a mix of words to sully the mind?

LEVEL 11 - FIGHTER 3

Third level Fighters can choose their Martial Archetype and to master your tongue in more ways than one (not like that you perv) look no further than the Battle Master Fighter. You get d8 Combat Superiority Die that can fuel a variety of manuevers:

To stun a foe with your lashing tongue take Trip Attack, for a little more than just stopping them in their tracks.

To grab an ally in your mouth (or preferably not doing that) Maneuvering Attack will let you get them to move somewhere safe without being in danger of getting attacked themselves.

And to play the tank role of the party Goading Attack will taunt your enemies so that they can only concentrate on you. You can take it: you have Thick Skin!

But of course most importantly you are a Student of War, granting proficiency in an Artisan’s Tool of your choice. If you’re going to write contracts you’re going to need good penmanship, so grab proficiency in Calligrapher’s Supplies as the pen is mightier than the sword and Tulok the Barbrarian memes shall live on eternally.

LEVEL 12 - FIGHTER 4

4th level means more Ability Score Improvements and... you know? I don’t think we’re nearly tanky enough! Infernal Constitution is a feat exclusive to Tieflings that grants resistance to Cold and Poison damage, as well as the poisoned condition. And it increases your Constitution by 1 as well. "My visage was already flawless, now it just has more vigor."

LEVEL 13 - FIGHTER 5

5th level Fighters get an Extra Attack for two attacks instead of one, or four with Action Surge! Quick and easy!

(Artwork by benlo on DeviantArt.)

LEVEL 14 - FIGHTER 6

Hey more Ability Score Improvements! You know despite intending to swing a sword around your Strength is rather subpar, so perhaps increase that. (This also finally lets you put on Platemail.)

LEVEL 15 - FIGHTER 7

A friend is an enemy who hasn’t shown their true self yet, so you can know your friends with Know Your Enemy. By spending a minute studying someone you can learn if they’re worth bargaining with. You can learn their Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Armor, Hit Points, Level, and Fighter level. Most NPCs don’t have class levels, but knowing how hard you need to hit them could help the whole party.

You also get two more Maneuvers: Evasive Footwork will let you dash off to safety, and while disarming isn’t common in Runeterra Disarming Strike seems quite in flavor for someone as... dexterous as yourself.

LEVEL 16 - FIGHTER 8

Isn’t Fighter fun when you increase your abilities every other level? Your Strength is still kinda godawful so good for that if you’d please.

LEVEL 17 - FIGHTER 9

9th level Fighters get Indomitable. If you fail a saving throw you can reroll it. You only get one of these per Long Rest so use it on a save you’re likely to succeed on like Strength, Constitution, Charisma, or... well yeah basically those three.

(Artwork by davicomodo on DeviantArt. They deactivated their account though: sad.)

LEVEL 18 - FIGHTER 10

10th level Fighters get Improved Combat Superiority. Now your d8s are d10s!

You know what else that means? More Maneuvers! To absorb even more damage Parry will give you some Bone Plating for absorption. If however by this point an ally of yours can do a lot more damage with their weapon then Commander’s Strike will let you set them up for the Pentakill!

LEVEL 19 - FIGHTER 11

11th level Fighters get another Extra Attack for 3 attacks per round. That’s enough for your three-hit passive!

LEVEL 20 - FIGHTER 12

12th level Fighters get our final Ability Score Improvement: for stronger charms and more smooth-talking to both ally and foe, take Charisma. For a different type of stronger tongue with deadlier maneuvers grab Strength instead. And if you just want to be a chunky tanky conman then Constitution is also an option!

FINAL BUILD

PROS

Every heart has its own hunger - Despite not maxing out your Charisma you’re still the king of speech. +16 in Deception and Persuasion with your lowest possible roll being a 10. That means the lowest you can get on these rolls is a 26! Not to mention that Jack of All Trades as a Bard makes you plenty good at any skill the party may need help with, and unlimited Disguise Self letting you take whatever role is needed.

Every river ends in me! - You are also a very good team player. Bardic Inspiration that never fails, tons of different ways to hold the enemy down, and several options to help your friends while they’re in a jam. "Travel awaits."

You have succeeded only in ruffling my attire! - Wow who would’ve guessed that building a tanky character to be a tank would make them tanky? You should have quite the solid healthbar and resistances to three very common damage types is nothing to scoff at, not to mention that you can wear Heavy Armor and a Shield for crazy high AC.

CONS

Are you the waiter of this establishment? - Most of your abilities rely on charges of some kind. While Maneuvers and Bardic Inspiration comes back on a Short Rest spell slots only come back after a Long one, and you don’t have many spell slots to spare.

I wonder who might like to bargain for a little freedom - This build is very ASI greedy which means a lot of your abilities are very subpar. Your low DEX score in particular is rather harsh as many dangerous spells require DEX saving throws.

Might be savory - Because this build is so ASI greedy your stats still aren’t maxed out. +3 to CON and +4 to CHA are great and all but they aren’t +5, ya know? And even with Jack of All Trades your skill checks aren’t going to beat out a specialist.

But you don’t need to be a god to sign a deal; a demon does it just as well. Master your articulation so that you can be sharp with your tongue in whatever means necessary. Bargain with your allies and seal the deal on your foes, and for the love of all that is good in the world don’t vore anyone! Jeeze!

(Artwork by Pan Chengwei. Made for Riot Games.)

#dnd #dnd 5e #dnd build #dnd guide #League of Legends #League of Legends Tahm Kench #Tahm Kench #river king #dnd fighter #dnd bard

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badwolfwrites-sometimes · 4 years

Text

Golden Knights, Silver Crowns: Chapter 2

Feliciano and Ludwig struggle with their relationship, but, after receiving Chel's letter, Feliciano devises a plan to fix it.

Their first days together weren't going so well. Aside from waking up way to early for his tastes and actively doing his duties, Feliciano was bothered by his dreams, reminding him of his past.

But it wasn't all too bad. Ludwig was actually interesting to talk to and talking was easy for Feliciano. Not to mention he was getting along well with Romeo, he didn't treat either of the brothers differently because they weren't close in age. Maybe that was something Feliciano needed.

That morning, Ludwig came in his room with news. "There is a letter for you, Your Highness," he says, holding it in his hands.

Feliciano rubbed his eyes and sat on his bed as Ludwig opened the curtains, maids rushing in to bathe and dress him. Feliciano read the letter afterwards. "It's from my girlfriend," he said. He didn't notice as Ludwig's expression turned from neutral to annoyed.

'Darling Feliciano, I am happy that you considered writing to me about your concerns. Unfortunately, I might not be of much help, but I will offer you my advice regardless. You wrote to me that your problem is with your knight, specifically your past with him, right? I do not want to seem rude, but if both of you are so hung up on past then your relationship will only worsen. I believe you should leave it behind and start from scratch. If that does not work then I am afraid you will have to keep up with what you have been doing until now.'

Feliciano nodded along as he read the letter, agreeing with what Chel was saying up until that point. He glanced at Ludwig, wondering if starting from scratch with him was possible. Ludwig wasn't paying any attention to him, helping out the maids in making Feliciano's bed. 'Huh, he's a gentleman when he wants to be?', Feliciano thought. Maybe his memory of Ludwig from the past was messed up by the promise he broke, but it seems like Ludwig is still a good guy. Smiling, he returned to the letter in front of him.

'Putting that aside, how are you doing? It has been long since we last saw each other, I hope you are doing well. That being said, I will be coming in a few days to help plan our announcement ball. I have so many ideas, you will just love them.

See you soon my love,

Chel.'

Right, he forgot about that. He forgot about his engagement announcement ball. Ludwig's return completely sidetracked him from something so important to his future. If his grandma was alive, she would have punished him so hard for ignoring the traditions. "Ludwig," he called out. Letting Ludwig know was the start. "What is my schedule for this week?"

Leaving the maids to finish up with the work in Feliciano's room, Ludwig pulled out a small black notebook. "Mostly studying and training. What is it?" Ludwig said.

"Is there a way you can fit in preparations for guests anywhere in it? And planning for a ball?" Feliciano asked, folding the paper in his hands and putting it back into its envelope.

If it weren't for Ludwig's sternly neutral expression, Feliciano could probably read the confusion off his face. That didn't seem to be the case here. "What for?" Ludwig asked, noticing it's hopeless to expect Feliciano to read the mood.

"My girlfriend Chel will be coming over soon," Feliciano blurted out. "To help prepare for our engagement announcement ball."

Feliciano couldn't see a trace of emotion on Ludwig's face or body, but, on the inside, Ludwig was boiling over with annoyance. Feliciano was already kept on the strict schedule to make a somewhat decent leader out of him, if he gets carried away at the ball, it would ruin everything.

That being said, it wasn't like Ludwig could stop him. He wasn't royal after all.

"I will see what I can do, but I make no promises. If you are going to be busy preparing the ball, that means I have to cut your free Saturdays," Ludwig said, checking the schedule once again.

"Free Saturdays?" Feliciano asked.

"A day off for you and me. You can do whatever you want on Saturdays and I don't have to watch over you as much. We agreed to this when I arrived," Ludwig explained, closing and putting away his notebook. "You haven't been paying attention, have you?"

Well, there goes another possibly good day. Now, Feliciano would have to endure strict lectures from Ludwig for not listening when he should and he is really not in the mood for them. He really shouldn't speak too much. "My bad, I forgot," he apologized, hoping that would at least fix the situation. "But there's no need to cut them. I can plan during the week and on Saturday, I can plan even more because I'll have more time. That way everything would be done much faster, don't you think?"

Ludwig smirked, that's unusual. Feliciano wasn't always much of a thinking type, but Ludwig knew he liked to plan things, even when they were just kids. However, Ludwig knew of the other side to that coin as well. "You will just end up procrastinating it all until the very last day. Am I wrong, Your Highness?" He said.

Feliciano has once again been caught in an inescapable situation, so he just nodded in agreement. Ludwig knew too much about him, he hasn't, changed much from the childhood after all.

Like any other day since Ludwig's arrival, this day was just as long and Feliciano spent it devising a plan. Obviously, his relationship with Ludwig couldn't go on like this, both of them stuck deep in the past, so he needed a new tactic. He considered asking Ludwig about it, if starting over was okay, but that option would only work under set circumstances.

Which is why he was devising the plan in the first place. Feliciano knew his teachers don't care as long as it looks like he's doing something.

Step one was to be really nice to Ludwig for some time, even though Feliciano thought he was being nice from the start, being nicer never hurt anyone.

Step two was to get Ludwig alone, maybe a nice walk through the garden would do. Just make sure that the setting was perfect, maybe it would soften Ludwig's heart.

Step three was to actually talk to him and this was where Feliciano was having difficulties. Talking to Ludwig wasn't hard... in theory. Feliciano had to watch his words a lot and would have to be serious the entire time and that was exhausting. But those dreams were even more exhausting to him than pretending to be serious, he can do this. He will get Ludwig to accept and he will finally move on!

For the reminder of that week, Chel would be arriving Sunday evening, Feliciano was being extra nice to Ludwig. He didn't complain in the morning anymore, he studied, he discussed serious topics with Ludwig, like how to lower taxes for people and increase the income of the kingdom, and was generally very obedient. Seeing as how Ludwig seemed to be more energized and less annoyed at the end of the day with Feliciano, step one seemed to be working.

Feliciano liked this, Ludwig being less angry at him, but the act has made him more exhausted than he expected. He sneaked into Lovino's room one night after bedtime was announced.

"What do you want this late?" Lovino sneered at him, shuffling through some letters, but quickly putting them away as soon as Feliciano flopped down next to him.

"I'm so tired of this," Feliciano complained. "I didn't think being serious would be this hard."

"It figures. Get off my bed," Lovino pushed him off the bed, so Feliciano had no choice but to stay on the floor.

"Ah, I can't wait for this to end so I can go back to my old self anymore. If I have to talk about money one more time, I will die."

"Get used to it, when Nonno and Papa die, it's our job to do it. They will likely split the empire between the three of us as it seems."

"Would you take over my half?"

"No way in hell, deal with your own shit yourself. Leave me out of it."

"Lovi~"

"If you're done, get out. And turn the lights off and shut the door when you do. I have to catch on my beauty sleep or I'll end up looking like you," Lovino said, adjusting himself in the bed so he faced away from Feliciano.

"Okay. Good night, Lovi," Feliciano said, doing what his brother told him to on his way out.

"Trouble sleeping?" Someone asked as he walked to his room, startling him. He turned around to see Ludwig standing in the hall, arms crossed and holding a torch.

"Not really, just wanted to talk to Lovi. Why are you still up?" He asked.

"I was telling Prince Romeo his bedtime story."

Feliciano's expression softened. Seeing how Ludwig cared for his younger brother made him want to push forward with his plan, he'd like to get to know this new Ludwig without it being influenced by the past. He'd like to be friends with the new Ludwig. "The one with the princess and the dragon?" He asked.

"Yes," Ludwig simply answered as the two walked side by side.

"He told me all about it, I didn't know you could tell stories so well."

"Watching over young kids was a part of my training so I picked it up over time. I don't think I am good at it, but I accept the compliment."

"Well, by Romeo's standards, you're pretty good at it, though you don't have much of a comparison."

"Possibly, I am just glad that he is happy. He is a very good kid and would make a nice ruler one day. You were much more wild when you were younger, Your Highness." There it goes, why did he have to say that?

Why did he have to bring up the past?

Screw the walk through the garden under moonlight, if Feliciano doesn't ask him now, he will never do it.

' It's just a simple question, Feli. No time to be shy. If you don't ask him, you'll just keep on suffering. Just say it, it's not hard', his brain was screaming at him.

"Ludwig?" He called.

"What is it?" Came the response.

"Um, what do you say we...," he trailed off, unsure if this was the right moment to ask such a thing. But he made his choice, he has to do this. "We, uh, start over?"

Ludwig paused in his footsteps, confused. "I beg your pardon?"

Feliciano took a deep breath and looked Ludwig straight into his deep blue eyes. Strange, Feliciano remembered them being much deeper, kinder, there was so much love in those eyes that is now completely gone. Where did it all go? Ludwig's eyes were still beautifully blue, but that's not the same blue Feliciano remembers. Not the same blue he... "What do you say we forget what happened between us in the past and start anew? Become friends as adults?" He asked, all in one breath, hoping that Ludwig understood him.

Ludwig just burst out laughing.

Considering that didn't happen very often, Feliciano would gladly join in the laughter, but he just asked the question that was bothering him for a while and laughing was not the appropriate response, Ludwig! "Why are you laughing?" He asked.

Ludwig finally stopped, straightening himself up. "You must be joking, Feliciano. We can't abandon our past, I can't abandon our past," he answered.

"Why?! Why is it so hard for you to leave it behind?! Why do you have to bring it up every time we talk?!" Feliciano wasn't thinking anymore, he wasn't keeping up the seriousness anymore. Tears were threatening to escape his eyes, no act could keep them behind.

"Because it made me who I am today. Because I promised I would protect you and I am here to do so. I kept my promise even when you forgot and you asking me to throw it away would be throwing myself away. Do you understand, Feliciano? Is it simple enough for you?" Ludwig was back to his seriousness, anger stronger than ever in his voice.

Feliciano couldn't hold it in any longer, Ludwig's tone, the look in his eyes, the walls coming up to squish him from all sides, everything, it was all too much. He broke down in tears, but he could still see that Ludwig wasn't softening up in the slightest. He didn't know why, but it felt like he had been stabbed in the heart a thousand times. "With what an asshole you've become, I'm glad I didn't keep that promise!" He spat out before sprinting to his room. He didn't care who he woke up or who he startled. He just had to get out of there.

He didn't even see the heartbreaking look on Ludwig's face as he ran.

Ludwig collected himself and, instead of running like Feliciano, he walked to his own room. He knew he hurt Feliciano, he could hear him crying all night through the walls, but he doesn't regret what he said. He had been hurt first after all.

That Saturday, neither of them spoke a word to each other. And Sunday seemed to the same, until Princess Chel and her family arrived.

#GerIta #Germany x Italy #APH Germany #hetalia GerIta #gerita fanfic #aph gerita #APH Italy #hws romano #aph romano #hws italy #hws germany #APH #hws #hetalia #hetalia axis powers #hetalia world stars #golden knights silver crowns story

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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

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Sammy and Norman. One of them gets drafted? The goodbyes, the worry, maybe never get to see the other again ?

Summary: The battlefield took his arm and a finger, and maybe a little bit of his sanity, but that studio took much more from everyone else. It took their mind, soul and body.

---

Dread had been a creeping stalker from the moment he'd witnessed many of his neighbors being called upon to help in the war efforts. It had followed Sammy around like a wolf in the shadows, making him fret for what he considered an inevitability of sorts. As the man of a household it only made sense that he'd be singled out as another viable soldier despite being the least capable sort to be found in a war.

A man of the arts, with careful and gentle fingers. Cannon fodder at best.

It was a harrowing feeling, because it truly made him fear for what may happen to his dear little sister without him around.

So really, one should be more sympathetic when his turn did come up and his only reaction was to fall to his knees in despair.

He had two days to make preparations. Then he'd be sent out with the rest of the sheep to the slaughter.

"You're leaving?!" Joey Drew, as slow as he was to move about without that silly looking cane of his, was much too fast getting to his feet for Sammy's liking. He shot up from his seat like a serpent ready to strike at any moment.

The safety of a desk between a scared mouse and a vile snake was a comfort.

"I don't have a choice in the matter." The blond kept his composure despite knowing quite well what Joey was more than capable of doing if he felt like he'd been crossed. He'd rather be scorned by the devil than be labeled a traitor to his country.

One of these outcomes had a 50% chance of survival. "I've been drafted. In two days I'll be sent off to die in a nonsensical war."

"But your obligations to the studio! We need you here to put a tune to the cartoons!"

"My obligations?! Joey, I've been drafted. I can't kindly decline!" Sammy exclaimed in disbelief. "It's not like picking what you want to eat at lunch. If I try to skirt around this I'll be as good as dead."

"If you go you'll most certainly be dead, and then who's going to compose for the studio?!" Joey's tone had a hint of accusation, as if Sammy wanted this to happen. Might as well blame him for the war while he was at it.

"It's a fucking cartoon, Joey! My life is worth more than your stupid pictures!" His blood was beginning to boil. "I'm leaving and that's that. I'm dropping off the rest of my scores so Jack can finish them up, and I'm conducting the band one last time today. But tomorrow I ain't coming in because I'm helping my sister move out."

"You can't do this to me! How am I supposed to find a composer on such short notice?!" Joey slammed his hands on the table. From the looks of it, he was seething.

"Figure it out. You're the boss aren't you?!" Sammy turned away from the shaking Joey and walked out of his office. He felt strangely lighter on his feet. For once, arguing with his employer didn't make him feel vulnerable.

It was great, despite the circumstances.

"I can't believe you're going to war... Sammy that's..." Jack's reaction to the news was a tearful one. It was quite sobering after getting a little giddy from getting under Joey's skin with no real consequences. "I'm gonna miss you."

"Aww... I'll miss you too, you big softy." The blond gave the shorter and pudgier man a pat on the shoulder, allowing him to squeeze his midsection in a tight hug. "You're going to be the man of the house now. Don't let the band trample over you... Those savages can sniff out weakness like a pack of hungry hyenas."

"They're not that bad. You're just easy to rile up, is all." Jack teased, laughing when Sammy gave him a pointed look.

"You know as well as I do that Joey will go after the head of a department if the lackeys slack off." He ignored the few glares he got from said 'lackeys'. "And this bunch gets what it deserves for being a bunch of children on the job."

"Can you leave sooner?!"

"Fuck you too Johnny! I hope your pipe organ falls on you!"

Jack cackled, which got a few other band members to crack up as well. Sammy too found himself smiling. Despite the frustration of leading this group of hellions through a carefully composed song, he'd miss the few occasionally humorous banters and mishaps.

He'd especially miss his good friend and pal. He could only hope the stress wouldn't get to Jack while he was away.

People either gave him knowing pitiful looks, complimented his bravery in confronting Joey over his leaving on such short notice, or gave him a vague 'nice working with you, good luck' sort of gesture.

Word had spread through the departments and Sammy felt genuinely impressed at how quickly people went from detesting his presence to sucking up just to save face. No one wanted to be that one guy who was a dick to a soon to be dead patriot.

Susie absolutely smothered him with tearful kisses and tight hugs. She was a mess and, in return, he felt a mess as well.

He didn't want to leave...

"I'll see you off tomorrow." She whispered in his ear during a particularly long hug in the recording booth. "For good luck."

"Thank you doll..." He held on to her for as long as he could. "I'm going to miss this."

"Getting cried on?"

"Just being with you. You make my world so much brighter..."

"Sammy Lawrence you're such a sap, I love you." Susie giggles into his chest.

"Love you too Susiebell."

They'd parted ways, Sammy to collect his belongings and Susie to freshen up in one of the women's bathrooms.

On the way he encountered Norman while passing by the stairs that lead to his booth.

"Who'd have thought..."

"Hm?" He looked up at the projectionist who was staring down from his vantage point. Norman backed off and went for the stairs, meeting him halfway.

"My pa was military. He did things a particular sorta way." Norman explained "Includin' raising his kids in a rather peculiar fashion."

"That would explain your... Eccentricity." Sammy rolled his eyes, which got a laugh out of the older man.

"N'aw. I'm just the weird one... My siblings are pretty normal folk." He chuckled "But I digress. Thing is, my pa would wake us up at 5 in the morning, to do drills with us. 'Case of emergency he always did say... There's a war out there now and yous would think they'd call on me to help."

"Haven't they?" Sammy frowned.

"No." Norman's smile gradually faded. "My eye. It ain't no good, so they decided to call on my little brother instead..."

"....Shit."

"Uh-huh. Was lookin' for ya to tell ya. Your sister can still move in. Nelson's just gonna be the head o' the house instead."

"What about income? Who'll pay the rent and bills?" He felt uneasy about the situation. "They're still too young."

"I'll help with expenses ta best I can, but my little niece and nephew is looking for work. I'd advise your sister do ta same. Times gonna get rough Sammy."

"They are... Thanks Norman." The blond worried his bottom lip. "For helping."

"Well I'll be... Sammy Lawrence thankin' me for being a decent fella. What a day."

"Fuck you."

"You offerin' dinner first?"

"GOD!" He threw up his hands in defeat, which got a good hearty laugh out of the projectionist. "I'll be around your brother's tomorrow then. Good luck with Drew. I got a feeling he'll be extra surly in my absence."

"Can't imagine why. Poor Grant will go nuts if he hires an entire orchestra's worth o' folks to substitute yous."

The music director laughed and went back to what he'd been set to do. It felt nice to hear that he was worth an entire orchestra in someone's eyes.

He hoped Norman wouldn't have a hard time.

Saying goodbye to his sister felt like a death march in its own right. He spent the entire day helping her move her belongings to the younger Polks's house. Her two friends were good help, and they even offered him tea and told him to rest whenever he got winded.

The boy, Nelson, warned him that he'd need to train his resistance if he wanted to survive the military drills. The family cat was much more sympathetic, seeming less worried about his physical capacity and more content with having a warm lap to sit on and a set of dexterous fingers to give it some good scratches.

When they'd finished, Sammy had taken his sister out to lunch. They'd run around town just having fun, something he'd rarely been able to do while working at the studio.

Then came the time to go.

To his surprise the train station was packed with a few studio workers.

Susie, Norman, Jack, Wally, Emma, Shawn, Grant and even a few of the band members had come to see him off.

He wasn't ashamed to admit he cried like a baby getting to say goodbye all over again. It felt good to be cared about, even if he wasn't the easiest person to be around of. The only other person that cried just as hard was his poor sister.

"Please come back, I can't lose my grumpy brother." The pleading broke his heart. He couldn't promise he'd come back which was what made this so upsetting.

"I'm not grumpy, just misunderstood." He retorted playfully in between hiccups.

"You're a grumpy butt, grumpiest goof there ever was." A tearful chuckle. His little Abby was flushed and covered in snot and tears. They were both very gross criers.

"Slander! I'm a misunderstood suffering artist." They pulled away and Sammy made sure to take a handkerchief from his pocket and begin trying to clean his sister's face. "Be good to your little friends. I'll try to write to you as much as I can..."

"I will... Please be careful Samuel." She pulled that old doll he'd given her and handed it over to him. Seamus had seen better days, well loved that he was. "Both of you have to come back."

He took her doll and smiled a sincere but rather sad smile.

"I'll do my best Abigail."

His best was not enough, but damn if he wasn't a stubborn son of a bitch. He'd return with her doll, even if he had to drag himself all the way back.

Henry gave him a sympathetic look as both descended the lift with Boris looking at them uneasily. They'd pleased Alice enough that they'd gotten the tommy gun from her to complete the last task on her list of demands.

Sammy glanced at the cartoonist with a sad and tired expression. His prosthetic pinkie tapping against his ruined prosthetic arm.

It had already been clunky enough. After a few hits from a Piper, it had become virtually useless other than as a makeshift instrument.

"Are you ready?" Henry asked.

"No... But I never am for this part."

The lift stopped on level 14, and Sammy walked forward. Stamping his feet and kicking up as much ink as possible.

The shrill screech of the Projectionist filled the room as the twisted horror that Norman Polk had become ran forward to evicerate whomever dared intrude upon its domain.

Henry shot it down effortlessly and left Sammy to kneel beside the fallen beast.

The blond sighed sadly, staring at the dying creature with pity, before gently brushing it's back. He could hear Henry moving around, collecting the hearts.

"Shhh... Hush now." He continued to comfort what had once been a friend, feeling the burning gaze of Alice upon him. Judging him. "Sheep, sheep, sheep, It's time for sleep. Rest your head. It's time for bed. In the morning, you may wake. Or in the morning, you'll be dead..."

If it appreciated not being alone as it died, the Projectionist didn't give any indication. But the gentle pawing at his leg made Sammy hopeful that something of Norman remained to thank him before the poor creature went limp for good.

It would reform with no memory of his kindness, but it made his soul feel less heavy with guilt.

"Such a pity." Alice taunted from above. "If only you'd cared and stayed... Maybe less of us would have suffered so greatly."

"I doubt that Susiebell." He replied, uncaring if he would end up enraging her for denying her new identity. "I doubt that..."

The battlefield took his arm and a finger, and maybe a little bit of his sanity, but that studio took much more from everyone else. It took their mind, soul and body.

What was left made Sammy feel hopeless.

#Eps Writes:#Bendy and the Ink Machine #BATIM #Sammy Lawrence

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

Text

Imagine the Batkids hanging out at like....the food court of a mall or something, Jason keeping paparazzi at bay with finger guns that manage to be wildly ominous even if the gulping paparazzo have no true idea WHY that particular motion from this particular man has cold beads of sweat breaking out on the backs of their necks. Damian loudly proclaiming he hates everything and everyone even though he only half means it, well at least until Tim asks if he needs them to go get him a booster seat. To which Jason stops long enough to cackle about Tim finally finding someone he can actually literally look down on, it must be like Christmas for him, and meanwhile, Duke idly says to no one in particular that he can never decide if he accidentally got adopted into the Addams family, the Manson family or the Kardashians.

“I would be great at being a Kardashian,” Jason muses.

“Well you’re already 90% ass, so you’ve got that going for you,” Steph chirps brightly.

“Die, but for real this time,” Jason volleys back, equally pleasantly.

“I can’t believe the English major is suggesting I plagiarize him,” Steph says with eyes wide in mock bewilderment. Jason scoffs.

“What English major? In case you’ve forgotten, I never even finished high school, I was busy being de - “

He cuts off as Cass holds out her palm and Dick and Duke both slide ten dollar bills across the table to her, accompanied by groans. Tim jabs a finger at her with a scowl, half rising out of his seat in outrage.

“That doesn’t count, he didn’t even finish saying it!”

“Also, you’re cheating,” Damian adds on hotly, too incensed to notice he’s literally standing in solidarity with his most hated enemy. Though Tim catches it, if the slightly constipated look on his face is anything to go by. “Do you really think us so blind we can’t tell that Brown blatantly set that one up for you?”

“Don’t hate the players, hate the game,” Steph says sagely, as she and Cass split the take.

“What the hell just happened?” Jason asks. No one looks anywhere near the zip code of apologetic.

“Well we definitely didn’t all get together once a majority of us had done the knock knock knocking on death’s door thing ourselves and wound up making a long-standing bet about how long you can go without bringing that up and where the clock restarts each time you do,” Steph says thoughtfully, eyes intent even as she stares off into the distance, like it’s an actual mystery and she’s really trying quite hard to scry out the answer.

“What?” Jason says flatly.

“In my defense, they were doing it long before I came along and they said it was like, a family tradition,” Duke offers.

“I mean, it’s not like we lied,” Tim shrugs. “Besides, it was Cass’ idea and she’s died twice, so it’s allowed.”

Jason redirects his ire on their sister. “Why are you the worst.”

She shrugs. “I died.”

“I used to think having a sister would be cool. I can’t believe you ruined sisters for me.”

“Bite me, little brother,” she says sweetly. His face flames. Detonation imminent.

“I’m older than you!”

“Not if you don’t count the six months you were dead,” she sing-songs. “Besides, Tim’s lying. It was his idea.”

Jason’s head swivels like a turret-mounted missile launcher. Tim chokes on his French fry.

“What the hell! That’s not tr - .” He trails off then, frowning slightly. “Wait, was it? Oh. Right.”

Jason’s eyes narrow, tension on the trigger, but Tim rallies and just shrugs unrepentantly.

“Eh. You’ve tried to kill me like three times. Suck it up.”

“Next time, I’ll be sure to try harder,” Jason growls. Tim smiles serenely and takes an extra obnoxious slurp of his milkshake.

“See? You’ve learned something new today. You’re welcome.”

“Why am I not live-tweeting this,” Steph wonders, yanking out her phone and sending digits swiftly flying across its keys. Dick leans over on her left to view her screen.

“Are you tweeting as Batgirl about her fellow vigilantes, or the random blond stranger always seen out with the Waynes but that no one can determine their connection to?”

“First off, I’m the EXOTIC blond stranger, excuse you. Get it right. And second...idk. Either. Both. Does it really matter?”

“Well, it might if you actually do tweet the same content from both accounts and someone somehow manages to spot some kind of connection,” Tim says dryly. Steph scowls without looking up from her phone.

“Stop oppressing my shenanigans with your logic, Timbleton.”

“Timbleton?”

“It’s my new name for you. For it is both pretentious and douchey, as are you.”

Tim glowers. “Sometimes I honestly can’t remember why I went out with you.”

She shrugs. “You were a fifteen year old virgin and I have a killer rack. It wasn’t that deep.”

“Hey, you are still just the exotic blond stranger seen with us all the time, right?” Dick says suddenly, seemingly lost in thought. “Like, B didn’t adopt you since I last saw you or anything.”

“No, and you know you don’t ACTUALLY have to ask me that every time you see me.”

He shrugs. “I mean I kinda do. You are always here, and it is Bruce. It’s not like he ever tells me when he adopts someone new so like, you could be my sister for four years before I even realized it if I didn’t ask.”

“Ooh. A sighting of Dick angst, spotted in the wild. Those are rare,” Jason snickers. Dick just eyes him.

“FYI, I still have footage of a certain Robin, age fourteen, singing Backstreet Boys. And I have Roy on speed dial. Tread lightly, Little Wing.”

“You said you deleted that!”

“I lied. I do that sometimes. I’m terribly problematic.” Dick beams beatifically.

“Why have I not seen this footage?” Steph shrieks.

“Make me an offer,” Dick says as leans back smugly.

She wastes no time, fingers dancing across her keyboard again, and moments later Dick pulls out his own phone and reads her incoming text. One eyebrow arches significantly.

“That’s an offer, alright.” He frowns. “You came up with that quick. I’m either impressed or disturbed.”

Steph shrugs. “I get bored on stakeouts sometimes.”

“You can be dispressed,” Cass pipes up helpfully. Dick nods solemnly.

“An excellent suggestion, Cassandra, thank you. Just for that, I’ll send it to you too.”

“I will stab you,” Jason says dangerously.

“Just think, Jay, if you didn’t try and stab me all the time already, that might actually be incentive not to....oh whoops, finger slipped, just hit send, how terrible, much regret.”

“I feel like there’s supposed to be a life lesson in there somewhere,” Duke murmurs.

“Stay out of this, new kid on the block.”

“Does that make you Marky Mark or like, Donnie?” Tim wonders idly. He shakes his head at himself then, baffled. “Why do I know the names of the New Kids on the Block?”

Stephanie meanwhile is watching her phone with what can only be described as naked glee. It’s muted - she’s never one to share her spoils freely after all - but apparently that is more than good enough for now as far as she’s concerned. Beside her, Cass intently stares at her own screen, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“I will kill you all someday, and when I do the courts will rule it justifiable homicide and I shall be vindicated.”

“Please, Todd. As if I don’t have contingencies in place to ensure you receive my vengeance even from beyond the grave, should I ever perish at your hands.”

Silence falls across the table as they all stare at Damian.

“See, now I’m dispressed,” Tim says. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to take a guided tour of your brain, but then I think why not wait til Halloween and sell tickets too.”

Damian glares at him, but to the surprise of everyone, Tim included, he reacts no further than that. A few seconds later though, Duke bolts upright in his chair across from him, directing his own baleful glare at the smaller boy. Damian just stares at him meaningfully and jerks his head in Tim’s direction. Duke rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Shut your facehole, Drake, you blithering dolt,” Duke says robotically. “Also, you are excessively diminutive for your age and nobody likes you. Allegedly.”

Once more silence reigns supreme.

“Oh fuck, can he possess people now?” Jason asks.

Dick waves them all down, gesturing for quiet before he takes the lead, studying Duke with an intent focus. “I think I speak for all of us here, when I say: no, but seriously, what the actual fuck.”

Cass nods gravely. “What he said.”

Duke shrugs a half-hearted apology. “It’s nothing personal Tim. It’s just that Damian and I have an alliance, and part of the terms are I have to defend his honor, since - and I quote - ‘tt, the very notion I need assistance defending my actual person is laughable, Thomas, don’t be daft.’”

“Wait, we’re doing alliances now?” Steph asks, because of course that would be the part that catches her attention. “I want an alliance. Cass, make an alliance with me.”

“Kay.”

“Whose idea was this alliance, anyway?” Jason asks. Duke just shrugs again, this time defensively.

“Hey don’t look at me, Dick’s the one who apparently thought it was a good idea to introduce Damian to Survivor reruns.”

All eyes turn to the eldest. In a particularly accusatory fashion.

Well, with the exception of Damian, as he has returned to his meal and is quite contentedly dining with a distinct air of smugness about him. (Even more so than usual.)

“What? I couldn’t get him to agree to watching anything else on TV, and then we came across some reruns and I thought it might appeal to him.”

“And you saw no potential drawbacks to him seeing appeal in the basic premise of voting people off the island?” Jason asks skeptically. Dick picks up a fry and studies it with clear deliberation and an equally clear attempt at avoidance. Subtlety, thy name is not Grayson.

“In hindsight, it’s possible mistakes were made.”

“I mean, at least now Dami’s attempts at casting undesirables out of the family are rooted in democracy instead of totalitarianism. That’s progress, right?” Steph asks. Heavy on the uncertainty.

“Right, and I have some beachfront property in Kansas to sell you,” Tim says sardonically.

“Nah, you keep it. I’ll just get it in the divorce when we get back together in ten years, marry, and I abscond with half of your fortune.”

“Wait, what?”

“Shh, just let it happen.”

“Hang on, back to this alliance,” Jason says, turning back to Duke. “So what are you getting out of it?”

“Oh, he has to do my calc homework for the rest of the semester,” Duke replies.

“Duke, you should have just told one of us you needed some help with your homework,” Dick says with an unmistakable note of concern in his voice. Duke shoots him a quizzical look.

“I don’t. I just don’t want to do it.”

“This is why Duke is the most valid,” Steph nods knowingly. Cass nods in agreement.

“Hey, did nobody else notice that in essence, Damian implicitly admitted he needed help protecting his feelings from getting boo-boos,” Tim pipes up oh so casually. The youngest among them narrows his eyes.

“In my spare time, I peruse the occult tomes recommended by Raven and the Zatara brat in search of a ritual that will make it so you never existed in the first place,” he says, matching his tone to Tim’s conversational one. Not deterred in the slightest, Tim just adopts an expression of over the top faux sympathy.

“Sucks you can’t just ask me for help. I already know where one of those is.”

“Dami, no!” Dick speaks up sharply. Their little brother slumps back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wasn’t actually going to do anything, Grayson,” he sulks. Dick snorts.

“You were absolutely about to jump on top of the table and kick Tim in the face. Don’t even try and pretend I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I was an only child once,” Jason muses. “I should have appreciated it more.”

“But then you couldn’t form an alliance with me, little brother,” Cass points out, equal parts sweetness and wickedness. He hesitates, visibly torn between wanting to protect his vaunted older brother status and agreeing to an alliance with the most feared of them all.

“You’re evil.”

She shrugs but doesn’t contest the point.

“I’ll form an alliance with you, Cass,” Tim says, smirking at Jason.

“No thanks.”

Tim’s mouth falls open and he looks between her and his now cackling older brother. “What the hell? You’ll form an alliance with Steph and Jason but not with me? Why not?”

“I’m chaotic neutral,” their sister explains sunnily, as she steals some more of Dick’s fries.

#look they all actually so love each other okay #this is just how siblings are #just like #with less actual murder attempts

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fanfictrashdump · 4 years

Text

Queening a Pawn, 9

[Am I procrastinating? Damn right, I am! 2020 is just a throw-away year, y’all. Strap in, it’s a long one.]

Summary: During the Time Heist, Loki stole the Tesseract and escaped. He did not expect, however, to be pulled through a Time Loop that delivered him to a Midgard more than a decade older, wiser, and bitterer. Having just lived through his unsuccessful attack in New York, Loki must learn to live in Midgard after the defeat of Thanos (post-Endgame). The question is, who is Loki without a quest for a throne or total domination?

Pairings: Loki x OC

Delilah flipped through the papers in her hand, filing cabinet drawer open, as she put them away in their designated location. Her day had been the normal array of meetings and putting out imaginary fires before she had been left alone to her fortress of paperwork a half hour earlier. It was getting late into the evening, and though Lilah knew she should have called it quits hours ago, she had decided that finishing this menial, mindless task, would be the perfect excuse for sleeping in tomorrow.

She slid another file into its allotted slot, when the hair on the back of her neck all stood at attention. It wasn't that playful sensation in the back of her head when she felt Loki was trying to scare her, and it wasn't the cursory glance of the maintenance staff cleaning up, after hours. No, she was being well and truly observed. She couldn't see anyone out of her peripheral vision, but she could practically feel their heartbeat.

Bending to lower some files into the lowest drawer, she silently unholstered a pistol taped to the side of the furniture. She wanted to groan. That gun had been there since her first day of work nearly a decade ago and this was the first time she had ever needed to reach for it.

Straightening up, she took a few steadying breaths. Turning on a dime, she shot a single round, catching the intruder in the chest. For a moment, she debated between throwing up and screaming for help, but neither would do her any good at this time of night. Instead, she stepped lightly to the lifeless figure. He was dressed head to toe in tactical gear, several guns strapped to his person, and Delilah had managed to catch him just above the bullet vest. This was unlikely to be an isolated incident, and she didn't want to wait for his friends to show up.

With a weapon raised, she quietly hurried down the corridor, using any and every shortcut she knew to get back to the rooms. If she could have FRIDAY wake the agents, they could possibly live to see another day, but she did not enjoy the fact their fate depended on the least trained individual in the entire building.

"I really need to go to more voluntary training," she muttered to herself, turning down a hallway, only to find a group in the same tactical gear. She shuffled backwards, gasping. Her feet lost their grip on the ground below and she was forced back into a closet, hand over her mouth to keep her quiet.

"It's me. It's only me." Her struggles settled down to a bare pant at Loki's voice. "There was a patrolman coming up behind you." He turned her to face him, moving her face this way and that to assess the damage. "Are you alright? I heard gunfire."

"That was me." Loki looked oddly impressed at the response. "I'm not entirely useless."

"You're entirely too modest. Where were you scurrying off to?"

Delilah sighed, puffing her cheeks out as she thought. "They disabled FRIDAY. I need to reach a securely rooted computer to sound the alarm." There was shuffling just behind the door. Loki and Delilah held their breaths, trying to think themselves invisible as the intruders ran past. The echo of gunfire further away made her start, and she found herself clutching onto the front of Loki's shirt, rooted to the spot.

"Hey. Hey! Where's the nearest secure whatever you need?" Loki cupped her face with both hands, forcing her to focus on him, rather than the thunder-like sound of bullets. It was a helpful distraction, but it made her no less terrified of what lay beyond their door.

Delilah stuttered, her brain a mess. The adrenaline had started to fade and her fear had begun to take over. Not to mention the guilt of having put a bullet through someone's chest just a few minutes prior. "Um… I–I… er…" Her eyes caught the barest piece of an insignia for Stark Industries and lightbulb came on in her brain. "Tony. We need to get to Tony's case."

He rolled his eyes, groaning. "Nowhere better, really?"

"Loki–!"

He clapped his hand over her mouth. "Don't yell, you imp! You'll give us away!" Eyes wide, she nodded frantically, and he lowered his hand. "On the count of three, we'll go through the door, take a right and we'll walk as quietly as possible to the Memorial Hall. OK?" She nodded again. "If someone comes and they shoot, you get behind me. If I die, you run. Do you understand?"

"No, but–"

"Do you understand?"

There was a beat of tense silence between them before she nodded and Loki grasped at the doorknob with determination. He mouthed his count: One, Two, Three, and swung the door open. They crept away to the right. As they turned the corner, two figures were incoming. With a flourish of his hand, there was a dagger in one of their chests, but before he could reach for another blade, thunder rolled beside him, leaving him slightly deaf in one ear. The figure crumpled to the ground in a heap.

"Color me impressed," he whispered, taking Delilah's hand and pulling her along. He stopped only to collect his dagger, as well as the daggers attached to the fallen men. Loki sighed. No magic meant he had to police his daggers like a commoner, but it didn't mean his aim was any less true.

Down the hall, they could see the shining beacon of Tony's hologram in the darkened room. Lilah ran ahead, sliding to a stop in front of the case while Loki dealt with a couple of intruders who had just stumbled into the hall. She dropped to her knees, opening the panel just below the hologram as Loki rejoined her.

"Pygmy puff, what the hell is going on?" The hologram whispered, bending down to talk to her.

"Not sure. All I know is that someone's put FRIDAY offline. I need to sound a warning."

"Behind you!" Tony warned, and Loki spun, digging the blade of his weapon to the hilt before kicking the attacker back to retrieve it. "What's he doing here?" Tony eyed Loki distrustfully, and on any other day Delilah would have thought it was sweet, but right now, she had to figure out what the hell had happened to their security system.

"Saving my ass. What’s it look like, Tony?" She groaned. "Where the fuck is the keyboard!?"

"Jesus, settle down, Li! It's under the external drive." The projection held his hands up in defense. "Be gentle. It's my first time," he joked as she stuck her arm into the box and dislodged the keyboard from its hidden recess. "It's gonna get a little loud here, kids." From atop the box, two miniature missiles flew out and locked onto a new wave of attackers. Neither Loki nor Delilah were surprised.

"Tony, someone's been tweaking your algorithm." Delilah commented, her fingers a blur over the keyboard.

"What?" He bent over her work with a frown. "That's not my coding."

"I know! Do you recognize it?"

"No, I don't know anyone who's that sloppy," he retorted. "Other than Criss Angel here."

"Not the time, Tony!" A peal of automatic gun fire echoed the room. Loki had snatched her back so fast, she felt a little like a ragdoll, and the hologram was quick to wave them both behind the display. "Really? Bulletproof glass?"

"I'm worth it!" He said defensively. "You didn't seem to mind when I was saving your behind earlier."

"Well, yeah, but–" More gunfire followed, and Delilah let out a scream of pain.

Loki bundled her up, pulling her further behind the display, leaving the extra screen and keyboard forgotten. He smoothed his hands over her, looking for a source of pain. "Delilah? Talk to me."

"Fucking ricochet off the fucking glass," she hissed, holding onto her leg with a groan.

"We need to get you to the infirmary and–"

"I'm fine." She groaned, though he continued fussing over her. It took a jolt of her pulling on his shirt to rouse him from the panic. "Loki, I'm fine. I swear. It's just a graze."

"Oh, God. Are you two–"

"Shut up, Stark!" Loki and Delilah both echoed, narrowing their eyes at the projection.

Delilah reached for the keyboard and continued trying to restart FRIDAY from Tony's hub, to no avail. "Tony, how do we get FRI up and running?"

"There's a failsafe in the basement. It'll override any programming that they've coded into her. In it’s a drawer labeled Taxes. Problem is, you're gonna need Bruce for the final jolt."

She nodded, pulling herself up to test putting weight on her leg. It was blindingly painful, but she could walk. "That's fine. Lo, you go get Bruce, and I'll start the resetting FRIDAY downstairs, OK?" She had intended to just run the opposite direction to Loki, but he reached out to grab her wrist at the last moment, pulling her back roughly.

"I'm not leaving you, if that's what you're suggesting." Loki announced, decided.

His human companion growled. "For fuck's sake–we don't have time for this, Loki! Just go get Bruce."

"Are you mental? You'd have to navigate several floors on your own. They might be waiting to ambush you!"

Delilah pushed at his chest, trying to usher him the other way. "Loki, you are the patron sinner of logic and thinking three steps ahead and you know splitting up makes sense!"

His thumb, index and forefingers gripped her face at the hollows of her cheeks. In the low light, he looked eerily like a nightmare creature, angry and out for blood, but more importantly, worried out of his mind. The expression wasn't a particularly common sight on his face, and his hesitation sent a cold drip of fear down her spine. "I don't give a flying fuck what I would do on my own in the name of logic. Those rules are non-existent for you." Delilah raised her eyebrows in surprise. Cussing wasn't Loki's style (at least any cuss words used in the current century), so it was particularly impactful when he slung the phrase out like it was nothing.

Delilah bit her tongue, taking a deep breath and concentrating, instead, on the burning in her leg. "Where's Bruce, Tony?"

Tony looked like he was thinking as he accessed the building cameras. "Mess hall. Trying not to go savage." Loki and Lilah nodded to each other. "Hey, hey, hey. You keep an eye on her, Danny Phantom. Got it?"

"Won't let her leave my sight, I assure you," Loki called over his shoulder as he ran after Delilah.

He pressed her back against the wall as a group of soldiers in black, trying not to stare at the long swooping eyelashes that were fluttering against her cheek. Loki shushed her quietly when she went to say something, holding a finger to her lips. Another three watchmen strolled past and neither moved for a few seconds after the coast was clear. It was an open area to the mess and they'd be exposed all the way there. Not to mention, they didn't know what would await them on the other side of the door. Taking in a shuddering breath, Delilah offered her hand, waiting for Loki to thread his fingers through hers. With a nod, they shot off, Loki dragging Delilah after him because of his significantly longer strides, and they slid into the mess hall with a sigh.

Bruce swept Delilah into his arms and squeezed her as tightly as he dared before setting her back down, leaving her to teeter uncomfortably on her feet. "Finally! Are you OK? Who the hell are these people?"

"I don't know, but they took down FRIDAY. I need you to help me reboot."

"Are they with him?" His voice grew into a roar as he stared down at Loki, eyes dark.

"No," she assured, turning back to glance at Loki, who seemed fidgety around the gentle giant. "At least I don't think so. It'd be too much of a hassle to keep me alive all night if this were all him."

"It wouldn't be the first–" The snarky remark was cut short by a knife whizzing through the air beside him and finding its mark in the chest of an intruder who had attempted to sneak up.

"Not that I don't adore the scathing review of my character, could we please not give these people an opportunity to kill agents in their beds?" Loki rolled his eyes, his hand instinctually reaching for Lilah to have her lead ahead.

The basement was nothing remarkable. There were boilers, power switch boxes, and server panels that kept the compound running. Loki looked at the room as if it were the landscape of some distant planet. Delilah had tugged him to some dark recess in the room, past mountains of circuit boards and wires. She opened a drawer in one of the various cabinets against the wall, labeled Taxes, and just as Tony had promised there were two terminals and a set of relays with the words Smash Here written on some silver duct tape. Beneath, there was a set of laminated instructions which she quickly glanced over, bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

"Loki, I need some help!"

He was beside her a moment later, wiping blood off his knife. "Yes?"

"I need you to help me type. To reset FRIDAY, commands have to be typed into both terminals at the same time," she explained, pushing one of the keyboards towards him.

Loki hesitated. "I… maybe I should get Banner in. He's better at this–"

"You can drive spaceships. I'm pretty sure you can handle typing."

"We have no use for this crude technology."

"Yeah, well, right now this crude technology is all that's standing between us and reinforcements, and Bruce's fingers are too big for this keyboard."

He looked like he wanted to protest, but her narrowed eyes offered little purpose in complaining. "What do I have to do?" His dagger disappeared into a sheath behind his back and he reached for the keyboard.

"There's a reset code, but in true Tony fashion, it can only work if they're typed at the exact same time. I'm going to need you to keep perfect pace with me, or…"

"Or?"

"It might completely wipe FRIDAY's interface off the server, but, you know, no pressure."

"Just keep pace with you." He stared at her for a second too long, enough for her to shift her gaze at him and tilt her head in question. "I can do that." He studied the keys with rapt interest. "Norns know I try hard enough," he added under his breath, leaving Delilah to ponder the severity of his words.

"Alright. Take a breath and in 3, 2, 1…" She started calling out the code, line by line, watching as Loki carefully matched the clacking of her keys with his own. It was a long program and Lilah was sure the Science Bros™ had made it so infuriatingly difficult just for giggles– she didn't think they could ever foresee FRIDAY going dark because of some crappy Trojan. When the final return was entered, the screen flickered with the message Pressure realignment pending. "Bruce!"

A scuffle was heard just outside the door before Bruce peeked into the server room, carefully skirting towers of data to avoid collision and potential loss. Delilah set the relay on a countertop and gestured the green genius with her hand. Banner stared at the thing for just a second before letting out a roar and driving his fist down on it, leaving the counter creaking and slightly dented. A second later a beep, followed by a Good evening, Strongest Avenger echoed.

"Oh, thank God! FRIDAY, code purple. Security code three-six-eight dash fourteen thirty."

"It looks like someone jammed the locks on the agent barracks. Do you want me to remotely unlock the hallway, Del?"

"Yes, please!"

"It's too bad you won't be able to see them free, Lilah." The trio turned. At the door stood five men, guns raised with Dwyer leading the pack. Banner lumbered, ready to pounce, but a small dart cut through the air and stuck into his neck before he even had a chance to make any headway. He fell unconscious with a mighty thud.

Loki hastily shoved Delilah behind him and brandished his dagger. "Oh, I knew I didn't like you even before you drugged me."

"And if you had just died, Delilah wouldn't have to die now." Dwyer sighed.

A sadistic sort of smirk tilted the corners of Loki's mouth. "If you come near us, I'll slit your throat, you pustulous bilge snipe."

"Oh, I'm not going to do a thing. You are." If the Asgardian was confused by the comment, he didn't mention it. "Those drugs weren't just for me to watch you trip. They had a special little ingredient to help ply your mind. Thor will be so distraught, he'll beg to join our cause. Magic is the devil's plaything, after all."

Loki caught Delilah by the wrist, pulling her back behind him when her ire got the better of her and meant to smack the self-satisfied grin off his face. "Thor trusts me about as far as I can throw Mjolnir. Why would he be surprised if I went feral again?"

"I'm afraid you've missed a lot. It's not your fault, really." He sighed wistfully, though it was all for show. "I mean, he didn't even want you out of your prison cell. Said it was better for everyone if you were kept there or taken back to New Asgard. That you didn't belong in the world." Loki glanced over his shoulder. Lilah was staring at the floor with a frown and his heart sank. "If it wasn't for Delilah you'd still be rotting in the dungeons. Not that she's any better. I mean, she'll let you walk around with the rest of the humans, but will sure as hell leave you collared like a dog. When's the last time you even thought about doing magic?"

"He never asked me to take them off, so I haven't. He's already adjusting to a whole new decade, much less–" Delilah snapped, nearly growling.

"You don't fucking trust him!"

"Standing next to Loki is a risk. There's nothing he wants that he doesn't get and the bracelets can only motivate him. I wouldn't be in this room, with him if I didn't trust him with my life!"

"Then take them off!"

"No," she hissed, glaring daggers at the man. "If the choice is you killing me or turning him into a weapon, then shoot me now."

Dwyer laughed. "Oh, I’m turning him into a weapon regardless." He dug into his pocket and pulled a glowing yellow stone that made Loki blanch even paler than his usual self and take a half-step backwards. "What? You don't like your friend, anymore."

"You don't know what you're playing with, Dwyer," Loki said, carefully. "The Stone controls you as much, if not more, than you control it."

"Oh, this isn't the original stone. Stark got desperate, at one point, and tried to recreate the stones to undo everything Thanos had done. This was the only one he got close to replicating with Vision's help." He tossed it into the air, like a penny. "Much less fuss, just as effective. Now, ask her to unbind you."

"What?"

"She said she would do it if you asked. So, ask her. It's obvious Lilah already kneels for you quite readily. Might as well make it worth my while. I don't want to waste the stone's power on her."

"Keep her name out of your mouth or I'll relieve you of your tongue!" Loki growled and it was Delilah's turn to hold him back.

"It's OK." Loki pulled away from her, holding his hands to his chest. "It's happening one way or another. I'd rather consciously free you, if that's alright with you."

"You have nothing to prove to him," Loki whispered.

Delilah smiled and brushed his cheek with her thumb. "I know, Lo. It's not for him."

"Or me." He added, passionately.

Lilah sighed, looking between the men before gesturing to Loki's hands. "No. Keep the dagger," Dwyer urged when Loki offered her the hilt without hesitation.

Delilah slid her fingers over the pressured pins on his wrists, the metal detecting her fingerprints before clicking quietly and dropping to the floor with a deafening clatter. Her fingers twisted into his and squeezed reassuringly. As much as he tried, he couldn't find it within him to look away from soft eyes. It hurt how little fear he saw, the blind trust. When had he earned this no-questions-asked vote of confidence? He felt the magic trickle down his spine and couldn't even bring himself to feel glad to have it back. Not when he was sure that was coming would be awful.

"How's it feel to be a big boy again?" He hated Dwyer's voice for breaking through what should have been a private moment; that he too could see Delilah laying herself bare to his tempest. "It's not going to feel good for long." He whispered some words to the stone and it only glowed brighter, forcing Loki to look away.

"Loki," she whispered as he teetered, his head bowing. "Focus. You can do this."

Loki straightened up, his eyes wrenched closed. Blindly, he reached for her, closing his fingers around her wrist uncomfortably tight. "Delilah, please go."

"Don't give up on me, Lo. Just–"

"LILAH!" He snapped in a half-growl. He was gritting his teeth now and the hand on her was shaking uncontrollably with effort. "Lilah, please. My love, please run." He blinked his eyes up, eerie blue and shining with tears. "Go now. Run." She hesitated again, frozen in place. "RUN!" With a start, she stumbled back, bolting out the back of the room and into the emergency stairwell.

Despite the blood rushing in her ears, she could hear the pounding footsteps behind her, like a predator stalking her every move. A blade whizzed past her. Then another. And another. He was playing with her, enjoying watching her squirm as she feared for her life and scurried like a mouse. When she exited the stairwell at the next floor, he was standing right outside the door. She yelped, stumbling back against the slab of metal when he swung a blade at her head and just narrowly missed her.

Lilah drove her elbow against the still-sore ribs on his left side, watching him stumble back with a hiss, but return with even more fervor. A swipe of the blade cut a path across her jaw, just shy of slicing into her jugular. With a jolt, he rammed her into the wall, knife at her neck just barely skimming as he slowly pressed the blade into her warm skin. The pain radiated through her body, fueling her adrenaline and she kicked him square in the chest, knocking him onto the floor. The crack of his head on the floor jarred his brain enough that he blinked in confusion for a moment.

"Loki, snap the fuck out of it!" He hoisted himself back onto his feet and charged. Delilah remained in a fighter's stance, fists up, aiming at anything she could reach while also avoiding his daggers. She managed another jab at his head and stomach, slowing him down. "What are you doing? Letting your mind being invaded by some mortal with some sick delusion of grandeur to get you to act for him? You know me–I’m your friend!" He faltered. "Since when do you obey anyone other than yourself?"

The dagger ready to fly towards her head dropped to his side as he considered. Lilah would have laughed if she wasn't in active danger– leave Loki's ego to save the day. If she could count on two things in the Universe, it was that the Sun would rise and Loki would think very highly of himself. She inched carefully towards him, his ghostly stare following her across the hallway, though his body remained unmoving. He was now within arm's reach. He didn't react when she touched his chest, her palm sliding up his front, winding up his neck and onto his cheek. There was the slightest change of pressure and she realized it was him barely pressing his jaw onto her palm out of instinct.

"God, I'm so sorry for this," she whispered as she reared back and decked him in the jaw so hard it made her whole arm ache. Loki raised a hand to his face and hissed, turning his eyes back on the panting woman for her to notice that his eyes were the seaglass green she was so familiar with. "Good to know this stone has the same design flaws as the other one."

It was a minute or two of quiet contemplation and confusion before Loki managed to return to the present. There was blood on her neck that he knew he was responsible for. The reality of the situation flooded him with a gasp and he threw his arms around her form and pulled her into his chest. "I nearly killed you. Oh, gods, I very nearly killed you."

"You're OK. Everything is OK." She whispered, carding her fingers through his hair as he panted. Delilah bridged the gap between them with her lips. She had nearly died and she would be damned if she dared feel guilty for indulging in a kiss. Not when he tasted like cinnamon from the pastries he hoarded in his rooms, spicy and familiar. He clung to her form, fists grabbing handfuls of her shirt as if she'd disappeared if he let go.

"You're bleeding. I– I… you're bleeding and I nearly–"

Lilah smiled through tears. "You didn't. Thankfully, you obey no one but yourself."

"No," he objected, vehemently. "It was you. No one but you." His mouth desperately searched for purchase on hers repeatedly, as if it were the only thing keeping him from breaking. And it may as well have been, for all either of them knew. "I'm so sorry."

"I know you are, Lo. And you can make it up to me later, but right now, maniac with a Mind Stone– what are we doing?"

"Running sounds like a champion idea," he said after a moment's hesitation.

"Loki–"

"I know, I know." He was silent before reluctantly loosening his grip on her with a sigh. He rubbed at the marks where his manacles had been with a conflicted look in his eyes. "I may have an idea."

Ten minutes later, he marched back into the basement, eyes glowing blue and tossed the bloodied, carved body that was once Delilah onto the floor before Dwyer's feet. He let out a chuckle, nudging her slack head with the toe of his boot. "Oh, that didn't end too good for her, did it? How'd it feel, Loki? Dispensing with the only person who would have given you a second, third, or millionth chance in the world? You really are just a snake in the grass." Loki stood still, shoulders squared and awaiting his next command. "You seemed to fawn after her, too. Did you like her?"

"More than anyone," he replied, mechanically and the villain laughed.

"Oh, that's even better! You've always been such a good pawn– for your parents, for Thanos, the Avengers, me. Now, before you make your exit, how about you leave your brother a little goodbye note. Make it poignant, OK?" Loki flourished his hands and a projection of him glimmered in pale blue light, moving as it spoke a pre-recorded message of revenge on humans and vengeance on his enemies. "Good boy. Now, put the shackles back on." Loki collected the metal manacles and slid them onto his wrists, feeling the instant relief of no magic in his veins to cloud his judgement. "Any last words?"

Loki smirked, the expression looking manic on his bloodied face. He sank slowly to his knees with one fist over his heart. "My Queen. Precisely on time." Dwyer turned, suddenly. At the door, Delilah stood, gun loaded and raised with Sam, Bucky, and a dozen SHIELD and STARK agents, in tow. The body on the floor had lost its glamour and turned into one of the black-clad intruders.

"You tried to trick the trickster god? How stupid are you? Really?" Bucky asked, weapon at the ready.

Dwyer cackled, hands raised in surrender. "This is cute. You think this was the big one? You haven't even seen the tip of the iceberg. How's your Doctor Strange doing?"

"I'll check in with Stephen– you rally these people up and destroy that stone replica." Delilah's gun lowered, clicking softly as she put the safety back on and sliding into the back of her trousers. "Lo?"

Loki shook the cobwebs out of his mind and offered her a weak smile. He felt heavy and confused. The short freedom from his shackles should have been a breath of fresh air, and it turned into the worst nightmare he had had in a long while. Not to mention there was the issue of his brother. He had never expected Thor to simply give up on him, much less without a needlessly emotional conversation beforehand.

"Are you OK?" Lilah looked worried and it was actually painful for him to see her bleeding by his blade and still worried about him, of all people– Loki of Asgard, a snake in the grass.

He nodded, his eyes falling to the ground. "Mind is a little muddled, is all."

Delilah offered him a sad smile. “How about we get you home?”She gestured with her head to the door. "Come on. I'll call Stephen on my way to yours."

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