#let's all just look at this moment and forget the horrific stuff that happened this episode ok

[josukkes]

What are you doing, Noé? Did you twist your ankle dancing?

#vnc #vanitas no carte #vanitas no shuki #the case study of vanitas #vncedit #anisource #noe archiviste #vanitas #dailyanime #let's all just look at this moment and forget the horrific stuff that happened this episode ok #look at the pretty colors no murder! #gifs #*

[amazingphilza]

twitchcon :: cc!multiple x reader

fluff , platonic , gender neutral ! some mcyt headcanons if you were to attend twitchcon w them

cc’s included in order: tommyinnit , tubbo , ranboo , wilbur soot , philza , technoblade

cw: kinda lengthy for the minors (i think), not as much for the hags LMAO /hj

tommyinnit

this man is so excited to be at his first twitchcon & being able to hang out with all his best friends makes it a hundred times better

when he isn’t at a panel or doing meet & greets, he’s dragging you everywhere to see the whole convention center (clingyinnit)

he is just so at awe despite this not being his first convention to attend

you’d be surprised he gets tired pretty quickly & stops over to the partner lounge

you both rest for a bit against a wall in a pretty packed hallway despite it being an exclusive area to twitch partners

every time a famous streamer walks by he will yell it out and record it then vlog your reaction, even if they’re surrounded with bodyguards & trying to get to another place quickly

he’d zoom in his camera to their face at a horrible angle and be like

“oh my god it is THE ninja. ninja famous fortnite player, HELLO.”

but he gets completely ignored

then the camera pans out to you, still really zoomed in that the capture is blurry

“ninjainnit?”

“EH?”

tommy is so confused, forgetting the bit ninja did on his twitter where he renamed himself ‘ninjainnit’ for a split second

okay tommy isn’t that athletic but he will chase you and the rest of your group down a hallway if he had to

he’d probably find a toy gun from the artist alley/seller booths and shoot you and wilbur with it

but if tommy stumbles across any of the dream team, it’s about to be minecraft manhunt but irl

and he will def play his stream music while walking or smth when he’s bored (or trying to jump dream & sapnap)

** DO DO DO DO MANHUNT MUSIC **

oh my god,, now thinking about it he’s probably the one to open like random doors of empty rooms and steal stuff while you film him

like he will take a random empty glass, a bunch of pens, a freebie t-shirt, everything he sees he takes with him and you’re just panic

“tommy we’re literally not supposed to be here, and i’m stuck here filming you. it’s surely a felony in action”

“well, it’s their fault for leaving the doors open! plus this is great content. who’s the dirty crime boy now, HM?”

you’d tell wilbur about this and he’d scold tommy and threaten him with the same pen tommy stole

tommy probably would also drag you some weird event happening outside twitchcon along with tubbo and ranboo

“pokimane is giving out free pizza to everyone if we go to this one restaurant down the street!”

“we are literally gonna get bombarded. have you forgot you’re like three of twitch’s top streamers? i’d rather pay for all of our meals than try getting free pizza from pokimane against all her other fans”

“DEAL! let’s go to five guys then!”

you unfortunately end up paying for all 3 of their meals and picking on their food instead of buying your own

even with all of them making way more money than you, they still happen to be cheapskates

OR tommy will end up getting a burrito from a taco truck, immediately making a mess of himself, then proceed to complain how messy the food is to eat despite knowing what he was getting himself into before even ordering

“shit my clothes are all ruined now!”

“well that’s your fault you got a burrito, as if it’s your first time having one”

“i mean the food is good, i’m not complaining about that but i don’t think it’s that good that it’s worth costing my red and white shirt, im just saying”

tubbo

same with tommy, he is so excited

i don’t know why but i imagine him overpacking his suitcase and you making fun of him for it

anyway tubbo has his irl backpack on and streaming EVERYTHING

probably spends a lot of time at a bunch of different booths, checking out all the pointless gadgets he could buy for his stream

you’re the one to stop him from doing so

“TUBBO IT’S LITERALLY OVER TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS, STOP. DONT GET IT.”

“WHY NOT?? IT WILL BE COOL FOR MY STREAM AND I WILL USE IT EVERYDAY”

“okay theoretically speaking, how the hell are you going to even bring it home? which—let me remind you—is across the country for you and not to mention the giant ocean separating america and the uk”

“free ship-pang!!!”

“i hate to break it to you tubbo but there is no way you can get free shipping on a FIVE FOOT PC. it’s nearly as tall as you! what are you even gonna do on it, hack the government???”

the arguments are all lighthearted but eventually you give in and let him splurge over a thousand dollars in different devices he claimed he “needed”

i could honestly see him visiting the beaches in san diego and going for a swim or even renting out a boat to use for a bit :D

also he’d bring benson along with him and taking a bunch of scenic photos with it in them

i have a feeling he’s the type to schedule a spontaneous meet & greet because he was bored & gets in trouble for causing a mob in a certain part of the convention

he’s like “oh god, i did not expect this many of the bois to show up AHAHAH oops”

tubbo would def pull a lilypichu and bring his melodica or ukulele and play themes while following random people/cosplayers

at the end of the day, you’d find his bag just stuffed with crap he either got for free or bought in the convention

“how did you get all that stuff? i was with you all day??? and it’s only the first day of the convention, hello?? it looks like you’ve been collecting as if twitchcon has went on for a week already!”

“HA i have my ways, do not underestimate my powers”

lani would probably tag along for the vacation honestly

like whenever someone comes up to her giving her gifts/asking for pics, you and tubbo would tease her about how famous she is

and i dunno but something about tubbo just gives me this amusement park energy and going to legoland and spending the whole day there since it’s near by and because he can

ranboo

he is like a beacon in a sea of people, that’s it .

i honestly just see him causing as much chaos as the other two

ranboo would probably like take someone’s camera whether if they’re streaming or if it’s for the vlog, hold it up high, and point the camera directly above someone’s face

it did not matter how tall you were and if you had platform shoes on, ranboo was a skyscraper next to you

“HAHAH this is how i see you from this height, this is funny”

then he shows you the vid of the recording of him getting like an aerial view of your face

like you see your nose and all your pores and just overall a bad angle to be captured in

“OH GOD RANBOO DELETE THAT, ITS HORRIFIC”

i dunno why but i feel like he’d jump scare every person that was cosplaying as his minecraft character from behind for some reason

“BOO!”

“ranboo i’m not even remotely dressed as your skin—”

“don’t worry i’m practicing it’s fineee”

“you’re like the height of 2 people combined, i think you will be fine as is. you even intimidated the security at the front”

i feel like if he had his own panel he’d like pull up some undertale song in the middle of it and scare all the people in the crowd

“lore but in real life”

probably would get some matching keepsake with you from artist alley/the booths!

i could imagine like a cute keychain or smth :D

i feel like he’s the type to like randomly volunteer as a participant for those mini events in a booth thinking it would be funny but regrets it the moment he’s on stage

after introductions the presenter is like “okay ranboo, you will be given a random meme prompt above your head you won’t be able to see until after and you will have to make a random face to compliment it!”

and you can just tell by his facial expression he’s just thinking

oh god what have i gotten myself into

what is this game? who came up with this idea?

you’d laugh at him the whole time, even after he’s off the stage and finished with that small fiasco

“that was horrible. never again.”

“AHAHAH IT LOOKED SO AWKWARD YOU DID GREAT”

“I CROSSED MY EYES AND PUFFED MY CHEEKS BECAUSE I COULDNT THINK OF ANY OTHER FACIAL EXPRESSION. THE PROMPT ENDING UP BEING ‘WHEN TWITTER CANCELS YOU FOR USING PLASTIC STRAWS.’ AND WHEN I SAW WHAT IT WAS—LITERALLY WHAT KIND OF GAME–”

“I GOT PICTURES AND EVERYTHING ITS PERFECT AHAHAHAH”

wilbur soot

honestly with wilbur it’s slightly more chill

he already experienced twitchcon before so he’s just glad to see his friends again after so long

insists that you explore the convention yourself rather than sticking with him the whole time but you do anyway!

wilbur would probably have like a mini concert and gets you front row seats with the rest of the group

but that doesn’t mean before it that you’re not helping him set up

“y/n please– my amp is so heavy, i can carry it”

“don’t worry! i’m strong” :D

and musically talented or not, he will probably bring you and the rest of his friends up to stage to just vibe and sing a bunch of random acoustic songs

it’s not like some big concert hall stage,, i imagine more like a casual thing w a slightly higher platform from the ground yk?

after spending a long day at the convention he’d also bring everyone across the city to la jolla or smth !

you’d all probably have dinner there and chill, watching the pretty sunset

“this place is really pretty but oh my god im gonna lose my breath hiking up this stupid hill, please slow down”

and wilbur is like ??? because he’s completely fine with his long legs and everything

“just walk faster”

“no, you walk slower”

AHAHAH and for context traversing through la jolla by walking around the town is a bit hard since it’s basically on a bunch of hills (walking up from the beach to a restaurant actually is actually sm work, trust me ive been there)

wilbur honestly doesn’t spend that much time in the actual convention center, he’s probably sightseeing a bit of san diego with you instead

but i could imagine him staying at the tabletop games area playing dnd or smth

“c’mon y/n, come join!”

“uhh i’m not sure, i’m not the best at roleplay and...”

“it’s fine don’t worry!”

he’d pull you in with him and end up enjoying yourself even if it was your first time

and if you’re of age, you’d be wilbur’s +1 at the twitch partner party and make sure mans doesn’t too drunk

if it’s not too late in the night, you two would chill at the beach after the party

it’s just a nice, calming moment after all the loud music mixed with hundreds of conversations at the party

also something about like taking polaroids pictures with wilbur just seems to go hand in hand for me

i’m not sure why but you will be taking lots of pics with wilbur for sure (not necessarily you both in the photo, but of sceneries as well while you’re together!)

philza

literally a dad on vacation with his children, it doesn’t matter how old you are

need sunscreen? surprisingly has it

want a snack? probably has a small granola bar somewhere in his bag

but same with wilbur, he’s more chill like this isn’t his first time at twitchcon

omg he’d def bring you to the artist alley and just buy a bunch of fanart and stuff tho

“oh wow look phil, someone made a giant poster of the dream smp and shit!”

“holy shit that’s so good what the fuck!”

and he’s like rushing to that artist’s stall to buy a poster or print

idk why but phil seems like the person to know where he’s going all over the convention center

he probably had a copy of the directory map but yk

you just have trouble reading it bc all the signs seem to be misleading to you

nothing really crazy screams out to me of what phil would do at twitchcon besides like go to a few events, spend a bunch of time w his friends, etc

HOWEVER i could see him wasting a lot of his time at the gaming area and testing new games that are currently on the works of being developed

like “woah y/n, this vr game is sick, you should try it out!”

ngl i feel like phil would plan a visit to disneyland for everyone, like he gets the tickets and everything but once you’re at the park it’s free reign, y’all go everywhere with not much of a plan

the minors would try to cheap out phil and pay less than the others even though everyone else fully paid phil back and everything LMAO

ok but if he’s feeling nice, phil will buy everyone cotton candy/pretzels :D

and if you’re not hungry, he’d at least get you a mickey balloon

HE WILL HAVE MATCHING MICKEY EARS WITH MUMZA YES .

ALSO STAYING FOR THE FIREWORKS THOUGH OMG

just in general, best idea phil had for taking everyone to disneyland :D

technoblade

surprisingly techno is really calm despite this being like one of his first conventions

but when he finally settles in and gets comfortable, he’s showing the same energy

if you’re playfully yelling, he will yell back

however there’s still those awkward moments that are unavoidable

idk why but something about him makes me think that if you feel tired and want to go back to your hotel room, he’d go with you just to make sure you get there safe

he probably also needs a break from being around everyone else for a moment too LMAO

i could also see him searching far and wide in the artist alley for fanart of himself AHAHAH

walking around with him in the convention consists of someone yelling “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD” every 5 minutes but you don’t really mind

something about him makes me think he’ll be forced into playing minecraft twitch rivals along with the rest of sbi or smth

and he’s like “oh god, i’m going to be on stage? and people will see my face while i play minecraft?”

“i’m sure it will be fun!”

“i mean i like being competitive and feeding my ego, but i’m not that desperate.. well”

do i imagine techno getting easily tired of being surrounded by a bunch of people and just going back to his hotel room with phil and watching some anime with him? yes

and will you watch even if you have no idea what’s going on? also yes

i feel like after a while of you guys hanging out in techno’s room, the rest of the gang will just slowly join you guys

like eventually everyone is there; you, techno, phil, wilbur, niki, tommy, tubbo, ranboo, etc

and techno is like “wha– where did you guys come from?” because his room is basically packed

and niki could be like “oh we can go if you want!”

then techno just insists that she’s fine “but who let the child get in?” clearly implying tommy’s presence

“OI!!”

eventually techno gives in with the company and someone gets a bunch of board games to play from the front desk

lots of yelling and laughing for sure

when it becomes late at night, techno is like half conscious, you’re on your phone, wilbur is staring out the window & enjoying the night view, tommy is passed out on the couch from tiredness, tubbo & ranboo is still wide awake quietly talking, and phil & niki are helping clean up the giant mess

eventually everyone brings themselves to go back to their own room except tommy who won’t budge

you give techno a look and he immediately understands what you were thinking

he rushes to the bathroom to fill up two cups with ice cold water and handed one to you

“on three?”

“okay.. one”

“two”

“three!”

then both of you pour the water on the poor child’s face

he jolts awake and saying a string of curses

“what the fuck techno? y/n too?”

“get out” is the only think techno says that before tommy rushes out with his stuff and you leave right after

a/n: i honestly can’t wait until conventions open up again though,, phil and ranboo were talking about vidcon earlier and omg.

also i kinda want to take in tommy requests but i’m not sure??? it would be both cc! and c! x gn!reader for sure tho. i love writing him to bits but who knows, maybe i’ll only stick to my ideas,, or not. send in a tommy x reader request, might do it, might not, but he’s my fav cc if you can’t tell so! :D (i dunno if i will keep it strictly platonic, but unrequited crushes and stuff are fun to write hehe,,)

edit: let’s hope i fixed all the grammar mistakes LMAO we love writing late at night :) /s /hj

#tommyinnit #tubbo #ranboo #wilbur soot #technoblade #philza #dream smp #sbi #dsmp #mcyt #dream smp imagines #dream smp x reader #dream smp x you #dream smp x y/n #dream smp headcannon #sbi imagine #sbi x reader #sbi headcanons #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #mcyt x y/n #mcyt headcanons

[bucks-metal-arm19]

Nightmares and Love-Making

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Daddy kink, talk of nightmares, cursing, voyeurism, dirty talk, face sitting, squirting, slight praise kink, slight degradation, unprotected sex, let me know if I missed anything! 

18+ only!

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Welcome to my first Bucky Barnes one-shot! This stems from the fact that I couldn't find the smut I wanted so I just wrote it myself. I hope you like it! As always, it isn't looked over so all mistakes are my own :)

You caught him at a bad time- in the middle of what seemed to be a horrific nightmare as he slept on his makeshift bed on the floor. You knew he couldn't sleep in his normal bed in his normal bedroom, and you knew that the king-sized mattress was still adorned with the solid black fabric set you had gotten for him as his first official birthday present. He told you, one night as the two of you escaped to the roof of Stark tower, that the bed made him feel like he was getting swallowed alive. He was used to sleeping on a solid floor, with the thinnest blanket one could find and so that's what he did at his own home. home- he was still getting used to even having a home. 

“Buck? Bucky, wake up! It’s a dream, just a dream! JAMES, WAKE UP!” You hollered, having dropped your stuff at the door and running to collapse on your knees next to the man as you urged him to wake up. 

“Wh-what? J-just a dream?” He had finally quit shaking, and became coherent enough to realize that he was no longer at the HYDRA base, and was, in fact, in his own apartment with you holding him close to your chest. 

“Yes, just a dream. I promise, you’re okay.” His fingers were clutching the arm you had draped across his midsection and you knew that his vibranium fingers would be leaving imprints on your skin for you to wear for the coming week. 

“I thought...I thought...they had taken you. Hurt you. And I couldn't stop them. Could hear you screaming for me and I was powerless to fight all of them off. I couldn't...I couldn't save you.” He was sobbing, moans of a broken man being screamed into your skin as he clutched you like a lifeline. Your heart broke as you held him, quietly cooing and stroking his hair as you waited for him to come back to you. 

It didn't happen though; instead, his body steeled in a form of mental resolve and suddenly you were under him. Your back was laid flat against the cold wood of the floor and your hands were pinned above your head. You didn't even have time to gasp audibly as he nudged your thighs apart and settled between them so that they had to wrap around his waist. You wanted to fear him, could feel your mind racing to find ways to get out from his grasp, but you were curious to see what would happen with this new side of Bucky. Almost feral with the way that he was panting, eyes darker than coal as he stared you down like you were his prey. 

“You will not be taken from me, you are mine. Do you hear me? No one will ever take you from me.” Bucky’s voice had dropped ten octaves between words, and you would be lying if you said that it did not make your heart skip a beat in anticipation. 

“I’m yours, Buck. Forever.” You promised, licking your lips that had suddenly become dry. 

“Say it again.” He growled, deep in his chest, as he leaned down to nuzzle against your collarbone and breathe in your scent. 

Your head fell back in submission, allowing him to press feather-light kisses and bruising bites against your throat as you murmured, “I’m yours, Bucky Barnes. Always.” 

“Yes, you are, sweetheart.” He had you flipped to your stomach in a second, with your arms still above your head.

“What are you gonna do to me, Buck?” You whispered, but you knew that he could hear you. 

“I’m going to ruin you, princess. Gonna absolutely fuckin’ ravish you until the only words you know are ‘please’ and ‘daddy.’ Gonna make you cum on my cock until you're crying, oversensitive, and begging me to stop. But you’re a good girl, my good girl, and you’ll take all of it until I fill you full of my cum. Then I’m going to run you a warm bath in my tub and I’m going to take care of you. Nurse your aches and lotion your bruises and then cradle you in my arms as we both drift to sleep. Does that sound good to you?” You can hear the cheekiness in his tone, but it’s laced with authority and you knew better than to deny him. Besides, everything he just said sounded wonderful and so you nodded your agreement. 

“Words, princess. Use them.” He ordered, the grip on your wrists tightening in warning. 

“Yes, Daddy.” You obliged, and the dark chuckle that erupted from his throat held a sinful promise. 

“Wonderful.” That old-time drawl curled around the single word and suddenly you were resting on your elbows with your ass in the air. 

Your stomach clenched and you could feel your pussy pulsate as arousal began to collect in your panties. Buck was still draped over your back, and he was rubbing his growing erection over the fabric of his cotton sweats while he contemplated what he wanted to do to you first. It was only a moment, but the single beat of a second was all he needed before he had your jeans around your ankles and had settled on his back between your spread thighs. 

“What are yo-” you began to question, but the words were cut off as each of his ten fingers wrapped around hips and he yanked you down so that his mouth and nose were buried within your cloth-covered cunt. 

You heard him take a deep inhale through his nose and he let out the filthiest, bone-melting groan that you had ever heard him utter. Your nipples pebbled instantly beneath your lace bra and your eyes fluttered closed as you heard him chuckle once more. 

“God, you smell fuckin’ delicious, kitten. All wet and warm, just for me.” His nose nudged against your swollen clit as he licked a broad stripe up over your slit once and then again before using his teeth to yank the sodden fabric to the side so he could taste you properly. 

A shudder wracked through your body from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes as he continued his licks, collecting all of your wetness on his tongue and fucking his tongue into your leaking hole as his nose connected to rub up against your sensitive clit. 

“Oh fuck, Bucky. Christ.” You whined, rocking your hips against his face without meaning to but the way he was gripping your hips and tugging you closer told you that he didn't mind the possibility of suffocation. 

“Can't wait to be buried inside this tight, sweet cunt.” Buck snarled, using the hold he had on you to flip you onto your back. He thought ahead- as always- and made sure that your head would be safe as it fell against his pile of pillows on the floor. 

“Then bury yourself, Daddy. Fuck me.” You husked out, pupils blown wide in lust and adoration as you continued to fuck yourself onto his tongue. 

“Not yet, doll. Want you to cum on my face first. Damn near suffocate between these gorgeous thighs.” He ordered, eyes blazing as he gazed at you from between your legs. 

“Okay, Daddy.” You nodded, fingers clutching and clawing at your still-covered tits while you chased the high building inside your body. 

White-hot heat began radiating from your fingers first, and then your limbs, and then from every inch of your body as you threw yourself over the edge of your orgasm and came undone as you rode Buck’s face like it was the best thing you had ever experienced. And it was- each orgasm he gave you always outdid the last. 

“You’re so beautiful when you come, kitten. But you’re not done yet.” Buck finally managed to say as he untangled himself from your jeans and clenching thighs so he was standing before you in all of his glory. 

“Are you gonna fuck me now, Daddy? Gonna use your cock and fill me up so I can help you forget all your worries?” You grinned up at him, still panting as you came down from your first orgasm of the night.

“Yes, princess. I am.” His tone held no malice, and his eyes were watching you with lustful enjoyment as he mentally cataloged the image of you like this to his brain. 

“Then fuck me, already.” You taunted, leaning up just enough to yank your shirt over your head and then followed it with your bralette so you were finally bare beneath him. 

“You don't make the orders, you take them. Do NOT forget that.” The mirth that had overtaken him left suddenly and he was back on you in a second, sweats gone as he pinned you to the floor with no exertion given on his part. 

“Yes, Daddy.” You nodded, grinning as if you had won the lottery as your legs wrapped around Bucky’s waist once more. 

“Now you’re gonna take my cock, kitten. It’s what you wanted, right?” He was back to nosing against your neck, as if the past ten minutes had not just occurred. 

“If you think you can do it.” You taunted once more, ankles digging into the skin right above the base of his spine so you could rut against him like a dog in heat, absolutely no shame in your body as you used him for the friction you needed to get off. 

“Is that how you want to play it? Fine.” He shrugged, as if you had just spoken about the weather, but the single motion he used had you back on your hands and knees in an instant. 

“I don't think I can do it.” Buck began to speak as he kicked your legs apart once more, metal hand pressing down on the small of your back so the arch you held deepened and you were presented to him like an offering. 

“I know I can.” And he slid inside you to the hilt, a single thrust that glided through your folds like butter and all thanks to the spit and arousal he created as he had eaten you out like his last meal. 

Your mind blanked in an instant and a groan ripped out of your throat that sounded foreign to your own ears but sounded like the best kind of music to Bucky. You collapsed to your elbows, head falling to rest against the single blanket that Buck slept with when you weren't here. 

“Ah, ah- no, you don't.” Bucky tutted between his teeth, flesh hand reaching forward to grab a fistful of your hair and wrap it around his fingers before pulling back so you were back onto your hands and could watch him through the mirror that sat adjacent from you. 

“Look at you, kitten. Covered in hickies and bruises and panting like a whore in heat. And yet, you’re taking my cock so well. So fuckin’ tight and WARM, just like the first time we had sex. Your pretty pussy, stretching around my thick cock as I fuck you into oblivion. Absolutely ravishing.” Bucky always got mouthy when he was lost in your shared passion, and it did things to you that you couldn't explain. 

“Keep your eyes on me while I make you fall apart.” He ordered, using the grip he had on your hip and the hold he had of your hair to fuck you like his life depended on it. 

“Yes, Sarge.” You grinned wickedly as you saw his lips turn up into a leer, knowing full-well what that name did to him. 

“Call me that again.” Bucky growled, letting go over your hair so he could lean forward over your frame to get a hand between your thighs to rub against your still swollen, sensitive clit. 

“Make me cum, Sergeant Barnes. Please.” You tacked on the last word for good measure, already feeling the familiar tendrils of heat curl around your lips and rush through your veins as he pounded into you with wild abandon. 

The clack clack clacking that his dog tags made against his chest after every move simply spurred him on, as if he was racing them for every thrust he made into your pussy, claiming it as his own. As if you ever even thought to let another man near it. He’d kill them before they even thought that they had a chance with you, and you both knew it. More often than not, he forgets that he’s even wearing them, but he knew that they were a kink of yours and he thanked every god he could think of that he wears them when he’s got you begging underneath him. Begging to cum, begging for harder, begging for faster, begging for Daddy to make her forget her own name while he buries himself inside her. Begging to be used and degraded and taunted and shown off like a prize that only he gets to win. Every moment of every minute of every day, from the moment they met until the end of time. And he loved every single damn second of it.

He was grunting, groaning, panting, cursing every word under the Sun as he rubbed tight circles into your wet clit while he sheathed himself inside you over and over and ov-, “FUCK!”

You came without warning, the damn bursting inside your pussy as you fell to your elbows once more while absolutely drenching his cock as you squirted for the first time. Shudders were wracking your body as you cursed and moaned and whined out Bucky’s name, vision turning black as you lost all sense of time during your orgasm. Your cunt turned into a vice on Bucky’s cock and it made him see God as he gave you one, two, three strokes before burying himself deep inside you and cumming in thick ropes across your hot, tight walls. 

He fell on top of you, losing all muscle usage as pleasure roared through his body like he had never experienced before. He had enough sense to cushion you from the force of his body, but that was all he could offer as he rode out the waves of the most intense orgasm of his life. You managed to come to your senses first, and gently pulled away from Bucky so he could begin to come to his own bearings. 

“That was...that was...wow.” You mumbled, vision still blurry as you threatened to pass out from too much mental and physical stimulus all at once. 

“Well, it’s not begging but it is a nice Segway. Ready for that bath?” Bucky was able to stitch together a coherent sentence faster than you thought he would and you couldn't help but laugh in both amusement and amazement that this wonderful man was all yours. Even if he did fuck you senseless. Literally. 

“I love you, Bucky Barnes. Always.”

#bucky x you #bucky fic #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns x you #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #winter soldier #winter solider smut #dom bucky #marvel smut #bucky barnes one shot

[mochegato]

Even the Losers

Chapter 6

Chapter 1     Chapter 5

Marinette collapsed onto the barstool and immediately motioned to the bartender, ordering a drink before Adrien had even sat down. She downed the drink as soon as it came and motioned for another.  The bartender raised an eyebrow at her.  “Want me to just leave the bottle?”

“Yes,” Marinette answered gratefully with a bright smile.

“No,” Adrien answered over her.  “Just another drink for now and a water for me, please.” The bartender looked between the two of them, waiting for her response to his interruption.  Marinette pouted and slumped in her stool, but didn’t counter him so the bartender nodded and left to pour the drinks.

“Leaving the bottle would be easier,” she commented, slightly annoyed.

“And more dangerous,” he warned.  Marinette rolled her eyes and looked away.  It wasn’t that she disagreed.  She knew it was stupid.  She knew she shouldn’t drink until she blacked out.  She knew it wasn’t safe, especially in Gotham.  But honestly, she didn’t care.  The entire day had been a clusterfuck of dark thoughts and tears, after their meeting with M. Fox, and now she just wanted to forget… everything.  She wanted to forget her day.  She wanted to forget the last twenty odd years.  She wanted to forget her feelings.  She wanted to forget how to feel.  She wanted to forget how to think.

“You might want to try something else,” Adrien tried instead.  If self-preservation wasn’t going to get through to her, maybe he could use her self-destruction against her.  “If you get the bottle, you’re committed to that liquor.  If you just go by the glass, you can try different ones.”

Marinette looked at him from the corner of her eye, knowing exactly what he was doing but unable to fault his logic.  Instead she propped her elbows on the bar and buried her face in her hands.  She mumbled a thank you to the bartender when she heard him set her drink in front of her but groaned when she heard someone sit on the stool next to her.  There were plenty of open seats around the room, plenty of seats at the bar, if that’s where the person wanted to sit.  

The only reason for the person to sit so close was because they wanted to talk to her.  And while she would normally be polite and give the person a smile and maybe talk with them before turning them down, she was utterly, completely, and in all ways, not in the mood.  So, regardless of whether the person was there to hit on her or talk to her because she was a Wayne, she had no interest in any kind of a conversation.

She moved her hands just enough to clearly enunciate, “Not even remotely interested.  Move along, please.”

The man chuckled and leaned against the bar himself. “Good to hear it.  I'm pretty sure the Press would have a field day with that.”

Adrien scowled at the men who had taken the seat by them and wouldn’t take no for an answer.  “Hey, buddy, she said not interested.  Find someone else,” he growled threateningly.  

The man shook his head.  “I only have so many sisters and the others don’t drink. Well, not with me anyway.”  He motioned to the bartender.  “Actually, the only other sibling we have that can drink, besides Cass, is Dick and he is going to be absolutely insufferable for months over this, trying to make you feel welcome in the family.  So I’m avoiding him too.”

Marinette eased her head out of her hands to look at the man.  She immediately recognized him from the gala.  Jason Todd.  One of Bruce’s sons.  She narrowed her eyes at him.  What was he doing here?  How did he find her?  “You followed me here.”

Jason shook his head with a light chuckle.  He looked up as the bartender approached. “Hey Jay, Roy.  The usual?”

Jason nodded.  “Thanks, Jack.”  He waited for the bartender to retreat to pour the drinks before turning back to her. “If anything, you followed me here.”

Marinette scoffed and turned back to her drink.  “I was just looking for some place to get drunk and forget about the whole,” she motioned to him, “drama.”  She glared down at her purse.  “Lucky me.  I chose this bar.  Sorry for the accusation.”

Jason waved her off.  “No.  I get it. Paranoia is justified in this family.  Welcome to the family.  It doesn't get better.”

Marinette groaned and dropped her head into her hands again.  She motioned to the bartender as he brought Jason and Roy their drinks.  “What do you want?  Same?”

“I don't care.  Whatever you have and make it a double… please.  Is a triple a thing?”  Her eyes brightened at the idea.  Adrien motioned no behind her, his eyes pleading with the bartender.

Bartender nodded.  “Yes, ma'am.  Double it is.”

Adrien let out a relieved breath and turned to the boys.  “Hi.  I’m Adrien,” Adrien finally cut in after a few moments of awkward silence.

“Nice to meet you.  So you’re the one schtupping my sister.”  Jason reached out to shake his hand.

Marinette wrinkled her nose in confusion.  “Schtup?  What is schtup?”  She downed the last of her drink as she waited for them to respond.

“Screwing,” Roy answered.

Adrien choked on air and Marinette spit out the whiskey she had just drank.  Marinette glared at him and shot Jack an apologetic smile.  “Sorry about that.  This one and the next are on the asshole.”  The bartender looked to Jason with a laugh and nodded.

“It was just an observation,” Jason answered with a smirk.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Marinette grunted.

“That’s a tall order for Jason,” Roy grinned.

“He’s tall.  He can handle it,” Marinette snarked with a shrug.  She turned back to Jason.  “No.  No we are not stooping.”

“Schtupping,” Jason corrected.

“Stopping…” Marinette tried again.

“Sch…toooo…ping,” he corrected again, accentuating each sound for her.

Marinette blinked a few times at him.  “Screwing,” she finally finished with a decided nod.  Roy laughed hard.  “He’s my brother Adrien.  Adrien…”

“Her other brother, Jason.”  Jason finished for her.  Marinette narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t contradict him.  “And this is my partner, Roy,” Jason continued, motioning toward Roy who gave a short wave before taking another drink.

Marinette waved back at him.  She turned back to Jason.  “Partner… is that another word for screwing too?”  

Jason sputtered and narrowed his eyes at her, frustrated that he walked into that so easily, but Roy laughed loudly again.  “I like her.  New favorite sibling… don’t tell Cass… or Dick.”  He grinned charmingly at Marinette.  “But no.  Business partner.  Not currently schtupping anyone.”

Jason rounded on him and glared.  Roy looked back at him innocently.  “Yes?”

“No,” he said warningly.

“Are you another Wayne?” Marinette asked Roy.

“No?”  He stared at her for a few seconds before realization set in.  “No.  I hang out with them a lot.  Dick and I used to be on a team together so we were around each other constantly for a while there.  Our families used to be together a lot.  They feel like family sometimes.”  He grinned at her.  “But, no. Not in any way related to you.”

Marinette nodded and looked back at her drink.  At least that’s one person in Gotham her… M. Wayne hadn’t adopted after chucking her out.  Jason glared harder at Roy and punched his shoulder.  “Sister,” he hissed.

Roy grinned back.  “Yours, not mine.  We just established that.  Keep up.”

Jason narrowed his eyes even further before relaxing them as he turned back to Marinette.  “So, how are you handling… you know, everything?”

Marinette and Adrien both stared at him with deadpan expressions.  Marinette looked pointedly around the bar and her drink.  “Oh, you know… well.”  She kept eye contact with him as she downed the rest of her drink, wincing at the feeling. She looked down at her drink critically. “Why do I drink this stuff?  I hate it.”

“Maybe you should ease off then,” Adrien offered gently.

“No.  Fuck off. I want to get drunk,” she glowered back at him.  Roy chuckled and motioned to Jack for her.

Adrien sighed and raised his hands in defeat. “Okay.  Maybe something that tastes better then?”

Marinette cocked her head in consideration. “Okay.  Excuse me, M. bartender?  Can I get something that will get me very drunk very fast and taste better than this, please?”

Jack blinked at her a few times and looked over to Jason.  Roy laughed at her response while Jason shook his head.  “She’s had a rough day.  You got anything?”

Jack grunted and shook his head as he looked around. “I’ll look.”

“Thank you, M. bartender,” Marinette chirped at him. He waved her off without looking back at her.

“I think you came to the wrong bar if you’re looking for something other than the basics,” Roy mock whispered at her.

She leaned in closer, leaning past Jason to talk to Roy. “I came to get drunk and away from reporters and forget about all this,” she motioned toward Jason.  “I came to the wrong bar for more reasons than my liquor preference.”  

She suspiciously eyed the drink Jack put in front of her with a grunt, but plastered a smile on her face.  “Thank you.”  She tentatively took a sip and wrinkled her nose in disgust.  There was no way she was going to be able to drink this slowly.  The only solution was all at once.  She removed the tiny umbrella she was pretty sure he added to mock her and downed the drink like a shot.  She gasped at the horrific sensation.  Adrien just barely missed getting his water away from her before she grabbed it to get rid of the taste.

She handed the now empty glass back to Adrien and buried her head in her hands.  “Regretting your decision?” he asked with a smirk.  Served her right for stealing his water.

Marinette groaned into her hands and nodded.  After a few seconds she leaned back in her chair, eyes unfocused.  “I should never have come here.”

“Told you so,” Roy singsonged.  “Now there’s a different bar a few streets over you might like better…”  The rest of his sentence got cut off when Jason smacked his shoulder with the back of his hand.

Jason turned to Marinette with a sympathetic smile. “I often feel that way, but usually after a few more drinks.”

Marinette shook her head.  “I knew it was stupid to come.  I knew I shouldn’t have,” she groaned pitifully.  “I could feel something bad was going to happen, I just thought that was the part before we came not… not,” she motioned all around her. “God, I was so stupid.  I should have known I wouldn’t be able to just sneak in and out.”  She leaned her head on Adrien’s shoulder, fighting the tears.

“So why did you?” Jason asked as though he didn’t know.

She looked over at him for a second without raising her head from Adrien’s shoulder before closing her eyes again.  “Friend needed a job.  Was getting sc… schtuped by the hiring committee at WE and scouted by a few other places that I didn’t trust… I mean Lexcorp gets blown up less than Palmer but then he’d have to work for M. Luthor.  And, yeah, I don’t think so.  So that leaves your dad.”

“Our dad,” Jason corrected pointedly.

“So you thought you'd use your connections to get him a job and didn't think you would get noticed?” Roy asked not even bothering to hide his amusement at the apparent stupidity of the plan.  It wasn’t often he got to enjoy how laughably bad other people’s plans were.

“So,” she countered pointedly, looking directly at him, “I thought I’d use my charismatic personality to charm M. Fox into noticing him and let him know one of his scouts is poaching ideas.  You were never supposed to know I was here.”  She squeezed her eyes shut and let out another long sigh.

“But I was so stupid and now everyone knows and once they know...” she groaned and let her head drop onto the bar top with a resounding thud.  She popped her head up quickly and rubbed her head.  “Ewww.  It’s sticky. I don’t even want to know what caused that.”  She pulled some hand sanitizer out of her purse and wiped her forehead with it.

“You approached Lucius Fox with nothing more than charisma and got him to do what you asked?” Roy asked in amazement.

“And my brains, but…” she leaned closer to him as if passing on a secret, “I can be very charming when I want to be…”  She looked down at herself and frowned.  “When I’m not,” she motioned to herself, “you know. A mess.”

Roy smiled charmingly.  “I believe that.  Even when you aren’t trying.  And if this is you as a mess, normal you must blow people away.”

Marinette scoffed and turned back to her drink.  Jason waited until her attention was on her glass and shoved Roy hard enough to knock him off his chair.  Adrien raises an amused eyebrow at them before shaking his head and looking down.  Marinette looked over at the sound.  Her brow furrowed in concern.  Jason smiled casually and motioned to Roy.  “Too much to drink.”

Roy narrowed his eyes at him and rubbed his hip. “Overprotective much?” he grumbled quietly enough for Marinette not to hear.

Marinette turned back to her drink, noting it was awfully low.  She swirled the contents and nodded distractedly.  “Lucky.”

Roy bit his tongue as he climbed back onto the stool to stop from asking if she wants to be, because there's no way asking Jason’s new sister, in front of him, if she wants to get lucky, ends well for him.

“I’ll have whatever he had, please,” Marinette called out to the bartender, motioning toward Roy.

“So what now?” Jason asked.

“Now… fuck,” she whined.  She almost dropped her head on the bartop again but stopped herself just before actually making contact.  She eyed the surface suspiciously and whimpered instead.

Roy took a long drink to keep himself from talking because “Is that an invitation?” was not going to end well for him either and he was not looking to get a black eye out of tonight.  He frowned at his drink.  What was in his drink tonight?  He didn’t usually have this much trouble keeping his comments in check.

“I don’t know.  Now everything is…” she made a jumbled motion with her hands that almost caused her to fall out of her chair.  “I haven’t even…” she whimpered and eyed the bartop again before grabbing a napkin and setting it down in front of her.  She dropped her head onto the napkin with an audible thunk.

“You know your hair is still touching the counter,” Adrien mentioned with more amusement in his tone than Marinette appreciated.  Marinette groaned and sat back up.  She pulled her hair in front of her eyes to look for traces of gunk.  “She only found out about all this a few days ago and by then we were already on our way to the gala and in mission headspace so she hasn’t even had the chance to deal with it yet,” Adrien explained, keeping his eyes on Marinette.

“You didn’t know?” Roy asked incredulously.

“Nope,” Marinette responded popping the p and nodding in gratitude to the bartender for bringing her another drink and motioned for another.

“What the fuck?” Roy grunted.  “That’s messed up.  How did you find out?”

Marinette downed the entire glass.  “Heard my maman talking on the phone and distinctly heard ‘if you would like to actually meet your daughter…’ and she wasn’t speaking with my papa.  And I just…” she shrugged, staring at the empty glass like it might have an answer for her.  “… knew. I had a friend trace the call. And then I was here the next day and…”

“I think B was expecting more time to deal with it too,” Jason nodded along.

“He’s only had 20 years.  If that wasn’t enough, I may not live to when he finally has the time he needed,” Marinette groused.

“Twenty years,” Roy mused.  “Isn’t that when…” he trailed off and his eyes got wide realizing the timing of Dick’s adoption.

“I think he was planning on doing something soon,” Jason said louder than was necessary for their close proximity, leaning forward slightly to cover Roy.  “And being able to ease into it, slowly, making sure you… and Damian, weren’t too overwhelmed and you could move at your own pace,” Jason offered, fighting down the odd feeling defending Bruce left in his chest.

Marinette stared at him, swaying slightly in her seat. “Did you come here to drink or defend your dad?”

“Our dad,” he corrected.

“Because you seem to be doing a lot of one and not the other,” she continued as though he hadn’t said anything.  

Jason shrugged.  “Easy fix for that,” he said raising up his glass and finishing the contents.  “So… you staying around or what?”

Marinette whimpered again and eyed the bartop.  “I haven’t thought that through yet.  That wasn’t the plan, but then again getting found out wasn’t the plan.  Getting drunk tonight is now the plan.”  She looked over at the hoodie Roy had thrown over the back of his chair and back at the bartop.  “Can I…” she motioned toward the hoodie and reached for it at the same time.

“Oh, are you cold?  Yeah sure,” Roy almost fell out of his chair trying to get out of the way so he could hand the hoodie to her.  She gave him a weak smile and thanked him before spreading it out on the bartop and dropping her head audibly on it again.  She sighed almost happily as she let her head stay down on the bartop. Roy watched her in amused fascination and let out an amused huff.  “Not what I was expecting, but glad you’re getting use out of it, I guess…” he chortled.

“And do you always need to have a plan?” Jason asked curiously

Marinette and Adrien snorted in sync.  “Do you have a plan,” Marinette mocked, raising her head purely so she could take another drink, but decided to keep it up to educate them. Jason looked over to Roy to see if he was as confused as Jason was.  “I have lots of plans,” Marinette continued swinging her glass around to accentuate her words.  

“I have plans.  I have contingency plans.  I have backup plans.  I have plans for plans,” she started listing off on her fingers.  She looked at her hands accusingly as she ran out of fingers and almost dropped her drink.  She set down her drink with a frown and continued counting off her plans.

“I have plans to back up backup plans.  I have plans for contingencies that the contingency plans didn’t cover.  I have plans for when things go sideways.  I have plans for when things go to shit.  I have plans for when things go exactly to plan,” She leaned over to them. “I’ve never once gotten to use one of those.  I have life plans.  I have death plans.  I have future plans.”

“That’s a lot of plans,” Roy noted, fascination laced his voice. “Any of them turn out for you?”

“No!”  She threw her hands up in exasperation.  “And then I have to make a new plan on the fly.”

“Sounds familiar,” Jason grumbled.

“If all your plans get destroyed before you can complete them, why bother making them at all?” Roy asked.

Marinette brought the fingers together in front of her face and stared at it as though she were holding something precious.  “It’s all about the illusion.”

Roy snorted and nodded.  “She’ll fit in.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes at Roy.  “Is that an insult?”

Jason laughed and Adrien dropped his head into his hands.  “Jesus, Mari,” he groaned.

She scrunched her nose at him.  “What?  He said I’d fit well with M. Wayne.”

“I meant his kids,” Roy assured her.

“Oh…” Marinette answered sheepishly.  “Sorry.”

Roy waved her off.  “Nah. It’s okay.  I get it.  I meant you’re smart, sassy,” he eyed her with an amused glint in his eyes, “short…”

Marinette rounded on him, mouth agape in insult.  She quickly closed her mouth and glared at him.  “Not too short to kick your ass.”

Roy laughed and grinned at her.  “Violent.”

Marinette scrunched up her nose and turned back to her drink. “Not like I’m out there every night beating people up.”  She took a swig of her drink, missing the glance Jason and Roy sent each other before looking back at her for any indication she had meant something more by it. “Anymore…” she muttered under her breath just loud enough for Adrien’s sensitive ears to hear it.

“But,” Adrien cut in.  He motioned toward Jason.  “Short?”

“Yeah,” Roy granted, “Jason’s the exception to the short part.”

“Damian’s the exception to the sassy part,” Jason added.

“Who’s the exception to the smart part?” Marinette asked.

“Dick,” Jason and Roy answered at the same time.

“Who’s the exception to the violent part?” Adrien asked, concern edging into his voice, because that wasn’t exactly a comforting quality to be associated with Marinette’s new family.  

Jason scoffed at the idea of any of them not being violent.  “We were hoping it was going to be her,” he motioned toward Marinette.

“But, nope,” Roy finished, popping the p.  “I mean Duke isn’t particularly violent.  He can protect himself but, like, he’s chill about it.”  Roy eyed Marinette analytically.  “Maybe you can be the exception to the emotional car crash part,” he offered.

Marinette snorted inelegantly, took a swig of her drink, and looked back at him.  “That wasn’t on the list.”

Adrien leaned past her to look at the boys.  “She wouldn’t be the exception.  She’d be leading the pack.”

Marinette shoved his shoulder.  “Like you’re any better.”

Adrien raised his glass to her.  “Never said I was, Bug.”  He eyed his glass with contempt.  “You know, this would be a lot more effective if there was alcohol in here.”

Jason ordered another round for them and raised his glass to Marinette when the drinks came.  “Well, at least now I know why you were completely uninterested at the gala. Because I'm your brother.”

Marinette scowled slightly and hunched over her drink at the bar.  “Not my brother.”

Jason looked at her curiously, a frown forming on his lips before a hurt look flashed in his eyes.  Almost immediately, the hurt turned into annoyance.  He pressed his lips together hard.  “Right, another blood child.  Another kid that thinks only blood matters. So adoption doesn't count?”

Marinette furrowed her brow in confusion. She faced toward him and pointed toward herself.  “Given away and never contacted again doesn't count.  You he cared for.  You he wanted.  You're his son, but I am not his daughter.”

Jason’s eyes softened looking at her and he nodded in understanding.  Feeling unwanted, he understood.  Feeling abandoned, he understood.  Feeling like you weren’t considered good enough, he understood.  Feeling replaced, he understood.  And the fact that Bruce had made someone else feel that too, that it wasn’t just him, pissed Jason off more than he could express.  He didn’t even bother reacting when Roy punched his shoulder.  “Maybe not. But you're still my sister,” he assured her.  “I want you.”

Marinette scoffed.  “You don’t even know me.”  Adrien gently bumped her shoulder with his and gave her a gentle warning look.

“I know you better than he did,” Jason reminded her calmly.  “I have more to base my decision on than he did, and I know enough to know you’re my sister and nobody can change that.”  He gave her a devilish smile.  “You’re stuck with me now.  Fuck the old man.  He did this to himself.”

“And,” Roy interrupted excitedly.  He raised his drink for her to clink.  “Now you get to be an official member of the Shitty Dad Club.”

“Oh,” Adrien perked up.  “Can I be a member of that club?”

Roy eyed him suspiciously.  “What are your qualifications?”

“Neglect, severe emotional abuse, and he was a supervillain who tried to kill me regularly,” Adrien rattled off nonchalantly.

Roy blinked a few times.  He looked to Marinette for confirmation.  She nodded almost imperceptibly.  He turned back to Adrien and raised his drink.  “Right.  Welcome to the club.  We meet whenever there are drinks.  We should get you one.  You deserve it.”

Chapter 7

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#maribat #bio!dad bruce #bio dad bruce wayne #roynette #Even the Losers #mbdbwm2021 #prompt - overprotection

[stxleslyds]

LET’S TALK ABOUT BATMAN AND ROBIN #20 (2011).

And the issues that followed that story (Batman and Robin vol.2 #34-37)

DC and the fandom really let Bruce get away with what he did to Jason in that issue. DC because they had Jason go back to Bruce a few issues later to finish their story and the fandom because this moment in comics isn’t talked about enough which has led people to believe that the the concept of “batfamily” as it is in fandom belongs in canon.

This type of moments in stories should make a bigger impact on comic relationships and fandom’s perception of said relationships. From where I am standing Bruce’s actions in that issue are right on the edge of unforgivable and they could have used them as a key moment for Jason to finally move on from all Bat related bullshit without thinking that he had to stay and finish the job (of getting Damian back).

Making Jason move on so easily from that situation really makes it look like if Batman is physically, emotionally, or mentally abusive to his children then it’s not that much of a big deal, it’s just a subplot to a bigger story.

And that is something that happens repeatedly in current comics and it’s disgusting.

Anyway, now that I am done with my rambling, I will start talking about the issues that I mentioned.

Batman and Robin (2011) #20 – Written by Peter Tomasi.

For a little context, this issue is set after Damian’s death and Bruce is looking for ways to resurrect him.

And in this particular issue of this run, Batman recruits Jason Todd between the events of RHatO vol. 1 #18 and #19, that’s why in the cover of the issue the name of the run is changed to ‘Batman and Red Hood’.

A bit more context is that in issue #18 Jason finally recovers from the injuries that he got when the trap that Joker had put on his helmet detonated, and Jason was also having an existential crisis after the Joker convinced him that he was always present in Jason’s life and that he shaped the man that Jason had become (If you want to read more about that and the times' Joker has played with Jason’s mind, I have this post in which I talk all about that).

Good, now I can finally talk about this hellish issue.

Bruce asks for Jason’s help because he wants to take down some marksmen and women that are based in Ethiopia that might or might not have been the same people who took on the job of looking for Damian when his mother had put a bounty on his head.

One would imagine that Bruce calling Jason for this job means that he would let Jason kill some people, bounty-hunters that are money-driven enough to kill children seem to be the kind of people Jason would have in his black list, but Jason is smart and he knows that Batman won’t let him kill so he asks why is Bruce asking him of all people to join him on this mission, Batman replies with “Because I am seeing red”.

If you, like me, don’t understand why Batman would ask the Red Hood to stop him from killing some very shady people then don’t worry, Batman was lying, he didn’t ask Jason to go with him to beat some bounty-hunters, he has ulterior motives.

I will give it to Tomasi, he wrote Jason as the smart cookie that he is because Jason doesn’t stop picking up on the weird technicalities of the mission, and I will go as far as to say that Jason never truly believed that Bruce was being honest about the true nature of their mission. Smart Chonky, I miss you and love you.

Once they get to Ethiopia Bruce starts setting the rules of engagement (don’t shoot to kill, only hands, knees, and elbows), and off they go. Bruce even makes a comment about how it “feels like old times” and Jason is all happy and warm that Bruce invited him to beat some baddies and he also brings up the fact that Bruce stayed by his side while he was recovering from his injuries, very lovely stuff that will soon mean nothing (and that should have meant nothing because Bruce and his lies had resulted in Joker knowing all of their secret identities and messing with all of them in horrible ways, but the Bat can get away with that too).

Here is part of Bruce’s speech about trust and his lies, “You don’t ever need to thank me, Red Hood, for a family always looks out for each other” to which Jason says, “Yeah but a family also needs to earn each other’s trust” and Bruce continues his speech with, “comes a time when having to keep earning someone’s trust stops and you hope the people you’ve put your faith in will always have your back no matter what”.

Batman, everyone, master detective and master manipulator.

As Batman is talking manipulating Jason he beats every bounty hunter almost effortlessly because he had brought some bat-gadgets that were going to make the fight really easy. And as the fight is over in what looks like a minute Batman and Red Hood get on the Batmobile ready to leave Ethiopia… or not.

Jason is very aware that Batman didn’t need him for that so-called mission so he starts to ask more and more firmly about the real reason as to why Batman brought him to this place.

Batman brought Jason back to Ethiopia, but most importantly back to the Magdala Valley because he wants to see if Jason going back to the place where he died will make him remember how he was resurrected.

Yep, talk about having messed-up parents. Bruce is positively the worst at this moment, but it gets worse.

Jason is rightfully pissed off, he says, “You lied to me, this wasn’t about taking down those mercenaries. You wanted to bring me here, to the worst place in the world and here I was starting to believe all your crap about trust and faith...”

To which Bruce says, “I thought bringing you here could jog your memory, maybe retrieve a detail buried deep in your subconscious that could help piece together how you came back to life so I…”

And my man Jason really continues his thought process only to later tell him how much of a piece of shit he truly is (I love this Chonky, go Jason show this man that he ain’t shit).

“…could apply it to getting Damian back. Yeah, I get it. Did it ever occur to you I might like keeping whatever the hell happened to me buried deep? If you cared about me, you wouldn’t want me to dredge up the one thing I’ve been trying to forget. I don’t want to remember the most horrific day of my life all right? You may like wallowing in your tragedies, Bruce, but I’m done looking back!”

Jason, bravo, tell him exactly how you feel! Any sort of good human being would surely accept that they crossed a massive line and that they should ask for forgiveness next, right?... Right?

No. And that’s because Bruce is a horrible human being, I am sorry but it had to be said, this man has zero empathy for Jason and he proves it when he says the following.

“If you cared about me and what I’ve lost, you’d want to dredge this up! Don’t you see, there is a chance you can help me erase one of the worst days of MY life, Jason! You can give me the greatest gift of all and help me figure out how to bring my son back”

Fuck Bruce Wayne. This man has no right whatsoever to talk this way to Jason, no matter how you see this situation, the whole thing is fucked up. Bruce puts his needs above Jason’s feelings and he diminishes Jason’s position as his son because Bruce only refers to Damian as his son. This whole thing is incredibly nasty.

Here we should have had the point of no return for Jason and Bruce’s relationship, although if you are like me, you might think that the point of no return happened way back in Batman (1940) #650 when Bruce decided that saving the Joker by throwing a batarang at Jason’s neck (how did he know that Jason would survive that, I have no idea, maybe Bruce can see the future) was a better option compared to Jason finally killing the clown. Because that’s the thing, Jason was going to kill the clown but Bruce didn’t let him because he didn’t want more blood in Jason’s hands, I laugh until this day about how stupid Bruce’s thinking was there.

Anyway, the point I was trying to make is that Jason should have said bye-bye to Batman and all related Batman crap from this moment on. It would have been perfect but DC can’t help themselves and Lobdell’s self-insert-Jason really wants to be part of this amazing family so, no luck for Jason or us.

If you have read my latest post about Joker getting under Jason’s skin or read issue #18 of RHatO you know the context of what Jason says next.

“Yeah, and how about me? How about the gift of not knowing that the Joker manipulated my entire life, huh? The clown tainted everything, the good, the bad, hell my life’s even been tainted by you!”

Yup, Jason was going through it, and he had talked about these feelings with Bruce previously in issue #17 of RHatO, he had asked Bruce if he thought that Joker had created him and Bruce said, “No Jason, He didn’t make you, I never did either. You made you” and Jason was extremely thankful for that. And now, here we are, these feelings are being brought up again but in a very different situation.

Them arguing becomes a physical fight and after Jason asks Bruce “why are you making me stand in the exact same spot he beat me to death?” He replies this “Because I want to watch Damian grow up damn it! Damian earned that right! And I want to give it to him!”

This conversation only gets worse and Bruce’s most horrible side comes to light, like, I understand that Bruce wants Damian to be alive and all that but he is saying all the wrong stuff to Jason. I feel like as the reader I am being told that Bruce values Damian more than he ever did Jason because he is willing to put Jason through his own personal hell for Damian but refuses to see the reasons as to why Jason doesn’t want to do it. Bruce is being incredibly selfish and he is not caring enough about Jason to notice that he is hurting him. He even doesn’t notice after Jason says, “I was ready to stand by your side and you’ve thrown it all away!”

It is incredibly sad but it's also a bit of a look into what Bruce will do to Dick in Nightwing vol. 3 #30. It has the exact same vibe in both issues, Bruce going completely berserk on his children and telling them that he “trained them to be better”.

This issue ends with Jason punching Bruce several times and Bruce taunting Jason by telling him that he might as well continue because he is “still standing”. The levels of manipulation that Bruce had going on here weren’t as high as the ones in Nightwing #30 but he sure was a little bitch every step of the way.

Jason, being smart, doesn’t take the bait and tells Bruce that he is leaving and he is taking the car.

Wouldn’t this have been an amazing moment for Jason to finally rid himself of all Batman-related events and bullshit? How did DC miss this amazing opportunity to make Jason Todd/Red Hood a character that can stand on his own and with his own rules?

The potential that was wasted when they made Jason go back to Bruce and help him get Damian back in issues 33 to 37 of this same run is immeasurable. And just like Joker being able to get under Jason’s skin, him going back to Bruce and the “family” for plot purposes harmed Jason’s characterization greatly.

Batman and Robin (2011) #34-37 – Written by Peter Tomasi.

Whatever kind of respect I held for Tomasi because of the way he wrote Jason in #20 is now gone. Issues 34 to 37 have Jason fighting alongside Batman and him being all buddy-buddy with him.

Now, let me make something clear, Bruce wanting to bring Damian back to life/from Apokolips is absolutely fine with me, a father fighting for his son’s life can always make a good story, the thing is that at this point in time not only the events of Batman and Robin #20 have happened but so have the events of Nightwing #30.

So, Bruce going through all of this for one of his kids (that keeps being brought up as if he were his only son) after he emotionally manipulated Jason and Dick makes this story very bitter.

But I understand what DC is doing, you know? Here is how they manage to make this story as bitter-sweet as possible. In issue 34 of this run, Dick shows up in his Spyral get-up and offers his help in getting Damian back, because the kid meant a lot to him but Bruce can’t have Dick helping him out along with Barbara and Tim because Bruce has everyone convinced that Dick is dead. So, DC was like “here is this big brain idea, let’s have Jason, Barbara, and Tim helping Bruce get Damian back”. And that’s exactly what they did.

They dragged Jason back to Batman-related crap after he was manipulated, insulted, and punched by the man that is supposed to be his father. And this issue is also happening after Jason had such an immense existential crisis that he decided to have his memory wiped so he could cleanse himself on any doubt that the Joker had manipulated his free will.

How on earth are we supposed to believe that Jason is dumb enough to go back to Batman after all that? Does DC and its writers read their own material? Do they check if the characters that they are planning on using have contradicting narratives?

It’s so messy, the opportunity that DC, Tynion, Tomasi, and Lobdell got to make Jason his own man and his own character was completely wasted, just for a Batman event!

And it isn’t like Jason’s participation in getting Damian back was crucial, it really wasn’t, if I am planning on taking a team of heroes to Apokolips for a rescue mission, Jason, Barbara and Tim wouldn’t be my first options. Jason was put in that book only so they could have someone making snarky comments and for Jason to be like “Bruce we are family, we will always have each other’s backs” I mean, who is Jason supposed to be, Dom Toretto?

Here are some of the moments that seemed the most out of touch for Jason in these issues.

Batman and Robin #34

In issue 34 Bruce gives a long speech about him not wanting to hide things anymore from them (like he did during the events of Death of the Family) and that he wants a new start because they “have been broken long enough” so from that moment forward “good or bad, the truth rules”.

The audacity of this man, my god, how dense can Bruce be? “we’ve been broken long enough”? YOU have broken your relationship with these people time and time again! As you are standing there talking about the truth you are hiding the fact that Dick is alive and well somewhere far away because YOU sent him on a very dangerous mission after he died and you manipulated him.

THE AUDACITY OF THIS PIECE OF SHIT! Am I becoming an anti-Batman blog? I think I am and quite honestly, I am having the time of my life. Fuck this guy.

But back to the issue, after Bruce says that the truth is all that goes now, Barbara basically says that she doesn’t believe him, that all it takes for Bruce to go back to lying is “another situation that justifies you going dark on us in more ways than one” HA! You go, girl! But he is already hiding something from all of you.

Jason being himself supplies a situation like the ones where Batman lies to them in order to get them to work for him, he says, “or bringing me to Magdala Valley on a sightseeing trip to reminisce about the good old days of crowbars and explosions”, ah yes, sure, Bruce did all that back in issue 20 and now it is brought up as an afterthought… how wonderful.

Bruce, of course, lies to their faces when he says “I promise that nothing gets held back. We speak our mind no matter what the cost” to which Jason says “Unconditional truth now and forever, Bruce, otherwise this is all a load of crap”.

AND IT IS! IT IS ALL A LOAD OF CRAP CHONKY! RUN, RUN LIKE THE WIND!

Man, what a mess, poor Dick. He had to wait there and watch his father lie his ass off. And he really wanted to help Bruce get Damian back. Even after Bruce told Dick (as well as Barbara, Tim, and Jason) that he had to go to Apokolips alone Dick still helped Bruce in other ways, Dick really is the MVP, what a man, I love him so much!

(I really needed to show my love for Dick right then and there, sometimes you just have to do it. Dick Grayson is, after all, the greatest comic character to have ever been created).

Batman and Robin #36

First of all, seeing Jason and Barbara wearing the Robin symbol really makes me laugh. It’s just weird to see Barbara wear it, it almost feels like it’s something that shouldn’t have happened and in Jason’s case, well, the last time he wore it he died and it’s kinda funny to see beefy and tall Red Hood wearing a Robin symbol, it’s just funny not a critique.

What I am going to critique from this issue is that after they (Jason, Barbara, and Tim) go to Apokolips and find Bruce they say, “You’re here in this hellish place for your son, Bruce” and Jason continues that with, “And we’re here for you”.

Ah, the irony. Of all people, having Jason say that to Bruce is wild. This man has done nothing for Jason and here Jason is, in Apokolips, of all places, to help a man that does not deserve it. This is proof that Jason is a good man but its also proof that he is an idiot in the New 52, I am sorry but come on, writing Jason this way after what Bruce did to him in issue 20 seems like DC is confirming the fact that even though Batman does the most horrible stuff to his kids, he can still get away with it because his kids still love him all the same.

I understand, loving your parents when they are flawed but Bruce had been written at this time like an abusive father, and he was written like that towards Jason and Dick, so it is not a good look. Bruce saying that he promises that he won’t do it anymore isn’t enough DC, make the man pay for being that way, make his kids stay away from him for a while (or forever).

And here is the other thing, I say that Bruce is Jason and Dick’s father but DC doesn’t, they only acknowledge Damian as Bruce’s son and they do it because the New 52 timeline is non-existent. After all, they deleted a lot of history from these characters, I think it’s fair to assume that Bruce never adopted Dick or Jason and that both of them were Robin for a very short time. What I am trying to say with this is that not only is Bruce getting away with being abusive but he is also getting away with being an abusive father. Because Bruce is their father, at least I see it that way, he isn’t just his friend/mentor/tutor he is their father. He used to be before New 52 and that’s not something that we as the readers are ready or want to let go of.

All in all, Jason didn’t do much in these issues thus confirming (to me, at least) that the only reason he was invited to the party was because they couldn’t use Dick. And that’s an insult to Jason’s character, it would have been better if Jason didn’t appear in this story and he actually had the chance to do something else, like go back to being the proper Red Hood, an anti-hero that does what Batman won’t do for Gotham and its people.

#jason todd #red hood #batman and robin #batman #robin #dc comics #batman and red hood #dick grayson #nightwing

[wille-zarr]

The Mandalorian: “That’s My Girl”

In Fields of White ~ Chapter Nine ~ “That’s My Girl”

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!reader

warnings: rated M for language; smoking; violence; mild descriptions of wounds; mild sexual themes; angst

word count: 14.4k

chapter summary: heartbroken and grief-stricken, you do everything within your power to stay hidden away from danger… and din djarin. but when plans go horrifically awry, you have no choice but to face down a ghost from your past.

story summary: fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. in the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths with an intimidating mandalorian and his unusually gifted child.

a/n: @sana-katarn​ suffered and nearly died for this chapter. give her a follow as a thank you from me. (though she’ll also happily accept pictures of cassian andor in her inbox instead.)

also found on: Ao3

In Fields of White

Chapter Nine: “That’s My Girl”

“Mando can’t kill us if he can’t find us.”

“Pablo,” Cara snaps. “We can’t just-”

“It’s not our fault the Mandalorian’s ‘girlfriend’ ran away.” Pablo scoots forward, a scowl etched deep on his face. “But he’s going to shoot us when he finds out-”

“Shoot you, maybe.”

“Pardon? If memory serves me-” Pablo waves a hydro-spanner at her- “we were both left to look after Mando’s precious little sunstar.”

“Get that thing out of my face.” Cara swats at the hydro-spanner, ignoring Pablo’s curse as it flies through the air.

Maker. She can’t believe she’s been stuck alone with Pablo for three whole days. The man is-

“Hey!”

Cara twists, watching as Peli stomps around the side of the Razor Crest, barely visible even with the moonlight.

“I can hear everything you’re saying! You’re not about to run away-” Peli juts a thumb at her chest- “leaving me with the fallout!”

“Oh, come on, Ms. Peli.” Pablo flashes her a cheeky grin. “You have 4PO to protect yourself, right?”

“4PO!”

-Crash.

“Oh, Maker’s mercy!”

“4PO! Get off the ground, for land’s sake!” Peli growls. “Pick yourself up!”

<my existence is but an illusion>

…

“Oh, kriffin’ hell.”

…

“Well…. Anyway… you can’t expect me to handle an angry Mandalorian all by myself!” Peli squawks, shoving at Pablo’s shoulder. “I swear, I’ll have my droids strip every last-”

“We aren’t leaving.” Cara shoots Pablo a pointed look.

He throws his hands in the air, avoiding meeting both their eyes.

“I’m watching you,” Peli grumbles, jabbing a finger at Pablo as she walks away. “4PO! I swear- get UP!”

Releasing a pained sigh, Cara begins going through the motions of loading and unloading her weapon, a distraction against the apprehension, the concern for you beginning to weigh heavy in her chest.

Sure, you might be impulsive, reckless even, but Cara knows you aren’t stupid- far from it, in fact.

…

But damn it if you aren’t being stupid right now.

Just… up and running away? No goodbyes? With bounty hunters- Mandalorian bounty hunters- trailing after you?

…

You won’t last long, and Cara knows it.

And you had to know it too.

“Such, a rash, senseless move. We could have helped her,” Cara mutters, rubbing her brow. “I just… why did she up and leave like that? She’s going to get caught within days.”

Pablo stops spinning the hydro-spanner long enough to chuckle. “So-” he quirks his brow- “you have no faith in that bewildering brain of hers?”

…

“No.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

Cara slaps hand against her thigh. “Blast! I just wish Din would get his ass back into town… Maybe I should take out a bike, search for him in Mos Pelgo.”

After all, every day that goes by… Maker, you’ll be only that much more impossible to track. And while Cara respects your independence- your freedom to choose to play the part of the sacrificial hero, in turn sparing your friends from further threat, she also knows-

Din’s… not going to take this well.

“If we couldn’t find any trace of her after three days of searching-” Pablo leans forward, resting his forearms against his thighs- “what makes you think he’ll have better luck?”

Silence.

“Pablo-”

“Oh, I know, I know. He’s an ‘elite bounty hunter,’” he mocks. “Deadly, efficient, blah, blah, blah.” He leans back with a sigh, stretching out across the crate.

“And you ought to know it.” Cara bites back a smirk.

Does she really want to get him going…?

…

Yes.

“After all, Pablo, you’re personally well acquainted with the Mandalorian’s hunting techniques.”

He shoots straight up. “I almost got away from him!” he snaps. “If it wasn��t for that Carbonite, I would have-”

“-Oh, here we go…” Cara chuckles, covering both eyes with a hand. All too easy.

“It’s true!” he barks, throwing both hands in the air. “If Mando hadn’t flung me into the freezing bay, sealing me within that cold, dark, terrifying… tomb of, uh…um… C-carbonite...”

Silence.

“Hell, Cara!” Eyes blasting wide open, Pablo leaps to his feet. “I’m getting the kark outta here!”

“Hold up.” Cara’s hand lashes out, grabbing a fistful of Pablo’s shirt and yanking him back. “Just you calm down- I’ll keep you safe, Babycakes.”

He huffs. “The hell?... Babycakes?” Stuffing both hands in his pockets, he faces away from her. “Uh, love you too, I guess? ... Um, anyway- I still don’t know how he’ll track her if she’s already left the system.”

“This is why you’re the scheming con artist,” Cara sighs, shifting forward to stand, “and he’s the bounty hunter.”

“I prefer the title ‘opportunistic entrepreneur.’”

“Charlatan, swindler, cheat-”

“Now kriffin’ look here-”

“HE’S BACK!” Peli yelps somewhere in the distance.

Cara’s heart squeezes.

Din.

Thank the Maker!

A wave of relief washes over Cara… immediately replaced by a tidal wave of dread. Cara knows he’s probably going to ask for you right away-

Shit.

“Cara!” Pablo hisses, rushing to stand beside her. “What’s the plan? Plan, Cara?!” He twists his eyes to stare out across the hanger. “Do we have a plan? What do we say?”

“Stay calm and shut up!” Cara jumps up, foisting Pablo back down into his seat, ignoring his yelp of protest. “I’ll tell him.”

“Just remember-” he lifts his finger, a brow quirking up- “I’m Babycakes. Don’t let him hurt me.”

“Oh, Maker,” she groans, burying her face in the palms of her hands.

“QUICK!” Peli screeches, dashing around the back of the Crest, flapping her arms in the air. “Act natural! SHOO, go away, droids! Maker, can’t you see we’re in a crisis right now? I swear!”

Peli slams rear-first into a chair, the seat shooting back a few feet against the momentum of the action. Pablo, equally as jumpy, begins fiddling with the random pieces of mechanical junk surrounding him.

“Oh, stars, you both look so suspicious- uh, Mando!”

There he is.

The Mandalorian is frozen beside the Razor Crest, the soft moonlight casting a hazy glow against his Beskar armor. Resting across his back, a bar strung up with gear and supplies weighs his shoulders down low.

He doesn’t move. He just… stares, angles his head to the side.

Oh, great. Just great.

He had to of heard all the yelling- he knows something’s wrong.

“Din?” Cara rises to her feet. “What- why are you carrying all of that? Here, let me-”

“No.”

The curt reply slaps her hands back.

“Well, someone had a lousy trip,” she mutters as she moves to sit back down. Even with her fatigued sigh, she’s unable to keep a slight smile from slipping onto her face at sight of the baby- only the tips of his ears visible from satchel resting against his father’s side.

The Mandalorian lumbers forward, each step slow, weighted, the clank-clank of his Beskar and blaster-casings the only noise reverberating throughout the hanger.

“…Sorry,” he mumbles, barely audible through his helm’s vocoder. Ducking his head away from Cara, he gently lowers his gear, resting it down against the hanger floor. “It’s… been a long couple of days.”

Even with the burden of his gear now lifted from him, his shoulders remain slumped forward, exhaustion, weariness tattooed on every square inch of his frame. The stance is completely unlike the ordinarily deft, foreboding Mandalorian- abnormal enough for concern to take root in Cara’s mind.

“What happened to you?” she snorts, raising an eyebrow at his languid, fatigued walk forward. “What- hell, Din, what’s that… green goop all over your armor?”

He doesn’t answer- just dips his gloves into the satchel wrapped around his torso, hauling out the sleepy-eyed, listless child. Peli- without waiting for permission- takes the baby from his hands, tucking him against her chest.

“You have a lot to learn about raising a young’un,” Peli grumbles, stroking a finger across the child’s left ear. “He’s too young to be dragged half-way cross the desert on some- some fool’s errand.” She glares at him with the word “fool.”

Din reaches a gloved hand out, his hand cradling the side of his son’s face.

“I know.”

Cara lowers her brows, concern and anxiety for you squeezing in her chest again, only building with every moment that passes.

“Oh, lookie here! He brought meat!” Peli interrupts Cara’s fretting, lifting up a corner of burlap with her free hand to peer beneath it. “DROIDS! Pull out that- no, stop! We’ve gotta cook- no!”

Cara smiles wearily as Peli bounces away, shouting demands at her droids. But Din stands still, unmoving, visor trained on the ground beneath his feet.

“Well, damn, man-” Pablo reaches down into his shirt pocket, pulling out a cigarra. “You look beat to hell.” He reaches up, lighting the cigarra. Pulling it away from his lips, he cocks his head to the side. “Oh, oh shit, what is all that green stuff?”

“Krayt Dragon stomach acid.”

…

“Kriff, man. Well… I guess that’d do it.”

The Mandalorian bends his knees, sitting down with a pained grunt. He sighs, deep, heavy, his head tilting forward to stare at the dirt.

“Sounds like a party.” A smile quirks on Cara’s lips. “Should have invited us.”

He grunts.

“On the way back, a group of mercs tripped my bike.” Leaning forward on his thighs, he glances back up. “Destroyed it. Had to walk.”

“Kark, they are after the chip again?” Cara growls, clenching her fists. “Just great. How’d they even find you?”

“I don’t know.” The Mandalorian shakes his head, his voice slowing with every word. “I… eliminated them before they could be questioned.”

“Damn!”

…

“Hey, so just to clarify, that’s dragon meat and not merc meat, right?”

“Pablo-”

“Just making sure!”

“Well, this little one would eat either!” Peli snorts, walking up the child, who’s beginning to fuss and whine in her arms. He pushes against her chest, motioning to be let down. “Alright, alright.” Peli coos, setting the child back down on the ground.

The child bolts straight for Din, a long, high-pitched whine erupting from his tiny frame. The Mandalorian obliges him, hauling him up into his lap.

“He’s been-” he pauses, staring down at the child in his lap- “…irritable since we left.”

The Mandalorian begins shifting side to side, almost nervously, in his seat. Setting the child against his hip, he leans forward with a grunt and stands.

“I-” the Mandalorian rasps, stealing a quick glance over at the open ramp of the Razor Crest. With a small groan, so small that Cara almost missed it, he tears his visor away from the starship. “I think he’s been missing… the girl.”

He turns.

“I… he misses the sound of her voice… her… laugh.”

…

“Uh oh,” Pablo mumbles under his breath, shoving the cigarra back in his mouth and turning his body away. At the same moment, Peli- taking Din’s words as her call to action- rips the child out of his arms, muttering under her breath to him as she practically flees from the scene.

The Mandalorian stares at the Razor Crest, oblivious to everyone’s discomfort.

“Is she inside?”

His tone is soft, affectionate…. Damn, there’s… just no easy way to do this.

“Mando-”

One word gives it away.

…

“Where is she?”

…

“Where’s the girl?”

“Din, it’s-”

“Now.”

Din isn’t speaking.

This is the Mandalorian.

“She’s… gone.”

“What do you mean-” his voice tightens- “she’s gone?”

“She ran away, man.” Pablo pulls the cigarra from his lips. “Lost to the force.”

“Pablo!” Cara barks. “Stick a sock in it.”

“We-” the Mandalorian drops to his seat- the word barely a whisper- “…we had words, argued, but-” He leans forward, visor piercing, burning the ground.

“Tell me what happened.”

His voice is hard- the affection, any hint of weariness, stripped from his words.

“I think she thinks she’s protecting us,” Cara sighs. “…From bounty hunters.”

The Mandalorian shakes his head. “No, that doesn’t make sense. We’re both involved with the Taek-”

“The same day you left for Mos Pelgo, she had a conversation with Karga.” Cara stands, frown deepening on her face. “He told her that three bounty hunters had approached him on Navarro, asking for information… about her- not concerning the events on Taek. About something else entirely. She thanked Karga; told him she would take care of it. And then she just- slipped away without a word to us.”

The Mandalorian just stares- stares straight ahead as if Cara had never spoken a word.

“…Din?”

“Shit…” he breathes, clenching his hand into a fist. “Shit.”

“Din?”

-slam-

“-Kark, man!”

Din lifts his fist from the crate, ignoring the crack he left behind. “We have to find her.” He shoots up. “We have to find her first.”

A noise- Pablo clearing his throat.

“Cara forgot to mention something.” He takes a puff of his cigarra, disregarding Cara’s warning glare. “The hunters searching for Sweetheart are Mandalorian.”

…

“Damn it,” Din hisses- a sharp rasp of breath through his modulator.

“Well,” Cara grumbles under her breath, looking down to tighten the holster against her thigh. “What’s the plan-”

“Connections,” Din snaps. He spins around, stalking straight for the Razor Crest. “We’ll track down her connections on Tatooine.”

“How do we do that?” Cara sprints to catch up, their footsteps clanking against the metal ramp of the ship. “We don’t know a thing about her, not even the name she went by here.”

The Mandalorian does not speak- does not answer. He merely reaches forward- slams his hand against the control panel for the ship’s Holonet display.

“Din?” Cara prods.

“‘Damn best racer.’”

She lifts a brow. “Pardon?”

“‘Damn best racer,’” he repeats, typing orders into the system. “A speeder bike race-” he lifts his helmet, the words from the Holonet display reflecting off of his visor- “she won one. On Tatooine. Years ago.”

“Ah,” Cara nods her head, beginning to catch on. “Find the race, and you find her connections, her sponsors. Sponsors she might have recently contacted for help.”

Din doesn’t respond, completely engrossed with the display before him.

“Hey.” Resting a light hand atop his vambrace, Cara forces her voice to soften. “You know, if you do find her, you can’t… force her to stay under your protection-” she pulls her hand back- “if she doesn’t want to.”

…

“…I know.”

He stops- stops typing- dips the edge of his helmet against his chest.

“I just… want to talk. Make sure she has a plan… Credits.”

He resumes typing, punching demands into the Holonet.

“…Make sure she’s… safe.”

With a heavy sigh, Cara stares into Din’s blank, unreadable visor.

Unreadable, yes. But that didn’t matter.

The frantic clank-clank-clank of fingertips pounding against search keys told her everything she needed to know.

-------------------------------

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t react to Cara’s grumble- just keeps his head pointed forward. But the curl of his gloves; the clench of fingers against his holster told her-

-He agrees.

A flash of sunlight grabs at her attention, drawing her eyes to stare at the gleaming marble walls- a stark comparison to the dry, arid sands of Tatooine rolling just outside the building’s walls. And she ought to know- they just spent the last blasted hour traveling through a relentless sandstorm to reach the compound’s gates.

“Hey,” she calls, attempting to catch the guard’s attention. “Where exactly are you tak- oh!”

Two double doors burst open- revealing an enormous, palatial… dining room?

If you could even call it that.

Art museum might would be a better descriptor.

“Ah, it’s true- a Mandalorian!” booms a voice that practically shakes the ornate chandeliers hanging from the rafters.

“Now, I knew you couldn’t all be dead.” The voice, a Cathar, stands up from his chair at the head of the table. He shoots his fur-covered hand out to the side, his embroidered sleeve swaying as he beckons them forward. “After all, if you were all dead, you actually made terrible warriors, you know?”

Cara glances at the Mandalorian-

Uh oh.

Shoulders tight- fists clenched against his thighs- he steps forward-

“-Aric Thall!” Cara barks.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me!” Thall bares his fangs in a… smile? “This should be interesting. Please, sit. Join me in my dinn-”

“We’re here on business, Thall.”

The air stills.

…

The Cathar sinks back into his chair.

“Ah,” he sighs. “So, you’re here on… business. Disappointing. Well, you’re not here to collect me, I hope?” the Cathar grumbles, glancing over at his guards. They stand with weapons drawn- ready to take the threat- Din- head on at Thall’s first order.

He flashes another fang-filled grin. “I’m innocent, I swear. My cousin’s the dirty one.” He flops back and sighs, letting both his arms hang off the side of the chair.

Cara rolls her eyes. “Oh, kriffin-”

“I’m here for information.”

The Mandalorian’s tone is hard- grit and warning dripping from each of his words.

“…About what?”

“A race,” the Mandalorian snaps, taking a broad step forward.

 “Oh, be specific- I’ve held thousands!” Thall flips like a switch, his persona flooded once again with jubilancy and charm. “But you have certainly piqued my interest.” He holds out a hand. “Please, continue, Mandalorian.”

Your Tatooine name- the one discovered after hours of careful research- drops from the Mandalorian’s vocoder.

“Oh. Oh,” Thall groans, squeezing both eyes shut. “Oh, don’t remind me! Wild little thing-” he presses against his temples- “she left me holding the bag with the Hutts when she disappeared after winning the Boska Springs Classic. Valen’s doing- no doubt. Her grandfather had no imagination.” Thall opens his eyes with a sigh. “When she wasn’t racing, she was giving me a headache.” He leans forward to take a sip from his glass, wiping his mouth with a napkin before continuing.

“Still, so much wasted potential,” he sighs, staring at the glass in his hand. “The girl was karking nuts. The only racer batshit crazy enough to cut a route through a Rancor’s den as a shortcut.”

Cara can’t help but smile.

Well, hell yeah, kid.

Her eyes drift up to Din, who’s now standing a few feet in front of her. Both of his hands are latched on his belt- his shoulders rising ever-so-slightly in… pride? Respect?

Perhaps both.

“You’ve not been in contact with her recently.”

The Mandalorian states it as a fact, his tone even, indifferent. But she- his friend- heard the disappointment layered in between his words.

“I didn’t say that,” the Cathar purrs, folding his fingers together.

“…Has she been in contact?” The Mandalorian slowly, carefully stalks closer. “Answer me.”

Thall chuckles.

“Depends on why you’re asking, Mandalorian.”

Silence.

“Or more importantly-” the Cathar stands, strolling forward, pausing in front of the Mandalorian- “what are you willing to give in return for my information?”

Cara can’t help but notice Thall’s eyes… drift across the Mandalorian’s Beskar.

“I’m not making any deals-” Din steps forward, closing the distance between him and the Cathar- “until you answer my question.”

“Fine. Fair enough,” Thall sighs, folding his arms behind his back. “She was here not that long ago, looking to reconnect with some of her old friends.”

“Where-”

“She’ll have left the planet by now.”

…

The Mandalorian’s shoulders tighten.

“But-” the Cathar throws out a hand dismissively- “I know how you can find her.” He grins and takes a step back. “My question is, again, what are you willing to give up in order to find that information out?”

…

“How much do you want?”

The Mandalorian’s words- dry, hoarse- linger in the air.

“Your Beskar-”

“-is not up for trade.”

“Ah! Fine- I have a… much more profitable proposal to offer you. Profitable for me, at least.” Throwing his head back, Thall grins at the ceiling- chuckles.

Oh, Dank Ferrik.

Cara knew she had a bad feeling about this.

“We’ve had a bit of a-” Thall spins his hand around- “let’s say, entertainment drought since the fall of Hutt control. We’re desperate for a good show- good excitement. A reason for a little friendly… betting amongst friends.”

“How does this concern me?”

Din’s patience is wearing thin.

“How does it concern you, Mandalorian?” Thall chuckles. “Well, you’re walking, talking entertainment!”

…

Dank Ferrik. He couldn’t mean-

“I don’t want your credits, Mandalorian; I want everyone else’s credits!” Thall holds up three fingers. “Three fights, starring you, my friend, as primary challenger. I intend to make a small fortune off ticket sales, and the betting?” Low whistle. “Credits galore!”

The Mandalorian tilts his head- staring straight at the Cathar- silent, unmoving.

“You’ll never find her,” Thall says through a clenched smile, “without me.”

“Mando.” Cara steps up right behind him, keeping her voice low. “I don’t think this is a good idea. He’s leading you on. He doesn’t know anything.”

“If he does?” The Mandalorian pauses, angling his head back. “…I’ll take that risk.”

He turns away.

“Do you agree then, Mandalorian?” The Cathar grins, already sensing his answer. “You’ll fight?”

…

“…I’ll fight.”

“Fantastic! I will jus-”

“But just know, if you don’t follow through-” the Mandalorian slowly, deliberately places a hand against his belt- “the last thing you’ll remember is regret for this moment.”

Thall slaps a hand on the Mandalorian’s back, grinning as if Mando hadn’t just threatened to kill him. “Understandable position!... Then let’s lay the rules out…”

Cara grits her teeth.

Oh, here it comes…

“You win two of three fights… and you get the information you seek.”

The Mandalorian turns his helmet, glaring at Thall.

“But you lose two of three fights… or die-” he smiles- “and I keep your Beskar... These are the conditions- I will not budge.”

The Mandalorian huffs.

“… I don’t plan on losing.”

------------------------------

You’re about to commit a murder.

“Curse me out one more time-” you bare your teeth at the Ortolan- “and I’ll stomp you into oblivion.”

The Ortolan just… screams.

“Fine! Fine!” you grumble, taking a step to the side. “Look, I’ll just leave the box over here-”

"-M, m buoou!”

“Okay…. here?”

“Daneeveo dueenboomo!”

…

“…What the hell are you saying?”

“Leeela duundao m…..” The Ortolan whines, yanking on his nose in clear distress.

Oh, to kriff with it.

You knew this was a bad idea.

But beggars can’t be choosers. This Ortolan crew was the only one which offered you a job as a mechanic, for that you are grateful. So, as long as you didn’t start a fire like the last repair you attempted, ultimately leading to your unceremonious marooning on Taek…

You’ll be… just…uh,  fine!

…

Yeah.

Either way, you’re willing to take that risk. Anything’s worth it to get off Tatooine as soon as possible. Every minute lingered… stars. You’ve already stayed much, much too long… After all, who, at this point, isn’t trying to find you?

The Mandalorian bounty hunters- you… you don’t want to think about them; what- what they might do on his orders…

Kriff.

Kriff.

Next in line to destroy your life, there’s the Nar Shaddaa hunters. You’ve already been karkin’ stabbed by one. You don’t exactly want to make it easy for them to finish the job.

And then there’s…

Din.

Mandalorian, friend, protector…

…

A good man.

And maybe you are just- completely delusional… But he… cares a lot about you… Then again, the way he spoke to you- the things he said just before leaving-

…

Does he?

…It doesn’t matter.

“J-just,” you push out, rapidly blinking as you look away from the Ortolan. “Let’s agree to move on, start fresh? Otherwise-” you force a tight smile, waving your hand at the starship- “this will be a long, long trip to Nal Hutta.”

Kriff this.

Kriff all of this.

You- shit.

Shit!

Squeezing your eyes tightly together, you spin away, placing your back between you and the Ortolan crew. Damn it- it’s been three days already! Why do you still feel- feel this- this..?

…grief?

You open your eyes.

That’s what it is, isn’t it?

Grief.      

You can’t help but snort, almost… relieved at the realization. After all, if there’s one thing you’re good at, it’s suppressing kriffing grief. Should be simple enough- no one’s even died this time, an overall improvement, you think.

You inhale deeply, pressing a palm to your cheek. Stars, this is going to be- KRIFF!

A hand on your arm-

You spin-

Hand to your belt-

Grab at the staff-

“Whoa! Wait! Hold on!” A hand grips your wrist. “Hey, wait!”

“Screw off!” you shriek, using your free hand to punch at the man’s chest. “Get away-”

“-I’m not trying to hurt you!”

…

You gawk at the man’s face.

Green eyes.

Sandy hair.

Tan skin.

Crooked nose-

-because you broke it years ago.

“Tesen!” you gasp, leaping into his arms.

“Hell!” he grunts, taken aback by your sudden shift in temperament “Kark, thought you were about to break my nose again!”

“Weeping Womprats, Tesen!” You grin, pulling back from the embrace. “Hell, I’ve missed you like a Hutt misses dinner!”

“Well, kriff then.” He flashes you a shy smile, diverting his eyes to the ground. “Didn’t know you felt that way.”

“You always were my second favorite guy-” an impish grin stretches across your face- “after Gavon, of course.”

“Oof-” he clutches his heart- cringes- “Damn, you haven’t changed, I see.”

Pulling him in for another hug, you can only laugh. “But you were my first favorite mechanic.” You bury your face against his chest. “Only one I’d trust to work on my bike.”

He tenses- then there’s a gentle -pat- against your back.

“Yeah...”

Glancing up, you can only smirk- his cheeks are tinged with warmth, eyes darting everywhere but towards you.

“Don’t blush on my account-” you laugh at his groan and pull away- “I’m not worth it, trust me.” You glance away, your eyes catching the Ortolan crew, just blasted… staring at you.

“OH, so were you lot just going to sit there?” you growl. “Let me get kidnapped?”

…

One Ortolan shrugs.

“Oh, fine,” you sigh. “Well, what do you do these days, Tesen? Still a mechanic?” you ask, your lips sliding into a smirk. “Still working with the racing circuits?”

“No, I work here now.” His own smile quirks at his lips. “Cargo inspector for the planet’s administration.”

“Oh.” Twisting back to glance at the ship, your eyes widen. “Um, I… uh.”

“Don’t worry-” he winks. “I know this ship is carrying… hyperdrives.”

You blink.

“…Sure.”

He laughs, giving a quick nod over at the Ortolan captain. “Let’s just say I have an… understanding with a few of the cargo captains.”

Ah.

No need to say a word- you just return the grin.

“So hey,” Tesen clears his throat, breaking from your gaze. “How’s your old man- Valen?”

…

“He’s, uh… gone.”

“Blast.” Tesen’s voice softens. “I’m… sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You slide the toe of your boot across the ground and shake your head.

Hardly…

He’s dead because of you…

“It- it happened a long time ago. Um, anyway… blast. You have no idea how badly I needed to see you again.”

Tesen smiles, his voice perking up. “Oh, yeah? I heard you had been in town, but I never thought I’d run into you like this.”

-Stop.

Your breathing stops.

…

“Wh-what… what?” You stumble back. “How… how did you kn-”

“Aric Thall?” Tesen raises an eyebrow at you. “You… don’t know? About the Mandalorian trying to find you?”

…

Mandalorian…?

…

Trying to find you.

…

Oh.

…

Well.

…

Guess it’s time to fucking go-

-a hand grips, holds you back.

“Let me go, Tesen!” you shout, shoving against him with both hands. “I- I can’t stay- need to- let go!”

“Hey, hey! What’s wrong?”

He releases your arm- touches your face.

“What do you kriffing think?” You slap his hand away, your voice rising, straining against the fear and panic and anxiety bubbling up your throat. “…Bounty hunters? They blasted hunt! What? Did you think they wanted to propose marriage to me?”

“Dank Ferrik,” he whispers under his breath. “You need to get out of here. Aric Thall- he’s helping the Mandalorian find you.”

…

Shit.

Shit!

Hands grip, squeeze your shoulders.

“I- I have no idea how they tracked me here!” The words tumble from your lips, your palm slapping across your eyes. “I- oh, Maker!”

“What in the galaxy did you do?” His eyes widen. “You always did have a penchant for trouble. You sure pissed someone off.”

You grit your teeth, choosing to ignore his blatant prodding for information.

“Tell me, Tesen.” Both hands shoot up to your hips. “Everything.”

Tesen shrugs and turns to sit down. “My cousin told me the Mandalorian cut some sort of deal- I don’t have the specifics. But he’s entering Thall’s fighting rings in exchange for information.” He raises a brow, leans forward. “On you.”

You blink.

“Wait… what?”

This… doesn’t sound right.

Tesen shrugs again. “It’s all anyone’s talking about.”

“I’m-” you stare at the wall- “so confused?”

“Yeah, me too.” He scratches his head. “Thall told him you visited, but that you had left the planet. That’s why I was surprised to find you here.”

“…Blast.”

You can’t help but chuckle.

“Then the lurdo is lying to a Mandalorian.” You shake your head. “Thall is going to get killed.”

“Good.” Tesen glances away, the hint of a small, timid smile on his face. “He… he deserves it- for betraying you.”

Returning the smile, it grows with the warmth crawling across Tesen’s cheeks.

 “One thing I don’t understand-” you sit beside him- “I- I was told three Mandalorians are hunting for me.”

“Maybe so, but only one made a deal with Thall- along with some tough looking woman.”

 …

You blink.

Oh… no.

“…The Mandalorian- did your cousin happen to… describe him?”

“Tall. Scary. Big cape. Big rifle.” He scratches his face. “Um…”

“Color, Tesen.” Your voice lowers. “…What color was his armor?”

“Silver. Pure Beskar.”

…

…

“Is he INSANE?”

Your outburst flings Tesen backwards.

Hands hurling into the air, you release a guttural growl. You- You’re going to kill him- Din Djarin- kill him!

“Whoa- wait-”

“Is he crazy? He’s insane! INSANE!”

You march back and forth, back and forth-

“A few days without me, and he’s already kronged things up- trusting Thall?”

“Hey,” Tesen butts in, waving his hands. “Clue me in here!”

“Tesen!” You stop stomping around long enough to glare at him. “The Beskar- Din- he’s… my friend! I- oh, shit. It’s… complicated. Super, stupidly complicated.”

You bury your face in your hands. “Thall- you know Thall. The man plays dirty.”

“Yeah, so? Everyone knows that.”

“Except my friend!” You moan, leaning up against the hanger wall. “Thall…. SHIT!” You slap both hands over your eyes. “Beskar! Kriff! Thall wants his Beskar! He- you know his fascination with- damn it! Din’s in danger!”

“Wait, what are you going to do?”

“Come with me to Thall’s.” You slap both hands against your hips, your voice taking on a demanding edge. “I need your help.”

“I- I- you know I would,” he sputters. “But I can’t leave my post or-”

“Fine,” you grunt, spinning on your heel. “Then I need to go find someone.” You march towards the hanger doors.

“It was great seeing you again, Tesen!”

“Wait, it’s not safe for you-”

“Goodbye, Ortolans!” You throw a hand in the air as you stalk past their ship. “It’s been fun, but I’m afraid you’ll be needing a replacement mechanic.”

Their cheers are cut off by the slam of the door.

------------------------------

His words are cut off by the slam of the door.

-Knock-

-Knock-

“Talk to me, Darling.”

“Just- just leave me alone!”

You sink to the floor, sobs rocking your body as you bury your face in your lap.

“I’m not a mind-reader, little one. Tell me what you need from me.”

-Knock-

-Knock-

“Let me in, kid.”

Grandpa’s husky voice is muffled, barely audible from behind the door. But his words were calm- always so calm.

“Stop shutting me out.”

Always so damn calm.

“I don’t need or want anything from you!” you yell, wiping away your tears with a dirty sleeve. But it’s no use- new tears just roll in to take their place.

“P-please leave me alone! I’m t-tired of you always telling me w-what to do!”

Silence.

"You go out of your way to find the most damaging, dangerous…” You hear him pause- sigh.

You know he’s lighting his pipe.

“Would you rather I left you to self-destruct?”

You only sob harder. “Y-you ruin… e-everything!”

“…I’m trying so hard to keep your head above water-” pause- “but it’s impossible when you are so determined to drown.”

You lift your head- his words beginning to ease your heart- soften your temper like they always do…

“You’re just so…” his voice cracks- “young, little one.”

Your heart shatters.

You’re so kriffing… selfish.

“I can’t control you,” he continues. “I… know you’ll keep running away… searching for whatever it is you’re missing.” His voice grows hoarse, pained with every word. “All I ask is, please, promise me….”

-Pause.

“Please, always come back. You’re… you’re all I have left.”

Footsteps.

He’s walking away.

You slide the door open.

Grandpa is standing by the fire, pipe in his mouth, flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows. He turns to give you a tentative look. “…I’m sorry, Darling,” he says, voice rough with his failure.

You don’t speak.

-You bolt forward.

His brawny arms open, receiving you in a tight embrace. You hide away, bury your face in his chest-

-and weep.

------------------------------

There he is.

Pablo- leaned back in a chair, faced away from you, smoking that stupid cigarra of his- oblivious that anyone even entered the hanger much less walking up behind him.

“Pablo!” You yank on the back of his chair with a jerk.

“SHIT!”

He flings backwards along with the chair, crashing- hard. “Don’t shoot!” He rolls to the side- stops- freezes.

“Princess?”

He blinks- tilts his head.

“Well, hello?”

“Hello, yourself.” You raise a brow.

“Where have you been?” He leaps to his feet, staring into your eyes like he still couldn’t believe it’s really you.

“I went to get bantha milk. Look, we don’t have time for this-”

“Like hell we do!” Pablo catches your wrist. “Now you just slow down a minute-”

“We don’t have time!”

“You had time to run away-” he drops your arm- “leave everyone worried about you-”

“Yell at me later.” You lower your brows, matching his glare with equal force. “You have to help me.”

“Help you? What, run away again? No-”

“Listen, stop arguing-”

“What if I like arguing?”

“Maker’s mercy, will you shut up and-” you freeze. Glancing up at the sky, you swallow the curses bubbling up your throat.

“Let’s try this again.”

He crosses his arms.

 “Fine,” he sighs, shifting his weight to the side. “Okay, Miss Runaway, what the kriff are you doing here?”

You open your mouth, but no words exit.

 A thought.

“Wait. Where’s…” Biting your lip- you turn, glancing around the hanger. “Where’s the baby?”

Pablo’s demeaner shifts- relaxes. “Peli has him in the ship.” His voice softens with every word, the anger, frustration draining from his face. “Little green kiddo really misses you, Maker only knows why.”

Kriff.

-a stab

-a lurch in your chest.

Damn it… you’re abandoning a child, exactly what you fought with Din over- he’s alone- alone and-

-stop.

Squeezing your eyes shut, your force your mind to refocus… just refocus.

“Keep your voice low.” You pry your eyes open again- shame and embarrassment bleeding along the edge of your heart. “I- let’s not upset the kid. He… it’s best he doesn’t know I’m here.”

…

“What? Why?”

“I’m not staying.”

Pablo blinks.

“I’m- I’m really confused right now. You’re not back to stay?”

“Pablo!” You knock your hat back, placing a hand on your hip. “Maker, can you please keep up? I’m a ticking time bomb!”

You step forward- Pablo steps back.

“I’m. Not. Staying.”

“Relax, relax!” He holds his palms up. “Just start from the top. Kriff, Sweetheart.”

Grabbing his hand, you peer at Pablo from beneath your hat’s brim. “Din- the rusted tin head- is mixed up in something extremely dangerous. He’s got to get out of there- now.”

“Oh, man. Stinks for him.”

“And I have to go warn him-”

“Oh, for sure.”

“-with you.”

…

“No. No.”

He turns- practically runs away from you. “No, no way!”

“You dirty- Pablo!” you bark, stomping after him. “Stop! This is important! He will- kark- Din could die! Please, come with me- we have to get him out of there!”

Growling under your breath, you continue to chase him down. “I can’t let this happen to Din, especially when he’s doing it to find me. Blast it, that’s why I left- so he and the baby wouldn’t be hurt.”

Stars!

Why the hell did Din agree to this- all just to find you? Did he think about the kid if he were to lose, to die? Did he think about any of that? No, of course he didn’t. He has some nerve lecturing you for your impulsion- yet here he is making the decisions of a karkin’ brainless Gundark.

…

He… he must really care about you.

The guilt, the shame that washes over your body distracts you from Pablo’s irritated grunt.

“Sweetheart,” he huffs. “Need I remind you that your precious Mando had me frozen in Carbonite- mailing me, postage paid, to my death?” Pablo throws you a look across his shoulder and keeps moving forward. “So, what makes you think I’d take any risk for him?”

“Pablo!”

“I don’t even like any of you!” he shouts, stuffing some of his possessions into a bag. “No, I’m out. I’m running away too.”

“Please!”

Silence.

“Please… then don’t do it for him.”

You grab his arm, trying to meet his eyes, but he refuses.

“Do it for me.”

He still won’t meet your eyes- but if you know Pablo- his silence means you’re making progress.

“I’m scared to do this alone.” Your voice drops, a mere whisper. “With all the hunters out there- I’m… afraid to go in without you, as much as it pains me to admit.”

“I need you.”

…

He throws his head back- groans. You bite back your own smile.

“Well-” he flops his head to the side- sighs- “I guess it’s nice to be needed. That’s certainly a first for me.”

You grin.

“Pablo, for once-” you give him a peck on the cheek- “I’m actually glad I saved your life.”

“Then-” he smirks- “I think we’re making progress.”

You giggle and slap a hand on his back. “Then let’s get going!”

You start walking forward, eager to get to Thall’s arena as soon as possible- but movement catches your eye.

You glance up.

Inside the cockpit- two little green hands are pressed against the glass-

Air catches in your throat.

You blink- then a hazy voice…

…

“…Mama, up! Up!”

Her little hands tug on the edge of your cloak.

“Okay, little one-” you smirk, hefting her up to look out the glass. “Dang, girl-” you draw her close, painting her cheek with kisses- “you’re growing like a weed. You better stop, or I’ll send you to live with the Lothwolves.”

“There! Look!” she giggles, pulling away from you to press two little hands against the glass. She looks up, shooting you a bright, toothy smile. “Shiny men, Mama! Shiny men!”

“Yeah.” Your smile fades, dread beginning to swirl at the base of your spine.

“Shiny men…”

…

“Hey.”

You jerk around, staring at Pablo.

He nods his head. “You ready?”

You turn back.

The little green hands are gone.

“Let’s go.”

------------------------------

“Hey, hold up- excuse me, sorry!”

“Pablo!” You glare down at him from the top of the staircase. “Get your sequined butt up here!”

You suppose there really was no use in glaring at him... After all, your entire face (glare included) is completely hidden by your vocoder mask, the same kind worn by the arena’s singers.

“Now, look here, yipe!-” he leaps aside, avoiding the crowd of spectators storming down the steps- “I didn’t come along just so you could bully me- arg!” He is knocked into the rail. “Oof- no, excuse you, sir!”

Pablo stomps up, pausing just in front of you, a scowl etched deep on his face. “I hate everything,” he grumbles, wiggling the collar of his jumpsuit.

“Keep up,” you sigh, turning on your heel.

 “Look, I know we’re disguised as performers-” he grabs at the sequined fabric stretched across his rear- “but did you have to steal me a jumpsuit two sizes too small?”

Rolling your eyes, you scamper up the next flight of stairs. “Oh, you look fine,” you bark back. “And it’s all I could find in the basement!”

You don’t have time for this- Pablo’s grumbling.

Din’s first fight could be- stars!- any moment! You have to find him or Cara immediately… which is easier said than done. Thall’s arena is packed- crammed to max capacity. But you know this building like the back of your hand- if Cara is anywhere- if Din is anywhere- it’s Thall’s skybox.

…If they’re still up there.

“Pablo, I- oh!”

“Whoa!” Pablo’s arms wrap around your waist from behind, preventing a nasty tumble down the stairs. “Easy- those heels aren’t exactly made for racing, you know?”

“Dank Ferrik!” you hiss, allowing Pablo to lead you to a nearby chair. You release a heavy sigh. “I’m ashamed of myself.” You glance up at Pablo, a rueful smile on your face. “Heels and dresses were like a second skin to me on Nar Shaddaa, and look at me now, tripping all over myself.”

Stooping down, you adjust the strap on the shoe, allowing for easier movement, and you can’t help but sigh. “I might feel nostalgic if I had the time.”

“Well, speaking of time-” Pablo turns- catches a passerby- “Excuse me, do you know when the first fight starts? Uh, with the Mandalorian?”

The man chuckles and gives Pablo a curious glance. “Son-” he slaps a hand on his shoulder before turning to leave- “why do you think everyone’s yelling?”

You blink.

No…

…

BLASTED STARS! 

You burst up from your chair- flying down the hall- Pablo’s shouts licking at your heels. “Dank FERRIK!” you bark, just before diving into the sea of bodies pressed against a viewing window. You try elbowing through the crowd- but no use. Sinking to the floor instead, you crawl under legs, desperate for even just a peek through the viewing window. 

“Ouch! Get off my- oh!” Your hand slaps across your mask. “Din!” you hiss, eyes blasting open at the sight below. 

Gleaming Beskar- surrounded by pools of blood and corpses… And one colossal, drooling, slashing…

-Rancor. 

“Kriff! KRIFF!” Your screams drown in the sea of spectators. “Damn it, Din! KILL IT!” 

This can’t be happening- this can’t be happening.

You’re too late- you’re too late.

“Just- blasted kill it! JUMP!” You slam both palms of your hands against the glass. “I can’t- OH- WATCH OUT!” 

The Rancor cries, roars against Din’s flamethrower, lashing out with a swing of its claws. Din propels backwards with his jetpack, narrowly avoiding the slice, but he, in turn, loses precious ground to the slobbering beast. The raw stench of burnt flesh wafts through the halls. You slap a hand across your mask, trying to suppress the bubbling bile rising up your throat.

Damn it.  

Damn it!

Your fist crashes into the glass. 

You swear on your life, if your Mandalorian dies because of this- because of you… 

-you will burn this whole damn place to the ground. 

It seems the flames only enraged the creature- saliva and bile raining through its teeth as Din turns- reassess his position. Your heart squeezes- aches- he’s cornered- cornered in. And- 

“Din!”  

He flings into the air- flames cascading down in a golden waterfall, temporarily blinding you. You squeeze an eye open- watching claws and teeth slice through the fire- 

-SLAM-

The floor quivers beneath your knees as the creature smashes its fist straight into the side of the arena’s forcefield. 

“Dank Ferrik!” 

“Holy shit!” 

“Did you see that?”

“Best show in years!” 

You sneer at the jubilancy surrounding you. To hell with this! You’re not going to sit here and watch your Mandalorian turned into monster chow!

You flip around- scrambling on all fours to squeeze beneath the sea of legs. Stumbling up to your feet, you twist your head- frantic to locate Pablo. 

You pause- blink.

“Pablo!”

There he is- down the hall- losing his absolute mind along with the crowd.

“You Nerfherder! Stop cheering!” Slapping a hand on his shoulder, you struggle to pull him away from the viewing window. “He’s going to karkin’ die!” 

“Stars!” he groans, relenting to your hold. “But I just put credits down!” 

“They better be on Din,” you yell over your shoulder, sailing down the closest flight of stairs. “Or I’m never blasted speaking to you again!” 

“That’s not a threat, Sweetheart!” 

“Carbonite man,” you growl under your breath. Well, he had better keep up because you aren’t waiting around, even if it leaves you unprotected. You don’t care. You don’t care.

You’re not even sure how many flights of stairs you’ve flown down- all you know is that with every thunderous cheer, with every whoop of the crowd- Din is one step closer to the end result of the fight…

Whatever it may be…

…Oh stars.

Once you reach the ground-level, your instinct, your memory takes over, leading you with straight towards the secured gate that opens into the arena. You cut around corners- heave past crowds- barrel down to- ah, there!

There! The gates!

“Shit!”

You freeze- legs tangling up at the sudden stop, nearly hurling you to the ground. Your eyes widen, staring through the bars of the gate, eyes glued only on him.

Din.

Smoking blaster- his armored chest heaving-

-and dead Rancor pinned beneath his boots.

He gazes down at the creature as if completely unaware of the wild, raucous applause ripping through the building. Re-holstering his blaster, he flings aside his cape, turns, and drops several feet to the ground. Shoulders rolling back in complete and utter ease, he hooks his fingers in his belt.

You smug bastard. A lop-sided grin stretches across your face. You absolute show off.

You blink, the smile wavering on your lips.

Maker, that stance- he- he’s… dang. Really kriffing sexy.

Kriffing sexy… and alive! You- you can’t believe-

“Din! DIN!”

You grab ahold of the gate, bouncing up and down on your toes. “HELL YEAH!” Throwing your head back, you burst into wild laughter. Maker, you’ve never been so damn proud of a man in all your life!

“That’s my Mandalorian!” you cackle, beaming ear to ear. “Din! Over here- wait! No, wait!”

But it’s too late. There he goes, blasting into the air with that stupid jetpack of his.

“Dank Ferrik!” you growl, pushing back against the gate. “You tin-head! You did that on purpose-” you fling both hands into the air- “to make me keep running after you!”

“HEY!”

“Pablo!” you shout back, turning to race down the corridor.

Panting heavily, he catches up to you with a few long strides. “Corellian hells!-” he reaches out to touch your shoulder- “don’t do that again!”

“Do what?”

“I couldn’t find you,” his voice strains. “I was worried you might jump into the ring- try and choke out the Rancor.”

“I would have-” you spin on your heel, squeezing through a large crowd of Twi’lek and human performers- “if I had a shockstaff.”

“Then you’re never getting a shockstaff.”

“Try and stop me.”

You can only smirk at the string of grumbles that fall from his lips.

“Come on-” you grip his hand- “he should be in one of the private rooms in the back. We can slip in and-”

“Hey, you!”

-you freeze.

An elaborately dressed woman rushes forward, snatches Pablo’s hand from your own. “You should have been in section four thirty minutes ago!” she snarls, tugging at his arm. “We have one final dance rehearsal before the performance!”

“…Dance?”

Pablo’s head whips around- staring, pleading with you for help.

“Sw-sweetheart-”

“NOW.”

All you can do is watch, slipping him a pitiful shrug as he is yanked away to Maker knows where… You snort. You sure hope he’s as talented at dancing as he is spinning tales, or he’s in some serious bantha poodoo…

-----------------------------

Ah, here we go!

It took longer than anticipated to locate the corridor housing the private suites, but after a bit of frantic searching, you’ve finally located it. Unfortunately, you still have no idea which room Din could be within… Maybe the grand suite? Or the one overlooking the main entrance?

Well, you’ll figure it out, even if you have to knock on every last door to find him.

You have to admit, you can’t wait to see him again…

Stars! A grin bursts across your face, and you struggle to suppress a giggle. You also just can’t believe he did it! Hell yeah!

He killed a Rancor.

…

…for you.

To find you.

Oh Maker… You don’t deserve him.

You clasp both hands together, laughing under your breath. You’re just so… so damn proud. The second you see him, you’re going… to… to…

You freeze- the air squeezes from your lungs.

…

Well.

You…

You found Din Djarin.

Down the hall, entering his room-

…

-with two women hanging off his arms.

You just… stare, blood throbbing in your ears as they disappear from view. The slam of the door shutting behind them rushes down the hall- ramming into your chest like a punch.

Then-

-silence.

You clench your trembling hands into fists, your nails digging, cutting into your palms.

…

Well.

Guess someone’s having a little celebratory fun… What the blazes do you do? Go knock? Interrupt… whatever?

…

No. You know what?

Kark him.

You press both hands against your thighs, flames beginning to tinge along the edge of your vision. Clenching your jaw, you throw back your shoulders, spin around, and march down the hall.

Why- Maker!- what’s wrong with you? Turn around- go bang on his door- get him out of here. That was the plan- stick to it!

But you…. you’re-

-ridiculous.

The fire scorching the edge of your vision is extinguished by a watery flood. You reach up to wipe your eyes with a glittery sleeve, but- kriff!- the mask prevents it.

Maker above! Karking crying? Damn, you’re embarrassed on behalf of yourself! Why do you care so much what he does? Stars! He’s free to do whatever damn thing he wants… the lurdo.

You’ve never even seen his face! How kriffin’ old is the Mandalorian anyway? Stars, he- he probably just sees you as some stupid girl who can’t stay out of trouble without him! Killed a Rancor because he feels sorry for you!

After all, if there’s one thing you’ve learned about the Mandalorian since the day he pulled you from the sands of Taek, it’s that he has a penchant for collecting friends, pathetic rescues- pathetic rescues like yourself.

That’s all you are to him.

Your lower lip trembles- whether in furor or dejection, you aren’t certain.

…Kriff him!

You grind your teeth, forcing your lip to still.

Stop. It… doesn’t matter what he does.

Your… your feelings for him aren’t… real. You’ve always known that- acknowledged that. You know you’re susceptible to silly daydreams; you’re desperate for attention- a home- a family…

And Din Djarin gave you all of that.

So, no- this burst of emotion? These karking tears?

You clench your hands into fists.

They mean nothing.

Just… manifestations of your loneliness.

But- but still… you had always thought that… his feelings were real…

…

But they’re not.

Which is… good.

If the Mandalorian had real feelings for you, the moment he learned what you’ve done, who you are... No, you were right to run away the first time, for more reasons than one. You- you have to stick to that plan.

It… is what it is.

…

But damn, do you hate him right now.

----------------------------

~I can’t let the way you are influence me~

Shut up, Din.

~You make rash, impulsive, emotional decisions~

Shut up! Maker, just shut up!

~We’re done here~

“Yeah,” you growl aloud, trailing behind the flow of people filtering into the arena’s entertainment hall. “We are done, Din Djarin.”

Your first step into the arena’s entertainment hall is a time machine, spinning you back to a time and place you thought you’d never relive. Yet here you are- in the room from your memories- only this time you’re back to search for your dumbass friend in a sparkly jumpsuit.

Maker!

Your eyes trail upwards, following the natural light. Ah, there’s balconies you’d jump from with the crew! And the- you sniff the air- heavy scent of roasting meat still lingers, hovering in the air. The reverberations of booming laughter and mirth twist, meld together in the air. The echoes rise, just barely kissing the ceiling, before slipping out through the open windows and into the sunlight above.

You can’t help but smile softly.

But reminiscing is not the goal for today.

You’re leaving. Getting the kriff off this planet.

And Pablo has to stay and warn Din for you… if you could just blasted find him! Pablo- stars- the man is impossible! You take him on a field trip, and what does he do? Disappears.

Arg! Where the hell is he? Your eyes sweep the lines of entertainers, the tables of special guests- but no Pablo. Hell, did he elope with a Jawa and leave? This is the perfect chance for him to talk with Din! You swear, if he left you-

You gasp- Cara! And… You clench your teeth, biting back an audible growl. Karkin’ Aric Thall- the lying sack of Hutt excrement. There they are- sitting up on his favorite platform, the best view in the house.

You- you have a good mind to march right up there and- and-

“Where’s the Mandalorian?” Thall rises from his chair, standing at the edge of the platform. “Is he in medical? Surely he’s not snubbing my hospitality!”

The crowd murmurs.

-slam-

You spin around- Din! He’s just… standing in the doorway, both hands pressed against the frame.

A cheeky grin begins to stretch, beam across your face, until… you remember what he was doing the last time you saw him…

“There he is!” Thall chuckles, sitting back in his seat. “Come.”

Din remains motionless, silent- and the air thins, as if one wrong move could shatter it into a thousand gleaming shards.

“Uh oh,” you groan, wrapping both arms tightly around your body. You know the Mandalorian- he’s pissed.

In the flick of an eye- he’s moving, sweeping forward through the room- paving a direct path for Thall.

“Stars!” you hiss, moving forward on his mark.

You can’t hear a word of their conversation- but Din is none too happy. If you had to wager a guess… um, well, Din’s probably not amused by the Rancor addition to the fight.

Something tells you that wasn’t part of their original agreement…

Standing as close to them as you can without raising suspicion, you turn up the dials on your mask, amplifying the sound.

“Come on-” Thall’s voice cuts through your mask- “a true Mandalorian can handle any little surprise thrown at them.”

“A Rancor is a little surprise?” Cara butts in.

“Yes!” Thall laughs, swinging his arm to the side. “Surprise, it’s a Rancor! It’s good for business.”

Din tilts his head to the side. “No more surprises.” His voice is low- so low you almost can’t hear him even with the dial turned up.

“Understood?”

Thall just laughs. “Come on! My reputation is built around surprises!” Lacing his fingers together, he throws a leg up and over the arm of his chair. “You handled it like a Mandalorian ought to have. So, what’s the problem?”

“We had conditions,” the Mandalorian growls, taking a step forward. “See that you stick to them.”

Thall’s eyes widen in mock concern. “I have, haven’t I?” He glances at his guards before turning back to the Mandalorian. “You had a fight. You won the fight. So, you win the next fight, and you learn how to locate our... friend.”

Our friend?

Hell no. I think not.

It takes all of your resolve to keep from marching forward, ripping your mask off, and revealing what a blasted liar Thall is.

“You never explained, Mando,” asks Thall. “I hope you don’t seek her for a bounty. As many headaches as both she and Valen caused me, I do still have fondness for her.”

Ha.

Liar.

More like fondness for the cash you drew in.

The Mandalorian is silent, still, then steps forward-

“My reasons are my own.”

“Well,” Thall sighs. “It must be important to go to all this trouble.” He slaps his hands on the arms of his chair, leaning forward. “Who hired you? What did she do? Tell me- I am dying to know.”

Silence.

“Ah! So unnecessarily dramatic,” Thall grumbles, flopping back in his seat. “Fine! We’ll change topics!” The tips of his fingers bounce rapidly against his leg. “Sooo.... we’re excited to have a Mandalorian visiting here again! It’s been a while, am I right?”  Thall’s voice booms at the last few words, seizing the crowd’s attention. In a mixture between slurred cheers and boos, the crowd erupts, encouraging Thall to continue.

“I know!” Thall springs from his seat, staring down at the Mandalorian. “Why don’t we switch things up here, and you entertain us!”

Cara’s laugh is a bark. “Killing a rancor wasn’t entertainment enough?”

“Oh!” Thall chuckles, shooting his guards a knowing look. “I know! How about blade throwing? Or sharpshooting? Mandalorians are supposed to be good at that, right?”

The Mandalorian keeps his voice even, but his irritation is not veiled.

“I’m not interested in your games, Thall.”

Of course, Thall pretends he didn’t hear that. The man always was-

“Oh! Yes! Yes, yes!” Thall’s words burst through your thoughts. “I have an even better idea!”

Kark, what now?

You watch, anger only rising in your chest. Thall sweeps his eyes across the room, across the sea of faces-

-stops.

…

You.

Oh… Force.

He’s staring at you.

No.

Oh no.

"Put the dancer against the wall.”

…

Oh, FORCE.

A hand clasps your arm, and you instinctively resist- yanking against the hold. “What?” you hiss. “Wait!”

The guard lugs you forward, pulling a squeak from your lips. Oh stars! What do you do? What’s happening what’s do you do oh stars, stars, stars!

“Move. Now.”

You hiss. His claws dig, cut through your sleeve, into your flesh.

You… you have to stay calm.

You… can’t blow your cover. Stay calm.

…Oh stars.

With one final thrust, you are heaved forward, and you hit the wall with an audible oof through your mask’s vocoder. Sucking in air through your teeth, you fling around, pressing your body flush against the wall, the roughness scraping your exposed back and legs.

You blink.

Din.

He’s just… staring at you.

Unreadable as always.

Blast! Panic nips at your heart. Does he recognize you? Seven Corellian hells! Do you reveal yourself- risk a fight breaking out? Oh kark, your plan was to sneak out. Arg! What do you do?

You clench your hands into fists, resisting the urge to groan.

Hell. The things you get mixed up in…

Wrapping your anxiety up with a bandage of confidence, you lift your chin, awaiting Thall’s next move.

The Mandalorian breaks from his trance.

“What are you doing?” He dips his head back to Thall.

He flashes the Mandalorian that old familiar, no-good grin…

Oh dear.

“You’re going to show us your blade throwing precision skills-” Thall motions a guard, carrying a set of blades, forward- “with a live target.”

....

Live-

OH FORCE.

“If Mandalorians are as good as the legends say, she’ll be just fine.” Thall has the audacity to wink at you. “Or if you inadvertently kill her, well-” he waves a hand- “I have plenty more.”

…

The Mandalorian does not move- does not speak. His blank, lifeless visor is focused only on you.

And you only on him.

“Well?”

…

He shifts- glares at Thall.

“No.”

“Fine…” Thall purrs. He glances over at his guards- raises a hand at them.

…

“Then kill her.”

…

Kill? …Wait-

DANK FERRIK.

“OOF!” You are flung against the wall, a hand pressing, locking you in place. “No, no, stop-”

You freeze- eyes blasting open-

A man-

Blade extended-

Stepping forward-

-BLAST-

-BLAST-

Burnt flesh pierces your nostrils.

“Bloody seven hells!” you warble through the modulator, gawking down at the lifeless body mere inches from your feet- the second body also much too close for comfort. Your head shoots up, your eyes widening.

The Mandalorian is facing you- smoking blaster in hand.

“Yay!” Thall’s voice pierces the tension, his claps echoing throughout the silent room. “Excitement already!”

This is the flick that switches the crowd- their shouts and cries swirling together to birth utter chaos.

The guard steps up to the Mandalorian, offering him the blades. He stares down at them- to you- to Thall.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Thall purrs.

You groan. Holy Maker, you knew you should have sent 4PO in your place…

Squeezing both eyes shut, you swallow back your dread. Dank Ferrik, how the hell do things always go so blasted wrong? Should you reveal yourself? Ah, no, no, then a firefight would break out- he- Din- could be killed- or you- or-

“Don’t move.”

Your eyes blast open.

The Mandalorian- he’s… leaning over you- so close you can feel his warm, protective aura wrap around you like a cloak.

“Understood?” He shifts closer, his voice all but a rasp. “Don’t move.”

Well, damn it if you won’t obey him, but all you can muster is a pitiful nod in response.

He returns the nod, turns to leave-

“I trust you.”

He freezes at your words- turns to stare at you. His dark visor bores into your mask, as if he could sear straight through to metal- past all the wiring- and see only you.

But then he’s storming away again, palming a blade in his gloved hand.

You press your head back. Uh, wait- is this really happening? Kark! Well, you suppose you were going to get yourself killed eventually… Might as well be at the hands of a friend, right?

Right…

He stands at a distance- angles his head to the side, the blade firm in his grip.

Silence.

He pulls back-

Your eyes widen. Holy k-

-Slam-

You turn your face ever so slightly to the right, the ice-cold metal of the blade jutting from the wall a chill against your skin.

Your mouth drops.

Did… did he mean to get that close?

His voice hisses in your mind.

“Don’t move.”

-Slam-

Two.

-Slam-

Three.

-Slam-

Four.

You flinch with every landing, eyes squeezed as tightly closed as physically possible. Stars! How many more-

-Slam-

You hiss, and crack an eye open, glancing down at the blood pooling, dripping from your right hand. You moan, and tuck the hand behind your back, hoping no one noticed the graze.

The crowd bursts into cheers, the tension and silence eradicated by the Mandalorian’s final blade toss.

“She lives!” Thall’s voice cuts through the ruckus. “I get to keep my dancer!”

Flopping your head back against the wall, all you can do is groan. “Dank Ferrik,” you warble, pressing your left hand against your chest.

Hell, first he stabs your heart, then he slices your hand. If you weren’t about to run away again, you’d stay and kill Din Djarin.

A flick of movement draws your eyes forward. There- the Mandalorian- Din- he’s making a path straight for you, seemingly blind to the room, the chaos surrounding him.

You blink and watch him approach. You know it’s tempting fate, but… you can’t resist.

“Not bad,” your modulated voice mumbles. “Could use a little improvement.”

Din pauses just before you and leans his head forward.

“You’re not dead, are you?”

Your smirk is hidden behind the mask. “No-” your hand grips the handle of a blade, and with a tug, you yank it from the wall- “I’m alive for now.” You stretch your hand forward, offering him the weapon.

Silence.

You think he’s grabbing for the weapon, but he grabs your right hand. He stares down at his glove, your blood black against the leather.

“L-like I said,” you stutter, biting your lip- “uh, you could use a little improvement.”

 His visor is glued to your hand, to your blood. Then, his head trails up… to your masked face- along your sleeved arms- down your torso-

Oh kark.

You rip your hand away, stumbling off to the side.

You don’t say a word- you just run.

------------------------------

Step- step- swing to the left.

Twist- twist- spin.

Left- left- shake your body.

Thrust- thrust- pose.

Stars, thank the Maker Thall’s dancers are performing to standard Nar Shaddaa choreography. The last thing you need is to stand out even kriffing more than you already do… You know this dance, this song like the back of your hand.

You follow along with the line of dancers, your muscle memory taking over as the lights dim further- dipping the room into a neon glow. The bass throbs in your head, preventing you from doing any coherent thinking. So, you flip into autopilot- taking this opportunity to glance out at the crowds for a sign of blasted Pablo.

You gaze out- (spin, spin, to the left)- eyes sweeping across the neon faces- (thrust, thrust, kick your leg)- but it’s no use- (swing, swing, release the pole)- there’s just too many karkin’ faces!

As much as you enjoy dancing, this is a waste of time- (kick, kick, spin around).

You scowl out at the crowd, and your breathing stops.

Din.

Leaning up against the wall, both arms crossed, his visor is trained- unmistakably trained- on you.

Stars!

How long has he been watching you? Or rather… why is he watching you?

You twist your head back and forth with the music- catching Din out the corner of your eye a second time.

-Still staring.

Maker!

You rip your eyes away, your heart fluttering in your chest. Oh hells, now you wish you had never noticed his attention- you can barely remember the choreography much less focus on trying to find Pablo in the crowd.

You hiss, fumbling with your rhythm.

Blast him- the Mandalorian’s ruining your performance.

You grit your teeth, seething. Doesn’t he have his own entertainment to get back to in his quarters? You might would be flattered by the attention… if he knew it was you. But he can’t possibly know it’s you. He… he thinks you’re… someone else.

You can’t help but growl.

Kark him!

Not that you’re jealous…

Right…?

…

Kark him.

…

Ah! There!

Your eyes catch a flash of white light- a door opening and closing just to the side of the room. This is your best opportunity. You slip from the performance, fleeing through the door and down the side corridor.

Thankfully, the crowds are thinning out now, which should make the building easier to navigate- easier to locate your sequined companion. You continue running down the corridor, keeping an eye open for any good hiding spot.

“Pablo!” you hiss, ducking your head into an open storage room door. “You there?” You swear, if he’s been hiding this entire time- you’re going to kick his- YIKES!

A steely grip pulls, yanks you away from the door and straight down the hall.

“W-wait!” you squeak, stumbling over your own feet.

Your eyes shoot up-

Din.

…

Oh…. shit.

His glove is locked around your left wrist, dragging you behind him as he stalks down the hall. Stumbling against his pull, you squeak again, but he does not slow his pace.

“Wh-what are- urg!”

You nearly crash into his back at his sudden stop. The door to his quarters flies open, and he pushes you forward. You stumble into the edge of the bed- collapsing onto it with an oof.

Then the door slams shut behind you.

…

Footsteps.

…

Oh kriff.

You spin around to face him. “I- I can-”

The mask rips from your face-

…

…

His chest heaves.

His visor- frozen- on your eyes.

Oh…

…

Oh stars.

You stand- hands raised.

“D-Din… I- I ju-”

He grabs your wrist-

-yanks you forward-

-his arms crashing you against his chest.

…

Safe.

…

You’re safe.

…

“Dank Ferrik,” you groan, burying your face in the fabric just beside his pauldron.

His arms tighten at your voice, squeezing you even closer into him.

“You left.”

His voice is rough, strained.

You shove on his arm. “Technically,” you mumble, face buried in fabric, “you left me first.” Peeling away from his armor, you glance up at him.

His helmet dips down, visor trained on your eyes- your face. His arms relax, dropping to the curve of your lower back.

“But at least I had a good reason-” you pout your lips in playful contempt and jab a hand into his side- “unlike you… uh-”

You tense.

The cool of leather brushes down the side of your cheek- curves around your jaw. It stops- pausing just beneath your chin-

-and lifts.

“I-It’s good, um-” you force a grin- “to… see you, Din.”

Leather dusts your ear.

“Ka’r’ika…”

…

Damn, damn it.

That’s it-

You’re done for.

“I- uh- I…” you fumble, flicking your eyes to the floor.

Oh, Dank Ferrik.

You reach up, gripping his wrist. “Come now, Din.” Pushing his arm away, you take a step back- space to think. “Don’t get all… uh, sentimental on me.” Your forced smile tightens. “We- we can talk about things later, once we’re out of here.”

He, too, steps back, and dips his head at you.

“Talk.”

Crossing your arms, you can’t help but snort at his brevity. “Well, I came to save your rusted ass, Mando… Thall is a creep. He lied about knowing how to find me so he could con you into fighting.” Rubbing your temple, you can only sigh.

“Trust me, all he wants your Beskar.” You throw out a hand- smacking it against Din’s armor. “You flashy show off.”

Oh-

He’s caught your hand, holding it against his armored chest. His hand is warm, firm above your own.

And he isn’t letting go.

“We… need to leave,” you whisper, tugging against his grip.

He frees your hand- angles his head to the side.

…

“Come.”

His voice is soft, gentle.

…

“I’m taking you home.”

…

Oh.

“S-sure-” you clear your throat, eyes flicking away from him- “I just need that mask… wherever it flew, aha...”

Swooping to the side, you reach down, scooping the abandoned vocoder up off the floor.

“Hells,” you grumble, snapping it into place. “Um, hey, we’re twinning, Mando!”

Hooking his fingers in his belt, he just flops his head to the side.

Grinning ear to ear, you pull the mask away to shoot him a pointed look. “Tell me,” you ask, “how’d you know it was me?”

“Who else but you-” he takes a lumbering step forward- “would say she trusts me to throw a blade at her head?”

He has the audacity to reach up and tap your nose.

“Din Djarin!” Crinkling your nose, you take a swat at his hand. “I didn’t exactly-” you stick your tongue out- “have a choice.”

…

-a stab in your chest…a thought.

It’s petty, but…

“Oh, but I bet one of your companions-” you lower your brows at him, resentment resurfacing on your tongue- “from earlier would have also trusted you.”

…

“…You saw that?”

He stills- fingers flexing by his side.

“They… were in a bad situation,” he mumbles, barely audible through his vocoder. “…From which I helped them escape.”

…

“Oh.”

…

“So… you weren’t-”

“No.”

“…Oh.”

You blink.

“Not that I kriffing care what you kriffing do, Din Djarin.”

He just… stares.

Maker.

You want to die.

You just… awkwardly glance around.

 …

“I… recognized the scar on your hand.” His voice is quiet, hesitant. “Kept an eye on you since.”

“Oh. Kark, of course.” Stretching your fingers, you glance down at your hand. “Mmf, got this my first week on Nar Shaddaa- a homecoming gift, I suppose.” Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you grimace at the scar.

“When we first arrived on-world, the lower level was the only place we could find work.” You flop your head back, groaning at the memory.

“And, just my luck, my first employer was raided my fifth night there. Out of nowhere.” Rubbing your temple, you release a heavy sigh. “Those were… hard days. But- stars- I… I schemed, I plotted, I learned the game as fast as I could.”

…At a price.

The bed dips down beside you, ripping you from your thoughts. You turn, meeting the Mandalorian’s neutral stare.

“…And I made it-” a smirk twitches at the corner of your lips- “I clawed my way into the city skylines, upper-level opulence.”

He chuckles.

“Well now…”

Leather brushes against your neck.

“That’s my girl.”

…

Oh Maker.

…You hate he saw how you grinned at that.

“Here-” his glove drops, motioning for your right hand- “that cut needs to be cleaned.”

“Making fun of my doctoring?”

He grunts, focused only on inspecting the wound.

You roll your eyes. “I just went and-”

Oh.

He’s… tugged his glove off- tossed it aside.

“Here.”

His hand- his human hand- his tan, big, warm human hand- oh stars, oh stars- reaches for yours-

Blast it- stop.

It’s a damn hand, for Maker’s sake!

“Are you hurt elsewhere?” he snaps, oblivious to the turmoil his kriffing hand is inflicting at the moment. He dabs a wipe across the wound. “Have you been eating?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” you chirp. “Fried up a womprat leg in the desert for lunch.”

 …

“I’m kidding, Din.”

He blows a puff of air through the vocoder, and you can only grin.

Stars, he’s just too much fun to mess with…

“Blast! I told you- nhg- that you needed a little- ah- improvement-” you cringe, forcing your eyes away from the wound.

He makes a noise- continues his task.

“I might be the better blade thrower,” you snort, continuing to ramble. “But, damn, you killed a whole ass Rancor!”

“Well-” he shoots a quick glance up- “I couldn’t kill just half its ass.”

…

He has a point.

“I know! You should teach me Rancor fighting!”

“No.”

“Please? I want to try taming one- ride it through town.”

You hiss- he’s pressed a bactapatch against your flesh.

“That’s beyond my paygrade, Ka’r’ika. I’ve only ever killed one. Taming-” he looks up at you, tilts his head to the side- “…taming is substantially more difficult.”

“Are you talking about me now?” you tease, crinkling your nose at him.

“Your words-” he quips, his tone deepening- “not mine.”

You chuckle, your lop-sided grin only growing.

Blast it.

You’ve… missed this… missed him.

“Well, anyway” you huff, shoving against his shoulder with your free hand. “I still think you’re a banthabrain for even considering Thall’s deal.”

Silence.

One, two, three short tugs, and he’s finished wrapping your injured hand.

“…I’d fight a second Rancor-”

His visor lifts.

“…If it meant finding you.”

…

You blink.

Oh.

Watching as naked skin disappears within the sanctuary of his glove, a… thought occurs.

“Well,” you mumble and stand, flicking your eyes north to his helm.

Oh, hell.

Just do it.

You whirl around, positioning between his legs. He jolts back- startled- as you slap both hands atop his pauldrons.

“…You found me.”

You lean forward- plant a sharp kiss against his visor.

A catch, a hitch in his breath-

-and he leaps to his feet, spinning you aside.

“We… we need to go,” he rumbles, stalking straight for the door. He stops beside it, fumbling with his belt.

“Fine,” you sigh, snapping your vocoder mask back into place. You saunter to stand beside Din, who’s still fiddling with something on his belt.

Throwing both hands on your waist, you jut out a hip.

“Well, you ready, Mando?”

The door snaps open.

And then he’s gone- ducks right out the door, cape swooping around at his heels.

You can’t help but chuckle under your breath.

Okay, so maybe you’ll never tame a Rancor in your lifetime…

…but you think you just tamed your very first Mandalorian.

------------------------------

“Just keep an eye out for lime green sequins.”

At your words, Din angles his head back at you, his silence speaking a thousand words.

“No, we shouldn’t leave Pablo.” You shake your head, glancing down each hallway you pass. “I think he has abandonment issues.”

Din just sighs, resting a hand behind your back to push you forward.

“I’ll tell Cara where to meet us.” The Mandalorian’s voice is all business. “And Pablo- we’ll… find him.”

“Don’t sound so depressed.” You bite your lip to keep from grinning. “He’s starting to grow on me.”

Din makes a noise- then pulls you close.

“Stay with me,” he rumbles. “Don’t say a word.”

“Lips? Zipped.”

He glares at you- and you can only smirk.

Ah, ahead!

The entrance to the entertainment hall…

Upon re-entering, it’s pretty much exactly how you left it- loud and chaotic. As you blink up at the flashing lights, you feel a tug on your arm.

“Keep up.”

The Mandalorian’s voice is hard, a warning.

“I told you that you can’t use that voice on me,” you hiss under your breath. “I’m not afraid of you.” You shove a hand into his back as if to prove your point.

“Aye!” you growl. “Din!”

“Quiet.”

“Don’t pinch me.”

“Quit being a brat.”

Thank the Maker you wear a mask- you’d hate to give Din the satisfaction of your stupid grin.

“Din,” you whisper, tugging on his arm. “Maybe we coul- OH!”

-an eruption, a burst of curses and shouts and chaos.

Your eyes blast open-

“Pablo!”

There he is- arms pinned behind his back as a group of performers trail behind him. There’s… blood dripping off the side of his face-

-and he looks pissed.

“Sir!” one of the guards shouts.

Thall just sighs. “Oh, what is going on? Interrupting my party…”

“An intruder. This man was pretending to be a performer, and he refuses to explain himself.”

“This man is lyin- oh OUCH.” Pablo’s head jerks to the side. “Was that necessary?”

“Ack,” Thall huffs, waving his hand aside. “I don’t care. I don’t care who he is. It isn’t important.”

“Thank you-”

“Just kill him.”

“Wa-wait WHAT?”

You slap a hand across your mouth, but before you can react- Din is blazing past you- straight for the crowd.

“Din!” you hiss, panic welling up in your throat.

Oh stars-

“Stop.”

The Mandalorian’s voice commands the room.

“Yes, stop!” Pablo laughs at Din’s appearance. “Maker, man, I’ve never been so-”

“He’s with me.”

Thall just… leans forward.

“Is there-” his voice is hard, cool- “a reason you have a spy in my midst, Mandalorian?”

Oh… kriff.

You begin pushing forward.

“He’s a friend,” Cara’s voice interjects. “Not a spy.”

“Were we-” Thall chuckles- “plotting something behind my back?”

The room freezes- stills-

-ready to shatter.

Thall- kark!

He’s been waiting for a reason to do this!

…

He’s- he’s going to kill Din for his Beskar.

Thall just… smiles.

…

“Kill them.”

The room erupts-

Bodies racing- blasters flying- shrieks-

Everyone is either fleeing-

-or joining in on a fight.

You scream, ducking behind a table to avoid a flying chair. “Kark!” You reach down, lugging your heels at a passing guard.

“You bunch of creeps!”

But your voice drowns in the ocean of pandemonium.

“Blast it, oof!” you growl, racing past several men wrestling each other. “You’re all idiots!”

Shit, shit!

You- you can’t see any of them!

“DIN?- get back, you- MOVE!”

You shove past a stampede of screaming dancers, spying-

-Aric Thall.

You bare your teeth.

You look to Thall- look to the wall.

An idea.

“Oh, just kill them,” Thall yells, stepping back behind his wall of guards. “Just blas-”

-SLAM-

A collective gasp-

The room crumples into silence.

…

You stand firm atop a table, pointing a second blade at Thall.

“ARIC THALL!”

You reach up- rip the mask from your face- smash it to the floor.

“Fuck you!”

Not the best choice of words, perhaps…

Thall just stares at you.

“Uh…” He casually glances at the blade jutting from the wall… mere inches from his head. “Do I know you?”

Karkin’ hells, you’ve got to be kidding…

You shout your name, rage bleeding through your words.

“Oh, Maker help us! It’s you!” Thall gasps, clutching his temples. “I should have known I had a headache for a reason-”

“I’m going to give you more than just a headache-” you jab the blade forward- “you greasy furball!”

“Ack!” Thall flops dramatically back in his chair. “If you were anyone else, I’d have you blasted for that.”

“You liar!” you shout. “You lied about finding me-”

You pause.

-a voice.

-your name.

Your eyes trail downwards.

Din’s pressed up against your table, inches from your feet, his hands held out for you.

“Ka’r’ika, come down-”

…

You turn- reject him.

You… you know what you’re doing.

…

Din has to trust you now.

“You know, I’m truly sorry our reunion had to be this way,” Thall laughs, flopping back in his seat. “Look at you, all big and grown and bossy. And violent. Valen must be proud.”

Your resolve wavers at his name.

“How is Gramps?”

“None of your concern.”

“Oh, so he’s dead.”

“I’m not here about him,” you growl, throwing your hand to the side. “You lied to the Mandalorian about the conditions of your agreement.” You clench your teeth, forcing an authoritative persona. “You had no information on me. Therefore, the agreement is void, and we will be going now. Thank you, and goodbye.”

“Ack, now, I didn’t lie,” Thall replies. “I just… mistook another for you! My eyes are really getting bad.”

“You need glasses, sir.”

“I know!”

“Uhg,” you groan. “Thall, you’ve not blasted changed a bit.”

“You neither!” he chirps. “And you aren’t going anywhere, isn’t that great?”

Furor threatening to boil over, you rush forward, stopping just at the edge of the table.

“You OWE me!” Your voice strains. “You were nothing but a flea-bitten scrap pile to the Hutts until I-” you jab a thumb at your chest- “came around- until I convinced my friends to give you the time of day- race under your banner.”  

“You over-estimate your influence, I think.”

Then he- he laughs at you.

Red flashes, pulses in your eyes.

You- you want- you’re going to-

“Mandalorian.”

Thall crosses his legs, smiles at Din- now standing just behind you on the table.

“You can try and leave, but you-” he throws his hands up; makes a face- “will not make it out alive. Sorry!”

Oh-

That’s karking it-

You start forward. “Thall, I’m going to break-”

“Don’t hurt her.”

The Mandalorian yanks you back- pushes you behind him.

“…Our deal is still on.”

…

“I will fight.”

“Din!” you growl, grasping onto his cloak. “No- you stupid metal-”

“Hurt her-” he steps forward, pushing you back- “…and you’ll beg for me to kill you.”

Thall huffs.

“I don’t kindly to threats, Mando…”

Your eyes catch movement- Din’s hand… hovering above his blaster-

Kriff… No!

You lunge forward-

“A RACE!”

…

Thall tilts his head at you.

“Uh…Care to explain?”

You… you have to do this.

Din…

You can’t let him fight.

“Credits- you’ll have all the credits you can imagine, Thall.” You force your voice to steady, neutralize your waver. “You can advertise it as a big comeback of a… a legend that disappeared. Think- think of the gambling, the ticket sales…”

“Ka’r’ika-”

“I’ll race again, you slimy piece of filth.” You leap down from the table- the clomp of Din’s boots stomping just behind you. You pause beneath Thall’s platform. “And then we’ll go free… unharmed.”

…

“I used to make you a lot of money, Thall.”

“You certainly did…” Thall purrs. “And… an event such as this… would be worth much more to me than… a simple fight…”

“We had a deal.”

Din storms forward- the guards shoving him back.

“Din!” you hiss, shaking your head at him.

“This is more desirable to me, I’m afraid, Mandalorian.” Thall grins. “But on one condition-”

“Here we go,” Cara growls, stepping up beside Din.

“If you win, you all go free. But if you lose-”

Thall throws a leg up and over the arm of his chair.

“You’ll stay and race under my banner… for an entire year.”

…

Oh, hell…

“Ka’r’ika-” a hand wraps around your arm- “let me figh-”

“Deal.”

You lift your chin.

“We have a deal.”

“Ah, excellent! Just like old times!” Thall cheers, claps his hands. “She really cut you a good arrangement, Mando. We were just going to throw you in the Sarlacc for your next fight!”

“Thall,” you snarl. “You blob of-”

“-But you spared him!”

A harsh grip spins you around.

“What are you doing?”

Din’s voice is low- measured.

“Saving your ass.”

His hands just… drop to his side.

“Don’t worry so much, Din. Besides-” you force a grin- “If I lose, the hunters will be on me within a week… so there’s absolutely no risk of me having to stay a year!”

…

“Damn it…”

The curse slips beneath his helm.

“Hey-” you reach out- jab his arm- “you’ve not seen me at full capacity yet.”

The Mandalorian shifts… touches your face.

“I’m the damn best-” you lean into his touch- “remember?”

-a puff of air through his vocoder.

…

“Trust in me, Din. For once, trust in me.”

…

The cool of Beskar kisses your brow.

“...I always have.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

taglist: (in the reblog)

a/n: Thank you SO MUCH for your patience.

My dudes, I’ve spent an EMBARRASSING amount of time on this chapter. I wrote and rewrote chapter 9 more than any other previous chapter. I just wanted it to be perfect- and between health and personal issues- I’m very proud that I was able to pull this chapter together in a way that exceeded my expectations!

Your beautiful comments kept me going! And, trust me, I savor every last one! I recognize regulars, and I think about the things you’ve commented while writing. They even inform how I write at times! (To the commenter who said they looove when Din hooks his fingers in his belt, I hope I checked that checkbox for you in chapter 9 lollll.)

Chapter 10 will pick up right where we left off here- but the second half of chapter 10 will be much different than the first half- and that’s all I’m saying…. Actually, I will go ahead and say we will be getting a LOT of angst and straightforward answers to Ka’r’ika’s/Reader’s past in chapter 10…

Also, I thought I would share a link to the FANTASTIC fanart a reader of In Fields of White @styxxus​ drew! It’s AMAZING! (Click here- Note that the images my look a bit squished on desktop. Just ‘right click’ the image and select ‘open in new tab’ to see the full artwork.) If you happen to create anything based off this fic, I’d LOVE to see it! Just head on over to my personal tumblr page! :)

Next, I am shamelessly plugging my new series, Auriga Hills, a Narcos fanfiction. The summary is as follows:

Javier Peña- brash, arrogant, a real jerk.

And now he’s your damn husband.

Allured by the prospect of mischief and money, you consent to marry Javier Peña to assist him in his undercover mission for justice. You’re only in it for the fun, nothing more, nothing less. But traveling together in close quarters on a train bound for the West Coast comes with some unexpected ramifications- you’re actually beginning to like the damn idiot.

(A 1930’s Enemies to Lovers AU)

#din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x oc #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #star wars fanfiction #willezarr #in fields of white #wille writes #chapter 9 #ifow

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Productivity

Prompt: if you’re still open to prompts could you write some Roman-centric hurt/comfort? Maybe with him overworking himself and Logan finding him?

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: Logince, can be platonic or romantic you decide, implied mociet, implied parental anxciet and moxiety

Warnings: Roman’s pretty hard on himself, so self-doubt, self-destructive tendencies, can be interpreted as self-harm if you squint but nothing graphic/explicit, self-esteem issues, sympathetic dark sides

Word Count: 5850

Roman is loud. Roman is extra. Roman is brimming with all the trimmings and trappings of an extravagant parade and it is impossible to ignore him when he walks into a room.

 After all, when you’ve only got 0.5% of a day to make yourself count, you learn not to let a single second of it slip by.

Roman has to be perfect for that 0.5%. He can’t slip up even once or he risks that 0.5% slipping away entirely. He has his ideas, he has his witty barbs prepared, he has his improv skills ready, and he never stops moving. Which means the other 99.5% has to be used very wisely.

 He has to get the ideas thought up, drafted, edited, and ready to be passed off. He has to be primped and coiffed and never look for a second that he’s been caught off guard. He has to work.

 Logan’s the one with the schedule, anyone will tell you that. It’s up on his wall, perfectly ordered and color-coded with half a dozen dry erase markers and post-its next to it, all ready to go the instant it needs to be adjusted. Logan’s discipline is evident in the way he speaks, dresses, acts, it’s right there for the world to see.

 Roman’s discipline is in the hours and hours he spends in front of his computer, or with a pen in his hand, or with the sword at his side. It’s in the way his fingers beat out anxious rhythms against the keys or forget what letters are supposed to look like halfway through writing a word. It’s in the way he can sit down for six hours and write and write and write until his eyes are strained but the words are here.

 Patton worries when that happens, knocking on Roman’s door with his voice full of concern, food, water, even just a hug. Roman always hollers at him to come in only to bounce from one corner of the room to the next as he tries to figure out what to write next, how to hit the next plot point, or barely looks up from his frantic typing as he assures Patton that yes, he’s fine, thank you for asking, yes, he’s taken breaks, he’s just so close to a stopping point then he’ll give him a hug, okay? Patton leaves reassured and Roman’s fingers fly. He doesn’t come by that often so it’s okay.

 He can’t start tasks and not finish them. He has so much to do that it’s not worth starting one thing and leaving it off because he’ll forget it. Better to sit there and see something all the way to the end than get interrupted and start something else and risk forgetting what he was going to do. So he has to work through it, get into that zone where all he has to think about is the rhythmic click-click-click of the keyboard and making sure his words machine is going going going. And if that means sometimes he looks up and it’s only been ten minutes or he looks up and it’s been a whole hour, well. Push through. Once he’s in the zone he can just go. It’s just a matter of getting there.

 Roman’s quite proud of the way he’s built his schedule, if he does say so himself. Once he gets into the zone and works he can get all the projects he needs to get done in a day dusted and dried, set aside for review or further brainstorming. After all that, it’s normally near his 0.5% time, so he dusts himself off and wears that big smile and rides the high of a job well done to fuel his princely persona until the 0.5% is over. If it’s just dinner, it’s done by the time the meal is over. If he’s spending a little time with the others, they normally tire of him before it runs out. If it’s movie night, well…it’s dark. And he can sit away from everyone else.

 It’s a very efficient system. Logan would be proud.

 Except, well…

 Okay. Here’s the thing.

 Roman’s Creativity, yes, but he’s also Passion, Desire, Romance, a lot of things.

 He’s also the Ego.

 That makes him…squishy.

 It’s not that he can’t take criticism, far from it—criticism and feedback is one of the things that makes everyone better. It’s just that he…okay, this is going to sound really stupid, but he’s just…he’s just very bad at receiving any sort of feedback, okay?

 Compliments are wonderful and make his chest all warm and fuzzy but they also make his face flush redder than his sash and make him want to be very, very small. Positive feedback makes him want to skip to the end to find out what else he needs to do or shrink away from the bright spotlight he’s suddenly found himself in.

 No feedback is awful. He wants to make a difference, to do something, talk about something with someone. He wants to be here, to be present, to talk and listen and create. He can’t create in an empty room.

 Constructive criticism is…hard.

 It’s so fucking stupid. He knows everything isn’t perfect. Nothing’s ever really finished, it just gets to a point where you’ve used it to say what you need it to say at that moment and you let it go. And he needs help to get it there before he gives it up, he knows this, he knows this.

 And it’s not even that it comes as only things he needs to work on. It’s always both strengths and weaknesses—sorry, things that could be better—it’s not like it's just a pile of ‘stuff you did wrong.’

 And most of the time it’s good feedback. It makes him a better creator, helps him understand his audience more. And it’s genuinely really insightful, like they obviously took time to understand the work and think about it and want it to be more like what he wants it to do. They care and it’s obvious and it shows and Roman really should understand this because he makes fun of the things that he loves.

 So why, please, Roman would like to know, why is he hunched over his desk with his head on a book as his throat tears itself raw?

 His lungs are screaming at him to get air and he’s gasping at nothing, his nose way too stuffed up to do anything other than dribble horrifically all over his work. His gaze is focused on nothing. The letters in front of him blur into meaningless black squiggles. Spit drips out the side of his lips. His hands clutch at nothing. And his chest aches so so bad.

 One of his hands comes up to clutch at the front of his costume. The sash groans in protest. He can hardly feel the indents of his knuckles. He pushes harder. It still just hurts. Why does it hurt?

 He spent six hours writing this idea from scratch. He poured over and over this thing until his eyes felt like they were going to fall out of his head and he worked so hard. And he—he thought he did good.

  It’s did ‘well,’ Roman.

 Roman winces, another wave of—oh hey, he’s crying. When did that happen?—another wave of tears spilling behind his eyes, making them ache too.

 It was the only idea of the last batch that everyone wanted and—and Thomas asked for it to be done and he wanted to have time to work on the other things that Thomas wasn’t sure about and make it so Virgil didn’t have to stress about everything and he worked so hard on it and it was—he thought it was good and he’s being so fucking ridiculous right now.

 Logan has said parts of it were good. He’d complimented Roman on how much he’d been able to write in such a short amount of time. He’d asked if Roman would want to talk about some of this stuff in greater detail at a later time because he’d been interested and obviously Roman had opinions and things to say about it.

 And that counts for something, or at least it should.

 But…but Logan had also said that the framework was wrong.

 The framework was wrong. That—that was the whole point of the story. The framework was supposed to convey the message and the message was supposed to come across and it doesn’t matter that Logan thought some of the stuff was good because it was made to suit the framework that Roman thought they wanted but it’s not which means he has to rework the whole thing entirely because it’s not what they wanted and—

 And Logan said it should be reorganized which is not how a story works because he can’t just cut and paste things to fit where he wants them because he has to make sure it works and it makes sense and if he has to rewrite the structure and the message then he—he—

 He has to start over.

 A wracked sob tears its way out of Roman’s throat, right into the pages of the book. Six hours. Six hours. Down the fucking drain. He could’ve—he could’ve spent that time doing other things or fixing other things or—

 Or, he thinks bitterly, one hand still clutched to his aching chest, you could’ve just done it right the first fucking time.

 God, he’s going to have to do so much work to catch up. He’s—he’s going to have to put off writing that short story, making sure that idea was polished, making sure that—

 He has so much work to do.

 By the time he raises his head from the book, his head is tingling. His fingers lose sensation as he moves and his entire chest feels like it's held together by the weakest threads. He has to let his head drop back to the gross wet spot he’s left in the book just to avoid a horrible head rush. A few slow, shuddering breaths later, and he sits back in his chair.

 He’s actually quite proud of himself, he thinks absentmindedly as he looks for his tissue box. He does remember when he started crying. It was during the feedback with Logan.

 Logan said that entire sections needed to be cut. Something in Roman’s chest had snapped when he heard that. They were…this story was his darling.

 They’re all his darlings, but this one, so new, so…so fresh was still living in his chest, right next to his heart.

 His voice hadn’t slipped once. Even as tears ran down his face he hadn’t slipped. Then Logan had realized it was later than expected and apologetically left Roman in the common space. Had to get to another meeting. That was fine. Roman could get away with a much terser goodbye and Logan didn’t look too hard at his face.

 He has so much work to do.

 If he puts it off he’s never going to want to pick it up again and the dread of it will poison him. Poison Thomas. He can’t have that. They’re already behind schedule. He’s already behind schedule.

 If he starts doing this now he won’t be able to stop. He’s not in the right space and he doesn’t know if he can force himself into the one he needs to be in. Just the thought of looking at his notes, with the handwriting getting worse and worse is enough to make his fingers tremble. The thought of looking at Logan’s precise comments in bright, bold, unmistakably incorrect red pinches right under his throat.

  It’s alright, Roman. You’ve done good work. Especially for a rough draft.

 This wasn’t supposed to be a rough draft.

 He glances at the clock. It’s been too long. He has to do something.

 He doesn’t wash his face off or drink water. He doesn’t eat. He has somewhere to be in half an hour and he has to do something.

 Roman’s fingers are clumsy on the keyboard. The words aren’t words. He opens the draft and shakily creates a copy. He can’t hurt his sweetheart. He can’t.

 He can maim the fuck out of a copy, though.

 Each section that disappears in a merciless click of the delete button makes the ache in his chest worse. So much work. So much time. So much of Roman. Gone. Not right. Worthless.

 He has so much work to do.

 Roman pointedly covers the clock on his computer with a folded up post-it note and sets an alarm for when he needs to get ready to go meet with Remus. He puts his head down and works, blinking when he can’t see the screen through his tears. He…he can’t make this work, not with the corrections that Logan wants, not with the time he needs to make up. He has to start over, almost completely, which means back to the drawing board. New outline, new readings, new interpretations, new everything. Because it’s not what they wanted and Roman has to be what they want.

 Two minutes until he has to go meet with Remus he gets up and blows his nose. Quick glance in the mirror, it doesn’t look like he’s been crying. Grab what he needs to. Make sure this is in fact what he’s supposed to do.

 Roman’s one act of true cowardice is making sure Janus isn’t around.

 Remus doesn’t notice anything wrong, and if he does, he doesn’t say anything.

 Good.

—————————————————————

 Logan sighs, adjusts his glasses, and closes his laptop. It’s been a productive day and he has precisely thirteen minutes before he’s required downstairs to bake with Patton. They’re making blueberry muffins tonight, as requested, and Logan has secured permission to be absent from the movie marathon.

 He gets up and makes his way to his schedule wall, picking up his pack of markers as he goes. Light blue for Patton, dark blue for himself, purple for Virgil, yellow for Janus, green for Remus, and red for Roman. He frowns, noticing that he has to press a little harder than anticipated to get Virgil’s marker to show up.

 Logan sinks out to Remus’s room, ducking a chunk of flying viscera and quickly conjuring an umbrella for himself.

 “Remus?”

 “That is me,” Remus cackles, hanging upside down from…what looks to be a chandelier constructed entirely out of viscera and a partially decomposed sperm whale skeleton. His face appears under the brim of Logan’s umbrella. “What brings you here?”

 “Do you still have the pack of markers I lent you?”

 “No! I used those up ages ago.”

 Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dare I ask why?”

 “You remember how we talked about how if you do the simple science experiment of emptying a highlighter into water then putting flowers in it to make them glow in the dark?”

 “...yes?”

 “Did you know you can do the same with octopuses?”

 …now, we don’t have time to unpack all of that…

 “Enjoy your chandelier, Remus,” Logan sighs, sinking out and promptly disposing of the umbrella. He adjusts his tie and makes sure nothing splattered his glasses and starts toward Roman’s room. He would ask Patton but that might lead to starting the baking earlier than expected and, if he’s being honest, Logan does not currently have the wherewithal to do that quite so soon. He just needs to pick up a new purple marker and go back to his room.

 He doesn’t actually know what he expected to find.

 Maybe it was a Roman sprawled across his bed, idly toying with something, or across the floor with several pens strewn about him. Or at the computer, laughing at the screen with his feet up or fiddling with something.

 Maybe it was an empty room, Roman in the Imagination, or even Roman upset about some of the comments he’d made earlier.

 He knocks on the door and frowns when it creaks open.

 “Roman?”

 Logan pushes the door open and looks around. Roman’s not here. There’s water running in the bathroom. He knocks on the door louder.

 “One moment!”

 The bathroom door opens and Roman appears. “Logan. Is there something wrong?”

 “One of my pens has dried up and I’m seeking a replacement.”

 Something flashes across Roman’s face too quick to accurately pinpoint and in a flash, a new pack of markers sits in Roman’s hand.

 “Thank you.”

 Roman nods and turns, sitting at his desk and shuffling through a few papers. When Logan doesn’t move for a few moments, Roman looks back up.

 “…is there something else?”

 “No, I just…” Logan tilts his head. “Are you alright, Roman?”

 “I’m performing within acceptable limits,” Roman jokes, even as his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “just…trying to get this done before the z—um. Before we have to go downstairs. Thanks for baking for tonight, I, uh, I know you won’t be staying for the movies so I should probably say thank-you now, right?”

 “Roman,” Logan interrupts softly, “Roman, what were you going to say?”

 “Hmm?”

 “You cut yourself off. You were going to say ‘before’ something that wasn’t going downstairs.”

 “Was I?”

 “Roman.”

 Roman’s fingers falter on the keyboard for barely a second. “Don’t you want to get in some more rest before baking,” he tries, “I know you’ve expressed that helps you before.”

 “I would, but I would also like to know what you were going to say.”

 Roman worries his bottom lip. “…can’t I just finish working, please?”

 Logan looks around. Something is wrong.

 The door barely squeaks as Logan shuts it, glancing around to make sure no one else is sneaking by or within earshot. He turns back just in time to see Roman recovering from a horrible flinch. Without meaning to, a soft comforting noise escapes his throat.

 “Roman, what’s—“

 “I’m fine, Specs.”

 “Yes, I can tell from that tone of voice that you are completely and utterly fine.”

 “You know I’m pretty sure sass is an emotional response.”

 The corner of his mouth quirks up and he walks closer, setting the pack of markers down on the corner of Roman’s desk and folding his hands in front of him.

 “Roman,” he tries again, “what’s wrong?”

 Roman’s hands tighten into fists on his keyboard. He barely glances up at Logan. “It’s nothing, Specs.”

 “If it’s upsetting you it’s not nothing.”

 “It’s nothing you need to be concerned about.”

 “It’s upsetting you, Roman, that means it’s something for me to be concerned about.”

 Roman huffs. “Give me a little credit, Logan, I promise I can operate under distress without compromising Thomas or the rest of you, I’ve had enough practice.”

 “…I must admit I’m not sure if you expect me to be reassured by that.”

 Silence.

 The clock in the hallway ticks.

 Roman takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders back. “The 0.5%.”

 “Excuse me?”

 “The 0.5%, Logan,” Roman repeats, “that’s what I was going to say.”

 Logan frowns. What—why would Roman say—0.5% of what?

 Roman gives him a disbelieving smile when Logan cautiously broaches that question. “You should know, Specs. Your chart, remember?”

 Logan’s eyes widen. “Roman, what—what does that have to do with this?”

 “What does the fact that you’ve only given me 0.5% of each day to run things have to do with me being upset?”

 “Roman you—you’re allowed to do things, I didn’t mean it like that, I just—“

 “Stop, Logan,” Roman says with a soft fury, reaching out to lay his hand on Logan’s arm only to stop. His hand closes into a fist and returns to his side. Goosebumps raise on Logan’s arm and he suddenly feels very, very cold.

“Stop,” he says again, “it doesn’t matter how you meant it. I understand.”

 “But clearly you don’t,” Logan protests, “if you believe that you are only allowed to exist for 0.5% of each day—“

 “That’s not it, Logan.” Roman turns in his chair. “I get 0.5% to exist around you each day.”

 “I don’t see the difference!”

 “It means I have to perform for 0.5% a day.”

  Perform.

 Logan’s mind stutters to a halt. No. No, no, Roman…

 “Roman,” he starts, “Roman, why are you doing so much work?”

 “Well, when you only have 0.5% of a day to present, you’d better have some damn good stuff, shouldn’t you? After all, it’s not like you’ll get much time to talk it through before you have to—“

 “Not…not just that,” Logan interrupts, “why did you call it ‘performing?’”

 Roman stares up at him, his head tilted to the side. “…do you actually believe that I’m…like that?”

 The fact that the ‘yes’ came so readily to the tip of his tongue makes Logan sick.

 “When you only have so little time,” Roman mumbles, “if I don’t…if I don’t take up all the space I can for that amount of time, I’m afraid it will just…slip away.”

 Before Logan can even begin to talk about how awful that is, Roman blusters on.

 “That’s why I have to get back to work. I have to get this done before the 0.5% starts so I can make the most of it. Thought you’d be happy, Specs,” Roman says, flashing the fakest smile Logan’s ever seen, “about how efficient I’m being.”

 Logan is many things right now, and ‘happy’ is not any of them. His mouth opens and closes, trying to look for words, for something, anything to try and override this, make Roman see sense, make Roman see—

 He stops.

 Roman wasn’t expecting him. He’s been surprised.

 His hands are shaking as they type. He keeps having to hit the backspace key. There are twitches in his arms that aren’t normally there and he keeps trying to scoot away from Logan.

 Logan reaches out to cover one of Roman’s hands.

 Roman flinches so hard he almost knocks his laptop off of the desk.

 “You’re panicking,” Logan murmurs, “take a deep breath.”

 He holds Roman still until some of the mania goes out of his eyes. He lifts his hand away.

 “That’s enough work for today.”

 “What? No, no, I’m so behind, I have so much work to do, I have to—“

 “What have you done today, Roman?”

 “Not nearly enough, I have to—“

 Then Logan catches sight of a stack of paper with red annotations. He frowns, moving around Roman to take a look, ignoring the soft noise of protest. This is the feedback he gave Roman earlier, these are his annotations, that’s his red pen he uses for Roman, that’s…

 …oh.

 Oh, no.

 No, no, no, no…

 “Roman,” he murmurs, turning to look at him, “why is this wet?”

 Roman takes a breath and Logan blinks.

 Roman looks so small.

 “…I have so much work to do.”

 Something in Logan hurts. Think. Think. Think.

 He glances around frantically, spotting a stack of looseleaf paper. Aha.

 “Roman,” he manages around the lump in his throat, “if we make a list of things that you have to or have already done today, will that help?”

 Roman nods, watching as Logan hurries to grab a sheet of paper and fetch the red pen out of the marker box. “…do we have to use red?”

 Logan pauses, yet to uncap it. “Is there something wrong with red?”

 The costume makes a few rustling noises as Roman shifts in the chair. Logan holds out the pen until the cap lies next to the bright red sash on Roman’s chest. “Red’s your color, isn’t it?”

 “…wait, that’s why you always use red?”

 “That’s why I use red for you.”

 “…oh.”

 As he makes the list, he keeps an eye on Roman. Has he…have they never truly looked at Roman? Logan’s sure Janus knows at least some of this, if not all of it, and Remus has absolutely no filter any of the time but especially not when it comes to Roman.

 They’ll have to be better about that.

 Roman’s face perks up a little when Logan finally passes him the list, only to fall almost as quickly when he sees the number of things on it. “L-Logan, I—“

 “Have a look at each of them,” Logan interrupts softly, passing him the pen, “and mark off the ones that you’ve done already.”

 “…am I supposed to do all of these today?”

 “Ideally, yes.”

 The grim look of resignation and determination on Roman’s face is enough to make Logan want to take it away, but he can’t. Not before Roman sees.

 Sure enough, as Roman starts to scan down the list, his brow furrows. He glances up at Logan who simply nods toward it.

 “Um…”

 “Read out the ones you’re having trouble with,” Logan offers, “if you like.”

 “…'get out of bed?’”

 “Did you do that?”

 “Yes?”

 “Then cross it off.”

 Bemused, Roman does. He consults the list again. “Are all of these—am I supposed to—“

 Logan nods when Roman can’t finish his sentence. “Check off the ones you’ve done and then we’ll see how productive you’ve been today.”

 It’s strange, Logan thinks as he watches Roman go down the list, he’s never been so…gentle like this before, especially not with Roman.

 Maybe it’s time to be better about that too.

 “All finished?”

 “I think so…”

 “How many do you have left?”

 “Um, just…drink water, save current works, eat dinner, and, um…” Roman squints at the page, then up at Logan, “…receive emotional support.”

 “Well, those don’t seem to be too difficult.” Logan folds his arms and smiles. “I’d say you’ve been very productive today.”

 “But I need to rework the entire idea for tomorrow,” Roman argues, “I haven’t even made a dent in it, I—“

 “Wait, why do you think you need to rework it completely?”

 “…you said the framework was wrong and you need it reorganized. Which is fine,” Roman hastily defends, “you’re not wrong, but that basically means I have to start over.”

 “You don’t have to start over, Roman,” Logan reassures, “and that’s not what I meant. Why don’t we check off the rest of the list now and then we can have a…redo of the feedback session tomorrow?”

 “Logan, I’m really confused right now,” Roman blurts out, clutching the list like a lifeboat.

 “What’s confusing?”

 Logan takes a step closer, resisting the urge to smile when Roman doesn’t back away.

 “…not that this isn’t appreciated,” Roman manages finally, “but I—you—you’ve never done this before.”

 “Perhaps I didn’t realize that it was necessary.”

  Wrong thing to say.

 “Wait, you don’t have to—I can—I’ll be fine on my own—“

 “Not what I meant, Roman, I am perfectly aware that you are capable of taking care of yourself,” Logan soothes, “but…it seems that my actions—or lack of actions, perhaps—has been hurting you. And I apologize for that.”

 Roman swallows heavily, the list still wrinkled up in his hands.

 “I want to have this conversation properly,” Logan murmurs, taking another step closer, “and when you feel comfortable enough to tell me what’s really going on. That’s not now, and that’s okay. Will you take my word if I tell you that you don’t need to do as much work on your story as you think you do?”

 “…sure.”

 “I’m pleased to hear that.” Logan gestures toward the door. “Why don’t you save your work and we’ll go downstairs?”

 “Aren’t you baking with Patton in like—now?”

 “I was, but Janus has also expressed interest in baking tonight, and…” Logan smiles. “I do not think he would be upset to learn that I wished to postpone for this reason.”

 The smallest smile comes to Roman’s face. “…since when have those two been…”

 “I don’t know.”

 “Have you noticed that they— with Virgil—“

 “Oh, don’t even get me started.”

 “It’s like watching a sitcom sometimes, isn’t it?”

 “Quite.”

 It makes Roman chuckle and Logan feels his shoulders relax. Then something passes over his face again.

 “What is it?”

 “Nothing, nothing, it’s just the um, the last thing on the list of receiving emotional support…” Roman absentmindedly smoothes out the paper. “…don’t know how I’m going to get that if, um…well, movie night’s still a thing.”

 …that is not the kind of emotional support Logan was referring to and they both know it.

 “Well,” Logan says, adjusting his tie and valiantly ignoring the heat rushing to his face, “there is another option.”

 Roman’s eyes widen. “…you’re serious?”

 “Of course.”

 “But you…when you ask off movie night, that’s—“

 “Roman.”

 Roman stops. Something flickers over his face. Logan frowns.

 “What?”

 “…you’ve said my name a lot today, Specs,” Roman mumbles, looking away.

 “Is that a problem?”

 Roman shrugs. “…kind of reminds me of when I, um, mess up.”

 “…what?”

 “You, um…” Roman fiddles with the list. “You don’t normally use my name unless you’re talking about me. And you don’t, uh, you don’t normally do that unless I’ve done something wrong. But that’s not your fault.”

 “…thank you for telling me.” Logan tilts his head. “Is there something you would rather I call you instead?”

 “Not particularly.”

 “Princey?”

 “No thanks.”

 “Kiddo?”

 “You’re not Patton.”

 “No, it sounds strange, doesn’t it?”

 “Yeah.”

 “…I’m guessing Creativity would be…”

 “…yeah.”

 “I’ll think of something,” Logan murmurs, “but yes, I would be happy to spend the evening with you.” Roman still looks unsure. “Why the hesitation?”

 “You don’t like being touched,” Roman blurts out, the list in his hands about to rip.

  Ah.

 Logan reaches forward and carefully extricates the list from Roman’s grasp. He sets it on the desk. Roman watches him, eyes wide, as Logan rests his hand on his shoulder.

 “I don’t like being touched when I don’t expect it,” Logan says quietly, “or when it’s not on my terms. When it is…and especially when it’s helping someone, I don’t mind at all.”

 Roman’s staring at his hand like he’s never seen it before. His shoulder feels so…small?

 Is Roman shaking?

 “Hey,” Logan calls softly, “hey, can you look at me?”

 Roman doesn’t move.

 “Come on, just…just look at me.”

 Roman turns his head and oh—

 “Oh, dear,” Logan breathes, his hand moving up on instinct to wipe away Roman’s tear, “oh, dear, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

 Roman’s eyes fall shut as more tears brim on his lashes. He squeezes them tightly and turns his head, almost nuzzling into Logan’s palm, as if he doesn’t believe it’s really there.

 Oh.

  Oh.

  Oh, no.

 “You’re touch-starved,” Logan whispers, mostly to himself, stepping closer and cupping Roman’s face firmly.

 “Haven’t exactly had time to—“ a breath rips itself out of Roman’s lungs as Logan pulls him closer— “to—to—I—you’re really warm, Logan…”

 “You’ve been overworking yourself,” Logan says firmly, “and you don’t have to. Not ever again.”

 Roman’s eyes flutter open cautiously, staring at Logan with such unabashed hope that it makes his throat clench.

 “Hey,” he murmurs instead, “there you are.”

 “…sorry.”

 “No need to be.” Logan brushes away another tear. “Why don’t we go downstairs, get something to eat, something to drink, and then come back?”

 Roman nods, but his eyes glaze over a little as Logan keeps stroking his cheek. Logan shakes his head, smiling fondly at him. Oh, Roman…

 “Hey,” he calls again, giving Roman’s face a little shake, “hug me.”

 “W-what?”

 “Hug me,” Logan repeats, opening his arms, “come on…”

 The time it takes for Roman to step forward and carefully, carefully place his arms around Logan’s shoulders like he’s afraid of ruining him feels like an eternity. As soon as it’s clear Roman’s not going to do any more than lightly rest the weight of his arms on Logan for just a moment, Logan moves.

 He wraps his arms firmly around Roman’s waist and pulls him until they’re flush. He smiles a little at the gasp of surprise, only to soften instantly when Roman lets out a keen.

 “I said hug me, dear heart,” Logan whispers, the pet name rolling off his tongue before he can stop it, “come on, now, you can do better than that.”

 Poor Roman is shaking so badly Logan feels himself almost thrown off balance. He spreads his feet a little wider and holds him, rubbing his back and lifting his chin a little higher. Roman feels so small and cold in his arms that he doesn’t try and playfully coax him into hugging tighter. Instead, he hooks his chin over Roman’s shoulder and tightens his grip, softly encouraging him to breathe, to relax, it’s alright.

 “That’s it,” he murmurs when Roman finally sags into his arms, “that’s it, dear heart, good, I have you, I have you.”

 Roman turns his head into Logan’s neck and Logan makes a soft sound at the slight dampness. His arms still tremble slightly, but he’s leaning most of his weight onto Logan now, almost hanging off of him with the grip he has on his wrists.

 “I’ve got you,” he promises, “I’ve got you.”

 When his arms start to ache pleasantly from the strain of keeping his grip, Logan eases back, making sure to keep one hand on Roman’s face.

 “If we stand here any longer we may fall asleep,” he whispers, “let’s go downstairs, and then we can come back, hmm?”

 Roman, the poor thing, is so exhausted that all he can do is fall forward a little, just so their foreheads rest together. Logan chuckles.

“Just for dinner, then we’ll come back and I’ll cuddle you some more, okay?”

 “…yeah, okay.”

 “You can have a chance to hug me properly too, hmm?”

 Roman huffs a laugh. “I’ll show you.”

 “I’m sure you will, dear heart.” When the face against his suddenly grows much warmer, Logan tilts his head. “Is that alright? Dear heart?”

 “Yeah, yeah, it’s alright. More than alright.”

 “Then come on, dear heart, let’s get those last few things checked off the list, hmm?”

 Patton, of course, has absolutely no objections. Virgil tips them a lazy two-fingered salute. Remus doesn’t quite tackle his brother into the wall but it’s close. Janus makes eye contact with Logan and gives him a nod. Right. They should talk too. But not tonight.

 When Roman’s door closes again and Roman crosses the last item off the list, Logan takes it from him and sets it aside, holding out his arms.

 “Come here, dear heart.”

 This time, Roman wraps his arms around Logan without hesitation. Logan hides a smile in Roman’s shoulder as he sits them on the bed, lies them down, tucks Roman in close.

 Roman is quiet. Roman is soft. Roman is an excellent cuddler. He fits perfectly into Logan’s arms. He’s perfect.

 It’s been a very productive day.

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#sanders sides #fic #dragonbabbles #roman sanders #roman angst #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #logince

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Our Doll 14// Here we Go Again

B.Barnes x S.Rogers, B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

Series Synopsis | After the events of the horrific past, y/n Stark, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes have finally admitted their feelings for each other. But is life as an avenger whilst dating two super soldiers any easier than anything y/n’s experienced in the past?

sequel Series to Their Doll

Series Warnings | smut, violence, torture, swearing, threesomes, drug usage/substance abuse

Chapter Summary | y/n and Bucky get closer again

Warnings | blood, implied violence

A/n | This is a sequel book/series to my fic Their Doll! This book loosely follows the mcu timeline, starting in CAWS in book one and starting just before AOU in this book. Bucky had been recovered and is safe, and Peter was taken under Tony's wing when he was much younger.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

"My scar." Y/n mumbled, looking up at Bucky suddenly. The man hummed, placing his book on his lap to look back at his girl.

"What about it?" Bucky mumbled back with curiosity.

"You said those...dreams were what you would've done if we'd been together before the war, but I still had my scar. You could've gotten rid of it, but you didn't." Y/n explained, a confused frown dancing over her brow when he smiled.

"It's because I love you, all of you. That scar, it tells a story that you shouldn't have to tell, but shouldn't ever forget. It's part of you, like this," Bucky lifted his metal arm, waving the plated hand slightly, "is part of me."

Y/n smiled light from where she sat across the couch; she still didn't feel comfortable being too close to Bucky after the whole locking her up thing, but she was getting closer.

"I'm sorry." He abruptly blurted and y/n frowned. Bucky took a deep sigh before continuing. "I really can't tell you how sorry I am about...about, well, everything?" Bucky proposed and y/n shifted in her seat slightly.

"Oh." Was all she managed, placing her own book on the flimsy coffee table that sat parallel to the torn up sofa in the motel room they were staying in. "Thanks, I guess?" She supplied and Bucky blinked at her. "I'm sorry, I'm just not good at this stuff, I guess. I'm so confused as to how I should feel right now." Y/n vented and Bucky smiled.

"You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm just happy you can bare me enough to talk to me, I was terrified that I may have lost your trust forever." He mumbled, tentatively reaching to take y/n's hand. When she didn't flinch or pull away, he held it in his own.

"I just don't know what to feel; on the one hand, you let them lock me up, but on the other, well, you did everything you could to keep me comfortable and you got me out." Y/n admitted and Bucky nodded, understanding. "And I still love you." She added quietly and Bucky grinned, before wiping the expression from his face.

They'd been on the run for a couple of weeks now, skipping between dingy motels and safe houses that had been long forgotten. Using a code, Bucky and Peter had kept in contact. Apparently, Tony and Sharon were furious.

"I love you too. Do you want some food yet?" Bucky asked and y/n nodded. He got up and crossed the room to gather some money and the room key. "I'll be back in half an hour tops, okay?" Bucky checked and y/n nodded.

"See you later." She murmured as the door slammed shut.

Alone with her thoughts again.

Y/n would rather be in Bucky's company than alone still. Even after the stuff he'd done, she couldn't stop herself from loving him. And it's not like she hadn't done her own fair share of bad things, too.

The girl sighed, rubbing her eyes as she felt the drowsiness of sleep overcome her. Maybe she could get a nap in before Bucky got back.

...

Bucky kept his head down. His hair had grown longer; he hadn't bothered cutting it since they left. His hood was drawn tightly over his face and his steps were quick as he paced to the closest store that sold food.

Once he reached the shop, Bucky rigged a hand - the flesh one - from his pocket and pulled open the door. When inside, he hastily went in search of some decent food.

Although, he instantaneously discovered one of the down sides to shopping at night - drunk people. The boisterous laughed filled his ears like water as Bucky hunted through the shelves, slurred insults thrown back and forth within the group of men.

"Hey, you!" Shit. Bucky looked up. "Yeah, you with the long hair!" One of them boomed and Bucky scoffed, shaking his head as he turned back to the section of ready-made sandwiches.

"Hey, look at me." The man persisted and Bucky rolled his eyes. They boy looked back to his friends, all clearly amused with the situation before the guy was swinging a punch in Bucky's direction.

On instinct, the super soldier caught the guy's fist in his hand. His metal hand. The guy looked so aghast that Bucky had to stop himself from laughing.

...

"This may hurt a little." Y/n sighs, eyes squinted as she threads the needle in front of her. Bucky swallows his groan of pain, giving her a stiff nod before letting his head knock back into the wall behind him. Y/n steps between her boyfriend's legs, pulling his arm forwards and letting a small apology slip from her lips when he hissed.

"Fuck!" Bucky cursed, metal fist slamming into the counter that he was sat on, the dent large and lined with splintered wood. Y/n winced a little but continued, her voice twisting around whisper sweet nothings to calm him down.

Bucky's breathing was heavy, laboured, as y/n continued to sew up the gash, lip pulled between her teeth in concentration.

"Almost there...just a little more..." Her small voice mumbled as Bucky's metal a whirred.

"Fuck me, please remind to never piss off a group of drunk guys again." Bucky groans, but y/n could only find herself biting her lip harder at the thought of fucking him again.

Clearly, this intimate moment had helped her see past his mistakes.

Huh.

"I'm so sorry, y/n. I'll be more careful next time." Bucky promises, flesh hand reaching to cup her cheek when he pulls back - remembering her hesitance.

"It's not your fault. I'll still patch you up each and every time it happens." Y/n smiled tightly, almost with pity when she eyes his retracted hand.

Bucky nods solemnly before moving to hop off the crappy bathroom counter in their motel room, only to cut himself short with a groan.

"Easy, soldier." Y/n jokes, placing her hands onto her boyfriend's hips to help him down.

"Thanks." He mumbled low before hobbling off, eyes biting back tears as he limped through the room to flop on the creaky bed.

Y/n sighs heavily, watching him go with a sad expression. Bucky flicked the TV on - blue light sliding over his features in a haunting highlight; the structure of his bones protruding with the flashing colour of people moving across the screen.

"Y/n." Bucky hissed as she wrung out the little towel - now full of blood and stained a deep crimson.

Her her snapped up, the wet fabric falling into the sink with a soggy slap before she was stumbling across the room to perch on the edge of the bed.

"Oh my god." She exclaimed, hand tight over her mouth I shock at the screen.

"Suspect in the bombing is none other than James Buchan Barnes and Y/n Stark. We'll be back with more information when we have it." The presenter finished, accompanied by pictures of both y/n and Bucky stealthily away from the building, which was now laying in ruins.

"Oh my god." She repeated, horrified at the sight of King T'Chaka and all the victims.

Bucky Barnes Series/mini Series | @buckysgirl101 @quxxnxfhxll @marvelhoesworld @macylawz @Zaphdekota @theoldermanswhore @addriaenne @thegirlwiththeimpala @turkish276 @lilpopizzle @gooseyhouse @ohmy-fandoms @harrysthiccthighss @partiesandblurrypolaroids @prettysbliss @the-surviving-revolutionist @white-wolf1940 @dpaccione @tenaciousperfectionunknown @loveyou5everr @vallerydevora @multihoee @supraveng @cap-n-ce @sebbyxlover @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @veronicapaula @ravenmoore14 @frickin-bats @itstaylorcale @sunflowerbunny2 @spookyparadisesheep

#bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes image #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x steve rogers #bucky barnes smut #bucky Barnes #smut #image #images #marvel #chris evans smut #steve rogers #captain america #chris evans #marvel smut #steve rogers x reader #stucky image #stucky x reader fluff #stucky x reader smut

[fgodestinyawakenings]

Guda deserves to go feral on everyone's asses, as a treat.

Honestly, ever since the lostbelt arc began Guda has been getting gaslighted and victim blamed by pretty much everyone. It's one of the reasons why I don't like the crypters because that's all they ever really do to Guda when it comes to them destroying lostbelts, as if they aren't the ones who put them in this horrific position in the first place.

I feel the writers forget on purpose they are the only human, young teen to late teens (16 to 18, at least hit the requirement to draw out blood by their own consent and 18 in the case of sexual related stuff when they are being assessed as Master Candidate)

And the only muggle where most shunned and looked down on them. While they did acknowledge, it feels bare minimum on them recognizing the efforts Gudas put to clean up their asses

They need their own Final Fantasy XIV story arc from Dark Knight Job story from level 30 to 50, context below (and spoilers under the cut because this one has a big wham twist moment) But if you are an FFXIV player and yet to start DRK story, please avoid looking at this post:

The MC found a corpse of a dead guy in a new city they are in

They got knocked out from touching the dude's belonging and woke up found the said dead guy actually alive aka Fray

Fray gives MC the power to fight as Dark Knight, and all the while in this early part of the story convince them to go more feral at the injustice happening around them. But naturally they refused as it's not like them, being the goody-two shoes they are

Not only that, Fray also gets frustrated at the incompetence of every NPC and people who always needs their help. And always useless to actually do the job themselves. Fray wants MC to deny their request, but MC refuse to do so

Then by the third point of training, Fray drops a very big foreshadowing when ranting at the asshole ungrateful merchant from retrieving back his goods, on wishing they were all dead when Leviathan was summoned and flood them. Demanding the actual and proper respect + reward to be given after doing so much. Which MC notices and remembers, Fray was never once part of the assaults to stop Leviathan so how did he know?

The final confrontation after MC doing the last job finally reveals what Fray is. No, he is not actually the corpse of the person he meets at the first point above. That dude is already dead. Fray is none other than MC's own psyche who is repressed hatred and anger of being mistreated by people they saved. Fray represent their desire to let loose everything and go on a rampage to be free

Definitely a one-to-one confrontation where MC ultimately wins in the end after being encouraged by the other NPCs they are always the hero they respected after seeing how they feel

Fray aka their other selves eventually stepped down to and respect their decision. But they mention should they ever get tired playing the Hero one day? Just call them and Fray will finally take their place

All in all, I just need that one arc of a new Servant OC representing closely to Gudas' inner psyche so that they can help to dish out to Mash the shit they tolerated for her and Chaldea

#fgo spoilers #the shit i shit myself into #asks & answers

[hargrove-mayfields]

Harringrove April Day 16- Nostalgia

On just about every flat surface in their mansion, Steve’s mother had put out some fancy Tiffany light fixture.

Steve’s room was the only place in the whole house he got to have any day in the interior design, and his lamp, well it didn’t quite have a stained glass shade, or ornate detailing to fancy up the mansion, his happens to be an old nursery lamp from when he was six and still had a themed bedroom.

At the peak of his too cool for school teenager bullshit, he’d attempted to throw it out, sent it away to the curb with a bag of stuffed animals he claimed he didn’t need anymore, but the very same night he started having nightmares again, so he scrambled to get it back before the raccoons found it first.

That dusty old lamp had saved him from countless nights spent awake and terrified, and he wasn’t one to say he was ashamed of that.

Except, now Billy Hargrove, the pinnacle of badass, is in his room, and there it is, still plugged in on the nightstand.

Of all things too, it couldn’t have just been a generic race car lamp or something he could play off as not really being for kids, it had to be stupid Bambi.

There’s a story behind it, that when he was a toddler, his first venture out of Indiana was to go see his gramma over in Maryland, and, after one look at his big brown eyes and his fluffy brown hair, she immediately nicknamed him Bambi.

After that the name just sort of stuck with him, his parents using it when they wanted on his good side, to make up for forgetting his birthday, or as an apology for leaving him alone so long the babysitter left, so of course his mom thought it would be adorable if his bedroom was themed around it.

Somewhere in a dusty corner of the attic, he still had the curtains and the quilt and the wall hangings, and under his bed was a pillow embroidered with his name and a picture of the clumsy cartoon deer made by his gramma. And of course, there was the brightly shining lamp.

He would never admit that he kept them there for when he was at his most frightened, clutching the pillow to his chest during a nightmare, or wrapping the soft material of the tiny old quilt around his shoulders when he felt an imaginary pair of eyes watching him.

Because Steve had seen some shit, he felt that after witnessing a ten-foot tall faceless monster come through the ceiling and try to kill him, and having a herd of baby versions of that same monster charge at him with nothing but a baseball bat to protect himself and a group of defenseless children, he had earned the right to use a damn nursery lamp in his bedroom.

But, that ass-backwards swell of pride at still using his childhood comfort items at 19 years old is definitely crushed by the fact that, after being in his room for a grand total of five minutes, that’s immediately what Billy drifts to.

A drunken apology at a New Year’s party might have made up for the concussion and proved he was probably not going to beat his face in again, but it didn’t change the fact that he was in Steve’s bedroom with the edge of the printed lampshade pinched between his fingers, and a contemplative look on his face.

It was a little while after their truce was reached, that Billy just started showing up at the Harringtons’ door unannounced. Sometimes it was to borrow Steve’s first aid kit. Sometimes he’d steal some of his weed. Once he’d come over just to watch something on Steve’s TV. Whatever his reason, Steve had let him in every time.

In this particular instance, it had been Steve who had called Billy, because he had a math project and an essay due first thing tomorrow morning, and Nancy was too busy to help him.

At first he’d considered just not getting the work done, but he decided Billy would do. He was smart enough that the co-ed teacher in the math class they shared had begged him to switch to the advanced classes, so Steve figured his help wouldn’t be so bad.

But his desk where all of his school stuff is is upstairs in his bedroom, where he’s left out the dumb baby lamp, and of course that would be exactly what Billy goes straight for. Steve feels himself start to panic a little, unsure if he could trust Billy’s reaction, and convincing himself that Billy might beat his ass for being a fragile little fairy or something.

It never comes, Billy just sits down all casual on the bed next to Steve, pulling one of his legs up so he could cross it over his knee, and nods over at the lamp again. “Wish I still had something from when I was little.”

The weight of the entire universe is lifted from Steve’s chest, knowing that Billy isn’t going to tear his head off. He lets out a sharp breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “Yeah?”

Billy nods and looks down, fidgeting with the pendant he always wore around his neck. “My dad threw everything out. All I have is one little picture of my mom.”

Steve knew he lived with his step-mom, but had never even thought about what happened to Billy’s real mother. He realizes the pendant was probably a locket, the very one that holds the aforementioned picture, and asks “Can I see it?”

It looks like Billy has to think about it, as he keeps twisting the locket between his fingers, before he nods and opens it. Steve leans towards him, putting his hand up under it and holding it in his palm, straining to see the tiny, aged picture.

Even though he’s never seen this woman, it makes Steve incredibly sad, seeing her little face all worn out in that locket around her son's neck. He wonders if she was dead, or if maybe she’d lost custody for some reason, or if maybe she had just left, but whatever happened, when his eyes flicker back up to Billy’s face, the tears shining in his eyes and the way he avoids his gaze, he knows better than to ask.

Steve lets the locket fall and watches Billy snap it shut quickly, and he realizes he has no idea what the right thing to say is.

What he wants to say is that he’s sorry, for him losing his mother and having nothing but one yellowed and tear stained picture to remember her by, but that seems too much like prying, somehow not really appropriate.

Instead, he remembers what Billy said about his dad throwing his stuff out and says, “Your dad must be a real asshole, huh?”

Billy scoffs and blinks away the last of the tears in his eyes. “You’ve got no idea, Harrington.” There’s a long awkward pause, until Billy asks, “You know how I’m always coming over here with like, all kinds of shit wrong with me?”

Steve thinks he knows where this was going. “Sure.”

Chewing on the corner of his nail, Billy takes a moment to get his thoughts together, his eyes flitting nervously across the room, focusing on pretty much anything but Steve, mostly the picture frame behind him. “I lied. It’s not, like, fights or whatever I say. At least not with other kids.”

Steve himself was no stranger to conversations like these, he himself had to confess something of a similar calibre to Nancy, when they were still dating, because his father had come home from a business trip pissed off about something, and slapped him across the face just a little too hard. The sturdy silver ring that he wore on his middle finger had split the skin on Steve’s cheek, and he couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse to cover his tracks.

Admitting to it out loud was one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do, so he decides he won’t make Billy say it. Maybe they weren’t on the best of terms, only here to do homework or whatever, but if he was going to open up about this, he definitely wasn’t going to make him experience that same humiliation he had.

“Is it your dad? That does that to you?” Nancy hadn’t been kind enough to spare him, forcing him to tell her once that the scar he so proudly sported wasn’t actually from a fist fight with Tommy like he said, and he wouldn’t do the same to Billy.

In lieu of a response though, Billy sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, his hands starting to shake ever so subtly, and Steve knows he’s got to keep pressing. “Do you need help? I can call the chief-“

“No.” Billy shakes his head and makes eye contact with Steve for the first time since he started talking. “Cops only make it worse.”

Steve could understand that, had tried once when he was about eight or so, with the assistance of one of the housekeepers, to call the police when his father twisted his arm so far behind his back his shoulder popped out of place, but they wouldn’t dare arrest a public figure like his father, especially not for a little corporal punishment. The first thing they’d asked was what Steve had done wrong, not why his father had felt it fitting to beat on his eight year old for a tiny mistake. He never asked for help again.

“Well is there anything I can do?” Despite their differences and the fact that he only called him here to cheat on his homework, he truly did want to help Billy. Something about repeatedly surviving horrific monster attacks made him a lot more protective of those around him, and now that they were over their dumb pissing contest, Billy was included in that too.

“Think you’ve done enough letting me into your mansion, unless that’s not good enough for your hero complex.” It was a pathetic jab, there was no bite behind his broken tone, and Steve would almost rather have him at his worst than see him so vulnerable and sad.

Steve tries to reason with him softly, “You know it’s not like that, Billy.”

“Do I?” Walls had been put up as Billy made his last ditch efforts to protect himself from being weak in front of Steve. “Cause where I’m sitting, it seems like you get off on charity cases like mine. You tryin to swoop in and save me, King Steve? Feed your ego so you can feel like the savior you were always meant to be?”

He was baiting him, trying to pick a fight so he’d push him away, Steve had seen it all before in himself and wouldn’t fall for it. “Listen. I just want to help you.”

Everything about Billy suddenly seemed to make a whole lot more sense. That whole part animal, tough guy thing was just an act, and Steve knew because he had done essentially the same thing.

Before Nancy Wheeler had taught him to be better, he and Billy really weren’t so different. He’d let high school bullshit bother him, beat up the nerds and fucked all the cheerleaders and mocked anyone lower than him on the social ladder like he was supposed to, but it always made him feel off.

In the end, it had been so easy to get him to the other side, to show him what to do instead, he supposed all he needed was a little push to help him actualize what he already believed.

And then it hits him, in that moment, that this was Billy’s push in the right direction. That he was Billy’s Nancy.

“I don’t expect you to tell me everything and I’m not doing this for me, just,” It became extremely important to him to not set Billy off, to say just the right thing to keep him on the right track. “my door is always open, Billy.”

At first, it seemed to have worked, Billy sat staring at the floor, his lip quivering as he mulled over Steve’s words, but, when he stood abruptly and snatched his leather jacket from where it was draped over the back of Steve’s desk chair, Steve knows he messed up.

“Where are you going?” He stands up fast enough to give himself a head rush while Billy shrugs his jacket back on and yanks the door open.

“Need a smoke.” That’s all he gets before the door slammed in his face, and he hears Billy's heavy boots stomping down the stairs and the sound of him slamming his front door.

He waits with bated breath and tears pricking the corners of his eyes for the sound of Billy’s car starting and tearing out of his driveway, but it never comes.

Still, he feels immensely guilty and selfish and stupid as all hell for not just biting his tongue. He should’ve just fought back, argued with him like was expecting him to instead of trying to be comforting like he was his fucking therapist or something.

Because this was Billy fucking Hargrove, stereotypical meat head bully. Why he even felt the need to help him, other than their similar upbringings and coping mechanisms, or the fact that Billy had obviously been reaching out, hoping for someone to care, was beyond him. Or maybe it really wasn’t, he knew exactly why, he just felt weak and stupid for trying, and especially so for failing.

Apparently he’d been so caught up in his little pity party that he missed the sound of the door opening back up, and didn’t notice Billy had come back until his bedroom door was open.

Steve was so relieved that Billy came back, that he hadn’t pushed him too far or fucked everything up, even if he reeked of too strong cigarettes, and growled at him when he came in, “Don’t we got fucking work to do, Harrington?”

They don’t end up finishing the essay. Steve was hopeless with numbers, and they were too busy goofing off, so the math project didn't get done very quickly. It was okay though, Billy wasn’t much help at all when it came to English anyways.

Steve walks him outside when he has to go, beating a curfew of midnight. He stops on the porch, immediately crossing his arms against the frigid cold of the night air. Billy stops too at his car, his fingers through the handle, and turns around, calling across the yard. “Hey Harrington?”

He hardly waits for Steve’s response, a quick “Yeah?” to tell him, “Thank you.”

There isn’t time for Steve to respond before Billy’s yanking open the door of his Camaro and backing out of the driveway, but he knows he’d still made astronomical progress tonight.

It makes him feel incredibly dumb, laying in his bed that night, illuminated by the warm light of that very same Bambi lamp and trying to put his thoughts of Billy to rest like he was some cheesy teenage girl, but he’s just happy to have found a friend, to have made a difference in somebody’s life, and he knows that on the other side of town, laying in own bed with his locket left open on the pillow beside him, Billy feels the same way.

#harringrove #harringroveapril #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #ej writer #story by ej! #love how I had something completely different planned but ran out of time and had to dig in my drafts for this fic #and it still took me forever to edit it

[peterpan-ouat-imagines]

I love you, I hate you- Part 2

Felix telling me that Pan is seeing another girl puts a million thoughts in my head. Does he like her? Why does he feel the need to see and be with her when I’m here? Am I not pretty enough? Or good enough in general? I get worried not knowing what this means. But I don’t get why this is being shared with me either.

“Why are you telling me this? Pan trusts you, he would be livid if he knew you were telling me that kind of information,” I ask not thinking his head is clear.

“I am telling you this because I care about what happens,” he answers. Why does he have to be so freaking vague about everything? ‘What happens’ could mean anything! Ugh.

I try to pry him for more information but he doesn’t budge anymore. Breakfast comes to an end and we all clean up. I go to the medical hut to change my bandages. When I unwrap it, mine now looks terrible. It’s red and goopy and there’s some black cracks up my arm too which is abnormal unless it’s poisoned but we don’t use dreamshade to hunt so it isn’t that concerning. I go to find rubbing alcohol to try and disinfect it but there’s none. I wipe it up some so it’s less messy and put on fresh bandages this time wrapping it tighter than before because I’m still distracted by who this Wendy is and the amount of pressure I use shows that. It pinched my skin so much it hurts.

After it’s taped down I go outside and Felix tells us that we are going to practice sparring and tells us to partner up. I grab a stick and go to my friend Joe and we start doing it. We start fighting just as we normally would. He takes things up a level by going for my legs which obviously I jump for. I do the same and swing my stick at some of his weak spots and he reacts falling a couple times but good overall.

“Joe, go to Lee, I would like to practice with y/n,” Pan says in a business like tone. He nods and goes to the end.

“Pan!” I beam, “I missed you so much!” I exclaim and hug him. I then have the after thought of how he was with someone else and let go and step back quicker than I normally would.

“I missed you too,” he kisses me, “I’m sorry I left without saying anything,” he tells me.

“It’s fine,” I tell him not asking where he went. After a small awkward silence I talk again, “How was it?” I ask wanting to know if being with that other girl was horrible or not.

“It went fantastic. Who I saw was very interesting and I definitely will be going on a trip to see them again soon,” my heart drops when he says that. He likes her, I’m no longer the only girl in his life. Where will I go now? Neverland is for those who are lost and unloved but I feel incredibly more lost and unloved right now than I ever did back home.

We start to spar but I’m too distracted by what he told me to focus on fighting. Within the first 10 seconds he knocks the stick out of my hands.

He looks at me weird, “What’s gotten into you? You were fighting just fine moments ago,” he asks me.

“Just the excitement of having you back,” I lie with a fake half smile. I don’t care if I’m overreacting I feel like I belong on that floor for not being good enough for him.

I fight with him the rest of the time trying to keep my mind focused but it works less than I would hope for it to.

After the morning session he leans in and whispers, “now how about we spend the day doing some stuff to help you relax. You look as if you need it,” as he trails his fingers up and down my back.

I step away uncomfortable doing anything of the sort with my current knowledge, “That’s a nice offer but I’m okay. I had some plans today,” I tell him, “With Lee,” I add on wondering if some jealousy will get him back to wanting me and forgetting about that slut.

He looks confused but not jealous of any sort, “Alright then,” he tells me and then goes his own way.

I stand there lost wondering if he’s being a stupid boy not taking a hint or if he really doesn’t care. Either way I might as well give him attention and maybe flirt a little in front of Pan with him to try to get what I want.

I sit with him at camp all day being real close having Pan glance over at us occasionally unphased even when I try to flirt. He doesn’t flirt back which I didn’t expect because I thought I’ve seen enough signs for him to be into this. After a good couple hours of it I give up and go for a walk alone. I stumble upon Felix again and we get to talking.

“Pan had the best time with her, he plans on going back! I flirted with Lee all day and he didn’t say or do anything!” I tell him.

“Why do you think I care? Isn’t that what your mermaid friends are for? Anyway if you want my advice, do it with someone intimidating not Lee,” he shares.

“My relationship is over,” I state even though Pan hasn’t said it I know inside.

As the day comes to an end people are playing dumb stuff around a fire. I join in and drink. They seem to be playing truth or dare. I just want to forget about Wendy and how Pan left for the night again and get really drunk knowing something bad will happen.

“Y/n, truth or dare?” I’m asked.

“Truth,” I answer.

“Tell everyone what you think of Pan keeping on leaving for the girl in London,” the guy asks.

“Everyone knows about that?” I ask embarrassed. They nod saying they are surprised I found out. Having the alcohol hit me and soon to be regretful words, I pour out everything, “Well I’m pissed as fuck! I’m his girlfriend he should only want me! If he does whatever he wants what’s stopping me from sleeping with one of you? He wouldn’t care!” I see I sparked some of the lost boys interest when I said that as they lean in, “I just want him to want only me not that slut that is in a different realm!” I huff mad.

We play more rounds and I finally choose dare, “I dare you to makeout with me,” Sam sitting next to me says scooting closer, definitely thinking of the slutty comment I said earlier. Feeling so vulnerable and unloved I get ready to lean in to do it. Before I can move my head Felix comes and takes me away to Pan’s cave.

“What was that for? I was going to!-“ I begin lazy.

“I don’t care what you were going to do! I have a job and that’s to keep you safe while Pan is away! And that includes not fucking any lost boys out of anger!”

I turn away from him angry once he goes I feel my injured arm have this horrible pain that’s unlike anything but I’m too drunk and tired to check on it and I fall asleep.

I wake up the next morning with a raging headache and do the regular routine. I hunt with a group of people that’s not Lee for a change. They start talking about what happened last night as we climb in a tree.

“I can’t believe I said all that. Did Sam really try to kiss me?” I ask and they nod and I’m humiliated. I try to spear a boar distracted by something new and miss, it runs off. Rich does it correctly to another one and we carry it back.

I sit next to Felix, “Thanks for having my back last night,” I tell him.

“Just doing my job,” he tells me and sips water.

I sit with him in silence as we both eat.

Felix tells us we will not have a morning practice session and I go back to sleep this hangover off some more.

When I walk in the cheating Peter Pan is standing there.

“Hey,” I tell him holding my head.

“Hey darling how are you?” He asks.

“Exhausted. I got a raging hangover because I was stupid and let the guys rope me into drinking way beyond my normal limits,” I groan.

He comes over and helps me lay down, “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?” He asks being genuine.

“Just some water is fine,” I say. He goes to get some and I look at my arm and even though it’s oozing some I don’t want to get anyone involved and I put on a jacket to hide it.

He comes back with what I asked telling me to get some rest and to call if I need anything that he will be in the tent he does business in.

I nod and sip the water and watch him as he goes. I lay down for several hours left with all my thought in my head I’ve had the past 24 hours. I can’t lose him though. I have to try to win him so I’m the only one he wants.

I go to his tent and see him standing there looking at pieces of parchment, “What are you looking at?” I ask poking my head behind him.

“I’m making a deal with Hook so he continues doing my dirty work,” he tells me.

“What if we do some dirty work?” I whisper and move my hand down to his crotch area and kiss his neck.

I can tell he’s smirking from the corner of my eye and he turns to me, “I’d love to do some dirty work with you,” he whispers back, “but I must finish this. I will later I promise. I do want to,” he kisses my cheek.

“You aren’t going to London? I mean away again tonight?” I correct myself because he does not know I know everything.

“No. I have more important things here. Like you,” he smiles which makes me smile feeling better about my place.

I leave his tent and go to see the mermaids and tell them everything that’s been happening and ask for there incite.

“You’re reading into it Pan loves you he would never cheat,” Serena tries to assure me.

“I don’t know. Two nights in a row on his “business trip” and if Felix of all people say that it’s true it probably is. He doesn’t bullshit stuff,” Alice tells me sounding sceptic.

They go back and forth defending there reasons leaving me confused.

“I still think Lee likes you. Grabbing you by the waist? And not moving his hands once your in a safe spot? That sounds so sexy!” Alice tells me.

“But that doesn’t explain why he didn’t flirt with me,” I tell them.

“He probably knew Pan was there and got nervous. Isn’t he shy? You might have to get him alone,” Serena suggests.

I think about it realizing that actually could be really true, “Thanks girls this has helped a lot,” I head out and find Lee.

He’s sitting around the camp. Right by the tent Pan is in lucky for me. I go to change my nasty bandages for my horrific arm and come back out, “Hey Lee,” I say right by the nylon outside of Pan, “Do you want to get out of here? For a walk in the woods or beach maybe?” I ask. I put my hand on his arm hoping Pan is looking at our shadows.

“Yeah. He smiles. That sounds nice,” he stands up and we walk into the trees. I look back briefly and see Pan staring at us starting to hide in some bushes not far away with a jealous look and I smirk.

#david nolan #neverland #peter pan #regina mills #emma swan #prince charming #snow white #evil queen #captain hook #lost boys #henry mills #mr gold #killian jones #ouat imagine #ouat s3 #mary margaret blanchard #ouat season 3 #once upon a time s3 #rumplestilitskin #fan fiction #ouat #once upon a time #imagine #love #peter pan once upon a time #peterpan ouat

[mallowstep]

(Reed anon again)

Just--wtf did Riverclan do with Reedpaw when everyone was rescued? Even in Canon? Like, poor fucking Mistyfoot--two of her kits are with her, but her third and final kit is still in enemy territory, still underneath Tigerstar's paw, Blackfoot is still his mentor. If even a *hint* of Reedpaw's true parentage got out, he'd be fucked. He and Leopardstar would both probably be dead, Leopard carrying Tiger's legacy or not. Tbh I wouldn't doubt Tigerstar'd be petty enough just to kill all of Riverclan itself. Like...Greystripe, you fucking LIVED in Riverclan for a few fucking MOONS. How do you forget or at least NOT recognize/remember the queen that nursed your kits' own kits? You told Firestar you visited them every chance you had. Like...Grey, I get you were worried for you daughter, but dude...you left a child who you saw as a baby to a toddler (thereabouts) under a war criminal. Someone you KNOW had a subordinate who was not against poisoning kits with deathberries. Someone who tried to kill his OWN apprentice. Then, in the Leopard AU, this kid is stuck in the apprentices den during the rescue. Leopardstar and Mudfur cannot get him out without alerting Shadowclan Apprentices. They chose Mistyfoot and Featherpaw's heath and safety (which, at this point it's better than nothing.) And Misty has to choose Feather when Mudfur leads them out of their prison. He then gets to see the absolute horror of his LEADER, murdered, loose a life, to this Monster, see her go through what his mother did, only that IT'S far, far, worse than anything that'd been done at this point. He sees his clan's medicine cat turn against their leader, verbally agreeing and harassing her...just... this poor boy.. In Canon, Misty Au, Leopard AU it all sucks. Dark AU, not so much--still horrific, but Blackfoot is Reed's father in that one, so as his mentor Reed's safety is somewhat assured had Tigerstar not realized Reedpaw was Misty's kit, and that Misty's kits had not all died.

oh my god anon why r u so Damn Good at making me feel things

okay okay okay hm. i'm just gonna -- yeah i'm just gonna put the whole thing under a cut bc i'm a lil too tired to do the thing where i start with the pg-13 and below stuff and then do a cut.

cw: sexual assault, parent being involved in sexual assault of child

heck if i know. i'm like. 100% sure mistyfoot's kits were forgotten about. they were nameless characters for a Long time. reedpaw isn't in any of the allegiances for riverclan in tpb. i...like. i've read tpb how many times? and i honestly didn't know mistyfoot had kits until i checked out the warriors wiki and was like. oh. she had kits? with blackclaw? what the fuck?

i wouldn't put money on it, but i have a feeling the scene involving mistyfoot and her kits could be read as riverclan kits in general. again, wouldn't put money on that, it's just a hunch.

anyway, i kind of just. mistyfoot could have had another litter in the year between tpb and tnp, or during po3, or literally any other time and then we wouldn't have the reedpaw problem (tm).

WAIT

WAIT WAIT WAIT I WAS LOOKING AT THE WARRIORS WIKI AND

HE'S AN APPRENTICE IN TNP

what the FUCK

he's fucking like. several YEARS old. he's 2 and a half years old and he's a fucking apprentice oh my god just give mistyfoot a second litter it is not that hard.

actually. since mistyfoot's litter isn't named...new hc that reedwhisker is a different litter? hm. anyway.

my tangent on the reedpaw problem aside;

oh yeah, he's so fucking dead. imo prob not him and leopardstar -- riverclan would Riot if their leader was killed, and tbh, so would part of shadowclan -- but him and blackclaw. damn.

and yeah? idk? god. i don't know. tbf he's not in prison i don't even know. altho. actually, to give greystripe some credit -- the fact that mistyfoot doesn't ask to go back for him and how risky the riverclan rescue is, i think "not going back" is actually a reasonable choice.

honestly do we have an erin statement that reedwhisker is part of the same litter as prim and co. it's not on the wiki. i want to know. because i think everyone just assumed he was and -- maybe there is a statement but i want to see it.

because mistyfoot is not the type to abandon her kit. like. what? no. mistyfoot? mistyfoot? my brother just died but i am fucking fine get me the hell out of here mistyfoot? no i know i'm starving but like hell you can apprentice featherpaw to someone else mistyfoot? you're telling me SHE would leave a kit behind without so much as a word about him? fat fucking chance.

in conclusion, unless someone can provide evidence an erin said reedwhisker was part of mistyfoot's first litter, i'm going to assume the intention was that he was a second litter.

and back to the actual topic, now that i'm done for real hopefully.

yeeep. he can't be rescued. and -- mistyfoot has very few choices here. featherpaw is dying, reedpaw is safe for the moment, she won't get another chance. she's not happy about it -- she misses him so terribly much -- but she doesn't. yeah. god. that angst. i hope like. someone somehow just Tries to let reedpaw know it wasn't voluntary.

(i'm not Much One for "you left me you didn't love me" angst if you Can't tell. a pinch of it for flavour, but not as a main plot line, y'know? nothing wrong with it it's very good i just don't like writing it.)

god -- god. in my mind tigerstar takes the life from leopardstar privately bc riverclan would fucking riot but just. reedpaw realizes what's happening. so he follows bc of course he does. he's not the reason tigerstar knows what's going on, but he thinks he is.

and he's there hiding and he sees tigerstar kill leopardstar and hears him tell mudfur what's going to happen and he's sitting there in a bush or something just trying not to so much as twitch because he's so dead if tigerstar finds him. he's so fucking dead.

so he just sits there until long after tigerstar and leopardstar and mudfur have left and when he gets back to camp everyone wonders where he went and he can't explain.

and it feels terrible but he realizes tigerstar is still gloating over everything because as pissed as he is that he lost mistyfoot -- now he's truly taken out every thread of riverclan's leadership.

(frankly no i still think tigerstar's most effective control method for riverclan would be to tell stonefur that if he messes up, he'll kill the apprentices and/or mistyfoot and/or rape mistyfoot, and do leopard au on leopardstar, therefore getting all 3 riverclan leaders in blind obedience to him. he'd have to be much more discrete about leopardstar, maybe convince the clans it's a political thing, i'm not sure. the point is, nothing would Visibly be wrong, all three leaders are just going for this, and so of course riverclan would go along with it. but tigerstar's too much of a prideful asshole to appreciate another culture in enough depth to manipulate them effectively.)

anyway. so reedpaw realizes like -- ah yes. i'm escaping punishment because tigerstar is distracted. and -- god. yeah. oh my god.

and at first like -- he doesn't like. witness anything. tigerstar has some sense of subtly. not a ton -- but enough. direct evidence would be a problem. so no, reedpaw is just sitting with this knowledge in his head. mistyfoot escaped and she was carrying tigerstar's kits (was she? he hadn't seen her he misses her so much he hopes prays she's safe), so now leopardstar is going to.

and the thing about letting things sit like that is that the brain is very, very powerful.

(He called my mother a whore, Reedpaw thinks, and he wants to throw up when he remembers it.

Tigerstar and Leopardstar and Mudfur are having a conversation again and Reedpaw thinks of how Tigerstar would wrap his tail around Mistyfoot, like they were mates, and he wonders what Tigerstar would say if he didn't have to pretend.)

so. you know. yeah. good angst oh my god.

and now mudclaw has flipped from -- one of his best protectors to a great enemy. see, here's the thing. tigerstar only tells mudfur he's going to make him watch. leopardstar ain't dead that long. so reedpaw doesn't know what shadepelt knows and shadepelt would tell him but if shadepelt tries to talk to reedpaw...bad for the both of them.

and reedpaw is around blackfoot and blackfoot is a good guard and how long until -- reedpaw is asked to tell blackfoot something while blackfoot is on guard and he hears mudfur say, "You're a slut like your mother" and he -- can't. maybe he freezes, can't remember what he was supposed to tell blackfoot.

("Spit it out," Blackfoot says, but Reedpaw can't remember why he's even here.

"Even your own father thinks you're just a useless whore," Tigerstar says. He's not speaking loud -- Reedpaw would have to strain to hear the words if his entire world hadn't narrowed down to them.

"Reedpaw," Blackfoot growls. "Spit it out.")

hm. yes. god. bad. good. damn.

and yes the dark au seems like. once again "the angst is very different so i don't know how to rank its magnitude because emotions don't work like that" but. on one hand -- his dad. protection. safety. good. on the other -- his dad really did let two of his siblings die and his mom get raped, huh.

hm. good stuff.

#ask #anon #reed au #misty au #leopard au #dark au #yeah we hit all of them #mine

[strawberrylemonz]

January 20, 2021 - DSMP

Here is my review of what happened on today’s stream! Keep in mind that I was only watching Tommy’s POV, but will be analyzing any other viewpoints that I come across (Mainly Tubbo’s)

I’m going to be honest with everyone, I was unsure as to whether not any of our boys would make it out alive. I went into the stream preparing the worst.

Tommy and Tubbo talking each other up, preparing to leave made me feel all kinds of thing. Like I stated earlier, I was prepared for the two to end their adventure today. I vibed with them when they walked down the prime path, and froze up when I saw the first person in line. I’m not ashamed to say that I nearly sobbed when I saw everyone line up to say their goodbyes to the boys (I’m sensitive, shut up). 

The way Sam kept giving them stuff??? Loved that

The way Tommy and Quackity’s voices quivered when they spoke to each other? Punch to the heart?

Tommy telling Eret that she was always the true king??? YES!!! POP OFF!!!

The entire trip to where Dream was both made me happy and broke my heart. Here, we saw these boys, children forced to grow up quickly to be used by those they trusted, do their best to be kids for a moment. They were kids for, what they believed, could be the last time. They had their serious moments where Tommy kept reminding Tubbo that it was okay to not feel okay about the situation. Where Tommy didn’t want Tubbo to hide his inner thoughts from him just to try and make him feel better. The moment that they watched the sun together made me all sentimental and shit. Tommy preparing to die and have Tubbo leave and tell his story broke me. 

“Why did you tell me to bring Tubbo?”

“Because, it’s always been you and Tubbo against me, remember? Ever since the beginning, Tommy and Tubbo against Dream” (paraphrasing)

I actually got hyped up when Tommy got the disc. It reminded me of Tommy’s clutch the time he dropped the disc down to Tubbo and knocked Dream off the tower using only planks. I had let my hope for them grow. And then I had my heart broken.

Dream using Tubbo against Tommy was something that I expected would happen, but I still wasn’t prepared for it to actually happen. I don’t think I’ll easily forget about how Tommy gave up the disc to Dream, even when Tubbo begged for Tommy to keep the disc and go. My heart nearly dropped to my stomach when I saw Dream break that first dirt block. It dropped when he told the boys to put their armor in the hole. 

I have to admit, I was kinda confused that the homeless man had an evil lair and not a home, but pop off I guess??? The elevator was pretty cool, ngl

When I saw the two discs on the floor, I thought, “Bitch, you better be polishing this fucking floor every 30 minutes. Disrespect Nicki Minaj? What?” My second thought was, “why tf did you make two giant ass shrines for these discs??? Didn’t even center them, wtf dude.”

When Dream was monologuing and showing off the stolen goods and pets (and Skeppy) he stole from everyone, I knew he was on something. Him calling Tommy the key confirmed that Dream was overthinking everything and seeing things in places they didn’t belong. Did Tommy initially bring these bonds? Bring all the things Dream said he did? Yeah, I’ll admit it, he did. But it was the people in the server that kept that going, kept it alive. If not Tommy, someone else would have started that chain. The way Tommy look horrified and uttered with a horrific tone, “how do you not hurt?” when Dream mentioned how he cut off all his attachments was hnnnnnnnn

Tubbo actively trying to protect Tommy from going to prison while Tommy was actively trying to protect Tubbo from permanently dying was-

Man

Man, that broke my heart.

“You wanna be the hero of this server? Every hero has an origin story. Batman had his parents, Spider-Man had Uncle Ben. You have Tubbo.”

The look of complete horror/terror that came across Tommy’s face the instant those words were spoken. He genuinely looked scared. He kept trying to defend Tubbo, despite Dream repeating how defenseless Tommy was against him. Dream telling the boys to say their good byes hurt me in more ways that I can describe. Tommy was panicking, actively trying to come up with ways to get Tubbo out of there, no matter the cost or price that he had to pay. Tubbo telling him that it was okay, everything would be okay, he would be okay. The way Tommy was desperate to hold onto his best friend, his Tubbo, whilst saying, “You can’t be okay with this! Why are you okay with this?”

My heart nearly stopped for a second the moment Tubbo said “goodbye, Tommy”

My mind flashed back to Tubbo saying those exact words whilst exiling Tommy, his best friend, for the sake of everyone being safe. Now, here he was again, saying those exact words to the exact same person. The only difference? He wasn’t sacrificing his best friend for the sake of everyone and Dream. No, he was sacrificing himself for the sake of his best friend, his only true friend, Tommy. 

“Get away from them”

“Punz?”

“I’m sorry Dream, but you should have paid me more.”

Literal chills. I cannot. It’s the “On your left” of the DSMP. The way everyone came through the portal to line up against this tyrant that manipulated them all. The way I imagined everyone coming through to see this decked out dude with a god complex about to murder a bloody and bruised child, said child’s best friend (also bloody and bruised) was watching, begging to have his friend spared. Imagining how they saw the tear streaks down the boys’ messed up faces as they accepted their fates. As they saw their fear turn to hope as Tommy got Tubbo behind them for safety. How Tommy entrusted them to keep Tubbo safe. How they all came, decked out, to defend these two children. 

How Quackity came in nothing but his yeezys because he just fucking knew that Dream wouldn’t put up a fight. The way Dream was so confident that he had power over everyone because he rid himself of his bonds towards objects and friends, only for that to be his downfall. The way Sapnap, Dream’s old friend, his buddy, was the one to give Tommy the pickaxe. The way Puffy was there to protect the two boys she renounced his duckling title for (and the nation).

The way Tommy dug a hole, without any protection or weapons, and had Dream throw his stuff in. The way he didn’t blow any of Dreams shit up, like he had happen to himself, and, instead, used Dream’s things to protect Tubbo and everyone else. The way Tommy took away Dream’s first two lives, paralleling the times Dream took Tommy’s two lives. The way Tommy boxed him in, like Tubbo was at the festival, and the way Tubbo held a bow to Dream. The way Tommy screamed at Dream to tell everyone what he had done. How Dream was the one to blow up the community house. How Dream tormented the poor boy in exile. The way Tommy didn’t spare him because he liked him, or wanted to play mind games with him. No, Tommy spared him because he had a chance to get his brother back, his family. 

“Let’s make Wilbur proud. SUCK IT GREEN BOY!!!!”

“SUCK IT GREEN BOY!!!!”

The way the boys sincerely thanked everyone for showing up, fully knowing that they didn’t have to do shit. The way that Tommy said to go to Tubbo’s vc, obviously warming Tubbo’s heart. The way they made it to bench, and finally had a chance to breathe. How they could sit their, listen to their discs, and be kids again. No wars, no going against Dream, nothing. They could just be Tommy and Tubbo, like it’s always been since the beginning. 

Then Wilbur fishfucking Soot had to crash the moment like the older brother he was, lmaooooo. 

“You didn’t die”

“Ghostbur?”

“I’m not Ghostbur.”

I sucked in a breath, not knowing how the interaction was going to go. Was Wilbur still in the mindset he was whilst blowing up the nation he and his younger brother created? Was he in a mindset before that? Was he sane? 

I must admit, their bickering match, along with Tubbo’s dancing, made me realize how much I missed their dynamic. I realized how much I missed Wilbur being in the picture. (Tommy whispering to Tubbo how he liked Ghostbur was hilarious)

Wilbur complaining about being stuck with Schlatt in the afterlife was hilarious. Wilbur admitting that he was preparing, waiting, for Tommy, his younger brother, to join him in the afterlife had me gripping my plushies. Wilbur telling Tommy that he’s proud of him put a sledgehammer into my fragile dam. 

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”

THEY. ARE. BROTHERS!!!!

It was just so refreshing to see these two get the happy ending they deserved in this arc. The pain and suffering these two children went through at the expense of others, how they were forced to grow up quickly because of their situations, all of that was finally pushed towards the path of recovery. And although they’ve been through hell and back, it’s still them. Although the future will be hard for them, throwing more trials and difficult choices, they know that they’ll make it out, because that how it’s always been. And if their strengthen bond after today can tell them anything, it’s that it’ll always be like that.

It’s always been Tommy and Tubbo.

What I want/what I predict

FOR GEORGE TO BE AWAKE FOR FIVE FUCKING SECONDS

Everyone complimenting Niki on her new fit better fucking happen, I will manifest it

Dream will use his favor from Techno to break out of prison

Connor playing a bigger role in the SMP

Foolish revealing that they don’t need Dream alive (hopefully)

Ghostbur to say a proper goodbye before Wilbur is revived

GLATT

GLATTBUR

SBI reunion with every alive for more than five fucking minutes

Wilbur ignoring his dad Phil and zooming over to little brother Tommy so that he can hug him and tell him that he’s safe now and that he’s so proud of him

THERAPY ARC!!!! FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYONE LOVELY, PLEASE

JUST GET EVERYONE INSIDE THE THERAPY GROUP SECTION AND TALK ABOUT THEIR TRAUMA AND FEELINGS SO THEY CAN ALL CLEAR UP THEIR MISUNDERSTANDINGS!!!!!

The egg will start to negatively affect people, causing those not affected to fear for their home and friends

SBI + TUBBO AND RANBOO VS EGGPIRE????? POG?????

Tubbo nuking L’manhole to get rid of the spreading red

Techno/Phil to come to an understanding with Tommy; vice versa

Those unaffected teaming up to safe those affected

Someone (preferably Ranboo) unintentionally activating the End Portal lmao

The rest of the SBI + Tubbo saving Tommy from being murdered by Jack and Niki

Jack and Niki learning that killing the child is not the fucking answer to their problems (If it didn’t work for William Afton, it won't work for y’all. Stop trying to be the man behind the slaughter)

Techno and Tommy rebuilding their trust and friendship with each other

Tommy giving Techno the Axe of Peace

Sam being influenced by the egg and becomes corrupted

Ranboo being free??? Pog???? Pog

Puffy and Niki having a one-to-one conversation about their personal opinions and goals

Puffy visiting Dream whilst he sits in his cell

Skeppy and Bad to be okay again :(

Everyone infected to be okay again :(

Tommy bonding with Eret

Big Q continuing to hold Clingy Duo close to him

Schlatt coming back but instead of trying to run for president and mess with everyone, he’s just everyone’s drunk uncle that somehow gives wise advice to every situation

Wilbur coming back but he’s that angry older cousin that only allows the favorite family members(Tommy)/friends to stay in his room 

GIVE ME MEXICAN DREAM AND GIRL DREAM!!! ONLY HETERO RELATIONSHIP I SEE THAT IS BEYOND POGGERS

Lani and Drista to make a comeback at the same time

Tommy meeting more family members

The kids being able to be kids

Lani selling yeezy

Drista w/ bedrock

Drista laughing at Dream’s imprisonment

Everyone finding peace within each other’s chaos and living in harmony

#dream smp #dreamsmp #/dsmp #/rp #tommyinnit #tubbo #dream #sapnap #georgenotfound #technoblade #philza minecraft #Wilbur Soot #sbi #sleepy bois inc #sleepyboisinc #captain puffy #niki nihachu #ranboo #awesomedude #punz #badboyhalo #skeppy #connoreatspants #jack manifold #foolish #drista #lanusky #lani #tubblings #quackity

[vanderlindemorgans]

dark blue tennessee

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: It was one thing being without him while he was alive. It was another to lose him all together

Warnings: Major character death, grief-induced alcoholism, descriptions of blood and injuries, vague allusions to suicide. None of this is beta read so please don’t shoot me for any grammatical errors!

None of this seemed real to you. None of it felt real. It would have brought you some comfort if it wasn’t - that way you could reason with yourself that this was all the result of some horrific nightmare, that’d you’d wake up with a small gasp in his arms, safe and away from whatever dark terror had enveloped your mind. You weren’t one to usually have nightmares but when you did he would always be there, his embrace warm and tight, a single hand running through your hair in a soft pattern, and his unmistakable southern drawl whispering into your ear. 

This wasn’t a dream however. No matter how wrong it felt, how surreal and horrific the whole situation was, it was all real. Perched on the edge of a barstool, you glanced over at the almost empty bottle of whiskey beside you. You thought it would take the pain away, dull your senses and let you pretend for two seconds that he wasn’t really gone, but if anything, the whiskey made it worse. Everything reminded you of him, day in and day out, every morning you woke up and all you could notice was that he wasn’t there. His clothes were, his Stetson perched on a hook on the back of your bedroom door, his stupid belt buckle that you’d always mocked him for...but not him. You couldn’t bear to box away any of it. It may bring you pain to see all these items laid out, as if they were expecting their owner to return someday, but shoving it all in the back of a closet seemed so...disrespectful to you. It would be almost the same as forgetting him in your mind, and you refused to. 

It had been only two weeks since you first received that fateful call, the one that you prayed to high heavens you would never hear. Thank god you were home when you got the call - if you’d been out with your friends, or heaven forbid at work you don’t know what you would have done. It was a moment that you often replayed over in your mind, if for nothing more than the torture of reminding yourself of the day you had broke like glass shattered on a white cloth. 

Trailing the pad of your finger over the edge of your glass, you tossed your head back as you downed yet another glass of liquor. Every detail of that memory stuck out to you, even the most insignificant things that no one else would ever mention. You’d taken the day off work, already feeling shitty straight up from the moment the day had begun. You’d been making something to eat, just some toast because you couldn’t be bothered with anything else, and right when you were searching the fridge for a jar of jam you had heard the phone ring.

Without a second thought you’d scooped it up in your hands and answered it, thinking it would be one of your friends calling to try to get you to come out with them to some bar or something that night. You hadn’t guessed it would be anything important. “Hello?”.

“Hi, am I speaking to Y/N?”. You furrowed your brow at the response, not immediately recognising the voice. You considered hanging up for a brief moment but something in you told you to stay on the line.

“You are. I’m sorry, who is this?”. 

“My name is Ginger Ale. I’m a colleague of your partner, Jack Daniels. I’m very sorry to have to inform you this way, but he’s perished in a horrible incident”. 

Everything around you seemed to collapse in that moment. The whole world might as well have fallen away around you the minute you heard those words. It was a curious thing, the death of a loved one. It often comes so suddenly, and so unexpected that you feel like you’re climbing the stairs to your room in the dark, thinking there’s just one more step than there actually is, and feeling yourself plummet down into the abyss below. It was nothing like you’d ever experienced before - you might as well have been falling deep into the shadowy chasm right at the moment. Your grip on the phone tightened as you struggled to find the words, or any words really, to say in response as tears started to gather around the corners of your eyes. “W-what? What do you mean...he’s…” you trembled, stumbling on your feet as you fell against the wall in a daze, the world somehow seeming both screaming loud and quiet all at once. 

“He was injured badly during his last mission - multiple gunshot wounds from a certain run in with a couple of gangsters. He was...he was barely alive when we brought him in” Ginger explained, trying her best to comfort you but you barely took any notice of her words as the same thought played over in your head. He’s gone. He’s dead. He’s fucking dead, and you could have stopped it. It’s all your fault. 

“Aren’t you guys supposed to have that weird gel stuff that heals gunshot wounds? Surely...surely he could have been saved, right?” you asked frantically, your cheeks streaked with tears and flushed with grief. It took everything in you not to fall apart right then and there, dropping the phone to the floor and screaming out in sheer agony of the pain that was ripping through you. 

“Not this time, sadly. I’m really sorry, Y/N”. There was a small pause on the other end of the line before Ginger spoke again, her tone indicating her hesitance at divulging such information to you. “He also insisted that we don’t bother, that he knew his time was up with this one. I was watching him on this mission - he went into it all quite recklessly, which isn’t completely new for him but…”.

“But?” you asked, prompting her to finish her sentence but she never did. A heavy silence hung between the both of you, punctured lightly by the sound of your heavy breath which you tried desperately to keep in check. Some small part of you was still in some sort of disbelief, wanting to fervently deny that any of this was happening. This is just a dream right? I’ll wake up back in bed, I’ll get up and call Jack, and he’ll be alive and well. None of this is real. It can’t be real...

“I want to see him. Please, just let me see him. Let me at least say goodbye”.

_

You hadn’t taken much notice of your surroundings on your way to Statesman Headquarters - everything might as well have been a blur to you from the moment you stepped through the doors to the second you walked off the platform of the elevator towards the medical wing. As soon as you spotted him all sense of decorum and logic was thrown out the window, any sense of composure melting away to nothing the very second his body came into view. Ginger had been beside you, probably as a general gesture to ensure you wouldn’t entirely lose it once you gained a single glimpse of him but alas, as soon as the elevator pulled to a stop and the doors pulled open to reveal a lifeless Agent Whiskey lain across the stretcher, everything you had ever known seemed to fall to pieces from under you. It was as if your entire world had collapsed, had stopped revolving the minute you laid eyes on his lifeless form. Without another seconds hesitation you rushed towards him, tears beginning to cascade down your cheeks as you bore witness to the unfortunate result of the tragedy that had struck.

It was as if the floodgates had opened right then and there - once you started crying, the tears just wouldn’t stop. With every ounce of your being you wished that somehow, by some godforsaken miracle, your touch would bring him back, that his eyes would magically flutter open and would greet you with those enchanting brown eyes that you had come to know every day of your life since the moment you had first met. That he would maybe, if only by the simple wish of your heart, say the one thing you were always angling to hear truthfully, in a way that you could put more than a simple faith in. As if you were a broken record, you couldn’t stop repeating his name over and over, like if by some divine intervention that alone would turn the clock back and have him lying next to you, his hand caressing your cheek and firing one of his signature flirty quips at you as you woke up in bed, catching a whiff of that ever-present scent of whiskey that mixed beautifully with his cologne. If only it were that simple. If only that were possible.

Instead you laid a hand against his cold forehead, now devoid of any warmth of life it once felt. Some would say that the dead looked almost peaceful in a way but you saw none of that: even in death Jack somehow looked anguished, like there was something left behind that he wanted to say but simply couldn’t go back to. 

“I can’t feel you anymore…” you murmured, your voice wobbling violently. Leaning down towards him, you cradled his head between your palms, whispering his name softly and feeling your own tears decorate his cheeks. Ginger, or maybe somebody else, said something in the background that you couldn’t take any notice of, your mind fixated only on the man you loved and the unfortunate reality that presented itself to you now. 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

_

The funeral had only been held a week afterwards. From a planning perspective, it was easy to organise his final affairs - for whatever reason you’d been named as the executor of his will, a fact that came as a shock to you once you had been served the information by the attorney. The two of you weren’t ever married, although you had attempted to float the idea once or twice, and his mother was still alive so it seemed odd to you that of all people to be left in charge of his estate Jack chose you. Emotionally, it had been a taxing revelation for you: on top of having to carry the stinging pain of finding out the man you loved had died, you had to be the one organising his affairs. You knew after leaving the medical wing of Statesmans Headquarters that day that you wanted nothing more than to let your own sorrow overcome you and let yourself fade out of existence, his voice haunting your every waking moment until you finally decided to let go entirely and throw yourself off the brink of insanity. That’s what you felt you deserved anyway.

His funeral had been the worst of it. You had silently prayed that maybe you would have numbed yourself out a bit. The most agonising part of it all were the hoards of people coming up to you asking how you were. It took everything in you to stop yourself from confessing everything. If they knew, they’d hate you. They’d blame you. The gossip would start, the theories and rumours flying high, the whispers you could hear in your head as if they were real. Somehow you’d pulled through, despite the inclination to break down at any given moment. But of course, that wasn’t the end. You’d buried him, now you had to face the mortifying reality of living without him. 

With every passing day the memories became stronger. You never told any of them what had happened the last time you saw Jack - you couldn’t tell them. It had been eating at you from the inside ever since you picked up the phone that cursed day, tearing apart your mind and leaving nothing in its wake but heartbreaking grief and despair. It’s your fault. You’re the reason this happened. If you two hadn’t fought, if you hadn’t told him to fuck off on the phone that night, he wouldn’t have gone on that mission. You killed him. You’re a murderer. 

All of these thoughts and more wormed their way between different glasses of whiskey, letting you lose track of both time and how many glasses you had. No matter how much you drank though it never dulled the grief nor the guilt that you’d been torturing yourself with from the moment you woke up every day to the moment you went to sleep. Actually, even in your sleep you couldn’t escape it, being plagued by nightmares and the like increasing in degrees of terror the longer they went on. It was why you now avoided any sort of conscious effort to sleep, only succumbing when you’d become so drunk that you had bent yourself over the back of the couch and cried as much as your body would let. 

You swore to never let anyone know what had happened, that Jack and you had technically broken up a few days before his death. It already ate at you enough that you had to run over the memories in your mind, every last word you spat at him on repeat for your own infinite suffering. “It feels like wherever we go, she’s there. And she’s so beautiful, and perfect, and dead. I can’t compete with a ghost, Jack”. Scowling to yourself, you scooped up your glass and took yet another sip, feeling nothing but regret towards how everything played out. You didn’t regret what you said - on some level, you still felt it was true. You knew Jack would forever hold a candle for his ex-wife, but you’d grown tired of feeling like you were second place to a dead woman, as if the only reason he kept you around at all was to fill a void that could only truly be filled by the one person he could never have back. It had been selfish of you, in some way, but you’d deserved more. You loved Jack with everything you had, and you wanted him to feel the same way back, and although he swore he did you could plainly see that wasn’t the case.

“Darlin’, please, don’t be like this. You’re my only love and you know that. You’re being ridiculous about all this”

“Then why do you still wear your ring? Why do you get dismissive whenever I try to bring up moving in together, or marriage, or anything. It’s been two fucking years of this. You can do whatever you want, Jack but I’ll tell you one thing: you’ll be doing it alone. I’m out”. 

“For fucks sake…” you cursed, slamming your glass back down on the table with a loud thud, your words slurred beyond all comprehension. A few drops of whiskey sloshed out of the glass onto the countertop, creating a small puddle on the marbled surface but you didn’t much care. What was the point in caring anyway?

You still had to pack up his home, a reminder that only contributed to your pain. You were supposed to have taken care of that before now, at least a week ago but you couldn’t bring yourself to enter his home. I’ll do it tomorrow...maybe. Yeah, tomorrow. Deciding firmly on that, you sipped the last of the liquor and stumbled off the seat of the barstool, the world spinning around you as you fumbled your way through the dim light of your apartment to where your bedroom was, throwing your intoxicated body amongst the heap of unmade bed sheets and burying yourself within them, crying until you passed out in a deep slumber. 

_

Standing outside the door to Jack’s penthouse apartment, you stared forward with a muted expression upon your face, the key to his place gripped firmly between your fingers as if it would disappear from your hands at any moment. You’d been there for a good five minutes by then, meaning to break out of your state of catatonia to only be stopped again by yourself, kicking off a seemingly endless cycle in which you remained stuck in front of his door. You knew you had to go in there eventually: it wasn’t like everything of his would magically disappear if you just ignored it. It was still hard though, since you knew the moment you stepped through the door you’d be hit by the unmistakable scent of him. Almost like you were crossing a threshold of sorts, only with a feeling of emptiness on the other side instead of anything resembling happiness. Seeing his things would only remind you of how he wasn’t there among them, where he should be, which spiralled onto other thoughts, such as reminiscing on his gorgeous brown eyes and that honeyed southern accent you adored on him, and everything else that once made your heart spark with love. You felt your breath tremble as your knuckles turned white from holding the key with such might. This was a bad idea. You weren’t ready for this. Maybe you should just go home and call it a day. 

No. You have to do this now. You might as well rip the bandaid off, lord knows you’ll have to do it eventually anyway.

Keeping your breath paced, you raised your shaking hand to the lock of the day, slowly inserting the key and twisting it until you heard the unmistakable click inside. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you pushed open the double doors and pulled yourself inside, your high heels clicking on the linoleum floors.

Everything was exactly how you’d last seen it, how Jack had last left it. Not that you expected any different of course. The only people who had probably been there in the past two weeks since his death were people from Statesman to collect various bits of the agency's technology and other gadgets Jack had left lying about. You never knew much about his life as part of the secret service: during your relationship Jack had preferred to stay off the subject of his job as much as possible. He even said himself that you shouldn’t have known about his double life in the first place but when it became too obvious that keeping it from you was going to hurt your relationship with him in the long term he’d sought permission from his boss to have you cleared on the most basic of intel. That never bothered you in the slightest - the least you knew about the agency, the better, a view Jack wholeheartedly agreed with you on. You didn’t know him as Agent Whiskey, top agent to Statesman Secret Service trained in espionage. You knew him as Jack Daniels, the cocky womanizer who chased anything in a skirt, the gentleman who had always managed to sweep you off your feet whenever he was around, and the man you had once dreamt of marrying before things went south. 

All around you were familiar places and objects, things that brought back so many memories yet felt hollow and empty as you looked upon them now. If things were right, he’d be there too, perhaps in the kitchen preparing dinner for you, knowing that you couldn’t resist coming over again even if it was the third time that week. Or maybe he’d be on the couch, reclining back with a glass of whiskey and a book, turning his head back to take a gander at you, shooting one of his signature smirks and making a remark about how incredibly gorgeous you looked. Without him, the space felt sullen and void of life, the dust settling on every surface from remaining untouched for two whole weeks by then. 

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward and tried as best you could to sort out your thoughts, detaching it as much as you were able to from the memories being back in that apartment brought. His mother already came to you and asked to have a box of certain things belonging to Jack given to her. You knew she was already going through a hell of a rough time herself, her only son winding up dead. She never knew about his life as an agent, being fed a cover story by Statesmans team in order to maintain their secrecy. A bit of you felt jealous of her for that. She would never know the truth, whereas you had to live every day for the rest of your life knowing what happened, being made aware of your own part to play in his fate every hour, every minute, every second. 

The rest of it, well, you had no idea what to do with it. You thought it would be best to box up as much of his personal items as you could, either to keep for yourself or to hand back to his family, and arrange to have the rest of the furniture sold or given away to a charity shop or something. Moving towards the living room, you began to scoop up the different framed photos you found around the apartment. Some were of him as a kid, either on a horse or in different shots with his family, already sporting that heart melting smile of his. A lot of them were of you and him on various dates - one you stopped to pour over was of the two of you at a diner in Brooklyn, you taking the photo and Jack taking a sneaky swipe of your sundae in the background while you were distracted. You remembered that day so well: he’d just come back from a particularly rough mission in Russia, one that he’d had to stake out for weeks, so it was the first time you’d seen each other in about a month. You looked at how happy you were in that picture, the sight of such joy bringing tears to the corners of your eyes. What you wouldn’t give to have those days back, the easier times, before the distance, the fights, the feelings of being second place to a ghost and of course, his own tragic death at the end of it all. 

At last you made your way to his bedroom, clutching onto the stack of photo frames as if they were a lifeline. You fought with everything in you the urge to just drop everything and crash down onto his bed, cradling one of his shirts in your hands to try to get a whiff of him, pretending that he was still there for only a few seconds. Rather, you walked over towards his bedside table and set the stack of frames down, crouching to your knees and biting back the teardrops threatening to fall from your eyes. It’s ok. You don’t have to do it all in one go. Just gather together some of his personal stuff, and then you can leave.

Opening the drawer, your eyes flitted between the various trinkets and things he’d accumulated, searching to see if there were anything personal that his family might want back when your gaze was instantly drawn to a stark white letter shoved towards the back of the drawer. Scooping it up in your hands, you furrowed your brow as you inspected it further, only to have your breath catch in your throat once you saw your name written in his unmistakable cursive on the front.  

Immediately you stood yourself up from the floor, your mind rushing into overdrive while you stared at the letter in your palms, hesitantly trailing your fingers up to the top of the envelope to tear it open. Out of all the things to find in Jack’s drawer, you definitely weren’t expecting this. You had no clue what it could be, when it was written or even if you should read it at all. Should you just put it back in the drawer and pretend you never found it? Though you supposed it was a bit too late for that, on account of you practically ripping the top of it open. With a hint of uncertainty, you reached into the envelope and lifted the letter out onto your lap, opening it to reveal its contents. 

The first thing you noticed was the date in the top right corner - April 22, two weeks ago, a day before he went on that mission and met an unkind fate. That alone was enough to make your heart stop, so when your eyes travelled down the page to read the rest of the letter, you might as well have dropped dead right then and there from the sheer pain that was struck through your heart.

I was a damn fool for letting you get away. You and I both know that my dearly departed wife will always hold a special place in my heart, and I know you understand that. I didn’t want to admit it until now but I had been becoming distant - every time you brought up marriage, or anything more I’d get scared. Scared of...well, a lot of different things. Of repeating the same tragedy with you, in some way. Some part of me was worried marrying you would be dishonoring my late wife’s memory as well. It’s no wonder you walked out when you did. I don’t blame you for your choice, but please allow me to say my piece at least. You never were second to anyone, sweetheart. As much as I will always love Lily, my heart belongs to you here and now. Missing you like this is such sweet sorrow, won’t you come back to me? No matter whether or not you chose to forgive me, or even entertain the idea of givin’ me another chance, I just want you to know that I love you, honeybee. I’ll be waiting for you today, tomorrow, and forever, down in dark blue Tennessee.

- Jack

Every word you read was like another stab to the heart for you, the tears that you had fought so hard to keep in now pouring down your cheeks, small sobs escaping your throat as you collapsed back to the floor with a thud, your heart racing a million miles a minute. There it was, all written down in hasty cursive script - the apology that he never got to give, hidden away in the back of his bedside drawer like an afterthought. Knowing him he’d probably written it out and intended to give it to you before he left for his mission but decided against it for whatever reason. And that final sentence...Tennessee. He mentioned Tennessee. The place where you’d grown up, where you’d lived almost your entire life before moving to New York. The place where you’d met Jack all those years ago, down in a local bar. You’d been visiting your parents for the week, he’d been there meeting with an investor for Statesman. By some stroke of luck you two had crossed paths, hitting it off and becoming infatuated within mere moments, one thing leading to another until eventually you’d woken up in his bed the next morning. The way you’d initially thought it’d only wanted a one night stand but then became something more. It was all flooding back to you now, triggered by only a few sentences written down on a letter that was never sent. You didn’t know what to do, or what to think. The only thing you could do in that moment was lean your head back against the bed and choke on your own sobs, muttering his name over and over for what felt like forever, holding the now crumpled and tear stained letter in your hands.

The hours ticked by, though you took no notice, and when you do eventually move, it’s not to leave the apartment. Your eyes barely leave the ground when you walk, stumbling from room to room in search of a bottle of wine or something stronger to drown your own sorrows in, kicking off your shoes haphazardly and without much care. When you bump against the liquor cabinet, you can hear something fall and shatter off the top, and when you walk back through the shards of glass with the bottles in your hands, you don’t even wince when one pierces your foot. With thin streams of blood trickling from the cut on your sole, you’ll flick the top off the first bottle you reach for, letting the lukewarm liquid slip down your throat, spiralling you down deeper and deeper into a drunken stupor until finally, the moment comes where you can close your eyes and slip into that familiar void of darkness that you greeted with open arms, those last conscious thoughts being an apology of your own that no one ever got to hear. I’m sorry, Jack...

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #Kingsman #kingsman fanfiction #Kingsman: the golden circle #Pedro Pascal

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 32

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Broken from the time-loop, you and Bucky discuss next steps.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Mild anxiety attacks and dissociation 

AO3

“You…”

If you were sweating like a marathon runner, then Bucky was panting like a winded horse that had been galloping too long for too fast.

“What… did you see?” He was perched on the edge of the bed, tail thumping against the covers in agitation.

You sat further upright, trying to catch your breath. You confirmed that, yes, you were back in your own room, in your own body. It was nighttime, cold, and the house was quiet because everyone else had gone to bed. The solid softness under your hands grounded you, confirmed that this was real and you were back where you were supposed to be.

You could barely process his question.

“I… I don’t know—“

Bucky gripped you by the shoulders and leaned over you, expression a mixture of fear and panic.

“What did you see? Tell me!”

“Everything!”

You winced and lowered your voice, not wanting to wake anyone, trembling violently in his hands.

“I saw everything.”

Bucky deflated, releasing you with horrific guilt written all over his face as he backed away from the bed.

“And…” You looked up at him, dazed, gripping the bedspread like a lifeline. “And I… didn’t just see. I was… with you…”

“No…”

“…in that place. The demon realm—“

“No, no, no, no.” Bucky stumbled back, his tail whipping around as he gripped the sides of his head. “That wasn’t you. That wasn’t you. It can’t be.”

“Bucky, please, look at me,” you quietly begged. But he wouldn’t. He shook his head, paced your room like a caged animal, but he wouldn’t look at you.

“It’s my fault. My fault. This wasn’t supposed to happen, something went wrong. Oh, God, what did I do? What did I do to you?”

He was spiraling and there was nothing you could do to stop it. As soon as you stood from the bed, Bucky flinched away, staring at you in naked terror.

“I can’t…”

He choked out the words, turned to your windowsill, and flung it open. The same windowsill he’d fled from twenty years ago. Wings ripped from his shoulder blades, shredding the back of his shirt, and he leapt through, disappearing into the darkness with a rush of air washing over you.

You stared at the open window for a long time. Long enough that the room had gotten cold enough to see your breath. And still you stood there, frozen, your mind a blank space as your body felt strange and far away.

Something warm and alive rubbed against your leg, a concerned meow bringing you back to the present. You shook off your daze and quickly shut the window, drawing the curtains back over the dark glass.

Picking up Monster, you returned to the bed and crawled under the covers, holding him tight as you shivered violently.

You waited for Bucky to return, watching the digital read-out of the old clock as it crept past midnight. The exhaustion of parsing through all the memories, of feeling as if you’d lived several lives over the span of just a few minutes, and then for Bucky to just take off… You were torn between fatigue and depression that felt more akin to grief.

As the clock ticked past two in the morning, you wondered if Bucky would be coming back. Maybe this was the thing that broke him. You couldn’t even blame him.

Burying your face in Monster’s fur, which may have grown damp against your cheeks, you let the exhaustion overtake you, pulling you into merciful darkness.

Except it wasn’t merciful. Confusing images swirled past you. Freezing bunkers, a red, dead world, a pretty rooftop garden with a kind, bald woman. She reached out to you, and you tried to grab her hand but you slipped backwards, out of reach.

Down, down you fell, through the freezing air, until you crashed into the snow, left broken and bleeding red against the white.

You awoke with a start, heart leaping in your throat. The room was cold again, and your back ached from the aftereffects of the horrifically realistic dream.

The noise that woke you repeated itself: Monster was hissing into the dark.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” a low voice responded. “Don’t have to tell me. Move over.”

Monster spit his annoyance, but he wiggled out of your arms and jumped off the bed, vanishing out of sight in that way he had of doing.

“Bucky?” Your whisper had barely any strength to it.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I’m… I’m here. Can I… come to bed with you?”

You pulled back the covers without hesitation, shifting back to give him room. The room was dark but you could still see him slip under the blankets as the mattress jostled from the additional weight.

Your fingers brushed against his arm and you almost drew back.

“You’re freezing.”

Bucky released a snort, settling down into the bed as he rested his head on the pillow next to yours.

“I’ll live. My own damn fault, anyway. I shouldn’t have left.” He found your hands under the covers and squeezed them gently. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Despite how cold he was all over, you pressed right up to him, tucking your head under his chin as you hugged his arms against your chest, seeking comfort while simultaneously trying to warm him up. That was something you couldn’t forget from the memories. Bucky hated the cold.

“I forgive you.” You rested your chin on your favorite spot, his collarbone. “So long as you forgive me for what happened tonight. It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.”

“What? Why would you even say that? Of course it was my fault!”

Your shoulders hunched inward. How much could you tell him? You didn’t want Bucky to take the blame, but you weren’t sure if what the Ancient One had told you had been just for you and Strange.

Plus, Bucky had a complicated relationship with the sorcerers, and he already got weirded out by magic… Perhaps it would be better to wait to tell him the full truth when you actually knew what that was.

“Well…” You scooted a little closer. Even now you were craving contact, wanting to touch him even if it was selfish. After not having a body for so long, it was nearly a physical need. “Weird stuff keeps happening to me, right? The portal. The demons coming after me. Having a hobgoblin for a pet. That’s… that’s probably got something to do with me, at the very least.”

Bucky was quiet for a long moment. You waited, barely breathing, having no idea which way he would go. Continue to blame himself for everything, or allow someone else to shoulder the burden for once?

“I think we should talk to Strange,” he finally said.

You nearly melted with relief. This was good. Maybe you could talk to Strange and not involve Bucky at all with the weird time-loop, memory, magic stuff. At least Bucky could stop blaming himself for things he wasn’t responsible for.

Maybe Strange had been wrong about you being the magic equivalent of a dead battery. As much as you tried not to think about it, you knew something wasn’t normal if you were attracting demons left and right. What happened tonight just confirmed that something more was going on.

You just wished the Ancient One had been more clear about what she meant by training, not to mention that ominous bit of advice at the end. You were supposed to make a choice that would affect both of your lives? What the fuck? You were really beginning to understand Bucky’s frustration the wizards.

Hopefully, you could go to Strange for help without him finding out about the bond. It was a complicated balancing act you would somehow have to manage.

“I agree,” you said. “Your wizards are equipped to deal with this stuff, aren’t they?”

Bucky chuckled. He’d only been gone a few hours and you’d already missed that sound.

“They’re not my wizards, but yes.”

He made a low, comforting sound, almost like a purr, as he pulled you against his chest and petted your hair. Your eyelids drifted shut of their own accord, and you would have purred yourself if you could.

“Either way, I won’t run away again. I promise.”

Listening to his heartbeat, slow and steady against your ear pressed to his chest, you prayed it was a promise Bucky could keep. After the confusing but undeniable lifetime you’d spent together, you couldn’t imagine a life without him. You wanted to talk to him about everything you’d experienced in that place, but you were too tired, and Bucky’s breathing had already slowed to a steady rhythm. Tonight had taken a lot out of him, out of you both. The least you could do was get some rest.

But rest didn’t find you so easily. No matter how much you tried to push it out, the image of the dried-up corpse plagued your thoughts, and you eventually drifted into a restless sleep, dreaming it had your face. Long dead with a pentagram stretched across your shoulder.

Next Chapter

#branded #bucky barnes x reader #demon!bucky barnes #demon!bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing

[rocksandrobots]

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 42 - Finale (Pt. 4)

Hiro jumped as high as he could but he missed the roof of the crate by several feet. The shipping container they were held in was at least eight feet high.

Failing at this, Hiro pressed himself against the side of the wooden box and tried to peer out through a small knothole. He saw Stu hoist a now tied up Callaghan over his shoulder and then the thieving skaters sped away at top speed, leaving them alone.

Hiro jumped again. "Hey, give me a hand. I might be able to reach the top if you'll let me stand on your shoulders."

No help came.

"Varian? Did you hear me?" Hiro asked and turned around to look at the other boy.

The only light in their current prison came through the tiny knothole in the wall, but with it Hiro could just about make out Varian's silhouette. He was hunched over while sitting down; his signature goggles glinting back the small beam of light occasionally as he held his head in his arms.

Oh no . Hiro knew what was coming next. Varian only ever shut down like that whenever he was experiencing a panic attack. Oh how Hiro wished Baymax was here, but…

Hiro shoved the image of Sue smashing the robot's personality chip out his mind. He could only focus on one problem at a time.

"Varian? You ok?" Hiro asked gently as he tried to keep the panic out of his own voice.

Still no answer.

Hiro knelt down and placed a hand on Varian's shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"No." Came the timid response.

"Okay, good. That's good. Uh, th-then what's wrong?"

Varian only hugged his knees tighter.

"Varian. I … I can't help you unless I know what's wrong."

Varian stifled a sob and Hiro took a deep breath to calm his own nerves.

"Varian?.... Varian we're trapped in a giant wooden shipping crate, without our weapons, Baymax is... he's… he's deactivated at the moment, and no one else knows that we're here. We have to work together to get out of this."

Varian finally looked up at him, his eyes blinking as they readjusted to the dim light. "Okay." He said quietly.

"Okay? Then, let's stand up and…" Hiro grabbed Varian's arm to help him up but the other teen wouldn't move.

Hiro bit his tongue to stop himself from yelling at the other guy.

"Sorry." Was all Varian could say numbly, but he still wouldn't stand up.

Hiro tried a new tactic. "Are you upset that we lost the fight?"

"No."

"Are you mad that they kidnapped Callaghan and stole the notebook?"

Varian shook his head.

"Are you worried about... about B-baymax?"

"Well, yeah, of course I am… but that's not it either."

"Are you scared about being trapped in a giant box forever, cause I sure am!" Hiro gave a strained laugh that turned almost into a sob of his own.

"Look, it--it's embarrassing alright. J-just drop it! Okay? … I'll help."

Varian started to stand up but stopped when Hiro asked "You had a panic attack because you were embarrassed?"

Varian squatted back down on his knees and looked up at Hiro as if he was crazy.

"No! Of course not!"

"Well then what is it? You're the most confident, self assured person I know. I've seen you walk into the girl's bathroom by accident and come back out with some random girl's phone number!"

"Oh yeah, Liz, she needed help with calculus." Varian said, as he recalled the minor incident on his second day at school.

"Varian." Hiro groaned as he began to lose what little patience he had. "Look fine, whatever, if you're okay then just give me a lift and we'll get out of here."

Varian did so, and while standing on the other boy's shoulders Hiro was finally able to reach the lid of the box. He pushed upwards…and nothing happened. Push as he might, the lid wouldn't budge. It was too heavy and the lock was in place.

"Try to step closer to the edge." Hiro suggested.

Varian followed his orders, but it made no difference.

"Hey, what if we switched places and I tried?" Varian asked.  

"I don't know if I can lift you, but okay?"

With much difficulty Varian finally got on top of Hiro's shoulders, but the other boy lacked Varian's strength and they soon both went tumbling to the ground.

"It-it's no use." Hiro heaved. "Neither of us are strong enough."

Varian's lip quivered as that and he desperately casted his eyes about the small enclosure. Then he went back to hugging his legs as he shut down once more.

Hiro couldn't blame him. He too felt like curling up into a ball and never unrolling again. He sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall in defeat.

How ever were they going to get out of this?

Several minutes passed as no one said anything.

Hiro spotted the candy bar on the ground. "Hungry?" He asked sardonically as he held one up.

"No." Came Varian's emotionless answer.

Hiro went back to staring blankly at nothing.

"I don't know which is worse, the fact that we're trapped with no water or the fact that it's as boring as dirt in here?" Hiro joked, if for no other reason than to break the silence.

Varian didn't respond.

Hiro sighed and decided to stare at the ceiling for a while. He tried and failed to come up with ideas for escape, but none were practical and his mind kept tumbling back to Callaghan. He and Varian wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him trying to help the murdering Professor, and not for the first time Hiro wrestled with himself over whether or not he was doing the right thing, or if doing the right thing was what he really wanted to do.

"The worst thing is the darkness." Varian said suddenly, snapping Hiro out of his thoughts.

Hiro looked at him, waiting for more of an explanation, but none came.

"What do you mean?"

"You asked what was worse about being trapped. It-it's the darkness. I mean the mind numbingly boring silence, the bad food, the awful company, and the horrific smell isn't great either…. But… but you just grow numb to all that eventually…." Varian finally lifted his head and looked at Hiro dead in the eyes. " You never forget what it's like when they shut you up in the dark for the first time, and… and just leave you there to rot."

Hiro's mouth opened in horror, but no words came out.

"I.. I don't like.. I didn't want to tell you cause.. well it's embarrassing to be sixteen years old and be afraid of the dark. And it's not even all the time… just… just seeing that lid slam close… and suddenly it.. It was like..  It was like…"

He trailed off and then tucked his head again in his arms.

"There… there was no light?" Hiro asked as he put two and two together.

"Well, it's not like we have lightbulbs in Corona." Varian sniffled. "Also it's a dungeon. It's the basement. It's not like a whole lot of sunlight can get down there."

"But that's… that's torture!" Hiro suddenly shouted and Varian gave him a confused look. "Listen to me. You need sunlight. Everybody does. You need, like certain vitamins and stuff that you can only get from the sun. You also need it for, like, psychological reasons. Denying people sunlight is literally considered cruel and unusual punishment by, like the Geneva convention and the UN and such. I.. I can't… how dare they!"

Hiro stopped in his rant to find Varian staring at him blankly.

"They didn't do it on purpose." Varian excused. "I mean, everyone down there..."

"Were what?! Also tortured?! No, they knew what they were doing. Why do you think you were all kept down there instead of like, I don't know, a tower or something. They could have built a prison anywhere and they chose a hole in the ground!"

Varian frowned, but had no answer to that.

Hiro continued as he tried to process what he'd just learned. "And.. And you felt embarrassed about being tortured and sacred… why? Why on earth would you be embarrassed by that?"

Varian visibly flinched at that question as if slapped and ducked his head once more.

"No. No, don't. I'm sorry." Hiro begged as he scooted over to the other boy. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry they did that to you. I'm sorry I brought it up. I'm sorry I dragged us into this. I'm just sorry! Okay?"

"It's not your fault." Varian said with his head still casted downwards. "You weren't the one… I mean… I messed up and-"

"I don't care! No one deserves that! Hey, look at me…" Varian did so and their eyes locked. "No one."

Varian searched his eyes and then horsely asked. "Not even Callaghan?"

Hiro felt like a rug had been ripped out from underneath him. Everything was spinning, as if he was falling. "No.. No, not even Callaghan." He said with labored breath and his voice shook.

Varian gave soft an empty laugh under his breath and shook his head. "You know not everyone would agree with you on that. Why do you think prisons exist in the first place?"

Now it was Hiro's turn to be confused. "What? What are you getting at?"

"Not everyone in those cells back in Corona were innocent lost souls. In fact most of them weren't. Most of them were murderers, thieves, and traitors. Why do you think they were down there?"

"Why are we placing thieves and murderers in the same category? Also you were deemed a traitor just cause you stole medicine that you needed. That's barely even a crime…"

"In Corona it is."

"Yeah, well, they're wrong."

And with that the conversation came to an abrupt end. Varian went back to staring at his toes while Hiro slouched against the wall next to him.

"I didn't just steal medicine." Varian finally said.

"Yeah, well, I still don't care." Hiro said. "They were wrong."

"You don't even know what I did yet."

"It doesn't matter."

Hiro looked Varian dead in the eyes as he said this and the other boy wrestled with himself as he contemplated his words.

"Are- are you sure?" Came his hesitant answer.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Hiro nodded.

They shared a smile, and with that, Hiro stood and placed his hands in pockets as he began to pace around; turning his mind to the problem at hand once again.

How to escape.

Then his fingertips brushed up against something round and cold inside his left pocket. He pulled it out and found a spray can full of purple goop.

Hiro gasped as he remembered what it was. "Hey, that's it! We can use this to get out! See? It's the magnetic spray paint you got me for my birthday. I forgot I even had this on me."

Varian's mood instantly changed as well when he saw what Hiro held in his hand.

"The Hironite! Yes, that's perfect!"

"Please stop calling it that."

Varian ignored him. "All you gotta do is spray it on the lid and use your-- oh wait no, that won't work. Sue took your gloves."

"But she didn't take my shoes." Hiro said with a sly smile as he lifted one foot. The bottom of the boot softly glowed where the electromagnet was placed. Hiro used it to help ride atop Baymax better, but it would also serve their needed purpose here.

Hiro slipped off his boots as Varian sprayed the top of the crate, covering it in the sparkling liquid metal. Once done Hiro stood upon Varian's shoulders once more and used the boots to blast a negative charge at the lid, sending it flying upwards as it repelled the current.

                                                    -------------------

Hiro walked over and picked up the broken pieces of what was once Baymax's computer chip as Varian finished climbing out of the shipping crate. The other boy said nothing as Hiro stared at what remained of Tadashi's work.

He then walked over to where Baymax's deactivated body stood. Hiro looked up at the robot's now blank face, desperately trying to blink back his tears.

"Will….will he be okay?" Varian asked, breaking the silence.

"I...I hope so." Hiro gulped. "I have backup files stored on my computer at home. I should be able to download his source code and memory files to another chip and he'll….He won't remember this adventure but he'll be functional."

Hiro turned to look at a clearly worried Varian and tried his best to brush off the older teen's concern.

"Fortunately, the last system restore I did was right after finals, so we won't have to catch him up on much; just fill him in on what's been happening this weekend."

Varian wasn't buying it. "Then what's the problem?"

"N-nothing… it's nothing… it's just the source code will all be what's left of the original Baymax. I already had to rebuild the body from scratch, because he… he got lost in the void… I rescued the chip though…"

Hiro held up one broken piece in his hand for Varian to see, but he himself seemed to look beyond it as he stared transfixed at the sliver of plastic and Nano circuits.

"Tadashi made this chip. It was his final project for the year. It's… it's like whenever I cross paths with Callaghan I just lose him all over again; little by little… he just keeps slipping away."

Varian frowned at that.

"You don't have to keep doing this, you know."

Varian's voice snapped Hiro out of his brooding.

"Yeah, I do." Hiro said.

"Why?"

"Cause … The police can't handle Sue and her grandson."

"Neither could we."

"It was a setback. Next time we'll have backup and be more prepared."

Varian crossed his arms and gave Hiro a reproachful look.

"Look," Hiro went on, "the cops also don't have the tracking capabilities that Baymax does. We're the best chance Abigail has of being rescued."

"And Callaghan?"

"H-him too…"

"Do you even want to save him?"

Hiro was visibly taken aback by that question and had no answer to give. He turned his head away as he wrestled with himself.

"I- I have to." He eventually stuttered.  "No. You don't." Varian shook his head and turned to walk to the door. "Let's just get out of here."

"You don't understand!" Hiro shouted after him.

"You're right! I don't understand! The man murdered your brother. Anyone else would be out for revenge, not killing themselves trying to save such a person. I mean turning the other cheek is one thing, but this…?"  Varian swept his arm wide to showcase the busted up warehouse.

Hiro pouted but didn't argue back.

"Hiro, please… I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but… this just… Why should you have to suffer just to help out some guy that you hate?"

"Someone has to help." Hiro whispered.

"Oookay… and why does that 'someone' have to be you?"

"Tadashi would've helped. He… he said that to me, right...right before he ran back into the burning building." Hiro let out a shaky breath. "Tadashi would've forgiven Challagan for… for everything and he'd would've helped..."

Varian grabbed Hiro by the shoulders forcing the other boy to look at him.

"No. No. Now hold up. Who said anything about 'forgiving' Callaghan? What does 'forgiveness' have to do with any of this? You're already doing more than any normal person would; more than anyone even should do. You don't owe that man anything ."

"But Tadashi…"

"Tadashi's not here! I don't know any Tadashi! All I know is Hiro Hamada and he's the best person I've ever met! So why isn't he good enough, Hiro? Why?"

Hiro was stunned by those words. He couldn't process them. How could anyone not think highly of his brother? Who wouldn't say forgiveness was the right thing to do? And why would anyone think he, of all people, was a saint?

"Look, I'm sorry I yelled," Varian went on, "but you don't understand. If you're not good enough… then what hope is there for people like me?"

"What?" Now Hiro was completely lost.

"You're a literal superhero! Alright?! A knight who spends all his free time helping others. Me? I-I'm a screw up, a thief, a dangerous traitor, a menace to society-"

"Whoa, whoa, who said that?!" Hiro interrupted.

"I told you… I did more than just steal a flower."

For the first time Hiro really did start to question Varian's past. There was something ominous sounding in the other boy's confession that both piqued Hiro's curiosity and filled him with dread. Instead of pressing further though, Hiro opted to pivot the conversation back to himself.

"And you don't think I ever screw up or make mistakes?"

"Oh sure, sometimes, but not like I do. I mean, there's a difference between overfilling the washing machine and building bombs out of bread flour."

Hiro once again starred at the time displaced teen in shock. For some reason Hiro doubted Varian's 'flour bombs' were just sacks of flour that you threw at people for a prank.

He had heard whispers from Aunt Cass and Grandville about some sort of 'civil war' and Varian being part of a group of rebels, but he had always assumed it was just a cover up; an explanation that the professor gave to explain away where Varian had come from. Now Hiro was beginning to question otherwise.

Hiro shook his head. He wasn't ready yet to face anymore horrific confessions nor was he ready to admit his own past.

"Let's….Let's just get out of here. Like you said."

Varian nodded in agreement, but said no more.

                                                   -------------------

Instead of hiking back to the city, Hiro hit upon the idea of raiding the offices up stairs.

After all, if Sue was working with this Bosu then they would need a way to stay in contact, and there was a chance that the recently escaped convicts didn't have cellphones on them just yet.

Sure enough, they found an old landline phone inside the office where Sue had been earlier. It still worked so long as you dialed zero before the number.

They called Wasabi and told the rest of the gang where they were at and what had happened.

And so both boys found themselves sitting in the lower storeroom waiting for their friends to arrive to pick them up. They waited next to Baymax, keeping an eye on the robot and sitting with their backs to one another. This not only allowed them to keep a lookout, but also gave them some space to think.

Neither boy wanted to face the other yet, nor did they feel like being completely alone with their thoughts. Sitting down while pressed back to back was an unspoken compromise. You didn't have to look the other teen in the eye, but you still felt the other's presence.

Hiro broke the silence first. "I'm not a saint."

"I never said you were." Varian replied.

"But you, called me a hero, said I never make mistakes. That's not true."

"I told you, being lazy with chores isn't--"

"I'm not talking about housework." Hiro rolled his eyes. "I… I tried to get revenge on Callaghan okay!"

"When?" Varian asked, confused.

"Back when we first faced off with him. When I found out who he was and what he'd done, I… I tried to kill him." Hiro gulped and waited for Varian's disappointed rebuttal but it never came.

"What stopped you?" Was all he said instead.

"My friends….. I had programmed a martial arts chip to teach Baymax how to fight. Then I ordered him to attack Callaghan. When he refused to follow orders, I… I pulled out his personality chip, the one Tadashi had made."

Hiro squeezed his eyes shut as if he could hide his shame with such an action before continuing on.

"Fortunately the guys found the chip and put it back in before Baymax could do any harm. After that, he and the others talked me down."

"So you see, I'm not who you think I am. Tadashi was the real hero. I'm just trying to follow in his footsteps, and I don't always know if I'm succeeding or not."

"Maybe that's true," Varian carefully said, "but most people would have gone through with it anyway. At least you did stop. At least you're trying right now, and you don't even have to. Not everyone is like that… not everyone is so… so… noble."  

"I mean if the princess was standing before me right now…. I honestly don't know what I do… but whatever it was, I doubt anyone could talk me out of it."

After Varian had finished his rant with this ominous promise, Hiro realized this the first time he had heard Varian mention anything about a princess.

"The princess? You mean one of the royals that persecuted you?"

Varian didn't answer, and silence fell between them once more.

However Hiro couldn't just leave things there. He switched to another question.

"So... when did you make 'flour bombs'?" He tried to act nonchalant but he just couldn't ignore the matter any longer.

"Do you remember when we watched that old Robin Hood movie with Fred and Karmi?" Varian asked, deflecting from the previous question.

Hiro did remember. Fred had brought his laptop and DVD to school and the four of them had watched it during lunch.

"Remember the big climax when they stormed the castle?" Varian continued. "There were a bunch of epic sword fights, scaling the castle walls, arrows flying everywhere, and if anybody got hurt they just fell down unconvincingly; no blood or anything"

"Yeah." Hiro nodded though he didn't understand what Varian was getting at all.

"Well, it's nothing like that."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, laying siege to a castle in real life is a lot different."

Hiro gulped but he held his tongue as he waited for Varian to continue, but he wasn't altogether sure if he wanted to actually hear it.

"There's no choreography," he explained, "oh, you might start out with a plan, but it's all chaos. First you're with the group as you raid the dungeons, and then suddenly you're not; and as you find yourself all alone you run into a group of guards, and then you're running for your life. So you dive into the kitchens hoping to find things to defend yourself with as they keep shooting arrows at you. Fortunately flour is very flammable."

Hiro shuddered as Varian recounted his story. It was more terrifying than any horror movie could hope to be, and it wasn't even over with.

"Then when you finally manage to fend them off, and you get a few precious minutes of peace, you hear from the rest of the people shouting outside that there's more fighting going on elsewhere in the castle, and so you have to decide. Stay where it's safe, for the moment, or go back to help the others. Cause if they lose you'll find yourself in prison or dead, but if you get an arrow to the chest while fighting, then, well you're still dead."

"So let's say, you decide to risk it and go back out to fight. You grab up more of the bombs and other weapons you've just made and head out to help, and the whole thing starts all over again. Regroup, fight, secure the area, earn a few minutes of safety, debate with yourself why you're doing this, split up to help elsewhere, distract the guards, or push through the ranks down this corridor, regroup, fight, ask yourself how you got here, and so and so…. until suddenly someone just tells you it's over, and you don't even know how. You barely even knew what happened, you may not even know who won yet, but it's done, no more fighting, but you hold tighter onto that grenade in your hand … just in case; ready to throw it at any moment."  

Silence fell once more and Hiro couldn't stop the tears that stung his eyes. He couldn't see Varian's face, to see if the other boy was crying or not; nor did he hear any sobbing coming from behind him, but the silence was somehow even more disturbing.

"Is.. Is that why you were in jail? Cause you fought back against the royals?"

"You... could say that." He slowly replied.

"That's not the same." Hiro said. "I mean, what choice did you have? It's not like you can arrest the king, and you weren't the only one fighting."

"But you don't understand." Varian said, "I never stopped."

That answer made Hiro's blood run cold. He wasn't entirely sure what Varian's cryptic words meant but he had the nagging suspicion that any clarification would lead only to more horrific stories of war, devastation, and oppression. Hiro had had his fill of those.

He finally turned around to look at Varian, and the other boy followed suit.

"You know, maybe, you're right… all this fighting isn't good." Hiro said.

"But you said it yourself, who else can stand up to the bad guys? Who else can track Abigail down and rescue her?"

"I don't know."

"Look, I'm sorry I said anything. I just… I'm tired of seeing everyone so upset over… over what happened, and not be able to do anything about it; to fix it. I thought maybe coming along would help… and when that didn't work, I thought I could get you to give it up… I should've known better."

Hiro searched Varian's remorseful eyes and for the first time felt like he finally understood the time displaced teen. Varian was a lot of things; pompous, impulsive, evasive, and at times, oh so very annoying, but he was there . He never judged, he never flaked out on you, and most importantly of all he always cared about your wellbeing; even if his way of showing it was to angrily shout at you in desperation.

Hiro slowly nodded his head. "Thank you, and after today, and what you told me, I'll understand if you don't want to come along any more, but you did help. More than you know."

"I did? How?"

Hiro smiled. "You kept me sane this whole time."

Both boys snickered at the lame joke.

"Well it looks like you'll still need my help then, cause you'll be balmy by the end of all this if I'm not there." Varian replied. "But don't expect this to be a regular thing, now. I'm not actually a hero after all."

"I won't." Hiro smirked and both boys' smiles grew wider till they were laughing over nothing in particular.

"Well, glad to see you two are laughing it up!" Wasabi suddenly called from the other side of the smashed door, ending the conversation.

                                                   -------------------

It took a little maneuvering to haul Baymax up the stairs of the Lucky Cat and into Hiro's bedroom. They managed to remove the robot's armor at the warehouse which made things slightly easier but it took four of them to carry him inside with Honey Lemon running ahead to open the doors for them.

Hiro didn't help with carrying though. Instead he ran straight to his computer and started hunting for the android's memory files.

"Okay, he's in the charging station. Do you need us for anything else?" Gogo asked.

"No, Cruz and Megan are coming over tonight so Varian and I have to stay here, but you guys can continue the search."

"Alright," Wasabi agreed, "if you're sure you're okay, then the rest of us will split up the night into shifts."

And with that everyone left; save for Varian, who went downstairs to prepare dinner.

It didn't take Hiro long to find the backup files, though it did take a minute to find a memory chip. He tore through his room looking for one, undoing any previous work he had done on it yesterday. He'd have to clean again tomorrow before Aunt Cass got home, though it wasn't a concern for Hiro at this moment.

He finally found a blank chip stored up under Tadashi's bed, in a little plastic container filled with other associated electronics.

With a sigh of relief Hiro plugged the chip into the computer and started the transfer.

DOWNLOAD WILL COMPLETE IN TWO HOURS, the computer pop up told him.

Hiro sat back and watched the little bar on the popup slowly fill with blue. He impatiently pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on the arm rest as he swung the chair back in forth.

He was still agitated from his earlier conversation with Varian. He may have had a better understanding of the other teen now, but Hiro still didn't know what to think of himself. Where did he stand? What did he want? And who was in the right here?

Rather than being alone with his confusing thoughts, Hiro decided to make a phone call.

                                                   -------------------

"So you see if you keep the cost of production down to twenty percent, you could theoretically make twice the money." The dreary gentleman with glasses said.

"Uh-huh." Aunt Cass nodded her head with a strained smile plastered on her face.

Her blind date thought he was being helpful by giving her unsolicited advice on how to run her company. What he was being was annoying. How did she ever let Tracey talk her into this?

Her friend had hooked them up with a couple of fellow vacationers for a double date. They were two incredibly boring and stuffy stockbrokers from New York who were here on business. Cass's date had told her what that business was, but she'd already forgotten.

She was beginning to miss Krei, of all people. Alastair was a great many things, but at least he wasn't as dull a dish water. Or heck even Diego, for all his faults, was still more attentive than the man before her now who was launching into some asinine story about trading stocks.

But most of all she just missed her boys. Varian would be in the kitchen with her preparing dinner right about now; cracking jokes and telling her stories about his day. She loved that time spent with him. It was so nice for one of her kids to share her love of cooking and even nicer that he wanted to hang with her.

Hiro was a little harder to pin down. They didn't have any shared interests. Poor Cass tried to be supportive and keep up whenever one of her boys launched into a scientific explanation about what they were currently into, but all involved quickly knew that she really didn't understand any of it. Also Hiro was at that age where he was far more interested in spending time with his friends than his parents. Which was good. She was glad he had friends now and wasn't cooped up in the garage all the time building robots all by his lonesome.

Yet she did wish he'd tell her just a little more about his day, or take just a few minutes to talk to her about life in general and what was going on. He was hardly ever at home nowadays, and his explanations for where he'd been would be a short sentence or two before running off again. Aunt Cass would have suspected he was up to something if it wasn't for the fact that he was always with his friends, and they were all good kids who never got into trouble.

Still that didn't mean they never spent time together. They ate dinner together most evenings, family movie nights were still a thing, and he would volunteer to help out at the cafe sometimes. But best of all was whenever it rained and he would drag out the board games. It was practically tradition at this point to play gomoku whenever it stormed; when it was too wet to play outside and traffic at the café would slow to a crawl.

And game days had only gotten better these past few months as their little family grew. Varian loved it and it was always entertaining to watch Baymax try to grasp human frivolities. Even the pets would join in at times.

Varian had trained Ruddiger to move chess pieces around the board. If Aunt Cass didn't know any better, she could swear that the raccoon looked like he actually knew how to play the game. He would even scratch his head as if thinking of where to move the next piece and then more often than not he'd move the various pieces around as they were supposed to go; rooks straight, bishops diagonal, knights in an L shape ect. Varian had tried to teach Mochi the same, but the cat would just knock the pieces over. Which was equally entertaining.

Yes, only two days away and she was already homesick. How she wished she was home playing board games instead sipping cocktails at a snobby country club while evading the advances of a tedious hedge fund shark. Therefore it was a huge relief to hear her phone ring.

She was even happier to see the caller ID popup Hiro's name, though Tracey frowned at her as Cass excused herself from the dinner party. Hey, her nephew called her this time so she wasn't breaking her promise technically.

She stepped out onto the balcony to take the call. The setting sun bathing the vineyards in fiery hues would've been a breathtaking sight if it wasn't for Hiro's timid hello snapping her out of her momentary bliss. Something was wrong. She knew it. Her nephew sounded like he was on the verge of crying.

"Is everything okay sweetie?" She asked.

"Yeah… yeah everything's fine. Varian is cooking dinner and we're just waiting on Chief Cruz and Megan to get here."

It wasn't an outright lie, but Aunt Cass could tell he was evading the question. She decided to let it go. Cornering him wouldn't help. He'd have to open up to her on his own terms.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting your vacation, it- it's just I wanted to talk to you for a little bit." Hiro went on.

Aunt Cass stole a glance behind her and caught her date waving to her through the glass. She gave a pained smile and waggled her fingers before turning her back to him.

"Oh no, this is perfect timing." She said, "What did you want to talk about?"  

There was a pause on the other end before Hiro answered, "Oh, nothing."

It clearly wasn't nothing.

"Oookay, well did you have fun on your drive?"

"Drive?"

"Yeah, Varian said you two practiced your driving with Wasabi today."  

"Oh! Oh yeah, we did….it was fun."

Aunt Cass's brow furrowed; now that was a lie.

She steeled herself for a tearful confession; maybe Hiro scratched the car? Ran into a mailbox? Or maybe…

"Do you know if.. If Tadashi ever had doubts about… about anything?"

She hadn't been expecting that. Hiro rarely talked to her about Tadashi, the pain still too fresh for both of them. If anything she was usually the one to bring the conversation up if it had to be brought up at all, and even then it was just a small affirmation that she missed him as well and that Hiro wasn't alone. For his part, her youngest nephew would just nod along; if he even acknowledged the exchange at all.

Before she could even think of a response though Hiro was already stumbling over himself trying to clarify. Clearly this was something that had been weighing on his mind for sometime now.

"I like… did he ever feel like he wasn't good enough?"

"Oh Hiro, of course. Everyone feels that way sometimes. Why I remember when Tadashi was first trying to get into college he was so worried about not getting in-"

"No. No you don't understand… I mean good enough ; as in do you ever feel like you're not a good enough person?"

Aunt Cass was taken aback once more. This conversation had taken so many turns that she just wasn't prepared for.

"Hiro what happened?"

"I…. Uh….Callaghan…………..

There was a long pause on the other end and Cass feared that Hiro had hung up, but finally her nephew answered.

"Am I a bad person if I want something really bad to happen to someone else?"

She could hear the tears in his voice and never had she felt more helpless. Oh why did she ever leave to go on this stupid vacation?

"I'm coming home. Tonight."

"No!" Came Hiro's desperate shout. "I… I mean you can't. You'd have to ask Tracey to leave early as well an-"

"Hiro, I don't care if I have to hitchhike back. You're upset and you need me; and that's more important than anything else."

"No, I'm fine. Really. I just-"

"Hiro, honey, please, just stop…. Now breathe…. You don't have to pretend that everything is okay just for everyone else's sake, and certainly not for mine."

"But you do… That's what you do all the time. "

Aunt Cass stopped and blinked several times; "Hiro I'm the adult here. I-"

"So?"

She opened her mouth to argue back but found she had no words.

"Aunt Cass, who do you not pretend around? When's the last time to talk to anybody about your own problems? When's the last time you talked about… about Tadashi?"

"Do you want to talk about Tadashi?"

"Yeah… yeah I do."

"Okay, what do you want to talk about? The accident?"

"It wasn't an accident. You know that."

Never had she heard his voice so harsh and cold.

"Yes… I know that." Came her shaky reply.

"And his murderer is just out there, running around right now."

"I know." She whispered.

There was another pause as both of them took the time to grieve.

When the conversation picked back up Hiro said in a shaky voice, "Do...do you hate him? Callaghan, I mean……..cause I do. I hate him so much!"

To hear that much pain and anger in his voice hurt Cass more than anything. He was too young; too young to feel that way, too young to experience such atrocities, and yet he had and she just couldn't ignore it. She decided to tell him the truth.

"Yeah, I don't like him very much either, and yes I do get mad sometimes, even now, I just… I try not to worry you with it. I… I didn't mean to make you feel like you couldn't talk to me about things."

"I… I understand that, b-but do you… do you ever wish for something bad to happen to him?"

"Well I hope the police find him and lock him up. I hope spends the rest of his life in jail."

Aunt Cass was surprised by the harshness of her own voice but this confession didn't seem to satisfy Hiro.

"Do you.. Do you ever wish for something worse than that to happen? …. Cause I do, and I'm not talking about revenge or being one to do it.. I just… I don't know if I would be sorry if.. If it turns out something did happen to him."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

"You-you do?"

"I've thought that before, about a lot of people over the years…. Do you think I'm a bad person for it?"

"No, of course not."

"Then why would you ever think that of yourself?"

Hiro didn't have an answer for that. "I… but I thought… Aren't you supposed to forgive someone if they're sorry about what they did?"

"Hiro," She sighed as she leaned against the balcony's railing, "Life's not that simple. You don't have to forgive anybody who's hurt you, and you shouldn't be ashamed for feeling the way you do. Thoughts aren't actions. The important thing is not letting them consume you. What's happening with Callaghan right now is out of our hands, and we can wish for things to turn out right but-- in the end we just have to move on with our lives."

"Like staying on vacation and not dropping everything to take a two hour cab ride just to give me a hug?"

Aunt Cass sighed again. Her nephew had her there.

"But…" Hiro gulped, "What if you could do something about it? What if... he was in trouble? What would you do?"

"I honestly don't know." Was the only answer she could give. "I guess… whatever I could live with….I'm sorry if that's not helpful to you."

"No, no. It's more helpful than you know. Thanks, Aunt Cass."

"Do you want to talk more? I'm all ears. You know you can tell me anything."

"No. I think I just heard Cruz pull up outside."

"Okay, well if you're sure, but you do know you can call me at any time; you and Varian both, alright?"

"Yeah, we know. Love you, Aunt Cass."

"I love you too, and I'll be home first thing tomorrow. As soon as check out is done we're driving straight back to San Fansokyo."

"We'll take your time, cause Varian and I might be out with the rest of the guys tomorrow."

"Okay then, I'll call you when we leave here. Goodnight."

"Night."

                                                   -------------------

Hiro hung up the phone and looked at the computer again. The little popup said 75% COMPLETED. He sighed and curled up on his bed.

He was turning over the conversation he'd just had with Aunt Cass in his mind when Megan tapped on the door.

"Hey, can I come in?" She asked.

"Yeah, sure." Hiro sniffled.

"How's Baymax?"

"Don't know yet. The memory files are still downloading."

"Varian told me what happened today. Are you okay?"

Hiro didn't answer.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Hiro sighed. "Talking is what I've been doing all day it seems like. I'm kind of, just over it. Uh, no offense."

"Hey, none taken." She shrugged. Then with a sly smile she asked, "Would you rather have a pillow fight?"

Before Hiro could react he got a face full of pillow.

"Oh that's it!" He warned and soon the two of them were running about the room laughing; each trying to dodge the other's throws.

Varian walked in on them. Megan was in the middle of slamming a pillow repeatedly on top of Hiro's head who was trying to yell out 'Uncle' in between his fits of laughter.

"My money's on her." He said, interrupting the fight. "Also, dinner's ready. Cruz is taking the casserole out of the oven now."

Megan and Hiro shared a wicked grin between them and before Varian knew it he was being assaulted by pillows as well.

"Ack, no! I'm unarmed!" He protested as they pinned him in.

"Then get you something!" Megan shot back.

Varian dove and napped the beanbag sitting on the floor. "You mean like this?" He shouted.

Megan gave out a little shriek. "No fair! That's not a pillow!"

"Too bad!" He yelled back as he took a swing.

Megan dodged it easily. "Oh you're going down!" She gleefully countered and soon she was chasing Varian out of the room raining blows on his back as he retreated down the stairs.

Hiro doubled over with laughter as he watched them go. He was just about to follow them when he heard the ding on the computer indicating that the download was complete.

He dropped everything to go retrieve the finished personality chip. With baited breath and a silent prayer to the universe, Hiro placed the chip into the robot's core and turned on the power switch. Then he pinched his arm.

"Ow!"

Baymax's 'eyes' opened up.

"Hello, Hiro. I heard an 'ow'. On a scale of one to ten how would you rate your pain."

Hiro shook his head as tears of relief and joy spilled from his eyes. He pressed his forehead against Baymax's soft 'stomach' just to reassure himself that his friend was back.

"There. There." Baymax said as he wrapped Hiro in a hug and the boy returned.

After a minute or two, Hiro pulled away and wiped his nose. "Come on. Dinner is ready. Everyone's waiting on us."

                                                   -------------------

Dinner went well and for the rest of the night the kids played video games. They split into teams of two, Megan and Varian vs Hiro and Baymax. Though sometimes they would switch partners and on a rare occasion or two even Chief Cruz would join in.

That was, when he wasn't on the phone with his deputy, or Krei, or Aunt Cass.

Hiro tried not to listen in. He knew they were talking about Callaghan and Abigail's disappearance, but he had decided to take his aunt's advice. There was nothing he could do about it tonight so he might as well focus on something else. Fortunately his friends were distraction enough.

"Do either of you boys want to talk to your aunt before I hang up?" Cruz asked.

"I will." Varian offered and handed his controller to the police officer as he took the phone.

"So how do you play this game?" The older man said as he studied the controller. He knew nothing about video games.

"You have to use your character to beat up our characters and you tag team with Megan by pressing Y." Hiro explained.

"Okay, how do I do that?"

"Just press random buttons dad." Megan helpfully offered.

So he did, and it went about as well as expected.

After a brutal and crushing defeat Cruz dropped the controller and said, "Hey, does anybody here remember Pong? Pong was a great game."

Megan and Hiro exchanged skeptic looks as they tried to suppress their snickers.

Fortunately Varian returned before Cruz could catch on.

"Uh-huh, love you too, Aunt Cass….Bye." He said before hanging up and handing the phone back to Cruz.

Cruz read the clock on the phone. "Wow. Look at the time. It's already 10:30. I guess you all better start brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed. Megan, Miss Cass said you can sleep in her bed tonight. We're spending the night here."

"Bed time?" Varian echoed in confusion.

"We don't usually have a set 'bedtime', Officer Cruz." Hiro explained carefully.

"Well you do now." Cruz said as he stood up.

"Daaaad." Megan groaned.

"Don't 'dad' me. Sleep is needed for young minds. Besides, the early bird catches the worm, you know. Also, I have to go in early for work tomorrow and you need to be up by then so I can drop you off back home."

Megan sighed. "But it's summer and it's the weekend to boot. I don't have to be anywhere tomorrow. Why can't I just stay here and you go to work?"

Cruz wasn't giving in. "You kids don't know how easy you got it. Do you think farmers get to sleep in?"

"I grew up on a farm." Varian interjected.

"There, ya see. Tell them Varian."

"Usually I would just stay up all night long, do the work that morning and then crash after lunch and sleep through the day. It was easier that way; especially during summer when it got too hot to work during the afternoon." Varian casually explained.

Cruz slowly closed his eyes and tiled his head back in exasperation. This time Hiro and Megan couldn't hold back their giggles.

"To bed." Cruz ordered; ending the debate.

As the teens sulked back to their respective rooms, Hiro stopped on the stairwell and called down to Cruz. "You do know we're just going to be on our phones all night instead?"

"Bed." Came Cruz's response as he took up the couch and laid down himself.

                                                   -------------------

As Hiro made his bed for the night he filled Baymax in on all that had been going on this weekend and what went down in the warehouse.

As always the dutiful robot listened intently only interrupting to ask a clarifying question now and then.

"You once said that catching Callaghan would help improve your mental health. I do not know if this is still true. From what you told me, it sounds like you are distressed over dealing with Callaghan again."

"Yeah, I am." Hiro admitted.

"Then why do it. It's important for your mental health to avoid things that trigger you."

"Yeah, but it's not my health I'm worried about."

Baymax tilted his head. "Why not?"

"Cause Abigail and her father are in more danger right now than I am, and if I don't do anything they could get hurt, badly. Along with a whole bunch of other people, if Callaghan caves and builds a portal for the other bad guys. It's unstable tech. Only Varian has gotten it to work right."

"You are my patient, and according to my programing nothing is more important than your health. But if others are indeed in danger we should help them too."

"Yes, exactly." Hiro said before flopping onto the bed. "I just… I don't know. Sometimes I wonder if, if maybe, it would be better if someone else could just save the day instead. You know? And just be a normal kid... well, as normal as you can be going to a nerd school where most of the other students are four years older than you."

"Am afraid I do not have any answers. I can understand your desire to be 'normal' and I can also understand why helping others as a superhero is important to you. However, it would seem that you will have to choose only one of them."

"Yeah, I know." Hiro sighed.

"Hiro."

"Hmm?"

"Please know that I am here for you whatever you decide, and so are the rest of your friends and family."

Hiro couldn't help but smile at that. It was so cheese, but it was also very much true.

"I know Baymax, thank you. Get some rest. Tomorrow we gotta go out and search again."

"Goodnight." The robot said before powering down.

"Night." Hiro replied before falling asleep himself.

                                                   -------------------

On the outskirts of the city, in an abandoned power plant along the river bank, Callaghan faced down his captors.

"Okay, Teach, let's try this one last time." Sue said as the professor struggled against his bonds.

"Are you going to build us a portal or not?"

"Not!" He shouted back.

Sue sighed and rolled her eyes. "Bring her in boys!" She called.

Stu opened the door next to him and in stomped two ninjas carrying Abigail between them.

She struggled to break free from their grasps but they held onto her arms tightly and half dragged her across the ground; stopping in front of Callaghan.

"Abigail!"

"Dad!" She called back and tried to run him but the ninja stopped her.

Callaghan strained against his bonds but he couldn't get any closer to her.

"You monster!" He spat.

"Pot, meet kettle." Sue shot back. "I didn't want to do it, Callaghan. I tried to warn you, but you just wouldn't listen."

"Don't feed me any of those lies. You don't care."

"Oh and you do?" Sue got right up in his face. They were almost nose to nose. "Tell me, that boy you killed last summer. Did his mama cry?"

Callaghan had no words. He hung his head in shame.

"You'll get your daughter back safe and sound once you've built the portal. Scouts honor. Ain't that right Stu?"

"Uh-hun, cross our hearts." Her grandson said as he ran his finger over his chest and gave a scout salute. "I was a cub scout once. We always keep our promises."

Callaghan rolled his eyes. Stu was too dim witted and starry eyed to be a threat really, but he'd do anything for his nana, without question, and Sue was not to be trusted. But what else could he do?

"Alright." He agreed.

"Good. Finally you're seeing sense." Sue smiled. "Stu untie the man so he can get to work. As for the girl, you two make sure she's well taken care of."

"She stays with me." Callaghan insisted.

"Oh so you're giving orders now?" Sue asked. "I told you. She goes free once you're done. Take her away."

And with that the ninjas dragged Abigail back out of the room. Callaghan squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out her cries for help. He couldn't fight back against all four of them, but soon he would make them all pay. He swore it.

#Hiro Hamada #big hero 6 #varian #tangled #BH6 the series #tangled the series