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big-papa-yautja · 2 years

Text

My Yautja Roomate (Male yautja x female human reader nsfw)

@eclecticpatrolroadlawyer (since you wanted me to tag you)

(Scroll down for the other chapters)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5: New love

Word count: 2,195

I had went to go take the last bit of things out of the fridge since Titchi'ki and I still had a couple of hours till my friend could help us move our last pile of stuff to our new apartment. I was feeling hungry again and the only food we had left was pizza from two days ago, a half drank soda bottle, cheese, chocolate milk and a lunchable snack. I wanted to get those dirty thoughts out of my head, so, why not make some food to get my mind off of them?

Besides... I don't think Titchi'ki would wanna bang me again... but maybe he would? I'm still quite sore from last night though. I shook my head and chucked the last pieces of pizza in the microwave for about 2 minutes. While I waited, I chugged the soda we had. It was mountain dew, one of my favorites. Titchi'ki never realy ate any human food. He had his own special diet that he liked to stick to.

From the corner of my eyes, I saw him walk over to me. He placed a hand on my shoulder, "your scent is strong to my senses."

Blushing, I looked up at him, "oh be quiet. I'm trying not to think about... things..." just the thought of what we did last night made my insides tingle with excitement.

"Do you not wish to breed?" He asked with genuine curiosity.

My face turned red, "I- it's just- hhhhhnnnnn...." I buried my face into his side. He rabidly clicked his mandables together as he looked down at me. What about this was amusing to him? I again looked up at him and into the glistening helm he wore.

After his laughter died down, he cocked his head to the side as he stared at me, "Why does this embarass you R'ka Luar-ke?" That nickname... he gave it to me since he could never pronounce my name correctly. It means Moon Fire. I don't know why he gave me a nickname like that, but I think it's really cute.

"Well... us humans don't call it 'breeding,' we call it... sex. And most humans have sex for the pleasure aspect of it, not to have kids. I guess... I guess it just embarrasses me since us as a species don't talk about it like a casual thing... I don't know..." I could feel the hot tingling sensation on my face as I tried to explain. I felt like I was sweating.

He nodded, "so... you don't want to breed? Just uh... 'have sex?'" He leaned up against the wall and crossed his arms. Oh my gosh... why does he look so hot?....

"Uh... well- yeah.. I mean, um...." I grumbled and turned away from him. Why can't I just speak right? Why is it so hard to speak to him all of a sudden? I took a deep breath in and sighed as I turned back around to talk to him, "yeah-" the microwave beeped before I could finish my sentence.

I opened it and took out the paper plate that held my reheated pizza. It smelt so good. Probably because I was so hungry at this point. As I began to eat, Titchi'ki walked out of the kitchen. Moments later, I heard some shuffling of fabric. I walked out of the kitchen to see what He was doing. As I stood there, eating my pizza, he pulled out a polished skull from a rather large bag. Looking at me, he walked over to me with the skull in his hands.

It looked alien. I don't think I've ever seen a skull like that one before. But then... I'm not much of an expert when it comes to creatures. It had a mean looking facial structure. I don't know how else to describe it, but it must've looked ugly when it was alive.

"R'ka Luar-ke..." He began to speak, "I give you this. It was one of my harder hunts from the time I was with my clan; A mighty beast that lived in mud pits back on my home planet, known for it's venom and sharp claws. Do you accept it?" He was speaking quieter than he normally does.

He has never given me anything, let alone one of his trophies. I didn't know what to think of this until I remembered something, "Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?.." He once told me the male of his species courts the females by giving gifts such as their trophies.

I started to internally scream as he nodded. I put down my plate and grabbed the skull from his hands, accepting the gift. He began to click his mandables together and I smiled, "sooo... this makes us what?.." I began to feel hot again.

"Mates. I am now yours my Matriarch." My heart skipped a beat and I grabbed my plate, "excuse me for one moment-" I ran to my room, clothing the door behind me. I could feel him watching me as I left him in the living room. I screamed in excitement while jumping up and down.

I've never felt this way before. The way he talked to me made my stomach tingle. Especially when he called me 'Matriarch.' I don't know why that got me so good. Oh wait... right, petnames are my weakness. Once I was calm enough, I opened my door just to see Titchi'ki standing in front of it. It looked like he was about to knock.

"Oh geeze-" He startled me since I didn't hear him coming, "I'm sorry I just left like that, heh." I chuckled.

"It is alright. Your friend came early." He moved off to the side to let me walk Out of my room.

"What? Wait, where's my phone?" I checked my pockets and pulled it out. She sent a message to me about 20 minutes, whoops. As I made my way to the living room, she walked up to me and hugged me.

"My phone didn't give me the notification for your message. I just saw it." I hugged her back. She took the crust of my pizza off of my plate and ate it, "That's alright. Your beefcake roomie let me in. Turns out an accident happened this morning during work so they let us off for the day. We still get paid for a full day's work which Is nice. So, I thought I would come by and help you two move the last bit of your stuff. Maybe help you unpack too."

"Thanks." Ximena picked up most of my bags, "my car is running and the trunk is open, so let's get a move on!" She said in a demanding, upbeat attitude. She has always been the type of person to get things done. Even when helping us move, she was the demanding one. She always has been and that's a quality that I liked about her.

I tossed my paper plate away and grabbed some of my bags. Titchi'ki grabbed his only bag - which was really large - and slung it over his shoulders. He also picked up some of my bags. I felt kinda embarrassed that I had so much stuff compared to him. Most of it for my small business though. It's been growing in popularity online and our new apartment had a studio room. Perfect place for me to craft.

I managed to cram all my bags into Ximena's trunk thanks to her organizing skills. Now all we had to do was get the last of our miscellaneous items into the back of the car. It didn't take too long, only about 30 or so minutes. After that, I checked the apartment one last time before leaving just to make sure we got everything. Once I was satisfied, Titchi'ki and I squished into Ximena's car and she drove us off to our new apartment. Titchi'ki sat I the back while I sat up front with my bestie.

I've known Ximena ever since middle school. She was like the sister I never had. She was Puerto Rican with dark skin and black hair, but she liked to dye it often. Most of the time pastel colors.

"Xi, I have to tell you something and you're not gonna believe it. I'll have to tell you when Titchi'ki isn't here though." She pulled into the new apartment complex.

"Ooo, you got some tea for me girl? You know I love tea." She parked and turned off her car, unfastening her seat belt.

I got out and went to the trunk, "your mind is going to be blown."

She chuckled. She could tell I was excited, "Bet. You can tell me over lunch once we get the last bit of your things up to your room." Again, she took the majority of my bags. She was physically built so she could lift way more than I could which is nice. I don't have to carry as much.

40 minutes later, all of my stuff is in my new room. Some things I already unpacked, but Ximena really wanted to take me out for lunch, so I have to finish unpacking later. I left Titchi'ki the new keys as I was being dragged out by the arm.

As soon as we got into her car, she began asking me questions, "OK, ok, girl. I see you and beefcake looking at each other. What is up with you two?" She started up her car and I fastened my seat belt.

"So... you know how me and Titchi'ki had to go sleep in the hotel last night?.. well, instead of giving us a two mattress room, there was only one. And one thing led to another-"

"OH MY GOSH, DID YOU TWO FUCK?!" She screamed with excitement. I blushed.

"Yes-"

She cut me off, "HOLY SHIT! HAHAHAH! FINALLY!"

"What?... what do you mean 'finally'?" I was shocked at her response.

"It was soooo obvious that the two of you like each other. It was so painful and hard not to tell you two to just go out on a date. Like anytime you would talk to me about him, you would blush and I have Seen the way he looks at you when you turn your back. Man's thirsty for you, I just know it." She pulled out of the apartments and drove to a local restaurant.

"It was that obvious?.." I felt embarrassed, "Oh, and you won't believe what Titchi'ki asked me right before You came."

"What did he ask you?"

"For me to be his girlfriend." We both screamed in excitement.

"HOLY shit! I can't wait to tell Val. He's going to loose his mind. We both have been waiting for you two to hook up or do SOMETHING together. You HAVE to tell me everything that happened last night. I want to hear it all. How good was he?"

My face turned red, "No, no! Don't tell Val! And I don't want to tell you in the restaurant Where other people can hear!"

"Oh no, don't worry. We aren't going in. I ordered in advanced. I got your favorite. And why can't I tell Val? You know he loves this kind of tea just like me." She parked in an open spot.

I sighed in relief, "Well... cause... I- I just need to have this set in for a while before telling everyone, ya know? It's all still fresh."

"I see, I see. Just needed me to help settle in the info as usual." She chuckled as she got out of the car, "I won't be long hopefully. Pick-up usually takes like five minutes since the place is always packed." I nodded as she left.

Once she picked up the food, we drove off to one of the local parks where we sat at a bench and ate. The park never got many visitors since it was more ghetto than it used to be.

"So, how big is he?" Ximena slyly asked after 10 minutes of us eating in silence. I nearly choked on my salad since her question caught me off guard.

"Xi!" My face turned red again. She began laughing, "Oh my gosh, it's too easy to fluster you! But really... I wanna know how big he is. Cause he's already huge in size, but I'm just curious to know if it's the same for his dick."

"Oh lord..." I mumbled to myself as I tried to hid my face. I could hear her chuckling, "oh come on, you told me how big your last boyfriend was."

"One, he wasn't my boyfriend, he was a male stripper and two, I'm not sure how big Titchi'ki is."

"How are you not sure?" She took a bite of her pasta. I sighed and prepared myself to tell her how the whole night went down. By the end of it, she had her jaw hanging wide open.

"Shit. That's a crazy night. Now I'm kinda jealous to be honest." We both finished up our lunch.

"Yeah it was. I'm still a little sore honestly." I let out a soft chuckle of embarrassment.

#predator #the predator #yautja #female human x yautja male #human x yautja #oc x reader #reader x yautja #slasher smut #smut #the predator smut #pred #yautja smut

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jittyjames · 9 months

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for the fanfic writer asks!!

3, 11, 13, 19, 20, 24, 33, 39 (bc your fics drive me insane and i need more of your incredible works), 42, 45, 69 and 74!!!

sorry that i put loads, just choose whatever ones you want to answer out of the ones i’ve asked <3

YOU KNOW I'M GOING TO ANSWER THEM ALL BESTIE

3- ok so my process is basically non-existent, but i'll walk you through it anyway. so i'll have an idea for a scene literally at any point. sometimes it can be a single sentence or sometimes it can be a vague concept, but i always write it down. if i have my phone it's almost always going in my notes app. from there, i just kind of expand on the idea as it develops when i get back to my laptop. i tend to write the exciting and important scenes first in a very rough fashion, and then go back to fill in the blanks. then i go back and polish by combing over it for grammar mistakes and adding a few more details. that's pretty much it!

11- OOO! i'll do three for hamilton and three for jcs to appease both sides

FAV HAMILTON FICS AT THE MOMENT ARE a more perfect union by holograms (thanks to crys for introducing me to THIS), the monticello furlough by michelle_a_emerlind, and death of a nation by cyanspica

THEN HONORABLE MENTIONS!! LITERALLY ANYTHING BY YOU, CECE, AND XEN. I EAT THOSE UP EVERY. GODDAMN. TIME.

FAV JCS FICS AT THE MOMENT ARE obviously the incomparable ruined ambition series by @solarflicker (which i literally trip over myself to go read every time i get the email that it's been updated), picking up the palm fronds by onetrueobligation, and the cup that can't be filled by @ohsoldier (literally the good omens/jcs crossover of my dreams)

SO MANY MORE TOO!! BOTH FANDOMS ARE FILLED WITH SO MANY TALENTED PEOPLE! GO SUPPORT YOUR FANFIC WRITERS PEOPLE. FANFIC WRITERS AND FANARTISTS ARE THE ONES WHO KEEP FANDOM ALIVE.

13- "write for yourself, your dick, and your six closest friends." SHARED BY @fireballdance

19- my most used rating tag is mature, my most tagged ship is hamilton/laurens, my most tagged character is hamilton (obv lol), and my most used additional tag is hurt/comfort

20- i use a lot of rain imagery i think. actually i use a lot of weather imagery bc i'm annoyinggg. and then ofc i use aspects of my trauma in most of my fics (even ones you wouldn't suspect) but no one really would pick up on that since y'all don't know, but themes of abuse are certainly littered through out. obviously biblical imagery, too. i can't think of any phrases, SO IF YOU KNOW OF SOME THAT YOU NOTICED I'VE USED A LOT LEMME KNOW.

24- the worst advice i've ever gotten is if you're stuck, delete everything and start over. absolutely not. you can start over, but i wouldn't ever delete anything. even if i don't use lines in one fic, i can always recycle and put it somewhere else. NEVER DELETE. YOU'LL REGRET IT. TAKE MY WORD FOR IT.

33- YES I WANT TO BE PUBLISHED. i have so many original novel ideas and i want to write southern gothic literature so badly. i doubt it will ever happen but that's the dream. i would also really like to write my own plays :))) but for now, i'm sticking to universes and characters i'm already familiar with

39- OOOO I HAVE SO MANY WIPS BC OF WHUMPTOBER (currently have a little bit over 30k words written 👀👀 and that's not even counting the kink stuff BUT I'M NOT GOING INTO THAT WITH YOU BC YOU ARE A MINOR) BUT LEMME PICK ONE I THINK YOU'LL LIKE

Philip’s forehead burned under his hand. Alexander felt something in his chest and stomach plummet to what seemed like hell. He remembered the feeling of this. He remembered how hot his mother’s flesh had seared as she shivered against him, her arms wrapped tight and secure as she hummed shakily to him. He remembered how she soothed her hand over his hair as she whispered te quiero over and over. He remembered her going still and cold.

42- THE LAST FIC I READ WAS calm you and anoint you (envy) by a_trick_or_two_with_lepers AND ABSOLUTELY. I LOVE IT. GO READ IT RIGHT NOW.

45- I OBVIOUSLY WANT TO BREAK MY READERS' HEARTS. IT IS MY LIFE'S MISSION. I NEED Y'ALL ABSOLUTELY DEVASTATED WHEN YOU'RE FINISHED WITH MY FICS

69- hmmm i'm always embarrassed when i post smut but i'm not really embarrassed that it exists. and the fics i were embarrassed about have long been deleted from the internet SO NOT REALLY ANY OF THEM I GUESS

74- if it's a fic posted in an obscure musical fandom about trauma and has my long-winded ass writing style, it's probably me :)

THANKS FOR THE ASK I HAD A LOT OF FUN ANSWERING THEMMM. ILYYY MWAH 💙

#fanfic writer asks

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 4 months

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I've started to write a couple of posts about more substantive things in the Robins/James radio show I've been listening to, posts that talk about the actual quality of the content and the comedy, but I can't think of how to say what I want to in those, so in the mean time, I'd like to instead make a post about this thing John Robins tends to do that keeps me awake at night. It's not important or relevant to the comedy, really. But it does stick in my brain and I'd like to get rid of it, please.

Okay, a big part of John Robins' "thing" as a comedian is talking candidly about shame and regret and generally feeling like an idiot, in ways that range from lighthearted to harrowing. He can be very relatable in talking about feeling ridiculous amounts of guilt over things that objectively weren't all that bad, but you look back at yourself after and wonder what the fuck you were thinking, especially if you happen to be a person who finds things scary when you're sober but who also likes to get drunk a lot and when you're drunk these things seem less scary (and by "these things" I don't mean, like, drunk driving, I mean like talking to someone you don't know well) and then you get sober and look at what you did and absolutely hate yourself for it. The previous sentence would have worked fine if written in the first or the third person so I split the difference and went with second, it's fine, I'm not projecting too hard on to someone's comedy material or anything.

So John Robins can get harrowingly relatable in stories like that, carefully written ones woven into his polished award-winning stand-up hours, and that's great. But every once in a while, on his radio show, he'll drop in a story on the subject that hasn't been carefully polished or planned, it's not stand-up material, it's just sort of casually mentioned and somehow the casual nature of telling it makes it even worse. Forget Peep Show or The Office or Partridge or whatever other cringe comedy is out there - I have never cringed so fucking hard in second-hand horror as when John Robins drops some little story of a time he got drunk and talked too much and too sincerely about something that's way too emotionally important to him to someone whose response is anywhere from vaguely baffled to actively put off by his enthusiasm.

I mean, the first one was rough, but Jesus Christ, that second story. How the fuck do you sleep at night? If I did that I'd never sleep again, it would keep me awake every day forever. At least now, while I am lying awake at night feeling like an idiot for every time I have expressed too much of my disproportionate enthusiasm to people, I can tell myself, at least I didn't email it to any comedians I'm a fan of (I mean I mostly haven't, one time I said something to Mark Watson in a Twitter message when he'd solicited Twitter messages about his mailing address, and I used Twitter for the first time ever to send the requisite mailing address information but I also used the opportunity to add a couple of sentences about how amazing a comedian I thought he was right from the beginning of his career, I then could not look at the website Twitter or at myself in the mirror for about a year, there's also the time I met Josie Long and the time I met Grace Petrie and both times I was genuinely incoherent, but so incoherent that it almost worked in my favour, I probably said something embarrassing but luckily I don't think I of them understood most of what I was saying, aside from getting that I was very excited to meet them, oh also there was the time I emailed Stuart Goldsmith and then I couldn't listen to the Comedian's Comedian podcast for months because it would remind me of what I'd done).

And they're little things, mostly, the stories in those Robins clips. Not as important as the ones that become his stand-up stories. More everyday, but that might be what makes them worse, the way horror hits harder if you can inject it into the mundane. Jesus. We all do this, right? Try to keep a lid on how disproportionately deeply things emotionally affect us and hate ourselves for it every time we lift that lid, especially if there was alcohol involved? Relatable comedy. Comedy-horror.

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queerofthedagger · 2 years

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Do you maybe have tips for editing? I never really know where to even start...

Hey nonnie, funny that you should ask because editing might just be the thing about the writing process I'm having the most thoughts on 😂 Mostly it's because I do write my first drafts pretty fast, and that means they tend to need a lot of polishing until I'm satisfied with them. I'm not saying this would work for anyone - it's simply what I've come up with for myself; feel free to adjust, restructure, ignore altogether or, most importantly, use only half of it because according to my friends, I'm insane. Anyway.

I basically do 6 editing rounds, not counting beta-edits. Bear with me. First of all, I never edit before I'm done - it's a matter of taste, but I don't post my long fics before they're fully written, partly so that I can change things when editing. It's mostly a result of being someone who doesn't outline, so again, feel free to adjust this as needed.

First editing round: colour-coding the shit out of the thing, as follows:

Purple: plot-things that need to be changed, foreshadowing to adjust, dialogue (both content and does it sound natural?), consistency of timeline, characterisation, places, etc. etc. Red: to be deleted or massively shortened (in my case, too many dialogue tags, characters getting stuck in their own head for too long, stuff like that) Dark blue: Repeated words and phrases, wording/phrasing in general, passive voice (is it needed?) Turquoise: fine-polishing of wording (i.e. I could leave it like this, but I could also still word it a little better, find a more fitting metaphor, stuff like that). Green: sentence structure and flow, meaning run on sentences, rhythm, anything that reads wonky not due to word-choice but beats Pink: Words that I tend to overuse, filler words ("really, only, just, though" etc.), as well as those that create unnecessary distance ("feel, think, wonder, remember," etc.) - not that you have to delete all of them, but it makes sense to check if they're needed. Yellow: maybe change. The stuff you're not sure about, that could work or maybe not. The cheating colour, basically. Orange: grammar, tense, spelling (I tend to correct a lot of that as I go, but as English isn't my native language, sometimes I have to look stuff up/want to check whether it's the British/US spelling).

Right, so that's a lot. I'm not going to try fixing all of it at once, so:

Second round: fix purple and red, it takes the most rewriting. Third round: dark blue and green. Fourth round: turquoise, pink, and yellow. Fifth round: orange Sixth round: one final read through as a whole, not with an intent of changing anything anymore. If anything still sticks out to you, fix it as you go.

This is mostly for longer fics - for one shots, I sometimes throw three and four together, or even two to four. Again, this is very in-depth, but I do hope it might help you/give you an idea where to start! ❤️

#answered asks #anonymous #mona rambles #on writing #*mine

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hikaritranslations · 1 year

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Hello :0c, I love your translations! I was wondering what program you use to translate them. (Or does someone else translate it?)

I actually use several to double check work! Funny enough, though I recently discovered another rather amazing site that does this for free as well as one I do plan to use to pay for to help further my studies! (Kanji still trips me up but the break didn't help xD)

I'll start with the latter first, I'm currently studying under WaniKani.com, an AMAZING site that works with you online to really get the kanji down and explains them in such simple terms that it's actually been fairly easy for me to understand! They do a rather reasonable amount of teaching for free so you can do the trial and see if it's something that will stick with you before paying for the full amount.

You get to use it for free up until Level 4 but even lessons 1-3 are very useful for someone learning the language! To equivalate that it's a full school year's worth of Kanji and for the JLPT N5 test about 55% needed to know for it. Quite a helpful source if I say so myself! (NOT sponsored by the way! Just really impressed with the program so far!) Next would be actually using Google translate to draw out the sentences so I have a better understanding in writing them, if I write them down, they tend to stick better for me so I use this method quite frequently. There are occasionally some that are VERY complex, as I'm sure you as a reader would be aware of if you have seen the originals in their beautiful form, from there I go to Jisho.org! A completely free site that let's you narrow down the kanji via stroke order and even look further into sentence structures/ words that have that specific kanji, ect. It's been a GODSEND for years in my work and research. Finally, last one is a recent addition to my help links in referencing and understanding the structure of sentences completely. How to make them appear more fluid and readable to those of us who understand English easier. This wonderful site is known as DeepL Translate. Now, there are two versions of it that I'm aware of and so far it has been 100x's more intuitive compared to Google in translation and sentence wording! Impressive since it was designed by a much smaller company in EU. You can use either free or if you find it's worth the price, Pro depending on your situation. I'm only operating on the free version so far and I'm finding that this is currently all I need to help reword and restructure sentences to make them more cohesive to English speakers/readers. So, to recap, I write down what I know in Google translate, research what I don't on Jisho, copy and paste those into GT and once I have the complete sentence, I move over to DeepL to double check my findings along with wording of the story so it shows the same fluidity that it would in the original creation! It's VERY time consuming but a HUGE amount of fun for someone like me who desperately wants to keep the integrity of the artist's work intact but ensure others in the audience can experience it first hand! I do plan to implement these and other methods as I go from here since it's been quite some time since I've been able to return due to circumstances beyond my control but hopefully this will give you a small idea to what I use primarily for translating assistance. And yes, unfortunately I am but one person doing all of the editing, translating, and polishing for each one individually so it does take quite a bit of time to accomplish xD

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prettyhighforawhiteguyblog · 9 months

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Academic Dishonesty

By the way, children. "Academic Dishonesty" [with really big scare quotes] has quite the range of interpretations. Did you know that missing out on the joy of writing another pointless busywork essay to pad your A with by reusing old pointless busywork essays that you yourself wrote to answer other pointless busywork assignments that might be close enough to get you a decent enough grade with a little polishing up of the old turd is ACADEMIC DISHONESTY!!!!! [in SPACE, ACE ace ace... fuck I'm old] That is correct. You heard it here first. I am old. lol. dad joke.

Hopefully before you heard it before you heard it from the racist nazi fuck who teaches economics 234 like it was the grad level course he knows he deserves to teach and holds all of his students to the very highest and most rigorous academic standards. Some students get more rigor held up than others if you catch my drift. He loves to send academic careers of the most vulnerable brown kids he can find down in flames and kick them back down into the gutter where they belong. He loves to introduce you to that one using every search program he can personally afford while sniveling about "shirking duties" and "work ethic" and how you are "only hurting yourself" and how "disappointed" he is or whatever bullshit he puts in there to make you feel shitty and grease what's left of his conscience. These fuckers will stick that little rule so deep into your syllabus, but they will mention it on the first day of class as they drone through the syllabi. And that will be their moral cover.

You were already in legal trouble. Every time you ever did that in any class at any point in your academic career, to the point that I can't even copy and paste my own fucking materials and methods from my previous bullshit paper I wrote to get funding for my study shit onto the next bullshit paper I write for the same fucking predatory journal I paid $4000 (you read that right) out of my own fucking bank acount (I actually asked my masters for some help with the fees for publishing the work I did for them. And my lovely Christian masters said "make it enough") I have to pay that same journal another $4k the next time I publish on another aspect of the same fucking experiment in the same fucking volume of the journal they charge people 50 buck a pop just to be able to read a single article on your computer screen on their website for 72 hours. They frown on downloading to read at your leisure or to print out to read later on paper with a pen in my mouth like a normal person reads things.

You know, some of those assholes don't ever mention that technicality. Not in class. Not in the halls. Not out on the green. Not when they smoke all your weed when they crash your parties and hit on the underage girls. No. They ever and only pull it out on you when you are in their office, alone with no one to save you. And there is no saving. Every professor, every administrator, even your own classmates with throw up their hands and say that sucks. Maybe it was racist and fuck him for that. But, they will remind you, rules are rules! Even if they are fucking stupid rules that are only there to keep you busy doing shit work because if you get out of doing your shit job, that won't be fair to the other people who didn't have a get out of shit job free card laying around from another shit job.

So before you polish up the old turd, make sure you find and replace some words and switch around some sentences.

#academic dishonesty #plagiarism #school #ph4wg Original #ph4wg

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lazarettta · 3 years

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The Babysitter

Characters ( Ally Mayfair-Richards x Reader )

Rating (T) Word Count ( 2.9k) Warnings ( None, bad flirting, writing while intoxicated)

“For dinner! I'd love to come home with you for dinner.”

“Well what else would you be coming for?”

“Dessert.”

It was another late night studying on the living room floor of the Mayfair-Richards household. It wasn't uncommon for you to spend a majority of your nights here during the week and sometimes the weekend if you were needed and you usually weren't. Not that you would've minded anyway, your weekends weren't busy—mostly spent either dead asleep or trying to get out of plans you didn't want to be a part of anyway to get more sleep.

But it wasn't everyday that you were able to work for a Senator either, so even if you were busy, you weren't going to tell Ally Mayfair-Richards that. Not that she was a mean boss or anything, she was the Senator for crying out loud. And...okay yes, maybe you idolized the woman a little though it may be because you're studying law but honestly who wouldn't idolize this woman? She went through so much shit getting to this point in her life and career.

And she was hot. She was really hot but you kept it in your pants, but your eyeballs? Different story. You were just grateful that she chose you to watch her son when she was away, especially after you knocked over your entire cup of tea in her living room on the very carpet you were sitting on, and you were just a hot mess.

You thought you blew the whole thing, but the moment she produced the NDA to you a few days later when she called you back for a 'second interview' which included Ozzy this time, you'd been ecstatic and nearly knocked over another fucking cup but Ally was faster than you that time.

The giant TV was playing in front of you across the room but it was just the news channel but the volume was pretty low because Oz was asleep upstairs and you weren't really watching it anyway, you had your airpods in listening to Beyoncé and trying to create a decent scenario for one of the ten theories your professor assigned. It was due the next day so you thought picking the easiest one would work in your favor but it was turning out to be your worst nightmare—and you'd regretted choosing sleep over this, kind of.

You'd been so engrossed in your work, and music, you didn't hear the front door open and shut somewhere behind you or hear Ally quietly talking on the phone, her high heels click clacking on her polished wood floors as she came into the living room. Ally paused slightly at the sight of you and her coffee table, your books and yellow pads scattered everywhere, your head bopping slightly to whatever you were listening to as you scribbled away.

Ally smiled softly, and continued on her way upstairs to check on Ozzy knowing that she was going to find him safe, clean and fast asleep with a full belly. You'd been his nanny for four months now and you were such a blessing for Ally, she'd been reluctant to hire and trust another person with her baby boy but her career was too demanding and Ozzy was only ten. He could stay home alone for a few hours maybe, but not days or even a week or two.

After everything, Ally did have cameras around her home on the outside and she had one directly over the stairs because it overlooked the foyer and parts of the living room from an angle. She didn't want too many camera's inside of her home in case they were hacked but she wanted something at least.

Ozzy's room was dark except for his nightlight by the door and Ally quietly made her way inside, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed and pushing his curls from his face. She was ever thankful that he finally stopped having those horrible nightmares, it meant that she wasn't wasting her money on therapy sessions.

When Ally came back downstairs, you were predictably in the exact same spot you were in and Ally finally did away with her coat, placing it over the spine of the sofa and she stepped out of her heels before coming around and plopping herself down, careful not to knock over your stack of books.

The sudden movement startled you out of your skin and you quickly pulled out your airpods and looked at your boss, “Hey! Sorry, how long have you been home?”

Ally smiled down at you tiredly, practically sinking into the sofa and you could feel her exhaustion rolling off of her in waves, and you couldn't help but sympathize because damn, and you thought you were tired.

“I just got in, I'm sorry I didn't call earlier, things got busier than I expected and then everything went into chaos.”

You smirked when she threw her hands up half heartedly with a roll of her eyes, “Would a glass of wine help?”

“No, but it would definitely be a start if you join me for a glass?” she raised an eyebrow, and as much as you wanted to say yes you've already procrastinated enough and you really didn't need alcohol in your system around her lest you say something you absolutely shouldn't.

“I would but I have to finish this and it's getting late. Do you mind waiting up until my Uber gets here?”

“It's really late, you should just stay the night, (Y/n).” Ally sat up then, waving away your comment, though now she was closer and hovering over you a bit, “I'll take you home tomorrow after breakfast, that sound fair?”

It wouldn't be the first overnight stay but it would definitely be the first time that she'd be home too and you just couldn't say no to that even though you probably should have insisted more that you go home, but you accepted her offer without further debate. You'd gone back to your assignment, minus the airpods this time, and Ally got up to go to the kitchen and you could hear her fixing herself a glass of wine.

Ally set a bottle of water next to you on a coaster before settling back in her spot and finding something to watch on TV, and of course you noticed that she was a hell of a lot closer than she was before.

Your pen had paused on the yellow paper and your eyes glanced over the same sentence three times before your mind processed that you could practically feel the heat from her legs next to your arm through her slacks, and if you leaned just an inch you'd be touching her. You fought the urge to look back over your shoulder, but instead you looked up from beneath your lashes and saw that she was browsing the movie channels at a snail's pace.

Behind you, Ally was sipping her wine in one hand and flipping channels with the remote in the other but her eyes were nowhere on the TV screen. But she noticed the moment your pen stopped moving and your shoulders tensed more than usual, she'd been watching you closely and curiously.

“You okay, honey?”

You turned around to answer her with what you hoped was a calm smile and wished that you hadn't, really. Ally was going to kill you sitting the way she was sitting, her energy screaming big dick and the top three buttons of her shirt were undone and her hair was a little messy. Either she was going to give you a heart attack or your libido would.

“Sweetheart?”

You blinked, coming back to reality so fast you would’ve gotten whiplash, “Uh, yeah...maybe I guess I’m just tired too.” Yeah right.

You chuckled nervously, embarrassed really, and licked your lips again and Ally tracked the movement with rapt attention not that you would've caught it because you were busy being mortified being caught staring like a creep.

“Are you sure? You look flushed, drink some water,” you smiled at Ally, ever the mom.

“I’m not—” not what? Thirsty? Yeah you were but not for some water.

“You’re not what?” Ally pressed, still holding you hostage with her eyes alone.

“Not thirsty for water.”

Ally raised an eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching and you hate that you noticed, “Oh? Then what would you like to drink if it’s not wine or water?”

Good question. One you didn’t have a good answer to. Not trusting yourself to formulate words into an appropriate sentence, you just nodded and turned back around and grabbed the water she brought you. You were determined to ignore until you were finished with your work—for the sake of your sanity and dignity.

Fuck.

Still watching you, Ally laughed quietly into her wine glass and finally settled on a movie, keeping the volume low as she got comfortable. Deciding to let you off the hook for not answering her question. (This time.)

A few days later...

It was another late night for you but you weren't working for Ally tonight, so you went to the gym instead after studying. You were still wearing your tights and sports bra when you left, only throwing on a jacket because the night air and sweat weren't a great mix.

You didn't have anything at home to eat that wasn't expired or so frozen it came from the ice age...it all went in the trash so all you had left in your fridge was a case of water and cheese sticks. It wasn't surprising though, you spent a majority of your free time at Ally's home and you just ate lunch and dinner there usually. So you went straight to the grocery store after your workout with your trainer.

“Hey (Y/n)!” you looked up and internally groaned, rolled your eyes and threw a whole bitch fit.

You offered Sean a tight near sarcastic smile, “Sean. What is up.”

“Nothin',” he said, leaning against the counter he was standing behind with a cheesy smile, his eyes leering—and it made your skin crawl, “Just working...you?”

“Uh,” you were already over this conversation, “Same, anyway—”

“You still work for that crazy killer lesbian?”

You stopped, pivoting back around slowly to see if he was joking or not, of course it was hard to tell because he was looking at your ass, but the minute he turned around his eyes laser beamed to your chest. Specifically your pebbled nipples and the bars pierced in them. You moved the labels of your jacket to cover them fucking pig.

“Uh, my eyes are up here and two, that 'crazy killer lesbian' is your Senator.”

He shrugged, “I didn't vote for her.”

“I'm...okay, it was nice talking to you but I have things to do.”

“Well, wait,” he moved in front of you, stopping your escape, “That's not what I wanted to talk to you about actually, uh, but listen...do you maybe wanna go to dinner with me this weekend? My treat?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, completely unimpressed with his audacity, “You literally just called my boss a crazy killer lesbian and now you're expecting me to go to dinner with you?” as if, you wanted to add but held yourself in check—barely.

“I'm sorry about that,” Sean only shrugged but he was bashful about it but it only served to irritate you further because it was obvious that he didn't quite mean it and you were mentally slapping yourself for just not ordering that damn pizza.

“Whatever, goodnight Sean.”

you tried to move around him but he shifted, keeping you in place and you knew you could've just turned around, you should've but he would've just followed you, “Well wait, you never answered my question. About dinner?”

“No.”

“Well, wait a minute...why not? The lesbian thing? It was just a joke. You can take one, can’t you?”

“And I'm not laughing, get the fuck outta my way Sean—”

“You—”

“I believe she told you to fuck off.”

Sean's eyes snapped up over your head slightly, and you would've laughed at his stupid face had you not been pivoting around yourself, your eyes meeting a very familiar chin and you looked up, but Ally's eyes weren't on you but instead glaring daggers into Sean. He'd be ten feet under if she got her way with that look. You wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it. (Maybe another version of it...)

“S-senator?”

“Oh, I'm not the crazy killer lesbian anymore? How disappointing.” when Sean could only stare at her like a fish out of the water, Ally stepped forward—a lot closer to you and you didn't have the strength to move or even look away, “I believe you were told to leave. Oh and if I even hear that you looked at or said anything to (Y/n) incorrectly, you're going to have a lot worse than a harassment complaint from a Senator to deal with.”

You didn't see him leave but you heard the squeaks of his sneaker and in seconds flat you and Ally were alone in the cereal aisle and you had absolutely no idea how to even breathe at the moment, much less process that she just saved you from...whatever that even was.

When Ally was satisfied that Sean was gone, she finally looked down at you—there was still a fire in them that you couldn't place but her brown eyes were softer than they were a few seconds ago, and you felt your shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Are you alright, (Y/n)?”

You cleared your throat, taking a small step back—but you still felt exposed under her unblinking stare though not in the same way you felt with Sean, it was the complete opposite, “Yeah thanks to you, so um thanks...a lot. Your timing is impeccable, but what are you doing here so late? Where's Oz? Is he okay?”

Ally smiled at you, shaking her head disturbing her always perfect hairstyle, “Oz is fine, or at least he will be, he must've ate something today at school and it's not sitting well with his stomach,” Ally rolled her eyes but not at the fact that her son had food poisoning but that he had food poisoning from the school lunch. She could only imagine that other children—reforming school lunches was already on her agenda but now she was seriously considering moving ahead of schedule.

“Oh no, how bad?”

“Not too bad...he'll be okay, I'm just here for medicine to stock up on,” Ally reassured you, her eyes flickering over your shoulder for a second, “What are you doing out so late?” and wearing that? She mentally added, but held her tongue because she knew that it wasn't her place to comment on your attire—not that she was complaining about it, but Ally just didn't like the way Sean was leering at you either. She was a hair away from showing him how she earned her title.

Suddenly aware of how much skin you were showing, and that your jacket fell open again but unlike with Sean you didn't feel the need to really cover yourself (even though you knew that you should've). You appreciated her eyes more than his...and probably anyone else's.

“Oh, I went to the gym and since I don't have any food at home...”

Ally chuckled, “Is this your way of asking for a raise?”

“No! No, no you pay me plenty...I'm just too busy to cook is all and then I'm just too tired to eat sometimes. College life.”

“I was teasing, welcome to adulthood. It doesn't stop,” you laughed along with her but you both knew there was truth behind those words.

“I shouldn't keep you, I know you have things to do.”

“You know, I doubt you're going to get a decent nutrient meal here tonight, especially shopping while you’re hungry...” Ally hummed, seemingly thinking hard about something before opening her mouth to carefully speak those words, “You're more than welcome to come home with me for a late dinner if you have nowhere else to be. I'd be more than happy to feed you.”

Heh. Feed me what? You blinked, mildly surprised with how fast your mind went straight to the gutter and you felt your face heating up faster than a house fire, and you had no doubt in your mind that your boss knew exactly what she was doing to you.

But she didn't, Ally didn't have one clue to what was happening in your mind because her own mind was a pile of scrambled eggs while forcing her eyes to stay above your neck. You were both very much still in public.

And the last thing Ally wanted to do was make either you a cliché, especially with her being a public figure in a male dominant career field, both in politics and her restaurant.

“Unless you had your sights set on cereal?” Ally coughed lightly, suddenly nervous and you realized that you'd been standing there staring at her like a moron this whole time.

“No, I'd love to come home with you,” you said cheerfully, meaning every damn word for different reasons, and you smiled at her, before your eyes widened when realizing how forward you sounded, and suggestive as hell, “For dinner! I'd love to come home with you for dinner.”

“Well what else would you be coming for?”

“Dessert.”

Direct result after two blunts...sorry if it's kinda lame tho lmao I went in thinking I was writing smut and gave up somewhere

#ally mayfair richards #ally mayfair richards x reader #ahs cult #ahs x reader #sarah paulson #ahs imagine #american horror story #sarah paulson x reader

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otterintheflightdeck · 2 years

Note

writing ask: 5 & 19!

Heeey, nice to hear from you! :>

5. what do you think is the most important part of writing?

Actually sitting down and doing it, which is something I'm very bad at. I'll lie in bed for hours thinking about various scenes and lines of dialogue in excruciating detail, and then I will fail to actually write any of it for weeks. I also end up staring at my screen and agonizing over single sentences/words for way longer than I should. I think if I could write more freely without fearing failure/mediocrity, I'd probably be a better writer by now just from having written so much more. When I ask for writing prompts on here, it's usually an attempt to push myself to write little pieces quickly without thinking too much about them, but it's not always successful. 🤦‍♂️

19. do you plan out your projects? if yes, to what level? how well do you stick to your plans?

Hmm, I think the Morvran/Geralt thing I'm working on is a pretty good example of how I end up writing longer stories:

Come up with a concept and 3-4 scenes that I really want to write

Write those, often focusing just on the meaty bits and leaving out the intro & ending to each scene

Write a couple more bits of scenes to flesh out the themes and narrative that emerged from what I have so far

Try to think of an ending

Abandon the fic for weeks/months/years (lol T-T)

Actually think of an ending (I will not be satisfied on this point until I have a suitably punchy final line pre-written in my head)

Write down a list of all the scenes I have so far in chronological order

Add scenes to the outline to get to the ending I want in a satisfying way, shuffle scenes as needed

Review the outline and make sure that a) the timeline makes sense, and b) I've inserted all the foreshadowing/through lines/symbolism/callbacks I wanted to (I made that sound way deeper than it is. I write smut, so most of the time this means shit like "Morvran likes to write letters and that needs to come up at least twice before X happens" or "Morvran calls Geralt only by his first name until scene XYZ" or "The animals on Geralt's vineyard follow Iorveth around -> peacock sits nearby when he's outside -> throwaway mention of feathers braided into his horse's mane in final scene". Just a way to keep myself and the setting consistent.)

Write the missing scenes based on my completed outline

Polish what I've neglected: the way scenes start/end/flow into each other, place descriptions, lore (like locations, history, clothing, double-checking that food/names/other details feel appropriate).

Re-read about 894 times and agonize over some sentences that I can't quite make work.

Get impatient with myself and just bang out the last few missing bits, grimace at them, then post.

SO EFFICIENT. But yes, overall I tend to stick to my plans in the sense that the end result is always pretty faithful to the initial idea. Couldn't tell you in advance how long something is going to be or how exactly it's going to end, though.

(Random note regarding step #11: I was wondering how the hell Witcher 2-style pants worked the other day, because fic writers either stick to "codpiece" or some vague mention of "unlacing", so I looked it up. It's called a pubic bib, and the thought of putting those two words into an erotic story makes me want to flush my entire computer straight down the toilet. "Unlacing" it is.)

#asks

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fandom-blackhole · 3 years

Note

I'm back from my mandatory two day socialization recovery period required for all socialization even if I enjoy it. It's time for some Mermaid!Din au thoughts (No thots unfortunately but we'll live)

First off I love the isolation that the reader faces because of the lighthouse they live in. And I love how the townspeople being nice to the reader help give them a reason to stick around when weird things start happening.

I love how it took months before anything strange starts happening, like were Din and Grogu just not around or were they observing the reader. Did Din ever try to stop Grogu from damaging the lighthouse or did he let the little rascal do as he pleased.

· And gosh I love the idea of reader dressing in old worn clothing, a knit sweater with fraying sleeves, sweat pants covered in paint from repairs, an old windbreaker to help keep the cold out. It makes me heart all warm and fuzzy.

Edna, who i've head cannoned as this series Miss Chatham (H2O: just add water charter) is honestly life goals. Like live near ocean - check(ish), have rare knowledge that can be used to help new person - check, being just slightly spooky -amazing. And is that a little matchmaker I see her playing? I love it.

Then Grogu being injured :( I bet that Din is absolutely being eaten alive by guilt even though we all know it’s not his fault and he does literally anything he can to keep Grogu safe and happy.

And In love how Din is venerable enough to ask for help, like he recognizes that this is something out of his area of expertise so he goes to the person he knows is “safe” to get help. He’s humble enough to admit that he needs help and is not capable of doing everything for Grogu. And being able to admit that is an important life skill that not enough people have.

· But even after he ask the reader for help he is still hesitant which shows that even though hes trusting reader he will still kick (is it still a kick if its with a tail) the readers ass if he hurts him.

“But you can help him” Oh my heart the trust in that sentence. Like Din just heard, “so yeah I can help your son but I have to take him somewhere it will be hard for you to follow. And he needs to stay there for at least a week, and even if you manage to come its going to be so far from your natural element.” But he was still on board with the plan. And then he goes to climb on the rock so he can drag himself all the way to the light house because he can’t let his little boy go alone even if it means hurting himself to do it.

Reader was smart af for doing the old blanket slipperaroo trick

Reader immediately knowing something was up when she walked into town is so realistic. She literally is hiding a massive secret at her lighthouse of course anyone would be on edge walking back into society. Especially a society that already knows a little something about the secret. But them to amplify it. Miss Chatham to the rescue. She knows that reader is up to something and she uses her powers as an old lady with lungs and karen potential to scare off the problem for a little bit. The reader just placed so much trust on Edna by straight up telling her that she's housing Din and Grogu.

· Also that fool browsing the menstrual hygiene rack, like dumbass. Is this your way of making him miss every shot? Because we know that storm troopers are well known for their ability to miss every shot so making him automatically turn to tampons? Genius

Cashier for the win, like beep beep bitch now pay up

The "cyare" omg and then the reader warning Din about the cookies and him being so curious about them. The way Din is so perceptive of the readers mood that he is already able to tell that something is wrong. It was such a smart idea to have the reader lead with asking him to give her a small chance to calm down about what happened in the town.

Din and the reader low-key flirting and teasing each other at the end is so adorable. Grogu with the cookie absolutely melts my heart like of course that boy is hungry.

So this is a slightly polished layout of my stream of consciousness while reading this. Does it make sense? Probably not. But I love this idea and you have done it justice.

Ahhhhhhz thank you for all of the lovely thoughts and compliments, im glad you like my story and I hope it continuesto meet your expectations!!!! And you made perfect sense darling!

To reply to some things:

Honestly, I chose the isolation for two reasons, 1- it made sense, especially for how the plot is going to play out, privacy and isolation is needed, and 2- im introverted and I like being alone, so I just projected

The town's people are great! They are used to having lighthouse keepers just up and leave because of all the weird stuff, so the second that one sticks around they were all overjoyed, because like I said, a lot of the people work on boats fishing so the lighthouse is super important to them

Din did wait and observe the reader, wanting to know what to do when to attempt to scare them off. But also like no, he tried keeping Grogu away from the lighthouse as much as possible, not knowing what the reader might do to him, and just being a protective father, but we all know Grogu is a little shit and he snuck out before Din could stop him

Reader dresses in the COMFIEST clothes, and honestly, I am very much a sweater and comfy leggings kind of person, so again, something I am projecting

I love that you and everyone is loving Edna, she is definitely one of those cool old ladies that sneak you treats and shenanigans when no one is looking!

Also because idk if anyone has pointed it out.... in the last chapter I thought I was heavily hinting at it, but maybe it was more subtle than I thought, Edna and her MERMAID were alot more than friends *wink wink* she's gay as fuck and thats why she made the joke about not liking NUTS

Din loves Grogu, in and out of this AU, and it was 1000% not his fault that Grogu got hurt, in fact he was trying to protect him! Din definitely panicked and the first person that came to mind was the reader, and while he didn't know them, he knew for some reason they were safe to go to for help (as well as knowing the lighthouse would be a good place to hide while some things cooled down 👀), but Din will always be cautious because he is scared for his son

Din is just *chef's kiss* 👌, an amazing father who will do ANYTHING for his son, no matter what it takes

The whole blanket thing literally came from my childhood, thinking about how my sisters and I would drag eachother around on blankets, and I just thought it would be great for this scenario

Like the reader is gonna get real paranoid during this series, im not going to lie to you, things are gonna get rough, but Edna is the MVP she's one of those people that could pull your darkest secrets from you just by glancing at you, and the reader pretty much assumed she was safe to talk to after she had informed her about the food offerings

Ok ok, as for the dudes, I was too lazy to look up their names and stuff but they were these dudes from season 1 that gave Din Grogu's bounty: the first dude is the one 'hiding' in the women's hygiene section

Din is just obsessed for human food at this point, and he feels things for the reader even of he doesn't want to admit it quite yet

Din also may be oblivious as fuck, but he's also observant, hes a bounty hunter for fucks sake, he needs to be able to pick up on these things, so yes in my stories Din is really good at picking up on emotions, even if he doesn't fully know how to react to them

Im aiming for a slow burn foc, but to be honest with you all, chances are it is going to be a regularly paced romance, which for my writing is slow paced, so yeah the idiots are flirting and teasing eachother, but also like they will not be talking about or admitting feelings for at least a few more chapters

Grpgu deserves all the cookies!!! He's a growing tadpole, who has been magically healing himself while in a coma like state, so he hasnt eaten in days, and if he wanted he'd probably be able to devour 2x his body weight and then some, so a few cookies recieved in some kind of mysterious way are well achieved

Merman!Din Tags: @writeforfandoms @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @honey-goth @mando-abs @lux-cream-67 @rachelle-on-the-run @katcharm @ladamari68 @bluegalaxyprime @my-life-as-a-bird @altarsw @zarakem @stargazingthenightaway

(Added the taglist in case any of you guys wanted to read over my thoughts and things bc I have some hcs and cleared somethings up ypu may be wondering about)

#merman!din djarin #merman au #merman!din x lighthouse keeper!reader #and tadpole!grogu

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sirrriusblack · 3 years

Note

Hiiii! I really like your writing and asked one before annnd I'm here again with another idea? I guess? Lol so um how about writing a Hogwarts graduation party and Sirius and Remus are so excited to go with eachother? They are getting ready separated all day and will meet at the ball.. I would really like to read a Hogwarts graduation ball from you. Thank you already and don't forget that you're amazing 💞💞

Thank you!! This is super late and way longer than I meant it to be lol,, but I hope you like it! And I’m sorry!

* * *

“Lily, stop. I’m not wearing it.” Remus stomped his foot and turned from Lily. She rolled her eyes at his dramatic display and put a hand on Remus’ shoulder to spin him. He glared down at the eyeliner pencil in her hand. She looked at him until he locked eyes with her.

“Remus, please?” He shook his head. “Okay how about this. I put it on, you hate it, we take it off. Piece of cake.” Remus raised his eyebrows at Lily. “But,” she continued, “if you like it, we keep it. Yeah? It’s a win-win situation,” she finished, smiling. It was Remus’ turn to roll his eyes.

“Fine,” he said. “Fine, But I’m going to hate it.” Lily just nodded and motioned for Remus to sit.

* * *

“Jamie, which shirt?” Sirius held up two white shirts, both of which looked identical in James’ opinion.

“What?” he asked. Sirius blinked.

“Which shirt?” he repeated. James furrowed his brows, pulling on his robes and straightening the collar. He looked at the shirts again.

“They’re the same shirt,” he said, the sentence more a question than a statement. Sirius sputtered.

“They’re—James—no—are you kidding me—they are nothing alike!” he finally spat out. James’ eyes widened behind his glasses. “This one,” Sirius said, shoving his right arm forward, “has lace trimming!” He widened his eyes. James flinched and cringed away from the lace but from the look Sirius gave him, he stood straight again.

“Lace,” he said skeptically and Sirius rolled his eyes. He pulled the dress shirt on, though, and started working at the buttons. James went back to fixing his collar.

* * *

Remus didn’t hate the eyeliner. He so much did not hate it. Lily was grinning down at him from where she was standing above his seated figure, holding the mirror up in front of him. He kept blinking, not quite used to...well, liking himself. He said as much to Lily, who flicked him.

“Shut up, Lupin, you’re hot,” she said, pulling the mirror away from him and placing it back on her bedside table. Remus scoffed. “No, really,” she said. “Plenty of the girls in our year have had a crush on you,” she finished, shoving the makeup drawer closed. Remus decided he didn’t want to talk about it. Not when only one person mattered tonight.

Remus was new to all of this—all of...Sirius. So far they’d shared an awkward conversation full of gay epiphanies, a broom closet or two and snatches of the empty dorm walls where they could share breaths and tangled limbs. They hadn’t been on a real, literal, actual date yet. Remus felt jittery. On edge. Full of hope. Lily laughed at the glint in his eyes. He flicked those said eyes over to her.

“What?” he asked, trying to sound bitter but failing with the sweet thought of Sirius on his mind. Lily grinned wider and leaned toward the mirror, pinning back a stray piece of hair.

“Nothing,” she mused, “I just...” she paused for a moment and only when her hair was successfully pinned back did she continue. “It’s finally happening,” she settled on. Remus furrowed his brow. “Remus and Sirius. Seventh year. About time,” she said. Remus laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Says you, Miss ‘I’d rather date the giant squid,” he said, and Lily grimaced. “Miss ‘never in a million years, Potter.” Miss ‘you’re a right gi—“

“I get it,” Lily cut in, flicking Remus again despite the amusement dancing in her eyes. “But look at us, huh? Lupin and Evans, going to the ball with Potter and Black.” Remus grinned, not able to help it. He was happy. Despite the war, despite the nearing full moon, despite everything, he was happy.

* * *

“Oh shit, hold on,” Sirius said, sticking a hand to James’ chest to stop him in his tracks. Sirius turned back and ran into the dorm, reappearing with his wand before quickly tucking it into the eccentric braided updo he’d configured earlier. James gave Sirius’ wrist a small tug.

“We’re gonna be late, Padfoot,” he comaplined, looking down the stairs. “And I have an extremely smoking hot redhead waiting for me—ow!” He yelled when Sirius hit his wrist. “What in Merlin’s name was that for?” he asked, following Sirius when he started down the stairs.

“‘Smoking hot’? Don’t be a dick,” Sirius said, straightening his dress robes. James scoffed.

“I was complimenting her,” he said, but cringed at the immediate defense. Sirius did too.

“So say her eyes are pretty, don’t objectify her,” Sirius retorted. They’d reached the bottom of the steps while James was muttering an apology.

* * *

Lily and Remus were waiting for the both of them outside the doors to the Great Hall when they got there. The first thing anyone said came from James.

“Hey, Lilypad, sorry for objectifying you,” he said. Lily raised an eyebrow while Sirius looked smug.

“You’re bout 6 years too late for that, Potter, but I’ll take it,” she said. Sirius barked a laugh, nudging James. Sirius. Oh wow.

Sirius in his dress robes was...really something. His dark hair was braided back into a twisted bun, loose enough for a few strands of it to fall around his face. His face. Merlin, Sirius’ face was so fucking pretty. His eyelashes casting light shadows on his face when he blinked, his lips quirked up in a smirk at James and Lily, the eyeliner darkening his eyes, it was all too much. No, it was enough. More than enough. Remus shook his wrist like the movement might clear his head. He looked back over to Sirius and did quite the opposite. His head was flooded with every shared touch, every breath hot against his skin, every fingernail dug into his back—he blinked. Blinked again. Sirius walked forward.

“Hey,” he whispered, looking Remus up and down. Remus smiled at the wink Sirius threw him. “Is that eyeliner?” he asked, a hint of approval in his voice. Another couple walked by, opening the Great Hall doors and letting some music out with it. Remus hadn’t realised that Sirius might be... affected by how he looked. He knew Lily looked stunning, he could understand why James was still half-frozen in front of her, just taking her in.

Her hair fell down around her shoulders, the top half tied back in twists and braids Remus was sure even Sirius would be jealous of. The dark green dress she was wearing was really it though. It matched her eyes and hugged her body, flaring out just slightly at the hips, reaching down to her ankles to where she was wearing a golden pair of heels, the thin straps buckled all over her ankles. The gold paired nicely with the green of the dress and she had on golden make up, a golden bracelet and, a necklace that Remus hadn’t seen before. It had a golden snitch on it. Remus smirked, knowing that would have been from James, knowing he doesn’t play seeker whatsoever so it was a stupid idea. Lily grinned when she caught Remus’ eye, though, and reached her hand up to touch the necklace, almost unknowingly. Remus smiled and turned back to Sirius.

“Lily made me,” he said. It was partly the truth. Sirius loosed a breath, grinning.

“Well I am... glad she did,” he said, and Remus laughed. He reached out for Sirius’ hands, taking them in his inbetween them. His eyes tracked the rings, glinting on his fingers, the dark polish that adorned his nails, down to the cuffs of Sirius’ dress shirt. He smiled.

“Is that lace?” he asked, fiddling with the lace trimming on his cuffs. Sirius smiled proudly.

“Prongs didn’t want me to wear it,” he said, shooting James a glare. James was too entranced in Lily’s eyes to notice. They were mumbling to each other, all soft smiles and light touches. Remus smiled and turned back to Sirius.

“I’m glad you did,” he said, and Sirius smiled back. He reached his arm forward to brush a curl from Remus’s eyes and Remus shuddered. “Come on,” he said and pulled Sirius after him. Sirius obliged and tapped James’ shoulder, getting both his and Lily’s attention. They opened the doors together.

* * *

Remus’ face shone in the blue lighting as him and Sirius swayed to the song playing in the Great Hall. That eyeliner was doing things to Sirius. Things he’d been suppressing all damn night. Seventh year. It was seventh year and they were graduating and Sirius was holding Remus in his arms. Remus smiled slightly, wrapping his arms tighter around Sirius’ neck and pulling him closer. The few inches of space between them was gone, and Sirius positively melted. Remus’ tawny curls were nestled against Sirius’ neck, his scarred fingers running patterns back and forth smoothly along Sirius’ throat. Sirius lifted one hand from Remus’ hip and ran his fingers through those curls, soft and tangled in his hands. Remus moved his head back only enough to look Sirius in the eyes. When he spoke, his voice was strained from the yelling and singing from the night.

“I’m happy,” Remus said simply. Sirius couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. Remus smiled back in result of it. They were so close their noses were almost touching when Sirius whispered back.

“Me too.” Remus closed the gap between them, pulling his hands tighter around Sirius’ neck and still swaying them slowly to the music. Remus tasted like punch and salted cashews and his lips were soft against Sirius’. Sirius really was happy. He was so, inexplicably happy. When Remus pulled away, Sirius twirled him, warranting an unexpected laugh that Sirius felt all over once Remus’ chest was back against his. Sirius glanced over to James and Lily, seated at one of the tables and laughing. Seventh year was good, but Sirius was sure that the next few were going to be even better.

#dont ask how remus got into lily’s room #also im not sure where peter is i uh #kinda just forgot he existed honestly #also this is so late #like extremely late #im so sorry #but thank you!!#marauders era #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #marauders #jily #kinda #marauders era fanfiction #wolfstar fanfiction #my writing #:)

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ithatangel · 3 years

Text

Some things you might need to know about me.

For someone who should have made a post like this the same month as the first one (to which case I'm sorry for that) here is some context you might need to know when it comes to me and what I do on this blog:

If you hadn't read the headline already, I have Asperger's syndrome... or just somewhere on the light side of the spectrum since it ain't official anymore (FDA-wise), living with this has caused me to have difficulty reading intentions or misunderstand information, especially over text. There are also a lot of things with ASD that I can't think of at the moment. I might be able to tackle some of them In future posts if I'll manage to keep this thing active... There may also be some situations where my sentences may not make sense or be beyond confusing when making a point.

I see myself as Artist in a few fields, mainly digital artwork, writing and storytelling (let's hope that I'll get to expand into animation and beyond, aye?). My mind is pretty capable of producing pretty big ideas for concepts, stories, worldbuilding, aesthetics, etc. Especially those big, semi well-thought-out plots w/ details.

English is not my first language, which is quite obvious as I mentioned before about the headline. I do find myself preferably using English even more than my native polish tongue to construct whatever my mind feels like conceiving. This overuse of one language for several years has backfired for both ends though... (polish has suffered more believe me bro) Which I'll get to my next point.

I'll be blunt here, I tend to forget words a fucking ton. Sometimes some sectors of my vocabulary spark some outages... out of nowhere... AKA when I am looking for that one word to fit in whatever context I need for BUT NO I HAVE TO SUFFER TRYING TO REMEMBER WHATTHATWORDWASINTHE FUCKINGFIRSTPLACEBECAUSETHEBRAINJUSTFELTLIKEITICANTFU- You get the gist of the over-exaggerated frustration I tried to present there- yeah? Good. I'll assume you got it.

Speaking of forgetting words, this also applies... to anything really. My memory tends to be shit in most subjects and sometimes is not. That's all I need to say about it really. A mixed bag.

This blog is probably going to be a huge mess, you'll either expect a well-written post of either a poem or some thought I felt like putting into a public post (like this one) or just straight up a shit post meant for the funnies and people to be like: haha funni post go E

(So... yeah, let it be known to you that there may be going to be tonal shifts between posts)

I believe that's all I am willing to share on this. The rest you can find about me on here will be through posts I am going to post (maybe) on weekends.

For those who found me and wish to stick around with my ramblings, thank you for doing so. My appreciation for each of you brightens.

Cheers - "Angel"

▽

#Introduction #hello

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thegeminisage · 3 years

Note

question to Miss Experienced Professional Fic Author Liz—do you have your betas read your fic from the beginning, as soon as you start writing it? like i know you mentioned cathy and emily (?) have access to the doc. is that standard procedure? i'm curious because I've never written fic myself but I was drafting something today and my friend's gonna beta once i'm done but I was wondering if I should have her beta thorughout the whole process.

HI sorry i saved your ask for last bc i didn’t want it to get buried <3 and then it got so late that i didn’t know if you’d see it if i answered <3 this was extremely professional behavior <3 so i’m...................scheduling it to go up when people are awake. sorry again lol

anyway ok so the SHORT answer to this is: if you don’t know that your friend is willing to look over your fic multiple times, get your thing as polished and close to done as possible before letting anyone else beta it. that way, your second pair of eyes is able to do the maximum amount of good! if it’s a longer fic, you may be able to do this in sections - you can finish chapter 1 and then have your friend look at chapter 1, then chapter 2, etc, since nobody can beta a multichapter fic in one sitting. it depends v much on what you and your friend feel like!

the looooong answer is: my “betas” are also just my friends! same hat! so more often than not they just want to see what i’m doing. so if i mention what i’m working on they’re like “oh can i see” and i’m like “yeah” and then they come in and look. like, as far as standard procedure goes, it’s all very casual. if it’s too rough for proofreading i’ll usually wind up giving a heads up that it may change a lot later in case they don’t want to read it multiple times, but usually they do anyway (so in my case it winds up being a mix of both “edit now” and “edit at the end”). i’m really very lucky to have so many extremely smart and cool people willing to do that kind of thing for me <3

that said, imo there are different ways to edit and things to edit for - it’s not as complex and awful as it sounds, for me different people wind up helping me with different things. it really depends on what stage your writing is at/what your friend is helping you edit for. i categorize them as follows:

cheerleading - this is what i was talking about above...this is just someone reading as you write (sometimes checking in daily, sometimes literally WHILE YOU TYPE IT, my friends have done this lol) and encouraging you. i’m not particularly shy about letting my buddies just kinda hang out in there, it’s like my little house 🙏 it’s also fun to have people read as i go (it helps keep me excited). doesn’t exactly count as editing/betaing imo (so you don’t necessarily need a writing-savvy friend to do it), but it’s still a level of support <3

plot soundboarding - this is stuff like... “how do i get dean and cas to talk about x thing,” “where should i end this chapter,” “if i change this thing in chapter 1 that leaves a huge plothole in chapter 3, how do i fix it?” this is for the plot, not the prose itself, so you can do this when the fic is very rough, maybe even before it’s written, when it’s still in the planning stages

“regular betaing” - this is what most people think of when they say beta - this is a general readthru where they’ll point out inconsistencies or anything that sticks out to them (good or bad). “this sentence is worded awkwardly,” “you said mary had a cup of coffee here but earlier in the scene she had tea,” “you used the same word four times in one paragraph.” you want to have the fic written by this point (though again if it’s a long one, it doesn’t necessarily have to be complete - more on this in a sec)

final typo check - you want to save the LAST typo check for after everything else is perfect and not going to be changed at all. my friend coralie is checking my fic for typos and i asked her not to read unedited scenes yet - because of course if edit them, and my edits have typos, and she’s already read those parts, i’d have typos in the checked bits, which would defeat the entire purpose

so it really depends on what you want your friend to most help with - if you want plot help, obviously you’d come in early, but if it’s just typo help, come in late. and of course how much help she’s up for giving you - reading what you write daily might be more time-intensive than just checking it one time and sending it back.

as for whether or not it’s better to have “regular beta” stuff done on your writing as you write it or after it’s all finished, there’s pros and cons to both situations

reasons to edit as you go: a long fic divided into sections can seem more manageable, your pal gets to know your your project as it’s being written, you get someone to be excited with, you get immediate feedback on potential mistakes that might save you from having to do more editing later, editing as you go will DEFINITELY save you from a huge slog later, sometimes when you’re not up to writing it’s nice to have something to edit so at least you get to do a little work on it

reasons to edit after it’s finished: less time-intensive, when you can see the whole fic at once you’re less prone to forgetting what happened in the beginning, when you see it all at once you can also see the way things come together (or fail to come together), you're less likely to have to look over the same section multiple times, you get to polish it up before anyone else sees it (good if you’re shy), sometimes it’s nice to let things sit awhile before coming back to edit because breaks can help you see more clearly

and like i said, i usually wind up doing a mix of this. the important thing though is there’s really no wrong way to do it as long you and the person helping you are on the same page. just like everybody has a different writing process, everybody has a different editing process, yk? just try it whatever way seems most appealing and sensible to you, and eventually you’ll hit your groove. i hope that helps, sorry if it was a way longer answer than you were bargaining for lol

#liz answers asks #anonymous #liz loves writing #man when i first started writing fic i couldn't get anyone to READ it let alone help me edit #thats bc i was 14 and it was ABSOLUTELY awful writing but! i've rly moved up in the world #i say that bc i don't want you to feel bad that you don't have three separate friends in your google doc lol. stuff takes time. like #[checks watch]#yeah like almost 18 year i've been writing fanfic now #no biggie lol

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lovelyirony · 5 years

Note

Hello friend! I'm in a mood and just feel like reading something sad. Could you pretty please maybe write some sad winteriron? Maybe something to do with terminal illness but it's up to you!

Being human means that there are many things that could happen to you and you can’t help it.

Like cancer.

Or being hit by a bus.

Maybe a heart condition that you didn’t know about until you were thirty-two, had weird chest pains, and then found you didn’t have genetic testing done and neither parent told you about any extensive medical history because they both were estranged from the family.

Okay. That was specific.

But Tony was laying in a hospital bed and the doctors told him that he wouldn’t live past forty and he would die of heart failure.

He feels like he should be hit harder by this. He only has eight years left to live. He shouldn’t be in his kitchen making eggs, he should probably be hysterically calling Rhodey and Pepper and Happy and asking them about funeral arrangements and what he’s going to do and quite possibly if spending the extra money to get the executive suite at the fancy hotel in Switzerland is worth it.

Except he doesn’t want to.

Death is a messy process. Not for him, they assured him of that. But everyone asks you questions and your loved ones. You have to figure out where to bury someone if they didn’t do it beforehand. Sometimes you have debates about cremation. Other times about how much you want to spend on a casket.

He really doesn’t want to look at Rhodey or Pepper or Happy when they talk about that because he knows that their faces will break into tears and he will see the tear tracks when they go home to their houses and cry some more.

Nonsense.

If he can hide it, then he will. He doesn’t want to be a bother, it would be...unfortunate.

Besides. He’s lonely at the top, and there’s no climbing back down the mountain. He won’t pull a Scrooge and get visited by three ghosts.

So he lives.

He pulls some risky moves, but nothing that makes Pepper have the “are you up to something serious that could potentially cause my midlife crisis to go off-schedule” talk.

Again.

He donates more money to charities and helps people pay off medical bills and walks around New York late at night to wonder why he’s going to die in eight or maybe even seven years instead of the proposed twenty to thirty. (What? He wasn’t going to be too generous, he knew himself.)

Tony wonders sometimes if he will meet someone and they will make him want to live so much more than he can. It will be like those romantic dramas with rainfall and hair plastered to foreheads and passionate kisses that leave some of the older women teary-eyed and wishing that their husband would do something like that.

But he’s a genius, so he knows statistics like the back of his hand.

There will be no one.

Eight turns into seven. He celebrates by getting absolutely slammed on New Year’s Eve and wakes up to the shittiest radio station blaring. He’s pretty sure they’re playing Maroon 5, which fucking ugh.

New Year, new resolutions. He doesn’t bother to make one.

“Why not? You usually make a joke one,” Rhodey says.

“We are all going to die,” Tony answers. “Why make a resolution if I don’t want to? If I were to die in a year, it wouldn’t really matter.”

“Okay Lord Byron,” Rhodey says, rolling his eyes. “You want Hot Topic giftcards for your birthday? Huh?”

Tony laughs.

Rhodey always knows how to make him laugh.

Tony doesn’t know how he’s going to make Rhodey laugh when he’s dead. So that’s a breaking point where he stares at the wall and starts to write random memories down, like the time they snuck up onto a hotel’s roof to see the city wake up and the wind chapped their lips and Tony swore that he’d never leave Rhodey.

Except he is.

And he realizes that he needs to let Pepper and Rhodey and Happy know that he loves them a lot. So he starts the letters.

He writes a letter to Pepper to remind her about how much she regrets getting light blue nail polish every single time she gets a manicure, and she should never get it. (Yes, even for a wedding she’s in, get something, anything other than that.)

He writes a letter to Happy that is basically just wondering about how they can troll asshole celebrities that they know. He doesn’t know, but maybe he will find some dirt so that if Happy ever falls on dire times, he will have some extra cash flow coming in. Not that Tony would let that happen, but say Happy ever did. Maybe someone stole his bank information. Who knows what will happen in seven or six years.

Summer still sucks. He thinks maybe he’ll like it more, now that he knows that his heart is going to quit. But it still smells like piss and garbage on the streets of New York, people are still blasting shitty music and riding bikes too dangerously, and he still feels gross by two p.m. when he goes outside to face the world.

Not even the treat of shaved ice helps this.

“At least I won’t have to face another one in seven years,” Tony murmurs. “Thank god for that.”

Seven turns into six.

It’s around this time when an attractive redhead shows up at his office, bends down a bit lower than necessary, and Tony gets the feeling that SHIELD should really train their agents a bit better if they want something out of him.

He organizes a meeting with Fury, walks in, and states that they cannot afford him.

“You know that your help would be particularly useful,” Fury says.

“For you to get what?” He asks. “Don’t bullshit me with some answer about compassion. Peggy Carter was kind, but she wasn’t a damned saint.”

“There are new...developments.”

Like the fact that they’ve found Captain America. And Bucky Barnes didn’t fall off into a random ravine, so the four different conspiracy theory documentary videos that Tony watched last year were about five hours of wasted time.

They need somewhere to stay. Fury wants Tony to foot the bill.

“What, can’t ask the government for funding?” Tony asks. “I’m sure if they can up the budget for military every year, that covers Cap and his old pal. Hell, I bet they’ll even open up the champagne fridges.”

“They don’t know about it.”

“And why would that be? Because you’d rather have idols to yourself?”

It’s a low-blow. But Tony agrees to take them in. He just doesn’t want to see them, notably because his father was a bit of a Captain America fan, Tony had had a crush on the former sharpshooter when he was a younger guy, and it was all kinds of messed up.

But he gives them their own little apartment, one of his safehouses.

“This ain’t little,” Steve mutters to himself, unpacking a box of plates. Natasha has been nice enough to show them around and tell them about the changes she finds relevant. She forced them to listen to what she called ‘the goddess of pop’ in the car, and Bucky nearly clawed out the stereo after “Toxic” came on.

“Fuckin’ palace,” Bucky mutters. “Who’s is this?”

“A man in high places,” Natasha answers. “He doesn’t want to be known. Doesn’t exactly play well with others.”

She leaves them be, and there’s so much that has changed. Steve is still looking for any sign of the past he can find in Bucky, and Bucky...

He’s not who he used to be. He doesn’t remember half the shit that Steve does. Perks of having your brain so fried up that you can barely remember your middle name.

They eat together in silence.

“I guess...I guess we have to figure out who we really are,” Steve says. “Because you’re not who I remember, and I’m not...I guess I’m not either.”

Bucky nods.

“Do you reckon we’ll like going out dancing?”

The answer is a strong no, although Steve has to say the drinks have improved a hell of a lot more. He likes the ones that come with the small paper umbrellas. He doesn’t know where they get them, but it gives him an idea for an art project.

Tony doesn’t hear much about the wonder boys. He doesn’t want to, not really. Natasha just says they’re getting more and more adjusted and she has evidence of Steve Rogers going clubbing.

“Oh my god,” Tony groans. “Romanoff, do not.”

“It’s funny.”

“I don’t wanna know.”

“What, you jealous that you’re not dancing with him?”

“Hardly. Blonde and beefy isn’t my type.”

“Then what is?”

“Classified.” Tony answered. “Now, is there anything else you want SHIELD to suck out of me?”

“Well, my manicure funding is getting rather low...”

Tony snorts, but points towards the door.

His chest hurts. It’s been happening. He’s actually gotten used to it. In a way, he’s more concerned when it doesn’t hurt. He went to another specialist. They say his death sentence is signed, even if they don’t word it like that. Here’s how it is usually worded:

“I have a colleague who works at insert-clinic/hospital-here...I can refer you to Dr. So-and-So?”

They can. But it’s another list of referrals of so-and-so’s and clinics and appointments at the most inopportune times.

All for nothing, because Tony knows that he can’t be fixed. The human body sometimes works like a machine. But it’s not one. It’d be like Tony calling a dog a wolf. Similar, but no one wants to bring a wolf into their house as a pet.

He gets a phone call from someone named Deputy Director Hill.

He needs a new arm.

Barnes needs a new arm. Of course he does. Tony should’ve expected that, of course. Hydra isn’t exactly known for revolutionizing prosthetics or being particularly kind to their projects that they work on. So Tony automatically has a one-up.

He gets Barnes to come to this mechanic garage, surrounded by old tin signs and vintage cars that cost more than most of the monthly rent of penthouses in New York.

Bucky does a double-take.

“Howard?”

“I hope not,” Tony answers. “Hop up on the chair for me, please. I’m getting you a new arm.”

“This is fine,” Barnes automatically spouts. Tony can see the damage from here, and can even point out that the arm’s reaction time is probably the worst it has been currently.

“If you want to stick to your Great Depression ideals, then by all means be my guest and go bitch in a grocery store about prices,” Tony responds dryly. “But if you want an arm that’s gonna be actually good, then sit.”

So he does.

Tony looks incredibly similar to his father. But there’s something different about him. Something softer, almost. Bucky didn’t know Howard nearly as well as others did, but he knew that Tony wasn’t his father.

“How are you adjusting to the city?” Tony asks.

"Still the shithole we all know and love,” Bucky swears. “I think the rats got bigger.”

“They did. It’s amusing and horrifying at the same time. You ride the subway yet?”

“Yes and I’ve come to terms with it. Lots of new things to learn about it.”

Barnes’ visits become more frequent. They talk about New York stuff. Tony tells him all about the fun events that have happened that he missed while he was doing time as an icicle.

It’s nice, talking to him. Tony finally has someone who understands fatalistic humor and doesn’t respond with

“That’s scary, Tony.”

“What do you mean?”

Bucky just says “cheers” and decides to tell Tony about the time he nearly died in 1992 because he lost his footing on the Eiffel Tower.

Tony laughs, and laughs harder than he thought he had in a long time.

Six turns into five.

Bucky gets closer, and they have...something. He’s not sure what it is yet, but he knows that they go on breakfast dates most of the time and he knows the coffee orders by heart.

“I think you’ve found someone,” Pepper says, teasing. “Look at you.”

“Yeah, look at me,” Tony murmurs.

He has five years left. That’s plenty of time to date someone and break up, right?

Except.

It’s...wonderful to date Bucky. They go all over, have fun trying the shittiest restaurants in town, and even get Steve to get out more and socialize with the group.

They date and celebrate holidays together and have fun candles and--

Five turns into four.

“Not that bad,” Tony whispers to himself when he’s getting ready for bed.

“What’s not bad?” Bucky asks.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” Tony says. “Just got a new toothpaste.”

They watch It’s a Wonderful Life and Tony can’t really focus, not when he’s thinking about the fact that he still hasn’t picked out a design for his urn.

Not when he realizes that he needs to break up with Bucky and make it a whole big scene so that no one will talk to him. It has to be about two years before the date, he thinks.

He goes to another Dr. So-and-So. They say he might actually have one more year, but who knows.

He doesn’t.

But he wakes up with Bucky every day and they make breakfast, and he thinks that maybe he could tell him? Maybe?

The words get stuck in his mouth.

He can’t.

He meets with his lawyer for the will.

“Why making sudden changes?”

“Just like to shake things up,” Tony says with a smile. “Never know what’s going to happen, right?”

“You are right about that,” the lawyer says. He’s a bit uncomfortable. Tony Stark looks at him like he knows that his life is short and that something else will come up. But it’s not the lawyer’s job to ask if things really are okay, and it’s not like Tony would tell him anyway.

So he makes the changes to the will.

Tony looks at Bucky as he’s napping, face so peaceful.

He can’t ruin that.

#lovelyirony writes #for some reason tumblr never lets me put in a 'read more' link until like after i've done all this shit so here's to hoping this works #winteriron #:(#hope this fits the sad theme anon #tony stark #bucky barnes #rhodey #pepper potts #happy hogan #steve rogers

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writing-royza · 5 years

Text

Tainted Blood, Tainted Soul: Chapter Thirteen - Moving Forward

A/N: Happy Wednesday, everyone! Just doing a quick drop in this week; its been a busy week, and I ought to get to bed. I apologize for the extreme lateness; there have been some nasty issues with posting. The usual warnings apply. Enjoy!

I do not own FMA.

Chapter Thirteen - Moving Forward

27 WHEELER STREET, EAST CITY

0912 HOURS, APRIL 17

It caused her a brief moment of panic, to ease her eyes open and find his half of the bed empty. Riza sat bolt upright, feeling her stomach clench with sudden worry — no, call it what it is: fear — for him, then relaxed again as she caught sight of his pajama pants folded on a chair to one side of the room.

Jumping at shadows again, she chided herself gently. You spent six months doing that with Pride; don't start again now.

Slipping from underneath the sheets, she noted the absence of Hayate as she padded near-silently out of the room and down the hall toward the apartment's kitchen. Morning sun slanted into the living room ahead, looking warm and welcoming; much nicer than the low lamplight had last night.

She paused where the hallway ended in the open space of the connected living room and kitchen, taking a moment to study the figure slouched in a chair at the table, legs crossed at the knee. One hand rested in his lap, the other lay stretched on the table, toying idly with the handle of his coffee cup. A smile at his casual air started to spread across her lips… and hesitated when she caught his expression.

Roy's eyebrows were drawn low and close, his dark eyes staring at the mug in front of him without really seeing it. His only sign of movement was the slow motion of his lower lip as he worried it reflectively with his teeth. This was a deep thought pose. A deep, serious thought pose.

She took a cautious step forward, into line with his peripheral vision. "Good morning."

"Hey." He didn't look up. "How did you sleep?"

"Once I got to sleep? Just fine." Stopping beside his chair, she slid one hand across his shoulders, picking up on the tension in the muscles. "What about you?"

At last, he tilted his head back, so that she could see the faint dark circles under his eyes. His smile was rueful. "Can't say I slept at all, actually." The hand resting on the table lifted the mug. "That's what this is for."

Guiltily, she lifted her hand from his shoulder, moving it to brush his bangs from his eyes. "I'm sorry. If it weren't for that incident last night…." Bending, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. "If you want to try and get some sleep before going back to consulting on the case, then —"

"Ah… about that…." He turned his gaze back to the mug in his hand, but not before she saw the rueful smile tugging grimly at his lips. "There's… been a change of plans."

Her hand stopped in its slow raking through his hair, dark strands sticking up at odd angles through her fingers. Riza held perfectly still, taking time to study his turn of phrase from every angle possible. "…Did Hakuro find a way to remove us from the case?" she said at last, keeping her voice cool and controlled. "I don't think he was convinced we should be working it in the first place."

"He wasn't, but it wasn't him that pulled the plug," Roy murmured. "Before you got up, we had a phone call…."

CENTRAL MILITARY HEADQUARTERS

0817 HOURS, APRIL 17

Dawn had brought rain and fog to the city, covering the damaged garrison in both. Grumman had been amused to find a few stray tendrils of mist in the hallway — seeping in through gaps in the outside walls — on his way to the Presidential office, but his good humour hadn't lasted long. A message left on his desk had informed him of another attack by the serial killer in East City the morning before, as did the new copy of the Central Times.

Settling into his desk chair, he spread the newspaper in front of him and took a deep breath. Time to see what fear-mongering they're pushing today, he thought darkly.

It wasn't long in coming. The media reported both on the new crime scene and Riza's attack on the reporter in as much detail as they could muster. Irritation flared as the old man reached the last paragraph of the article.

While not officially dubbed so by investigators, the general public has taken to referring to the perpetrator as the East-Central Slayer, owing to the locations and extremely violent natures of the crimes.

Sitting back in the chair, Grumman slid a hand under his glasses to rub at his eyes. "Of all the names they could have come up with…. This is precisely what I had hoped to avoid."

Letting the newspaper flop flat onto the desk, he took a moment to huff out an irritated sigh before reaching for the telephone. It was the work of a moment to dial, waiting patiently until there was acknowledgement from the other end. "I'd say 'good morning,' but I suspect you know what's in this morning's paper."

"If you're referring to the attack on Plum Street yesterday, sir, then yes, I'm aware. And if you hadn't beaten me to it, I was going to call you."

"Hmm." Eyeing the tiny print of the article through his glasses, Grumman rested a hand on the polished wooden surface, his fingers drumming absently. "And are you also aware that there is a strong media opinion that my granddaughter may be charged with assault sometime in the next day or so?"

Roy at least had the good grace to sound shamefaced. "…Yes, sir. I'm… I was there. If it's any consolation, she was provoked."

"I didn't think she wouldn't be. Seeing as I suspect you two spent the night in each other's company, it shouldn't be too much trouble for you to put her on the phone, should it." He was trying hard for the tone of a firm, parental disciplinarian, but not having had that much luck with parenting in the past, he knew he sounded more like the deeply irritated officer he was.

"She's still asleep, sir." The barest hint of steel had entered the younger man's tone; standing up for his lady love when she wasn't awake to defend herself. "There was a… a bit of a security breach last night, and we were both up late. It's my opinion she could use the rest."

Quiet alarm bells had gone off in his head by the second sentence, and Grumman frowned deeply. "Explain."

There was the sound of a deep breath, and then an extremely tired-sounding, "Sir, I hope like hell you're sitting down."

Within minutes, Grumman was very glad he was. He listened in nearly slack-jawed amazement and horror as Roy detailed the strange man's inexplicable entry, the bizarre attack, and the fast exit. His stomach churned in sympathy as it was made clear that his granddaughter — my girl, my poor girl — had had some stranger's blood forced down her throat for some unknown and probably perverse reason, and had promptly vomited it back up.

Too shocked to feel angry, he ran a hand through his thinning hair as Roy finished, "I left her sleeping about an hour ago, and if she's still out by nine-thirty, I'll wake her."

"That's fine. Being consultants on the case, you're not compelled to be at Headquarters at any regular hour. You can come and go as you wish." He blew out a sigh. "Have you considered having her checked out medically? To make sure there's no ill effect from… from the incident last night?"

"I'll ask her about it, but I think she got rid of anything she swallowed." There was a pause. "In the meantime, sir, would it be too much to ask that you not tell General Hakuro what happened? He's already looking for an excuse to throw us out, and I'd rather not give him the leverage to do so."

He smiled grimly, reaching out to fold the newspaper closed. "Hakuro may talk a big game, but I've made it clear to him that his power in this is strictly supervisory. Hiring and firing, so to speak, is my jurisdiction, not his."

"Understood, sir." Another pause. "Was there anything else, sir? If not, I should call in to East City Headquarters and let them know we might be a while in getting there. I can say we're going over files here —"

"That won't be necessary." Grumman's eyes were on the article about the Angelini crime scene, specifically on the black and white photograph that showed both Colonel and Lieutenant. The dark-haired alchemist was on ground level, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses as he watched a sheet-covered gurney pass with its deadweight load. A man in a tweed blazer with a press pass tucked in his hat was approaching from behind, trying to look casual… but not escaping the sharp gaze of Hawkeye, who watched from the raised front steps of the house. Even in the grainy photograph, Grumman could see the shoulders raised in tension, the alertness in those brown eyes so like his daughter's…..

"…Say again, sir?"

"You won't need to let Eastern HQ know that you'll be away for a while," Grumman said firmly. "As I told you, I hold the veto power for who handles this case." He took a deep breath, folding the pages of newsprint closed over the photograph. "I believe you have other commitments to concern you; Major Armstrong and the remainder of your staff will continue the investigation."

"Sir, I—"

Grumman's voice dropped low, only for the ears of the man on the other end of the line. "Roy, this is not up for discussion. I'm making an executive decision here, and as a superior officer, the Führer-President, and a close friend, I expect it to be followed. Am I clear?"

A short silence, followed by an equally short sigh preceded the answer. "Yes… Your Excellency, sir." The use of the formal title was not lost on Grumman, but he chose to ignore it. "Would it be too much to ask, however, exactly —"

"Why?"

She had settled into a chair at the table as he told the story, her gaze intent on his face. Roy stared back, sympathetic and with the last vestiges of his own annoyance stamped in those dark eyes. His fingers, resting on the side of his coffee mug as he spoke, began drumming random, absent-minded patterns.

"He gave a few reasons," he said, shrugging fatalistically. "The first was to distance you from whatever media attention any assault charges are going to get you, if that reporter — what's his name, Collins? — decides to file. The second was that the killer obviously has an interest in possibly both of us and definitely you, so Grumman's hoping that we can slip out quietly, without drawing attention to ourselves, and he won't be able to trail us." He lifted the mug to his lips, saying before he took a sip, "And the third was that we're needed elsewhere."

Riza knew frustration was still furrowing her brow, and she made no attempt to hide it. Folding her hands on the table, she studied her fingernails a moment, trying to calm the flare of irritation and anger that had sprung up in her chest. "When you say elsewhere," she began at last, "you mean —"

He nodded. "Ishval."

She closed her right hand into a fist, feeling the slight dig of her nails against the skin of her palm. It didn't hurt, per se, it was more like… pressure. Straightening the fingers again, she contemplated the crescent-shaped indents in her skin. Calm… calm…. "And who is going to take over the investigation here?"

Roy was watching her, dark eyes taking in every small movement. "Grumman didn't assign anyone; he told me to choose two replacements that I thought could handle it. I thought maybe Rebecca would be able, but we've partnered her with Havoc in the past and he's obviously out of commission." He tilted his head to one side, regarding her with new interest. "I'd like your thoughts on it as well. Maybe there's someone I'm overlooking?"

"Rebecca's a good choice; she complained about having to deal with the case, but she'll take it seriously if she's at the forefront of the East City investigations." Pausing, Riza ran carefully through a list of their mutual contacts, trying to come up with a name that might be a promising candidate.

Finally, she looked up. "General Armstrong has already done us one favour, by lending you Major Miles to help with the Ishval reconstruction," she said. "What are the odds she'd give you back Falman as well? Again, on a temporary basis. Until this little fiasco is over."

He was already nodding slowly. "I'd considered that. I don't know if she'll agree to it, especially since it means helping me when she doesn't absolutely have to… but it's certainly worth a shot." Tilting his mug to look into the depths, he frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe if we arranged for the credit for an arrest to go to Briggs instead of East City…."

She watched him fall into contemplative silence, waiting a moment before speaking. "Either way… we're being benched again."

Roy's eyes flicked up to meet hers, clearly gauging her mood before he answered. "…Yeah. We are." Tossing back the last of his coffee, he got to his feet and started toward the apartment's small kitchen. "I still keep turning it over in my head, trying to find a way that we could stay, or that we could work our way back onto the case… but I'm not coming up with much."

"You said Grumman called here nearly an hour ago?" She watched as he nodded, refilling his mug and taking a clean one from a cupboard for her. "Then he'll already have called Hakuro and told him to expect another investigative team. And he'll be only too happy to avoid working with either you or I."

"Sometimes it's nice knowing a superior officer hates you and everything you stand for," Roy said mildly, starting back toward the table. "It makes every success feel that little bit better. Until things start working against you, and then it's just a nuisance." He set her cup in front of her. "I also briefly considered beginning a separate, private investigation on our own… but even with all our contacts and connections, I doubt we'd get very far."

She propped her chin in one hand, leaning over the cup to inhale the rich, savoury scent in appreciation. "That's assuming they would want to talk at all. Casella was nervous enough, thanks to what happened on the Promised Day; what's to say the others wouldn't be the same, especially if word has gotten out of what I did to Collins."

"It has." Roy grinned half-heartedly. "But your newspaper photo was very nearly as pretty as the real you."

Riza couldn't stifle a return smile, but she managed to quash the urge to laugh. "Flattery won't clear me at court-martial, sir," she said dryly, reaching for her cup. She sipped, the smile fading. "Which, I'll be honest, is one of the better reasons Grumman gave for taking us off the investigation."

He looked at her curiously. "You want to run for it? Get out of town before the lawyers begin circling?" His tone was joking, but his eyes were not.

She shook her head. "I didn't mean it that way. What I did was… I don't think it was exactly wrong, because I did perceive him to be a threat. But I definitely didn't handle it in a way that was… professional, for lack of a better term. I overreacted." Thoughtful, she gently swirled the coffee in her mug, watching the way it splashed up the sides. "Before we leave for Ishval, I think I should take you up on the suggestion you made, about calling a meeting with Collins and whatever lawyer he might have hired. See if he'd be willing to let things go if I apologized."

Leaning forward, folding his arms on the table, Roy nodded. "At the very least, he won't be able to claim you didn't demonstrate remorse for it, or whatever the legal jargon for it is. Though I think it would also be a good idea to have a backup plan for if he doesn't decide to forgive you."

Smiling over the rim of her cup, she shrugged one shoulder. "I thought that was what the Ishval trip was for?" Taking another sip, she set the mug back on the table, cradling the warm ceramic in both hands. "That being said… how exactly are we supposed to get out there? Trains haven't run out that far in, what, six? Seven years?"

"Not since the end of the war," Roy agreed. One hand rose, rubbing unconsciously at the light growth of stubble just starting to darken his jawline. "The way I figure it, we can either take a train from here to Resembool and find a car charter that'll take us the rest of the way to Ishval… or else we drive ourselves in the car we got from Eastern HQ."

Her gaze was steady on the table top, though introspective as she mulled it over. "It's a day and a half by train from Resembool to the outskirts of Ishval. That's three days by car," she reminded him. When she looked up, she was smiling again. "And I seem to remember you saying you hate camping almost as much as you hate going to the dentist."

He levelled a finger at her, matching her smile. "I hate military camps," he corrected, mock-severely. "But three days alone with you, sunshine during the day and stars at night?" Dropping his hand, he leaned forward. "I think I can handle that."

One blonde eyebrow quirked upward. "Is this a military expedition, or a romantic getaway?"

"Who's to say it can't be both?"

"Ah, efficiency. I like it." Leaning forward to meet him, she pressed a kiss to his cheek before getting up and making her way back down the hallway, coffee cup still in one hand. "There's a lot of supplies and equipment to line up, if that's the case, not to mention I'll need to make some apologetic overtures toward Mr. Collins. I think it's high time I got started."

Roy's eyes followed her across the room, watching the way his shirt hung on that lithe frame, how the hem stopped at the right length to give some decent modesty, while at the same time showing enough leg to be enticing. He got up to follow her, his own pace leisurely and mug still in hand.

"Since we're already off the case and don't have any official business that's absolutely pressing," he said, lifting his coffee for a too-casual-to-be-innocent sip, "then I think maybe I ought to reassure myself that you're as well as you seem to be."

He caught up to her in the bedroom doorway as she paused, looking back over her shoulder with a knowing smile. "I take it you mean a physical examination?" Her eyes wandered south along his body, then back to his face. "An… intensive one at that?"

Reaching out with his free hand, Roy tugged lightly on the open shirt collar, ignoring the red scar line and two small, round marks either side of it. "Strip, shirt thief."

CITY OF JADAD, GUNJA REGION, ISHVAL

1103 A.M., APRIL 17

He didn't like to think of how long it had been since he walked the packed-sand streets of an Ishvalan city, since he had smelled the warm, earthy scent of brick houses baking under the sun in the cloudless sky above. Things were beginning to come back to him: his feet instinctively gripping the soles of the sandals and adjusting in mid-step to any grit that shifted underneath, he carried one arm tucked neatly against his ribs to keep his robe from flapping open in the light breeze, and he held his head high, with the proper bearing of a full warrior.

The man with no name breathed deep, smelling the familiar scents of home, and for the first time in far too long… felt as close to at peace as he had ever been.

It wasn't possible to relax fully, of course. All around him were the remains of crumbled buildings, chunks of stone and mortar, shattered wooden beams, and splintered doors. What houses had had small gardens were left with dried and withered weeds, slowly disintegrating into dust.

He paused at the end of the street as it opened into a plaza, taking a moment to study his surroundings. It was rocky, desolate, covered in dust and rubble… but underneath it all, he felt a pulse. There was a faint thrumming in the earth below his feet, and that minute vibration meant life. Life that would be breathed back into the city, the region, and the provinces beyond.

Ishval would live again. "Inshbala'ah," he murmured to himself. "God willing."

Turning down a street leading out of the plaza, he kept his head up, watching as signs of habitation began to appear. Here and there, a small house would be in a greater state of repair than its neighbours, or small children would be playing in a lot among the rocks and debris. They stopped to stare as he passed, and the unnamed man tugged the robe closer over his arms to hide the tattoos imprinted there.

He knew the children whispered after he was out of earshot. He didn't mind; he was a stranger, and a strange one at that. An Ishvalan that had chosen to mark his flesh with the symbols and sciences of Amestris and Xing was not precisely an outcast, but they were viewed with curiosity… and more than a little suspicion.

He reached the large city administration building soon after, entering the cool, shaded interior that echoed back the murmured conversations of two or three groups in the atrium-like entryway. Scar turned left down a corridor, knowing the eyes of a trip of elders followed him as he went.

The small office-style space that had been given to himself and Miles was down another, smaller corridor and behind a door of simple wooden planks. It was devoid of most Amestrian-style furniture, furnished instead with a pair of low writing desks, a tiny kitchen alcove barely big enough for one person, woven cloth mats on the baked clay floor, and an array of plush cushions arranged in a conversational circle.

Looking up from behind one desk as the door opened, Miles paused in whatever he was writing to nod in greeting. "Welcome back. Did you find what you were looking for?"

Scar nodded, settling cross-legged behind the other table. "There's an unoccupied house in the southern district that should suffice. The damage is light, and easily repaired. And we were considering an outpost office in that area anyway, so that residents wouldn't have to trek all the way over here."

Miles nodded again. "Good. We can file a claim for it this afternoon." He pointed with his pen to a small, open envelope on Scar's desk before going back to his writing. "But it looks like we'll need to scope a second house for what's coming."

Frowning in puzzlement, the scarred man removed a single-folded piece of paper from the envelope, briefly skimming the telegraphed message. Neat type spelled out: BY ORDER CENTRAL HQ: MUSTANG AND HAWKEYE INBOUND WILL ARRIVE IN THREE DAYS TO BEGIN WORK WITH RECONSTRUCTION AUTHORITY ADVISE ON ARRIVAL.

The frown didn't ease. "They're on their way already? Did they resolve their murder case so quickly?"

A quiet chuckle came from across the room. "Not so much. From the phone call that preceded that message — it's really just a formal notice, for our records — the investigation is being left to General Armstrong's younger brother and whatever staff of Mustang's isn't at Briggs or in a wheelchair. There was some kind of altercation, and both Colonel and Lieutenant were quietly ushered to the sidelines."

Scar looked up, his only other reaction a single raised eyebrow. "Altercation?" he repeated.

Miles smiled. "Apparently, the young lady punched a particularly aggressive reporter."

He gave no outward sign of surprise or other reaction, but Scar couldn't deny being impressed. He had known the Lieutenant was emotionally strong, certainly; her fortitude in talking Mustang down from the unreasoning rage he had harboured against Envy was proof enough of that. But she hadn't struck him as being particularly physically strong. Perhaps Amestrian hand-to-hand training wasn't quite as lax as he thought it to be.

"I suppose my next question ought to be how they think they'll be getting out here," he said at last. "We've talked about clearing the old train tracks, but there isn't a definitive plan."

"I imagine they're driving." Miles shrugged. "As for the tracks, the main problem is just getting them clear of sand once they leave the greener areas, and making sure they're still structurally sound. Once the military withdrew from Ishval following the conflict, they didn't spend too much effort to maintain them. It was no longer a priority."

He looked up at the warrior, red eyes flicking to the tattooing visible on the other man's arms. "There is, of course, an easier solution than manual labour. One that perhaps the rest of our people don't necessarily need to know about."

Scar was already shaking his head. "Our people are too proud and too traditional to allow it, or to accept the use of alchemy if it were done without consulting them. The general feeling around here is that we will rebuild from the ashes and rubble and take pride in the work… and that extends to reopening the railway."

Miles shrugged, going back to his documents. "It was a thought."

Searching briefly through several folded maps on the desk top, Scar selected the one he wanted and laid it flat on the weathered wooden surface. He took a thin charcoal stick, running one rough finger over the layout of the city until he found the building he was looking for. He marked it with an X, before locating the building's indicator number on a sheet filled with them and marking a second X next to it.

His eyes roved over the map again, over multiple black Xs marking inhabited locations or those slated for some purpose. Red ink slashed through even more former buildings, showing where there was simply too much structural damage for the building to be repaired.

The Ishvalan city wasn't laid out like an Amestrian one. Where those were laid out in an orderly fashion, with street names and numbers for each building, the desert city spread unevenly over the map page, its streets full of twists and turns, opening into plazas and culminating abruptly in dead ends. Wide avenues branched off into the narrower streets and thin alleys, like the web of some crazed spider… and yet there was order in the chaos.

The arid landscape held few rivers, but the streets of its cities functioned in the same way. Creeks fed into streams that fed into the river, and the river carried its flow — its people — to the major locations.

Scar marked a location less than a mile east from the city administration building, before noting the indicator number and getting back to his feet. "With the Colonel and Lieutenant on their way, they're going to need a place to stay once they get here," he said, straightening the robe. It had been so long since he'd worn one, his body had forgotten the practiced motions needed to keep the thing properly in place. "I think I know of one; I'm going to go check on it."

"I'll put the paperwork in motion, and fast track it through," Miles said, without looking up. He smiled wryly. "I've never done so much paperwork in my life, and I was the assistant to a General."

"Ishval was taken from us with fire and iron," Scar murmured, heading toward the door. "We're taking it back with paper."

Moments later, he stepped again from cool shade to warm sun, immediately feeling the baking heat settling over him. The loose folds of the robe helped to dissipate the warmth, but sweat still prickled on his back. It stung a little on his still-healing wounds, but he ignored the pain, letting it be a reminder of what he had faced and survived.

He had heard the tales, from his own people and from the female General's massively burly brother, of how Supreme Cleric Logue Lowe had faced Bradley man to man, similar to what he had done. But where the old priest had put forward the path of least resistance, Scar had presented as much as he possibly could, all in the name of saving the country that had committed genocide on his people. He supposed that of himself and Lowe, he had been the one to get off lucky in facing Bradley.

Convincing his people to help had been a monumental task. Had his old master not intervened on his behalf, Scar wasn't sure he would have convinced anyone at all. Actions had always spoken louder than words with him, especially after the war, because his mind would not marshal the words into a feasible argument. He was a fighter, not a politician, not a clan leader….

And yet, suddenly, he was something very close to that.

As he walked the streets of the half-ruined city, those he came across recognized him by the scar on his forehead. Men offered silent nods of acknowledgement, women smiled in greeting, children stared in wonder at the man of legend. The man who swore vengeance and forsook his name, who killed and then fought alongside alchemists and soldiers, who saved the country he had sworn to hate for eternity.

The attention left him uncomfortable, after so long spent in hiding.

He reached the house he had chosen for the two inbound soldiers, pausing before opening the door. Mustang and Hawkeye were a two-person team, to be sure, but he wondered if it were overstepping some boundary to put them up in the same house. Ishvalan warriors didn't separate themselves by gender, but the Amestrians were more prudish on the subject, no matter a person's skills.

He brushed away the thought; if there were a problem with them sharing accommodations, there were enough buildings in tolerable states of repair for Colonel and Lieutenant to have their space.

The interior of the house was relatively clean, the only signs of its long disuse being the layer of dust on every surface windswept sand on the dirt floors. Other than that, it appeared to be fully functional, if unfurnished. That was easily rectified; some of the first people to flock back to the city after the Battle of Central had been craftsmen and women skilled in the creation of household goods. They had been working ever since with the shipments Miles had arranged for from Amestris of fabric, cotton batting, wicker, wood, and tools.

Making a mental note to apply to the goods warehouse for at least the bare minimum in furnishings - seating, food preparation, a table, and two sleeping pallets - he turned his attention to examining the walls. A handful of pockmarks from bullets that would need to be plastered over, a couple cracks that needed the same treatment… but overall, they should find it at least liveable. The desert lifestyle didn't offer much in comfort, but made up for it in lack of complication. It would suit a more stoic outlook like Lieutenant Hawkeye, and he doubted the Colonel would have much trouble adjusting.

They were an interesting pair. Stark juxtaposition when standing next to each other — male and female, dark and fair-haired, tall and short, alchemist and non-alchemist, hot-headed and cool demeanour, vocal and quiet…. Yet even he, who had only dealt with them personally twice could see the almost effortless partnership. He had seen it when Hawkeye kicked her superior's feet out from under him to save him from Scar's attack, and again when Mustang stepped back from rage and vengeance, asking her forgiveness.

On his way out of the house, he paused in the doorway, looking around the small space. He had seen how the other side lived and worked. He had been in their cities, studied their infrastructure, watched their movements. He had been deep inside their world.

Now, they would come to his, not as enemies, but as allies. And Scar found himself looking forward to it.

#fma #fmab #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #royza #royai #fma fanfiction #royai fanfiction #tainted blood

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