#even more difficult when you look in the mirror and see a twisted version of who you used to be and wonder if she's in there somewhere

[lunawritingspaceoxoxxx]

Wanted - Hobie Brown x Black Fem Reader

No minors, 18+ only

Tw: Angst, Rough Sex, Dirty talk, dick piercing, cheating

You rubbed your eyes as you blankly stared at your work screen, the days bleeding into weeks–into months as life went on. Relationships are hard; bearing your soul to another person and allowing them to see the most authentic version of you is scary, downright nerve wracking. Pulling your locs into a loose bun as you doubled down on your report that was due in the morning.

It’s been days since you last saw Hobie. One moment, the two of you were at a concert, enjoying yourselves and the next moment, he was gone in a blink and you couldn't help the nauseous feeling in the pit of your stomach, unable to hold anything down. ‘It’s fine—he does this all the time, I don’t know why it feels so painful this time.’ But you knew why; exactly two months ago, Hobie and you were relaxing in his apartment—he finally had a day where the corrupt government wasn't planning anything too inferious. You watched him strum his guitar, humming to himself. 

“What’s going on in your head, pretty girl?” He rasped as he lazily glanced over, the weed making his eyes slightly closed, mirroring your expression. “Nothing, just relaxing.” A lie. You loved the Spiderman in front of you, you wanted nothing more than him to reciprocate your feelings, but he didn’t like conformity and labels—which made life with him difficult. Hobie and you were very touchy with each other, lingering hands and stares were common and talking freely about past sexual conquests was a staple in any conversation. Then that’s where the lines between friends began to blur. 

You couldn’t deny your feelings for the self proclaimed anarchist, he knew you from the inside out and backwards, which made it harder to go see when he was around. A cute little blond, chilling on his bean bag and greeting you like you were an old friend. “Hey, this is Gwenie, Miguel just brought her in.” Your world shattered instantly, Hobie looked at her as if she had painted the stars. You’ve known Hobie for years, earning his trust and being exposed to deep, personal things, which made it a slap in the face, especially when Gwen knew about their inside jokes.“Love, you’re spacing out again,” Hobie snapped his fingers,”I said, what are you doing this weekend? I asked Miguel to give me a weekend off and wanted to spend time with my favorite girl.” You snorted, rolling your eyes as you hit the bong, blowing smoking into the room as you leaned your head back. “Going on a date with a coworker.” 

Hobie paused, narrowing his eyes as if you had grown a third head. “A date?” “Yeah, we’ve been talking for a moment,nothing too serious.” His blood began to burn, nodding his head as he stared blankly at the wall. “Nothing serious, ay? What about us-” “About what? We fuck, we smoke, that’s really about it. We barely hangout, I kinda chalked us to be friends with benefits, but you don’t like labels nor conformity.” You pushed yourself off the bag as you grabbed your bag, slipping on your sandals. “Love, where are you going? You gonna leave this? Be a coward and run away?” You shrugged your shoulders, nodding your head. “Yeah, I am because I don’t like my time being wasted and that's what you’re doing. Hobie–fuck, I think I may love you and I don’t want to be another notch in your bed frame. You don’t value me as a friend, why does Gwen know our inside jokes? You only call when she’s busy, it’s like I became a backup to her and it’s not fair to me.”

Fast forward two months, Hobie seemingly ignored your confession and acted like nothing happened, you weren’t going to bring it up, so life continued on. It just felt like a massive wall between you, hangouts became even more rarer and as if you lost your best friend overnight. Eric, your coworker, he’s fun, safe, and don’t get it twisted, you like him, but he could be a little boring at times. “Babe, there’s an event going on tomorrow night at the science museum, underneath the stars while being able to observe natural history.” Your eye twitched, sighing softly before you flashed the fakest smile. “Yeah, sounds great, let me check my calendar.” Spray Painting Session w/ Hobie. The last time you and Hobie hung out, it ended early by him stepping away for a smoke break and never returning. Did you really want to risk that, because things were awkward and you tried to address it, but he was adamant about not hearing you out, playing the “I’m busy, gotta go" card. 

“Sure, I have to go shopping for a decent dress after this email.”

You sighed as you admired your in the mirror, donning this slick, elegant black little number, pulling your locs to the side. Eric has already left, claiming that his manager needed his expertise on some stuff. “Dressed up for me?” You scoffed at the familiar voice, continuing to blend in your foundation. “Why you getting dressy, we’re only spray-painting-” “Hobart, I’m going to a private event tonight with Eric.” Hobie watched you through the mirror, locking his jaw–his hands grazing the backrest. “Not the government name, must be serious then. Why you choosing that tosser over me? What so great about him?” Hobie watched as you stepped away, slipping into elegant velvet heels. “He’s my boyfriend and I want to support him, is that a difficult concept for you to wrap your head around.” Hobie clicked his tongue, sprawling out onto the silk sheets, much to your annoyance.

“It’s not, but I don’t appreciate my girl isolating me for some git. “ Hobie narrowed his eyes at your appearance. You looked absolutely stunning, there was no doubt in his mind, but this? Yeah, this was supposed to be meant for him only. “‘Your girl?’ That’s funny, I didn’t know that I was already spoken for, Hobie, look–you lost your chance, I confessed my feelings for you and you proceeded to ignore it, so I don’t appreciate being treated like some dog.” Brushing out a few winkles, you finished with the final touches as you grabbed your purse. “Love, you know I never meant to make you feel lesser, but labels-” “You hate labels! You hate consistency! I get it, but you actively led me on! The touches, the stolen kisses–I’ve cleaned your wounds, waited on hands and knees for you! What more do you want from me, I’ve given everything that I can.” 

Hobie saw a broken girl in front of him, seeing the exhaustion in your eyes as he tried to come up with something–anything, scoffing you walked away, grabbing your keys as you headed out the door. He sighed, slipping through the window, the shadows masking his figure as you stepped out and met Eric outside. "Oh wow, darling, you look absolutely stunning.” Eric smiled as he twirled you around, Hobie’s fists clenching in jealousy at the site of the couple. He watched as Eric’s hands traveled down your back, pulling you closer to him. “Aw, thank you, I-” Eric’s phone ranged, much to your annoyance as he flashed a pathetic smile as he stepped away. “Sir, we’re about to the event. No sir, but I would-okay. Okay, I’ll finish those tests tonight.”

“Eric, you promised, We never get to do things anymore.” Crossing your arms over your chest as Eric kissed your temple,” It’s frustrating to cancel dates over your boss, why can’t he run tests and let you enjoy the night off?” You could feel tears swelling underneath your eyes as you sighed, pulling away from him. Your feelings for Eric were different from Hobie’s, but to be let down again, maybe you were destined to be alone. “Just text me when you get home.” 

This gnawing feeling only grew with every step, close to tears as you pulled off of your heels. You sighed as you leaned against the stainless steel wall, paying no mind when Hobie walked in. “Y/N” “Shut up, please, just hush.” He scoffed as he towered over you, grabbing your chin as he made you look into his eyes. “Listen, love, I know you’re frustrated, but you don’t have to give me lip. I’m trying to be here for you.” Your blood began to flash red hot as you pushed him away, jabbing your fresh set into his chest. “Why now? You haven’t been here for months! Is it because you want to get your dick wet?!”

“No, it’s not, for fuck’s sake, I miss you alot, you make everything okay when I’m going through tough shit, but I also tend to push my friends away. Y/N, everything with the spider society, I couldn’t help, but shut you out, you aren’t apart of it and it wasn’t right of me, but you fell in love with that git and just pushed me away. You flaked out on me because of what? Him.” Hobie was absolutely right, you weren’t even trying to give an excuse. Jealousy was a twisted emotion, clouding your judgment to the point where there was nothing that he could say to change your mind. “Because he’s my boyfriend and you clearly didn’t want me, I wasn’t going to act like a puppy, so I can still have your friendship. I’m sorry, I can’t function that way.” 

Hobie’s watch began to beep, groaning as Miguel’s face popped up. He shut off the watch with no regrets as the elevator’s doors opened. Storming to your apartment with him hot on your heels. “I never not wanted you! I thought that it was obvious when we slept together, do you think I sleep around town, inviting anyone into my bed?” You glared at him as he flopped onto your bed, his eyes watching you through the vanity mirror. “But it didn’t stop you flirting with girls right in front of me.” He watched you debeautify yourself, the dark circles underneath your eyes becoming more apparent. You two remained in silence as you began to strip down, revealing the deep emerald lace thong. “You wore that for him and he still left? The boy is so ungrateful,” Hobie pushed himself off the bed as he grasped your hips, pulling you flush against him,”Having the most beautiful little thing in his bed and not doing a damn thing with you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as his rough hand traced along your body, tugging at the thin material as his other hand grazed your collarbone. Snapping out of your trance, you pushed him away, immediately slipping on a robe. “Yeah no, you’re done, get out. I’m not cheating on Eric with you.” “Why are you pushing me away so much? You clearly want me and I want you, what’s so difficult about that?” “Because Hobie, I want you a boyfriend, I love you and I don’t want anyone else, but you don’t like labels, exclusivity is hard for you-” “Bullshit, it’s not hard, I just didn't want my old flings, you want to know why? They weren’t you, just how Gwen and I are close, I don’t want her because I knew you were jealous of her. She may know some of our inside jokes, but she doesn’t have what you have.” Hobie pulled you onto the bed, wrapping his arms around you as if you could break free from his grasp.

“Y/N, we have history together and it’s frustrating to see this wedge between us, it’s hard coming home and knowing that you won’t be there, eating my snacks and being menace to me.” He fondly smiled at your giggle, pulling you closer to him. “I love you, if I wasn’t being clear, Y/N, I know you don’t love Eric, he’s obviously a distraction. Come back to me, let me show you why it’s worth it.” Your breath hitched as the palm of his hand trailed upwards,tugging lighty at the thin piece of fabric. His warm breath fanned against your throat, leaving small kisses starting the base trailing towards your jaw. “Darling…” “Hobie, what about-” You winced at the sharp pain, you could feel his eyes staring into your fiber of yourself. “Don’t speak about him, it’s just us, princess.” 

Hobie stepped out of the bed, pulling off his studded jacket and shirt. He bore a shit-eating grin, knowing you were just as excited as him, shaking like a chihuahua. He pulled you towards the edge by your ankle, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses down your leg. “Take it off, show me your tits, sweet cheeks.” Hobie groaned as you tossed your robe to the side, taking in everything. Gasping as his rough hand immediately latched onto your boobs, pinching and twisting your nipples being mindful of your nipple piercings. 

“H-Hobie, please-” He gave you a warning look as he bent down, taking one of the pierced buds in mouth, rolling it around as he relished in your cries. It’s been too long and he knew Eric wasn’t fucking you right. He groaned as he felt you rub against his bulge, your legs were wrapped around his waist as if he was going to vanish into thin air. “Nah, princess, this is about you, don’t worry about me.” Hobie ripped off your thong with ease, tossing the shredded fabric to the side. 

You hid your face in the plush pillows as he rubbed your clit with no mercy, just the way you like it—much to his annoyance. His hands tangled in your locs, yanking your head up. “None of that hiding shit, let me hear you.” He grabbed your hip with his free hand, pushing two fingers in, immediately curling upwards as you cried out. “Words, princess, you miss my fingers? You squeezing me like a vice.” He pushed your limits as he nipped and sucked at your neck, relishing in your cries.You pulled him towards your lips by his wicks, sloppily making out as you reached his belt, tugging at his spiked belt. “My fucked out little whore, god I missed this look on you.” Hobie has pulled your hair back, shoving his drenched fingers down your throat. He could see the lust in your eyes because he knew that cornball wasn’t satisfying you.

Meanwhile Eric raced home, rushing through the lab results, uncaring if they were accurate or even legible, he just needed to get back to you as soon as possible. He patiently waited to be let in, he couldn’t wait for the day that he moved in with you, the buzzing in and then waiting seemed stupid to him. He waited patiently, humming softly as time went on. “Eric? What are you doing down here? I thought I could hear you and whats her name.” One of your neighbors gave him a puzzled look, letting him inside of the building. “Oh no, I had some last minute business at the lab, I’ve been there for awhile now.” 

“A fucking cock whore,”Hobie brutally fucked your throat as you leaned off the bed, pinching your nipples,”You love this cock, don’t you?” Bobbing your head as he reached further down your throat. He watched as your eyes rolled back, jaw going slack. “You ain’t passing out on me?” “No..’m not passin’” You weakly sat up, trying to catch your breath, but not before being pushed down onto your silk sheets. “Good, because I’m not done yet.” With no remorse, he pushed inside of your pussy, setting a brutal pace as you screamed into your pillows, his prince albert piercing was way too overwhelming. “Fuck me, creaming on my cock this fast, oh I know he wasn’t fucking you properly.” You whined as he continued to fuck you with no hestation, gripping your thighs as subconsciously you knew that you would be marked by him. 

His other hand reached in, furiously rubbing your clit, trying to extract another orgasm from you. “Fuck, your pussy was meant for me, only me that can fuck you so good, aint that right?” He pulled your head back, smirking at your tears. “Y-Yeah!” “Wasted two months of my time, fucking some limp dick, lanky kid, but this pussy? It belongs to me.” Hobie didn’t care about the neighbors banging on the walls, when he was fucking the girl of his dreams. “Yes, fuck! It belongs to you, only you!” Babbling as you couldn;t form a coherent thought, he slapped your tits, cursing as he felt your pussy pulse around his sensitive cock.

He could feel his balls tightening as he knew you were about to come, your moans only grew louder. “Come on, come on this cock.” Sobbing as you tried to slip from his grasp, the pleasure becoming borderline painful, but Hobie wasn’t going for that. “Come now or you don’t all.” He growled in your ear as you squirted across the sheets, your tired body trembling uncontrollably. He grunted, slamming into you, his lower half completely drenched, cursing as his warm cum coated your walls. Landing into the silk pillows face first as your arms went, Hobie plucked a plug from your nightstand, making sure you wouldn’t waste his cum. “Told you were mine, cut the bullshit labels and just be committed to one another.”  He pulled you onto his chest as he drew circles onto your bare back. Hobie noticed a picture frame of you and Eric, smiling and he was kissing your cheek, webbing it to a random wall. He could finally be at ease, knowing that limp dick wasn’t going to be around for much longer.

#hobie brown x black!reader #hobie brown smut

[leggerefiore]

cw: twin wardens au, pla ingo, poly (ingo/reader, emmet/reader), fluff mostly,

ughhh debating writing more here but idk where to go with it

---

It was astonishing how they never realised they were twins.

Certainly, their amnesia was at play for their lack of memories and understanding of their past lives, and you understood that completely. Naturally, they had ended up separated, too, when they had landed it the wilds of Hisui. Emmet taken in by the Diamond Clan and Ingo taken by the Pearl Clan. The care shown for both of them by essentially strangers was endearing, and definitely was how they ended up recovering from falling out of the sky as well as they did. This did, however, mean they were completely unaware of each other's existences before they took over their positions as Wardens in the highlands.

Emmet at first believed they should be rivals, knowing that while the tensions were low between the clans, there was a chance that this person could be a bad actor. Ingo simply wished to have a professional politeness with his neighbour. Needless to say, they were both absolutely shocked when they had finally encountered one another. It was like gazing into an oddly twisted mirror and seeing an alternate version of yourself rather than a simple reflection. Emmet became paranoid that Ingo had copied him, but the Pearl Clan Warden easily explained that he was stunned by their similarities, too.

They quickly found themselves spending most of their time together up in the highlands when they were away from their duties as Wardens. Even moving in together to help manage their food resources and guard themselves from the harsh wilds. Emmet's odd spider pokemon that had refused to leave his side since he was found had grown and evolved into another pokemon that proved itself useful for obtaining silk for fabrics of various use. Both seemingly found the electric type quite a familiar thing, but neither knew just what to call it.

Their respective clans had found their closeness a bit odd at first, yet easily accepted it as it proved beneficial to everyone.

You still were stunned after meeting them both that neither had come to the conclusion that they were brothers. Ingo had simply introduced Emmet as a fellow Warden, and Emmet solely referred to Ingo by his name, not a single 'brother' called out by him. It was odd, especially as you had known them before your time in Hisui. They were extremely close back in Unova, completely inseparable. It must have been obvious to them here, too, but for whatever reason it had simply never occurred to them.

The time for asking questions came as Ingo led you through a cave in the highlands. You hung close to his side as he claimed that it was difficult to navigate and becoming 'uncoupled' was not allowed. You giggled at his word choice. A cruel irony, as you technically had been separated from your relationship with him due to his memory issues. Still, just being around him helped relieve a lot of the stress you had been going through in Hisui. Both he and Emmet had certainly gone through similar situations to you. Though, their memory loss had likely made adjusting easier.

“So… How close are you with Emmet?” you asked, finally breaking the silence in a meaningful way, “You two seem like brothers.” The time to tell them about your situation simply had not come yet. The idea of suddenly bursting out that you knew everything about them just felt wrong. It would cause them much unneeded stress, and they seemed perfectly fine the way they are.

“Well, we have taken to sharing a residence for safety reasons,” he replied, “Emmet seems like a nice fellow. A bit too playful at times, but he takes his duties as a Warden quite serious. I respect him.” You nodded along. That almost sounded like how he would describe Emmet back home to strangers. Even calling him a fellow rather than his brother.

“Ah, well, you two looked like brothers to me,” you smiled at him, “You two are identical, you know.” He stopped for a moment and looked around the rocky walls of the darkened cave. It seemed that thought had occurred to him already, but he had chosen not to pursue that line of thinking for whatever reason. You wandered in front of him to look him in the eyes.

“... Is that so? Well, I suppose I do feel like I have known him for a while,” he stated and brought a hand to stroke his goatee, “I wonder which one of us was the older sibling in that case.” You wanted to laugh at his words. The thought of Ingo even viewing Emmet as the older one seemed like an impossible thought back in Unova. Of course, it was impossible to tell with them without prior knowledge.

“I'd say you,” you hummed, “You seem like an older brother.” Ingo once more nodded at your words and began walking once more. You followed alongside him, just as you had before, now wondering what was racing through his head. His guided trip ended, and you separated for now. It was strangely lonely leaving his side once more to face the wilds on your own.

~

After the Noble pokemon Electrode had been calmed, you crashed outside the arena with a feeling of electric surging still racing through your veins. Somehow, he had felt more threatening than the other three nobles had been. Even Arcanine did not hold a flame to the way Electrode seemingly went after you. You needed to rest for a moment, so you ignored the concerned questions of both Laventon, Adaman, and Emmet.

In your moment of just zoning out, you felt something being softly taken out of your bones. The electrifying feeling finally fading after so long. You turned your head to see an unexpected ally. “Galvantula,” you cooed of the pokemon, who stared at you with their big, adoring six eyes. You patted your lap, and the spider immediately crawled on and just purred. It seemed the other two men had since gone, too, leaving you alone with Emmet. The Warden sat down beside you with wide eyes as the spider nuzzled into your pets.

“... You know us, don't you?” Emmet asked with a tilt of his head, “He has been verrrry protective of me since I first woke up.” You smiled at the familiar feeling. If you closed your eyes, you could pretend to be back home on your couch, just spending time with Galvantula and the younger twin. “You also told Ingo we seemed like brothers,” he continued, “He said you told him he seemed like an older brother.” It appeared the twins had already gossiped amongst themselves. There was rarely anything kept from between them.

“You both look older, you know,” you leaned your head onto his shoulder, “Still identical, though. You two really are twins.” Emmet hummed at your words. A sigh came from you when he placed a hand on your head and softly massaged your scalp. “Yeah, I knew you two,” you answered him properly, “We… We were dating.” It felt bad going against your words, but you decided not to provide them any information that they did not ask for.

“Heehee, I told him that,” Emmet's voice was light and teasing, “Ingo did not believe me when I said you looked at him with pure love.” Your cheeks grew warm at your words. Irida had mentioned your gaze, too. Apparently, your expressions were obvious to everyone but Ingo. “So was it my brother and me you were dating?” he questioned again.

“Both,” you told him. His fingers froze.

“Wooow,” that information had actually caught him off guard, “Couldn't choose?” You wanted to lightly hit his shoulder.

“I'll pick Ingo, then,” you threatened him playfully. He feigned terror.

“Mmm, nope!” he cooed and nuzzled his cheek against your head, “Me.” You laughed.

~

You stared at the Warden blocking your exit from the cabin with heavy annoyance. Ingo did little to make his brother move, too, which worsened your mood.

While Ingo had seemed mostly indifferent to your exploration for the plates with Volo, Emmet had taken up an opposing position. He had been entirely against it. Something about the blond set off the younger twin to a point where he stood quite literally blocking your only way out to meet him. You had decided to stay with the twins after returning from your banishment from Jubilife simply because the tensions of living there had become too much to bear, but you were currently regretting that decision.

“Emmet,” you sternly spoke, “Volo and I are searching for something of great importance. If it works, I think we may have a way to go home.” Arceus... It was a word neither you nor the blond had said, but completely understood the legendary pokemon to be the final goal. Arceus had been who brought you here, so it was easy to assume that it would too be your way back home. This was your plan to return both you and the twins to modern Unova. Of course, this was currently at a pause.

“He is not trustworthy,” Emmet shook his head, “He's a liar.” Liar? Interesting choice of words, but you supposed he did always prefer honesty. Volo, however, had never really lied to you. He seemed like a kind and helpful person. Even being the only one to reach out to you during your banishment.

“Is this jealousy, Em? I understand if you're uncomfortable with me being alone with another man, but I have my reasons,” you tried to explain, but the younger twin only seemed more frustrated with everything. Ingo finally gazed up from the stew he was stirring at you both.

“Perhaps Emmet could go with you?” he offered, “I imagine it would make everything more bearable.” You sighed but agreed. Emmet being there would be helpful for any dangerous situations, and it would help mitigate his worries. The Diamond Clan Warden hummed for a moment before nodding.

Hopefully, Volo would not mind your new addition.

#ingo x reader #emmet x reader #ingo/reader #emmet/reader #pokemon x reader #ingo x reader x emmet

[itsaninfestation]

🎭

Kylee woke up.

She had never awoken in a prefect sitting position before, but she supposed she had little choice in the matter when her hand and securely taped to the back of her dining chair.

Her head throbbed. She wanted to curse in pain, but the motion only revealed that her mouth was also duct taped.

"Well, good morning sleepy head! Or should I say, good evening? It's, like, 6pm." The voice was peppy and bright with a haunting hint of familiarity that sent chills up her spine.

Her vision was blurred from her skewed glasses made it difficult to properly see the brightly colored figure that approached her. The stranger chuckled and adjusted them for her.

The first thing Kylee noticed was the amber eyes that stared back at her through their own cat eye frames. The same eyes she saw in the mirror every morning.

Kylee let out a muffled cry of confusion. She could taste the adhesive on her lips.

"I know, weird, right?" The woman giggled as she pulled up the matching dining chair. She sat down with poise, ensuring that her pencil skirt did not wrinkle. "I was particularly confused when I arrived here. I wasn't supposed to dimension hop here. I was supposed to end up in a world where we don't exist, but c’est la vie."

The woman pauses a moment, looking upset, but that is quickly replaced with the same canned smile.

"Yes. I did say 'we', because we are the same person in a sense," she huffed and waved a manicured hand. He bright yellow nails flickered in the light. "Though I'm sure you know a thing or two about alternate dimensions since you keep close tabs on the X-Men of this world. So, we can simply say that I'm just a better version of you and just move on."

She did look like Kylee; if Kylee decided to bleach her hair blonde and wear the gaudiest clothes imaginable (she hated cheetah print)! The woman was every bad esthetic that she would have never picked. A twisted, colorful version of herself.

Emphasis on the 'twisted'; who the hell kidnapped a version of themselves instead of having a normal adult conversation?

(Scratch that; she could think of at least one.)

Kylee wanted to protest; she wriggled conformably as she tried to mumble through the tape.

"...No, I'm not going to un-tape your mouth; I'm not an idiot. I just establish that I'm you. That includes powers. Powers that you never truly tapped into; I might add."

Kylee cocked her head.

This time that alter-Kylee smiled a genuine, terrifying smile that showcased her large front teeth.

"'Bugging' people is only the bare basics of what we can do," shed slid her chair closer to Kylee -- close to the point of uncomfortable. "Did you know we infiltrate a human body; that we can taint their soul with a piece of our own and bring out their worst insecurities? I can even tap into my little beauties while they are separated from me. I can use them to manipulate a person's body. A person's mind, like the psychics we both hate."

She laughed a truly joyous laugh.

"The Betsy Braddock of my world learned very quickly that there is more than one way to get into someone's mind. She may have had control of the metaphysical, but she could not touch the literal bug crawling inside her brain... She will never read minds again."

"Don't worry, I won't kill you or make you braindead."

Alter-Kylee's voice echoed through her head. Her head pounded with each word.

"I actually would like to be your friend! You can even think of me as a twin sister if you want; I'd like that!"

"I'd hate for things to go south between us. That's why I had to show you who the superior Kylee was first, to prevent any unnecessary squabble.

Fuck, in another world she was a psychopath.

"Psychopath is a bit of a strong word. No, I'm not insane. I'm just ...assertive."

The woman gently danced her fingers on the tape that covered Kylee's mouth.

"What do you say, sis?"

#rp prompts #ask me anything #positivelybeastly #I couldn't help but make her own Dark Beast #especially since you asked

[reading-wanderer]

A Compendium of Magical Artifacts

Chapter 33: The Ephemeral Glass

Prompt: Future

AO3 Link

[Its almost the last page in the book, but you finally find the entry the other ones were referencing.]

Name: The Mirror of Potential Fate, The Ephemeral Glass

Description: Despite the name, the item large pond-sized pane of glass embedded into the floor rather than a traditional mirror. It is surrounded by cracked stone that appears to have once been an expansive mosaic. The mirror itself is unblemished and smooth. It looks like a dark pond when not in use, but lights up with a subtle glow when approached. The surface is solid when touched and there is no telling how thick the glass actually is.

Known Abilities: As the name describes, the mirror shows the person who touched it an image of what their future holds if they continue on their current trajectory. This image is in no way set in stone, as I noted with my own viewing, but can change a dependent on one’s thoughts and intentions.

Location: I found this item in a lair that appeared in the middle of the Twisted Caverns, the sector that bridges the area between my portal and Academics’ Row.

Notes: Despite having passed through this area of the Twisted Caverns hundreds of not thousands of times in the past two decades, I have never seen a hint of this lair’s existence before today. Lairs are known to move in their own circuits dependent on their sector and the movements of other lairs, but one as old and sizable as this one should not have appeared from nowhere. It was in shambles, though the remnants tell of an open, colorful tower full of light. The mirror was on one of the middle floors though, based on the size and furniture int he area, it was likely the ‘main’ floor. There was no description on the item itself. Rather, there were some books and notes in a side room just off the one holding the mirror. They were practically illegible for the most part, but I was able to piece enough of the information together to have a rough idea of how it worked and it’s name.

When I approached the mirror, the edges lit up with a soft, multicolored light while the center darkened to a point that it almost appeared as a window into the deepest depths of an ocean or a cavern in the earth. Still, I kneeled next to the edge and placed my hand on the glass. It was oddly warm, almost alive in a way, but much more solid than it looked. The whole glass lit up in light much brighter than before and then, an image resolved in front of me.

I could see myself, out in space approaching a large green, glowing asteroid. The image of me attempted to touch it, only to flinch back and away. There was no sound, but it was not difficult to realize that the asteroid had harmed that version of myself in some way. As that me turned, so did the view. I could see Jack inside some kind of space ship version of their Infinite Realms exploration vehicle. There was some kind of dialogue between the image of me and him and then he turned around and left me the image of me in space. I could see the ship getting further and further away and, with it, the other me’s chances of returning to earth. It is not quite possible to describe the mix of rage and distress that the image gave me. To be left in the vacuum with no chance of return or mercy? It was a fate worse than most I could imagine.

And according to the mirror, it was what would happen if I remained in my current trajectory. It was, and is, an unacceptable outcome for me. I refuse. It is not possible to truly remove a ghost’s obsession, but I have survived this long carrying the burden of it unfulfilled, I will continue to survive. I acknowledged that perhaps in the future, once Maddie has inevitability passed and become a ghost, I could try again. As it stood, I would not have even that hope should I continue my time in Jack’s vicinity.

Almost as soon as the thoughts had run through my head, the image in front of me changed. I could see myself in my home, laughing at something and… smiling. Genuinely. In a way I haven’t been able to in a long, long time. I was not able to see who or what had caused that but. I want it. It’sThere is not much I wouldn’t do to achieve that level of contentedness in my life. That, even more so than the image of myself being trapped in space cemented my resolve. I will leave Amity and return to Wisconsin as soon as possible. I may not know what caused the asteroid or the second abandonment, but it seems that putting distance between myself and Jack will be key to my continued well being. I will also be putting more funding towards my company’s space division, just in case such a thing becomes a larger issue.

I think It seems I don’t I will resign from my position as mayor once I complete this entry. My Wisconsin home has been rebuilt since I’ve been here, so that won’t be an issue. I will just have to find something to occupy my time in the interim between putting in my resignation and returning home.

[You close the book, not quite sure what to think. The author had a company, a castle, and worked as a mayor apparently. That isn’t nothing. In fact that would usually generate at least a couple news stories, you’re sure. You feel like you should be able to figure out who this person is, but nothing rings a bell beyond the vague feeling of familiarity. The rest of the entry, the mirror’s images and all that?, you aren’t sure how to feel about that. It seems really sad, especially when you know that their home is destroyed and their stuff scattered. You can’t help but wonder, as you stash the book and your notebook away once more and get ready for bed, if they had ever managed to reach that happy point they saw in the mirror.]

#ectoberhaunt22 #EH Chaos #Day 24 #Future #reader writes a thing #danny phantom

[camilo-makesyousmile]

Camilo Carlos Castillo Madrigal – Character Sheet

my mama told me when i was young, "we are all born superstars" / she rolled my hair and put my lipstick on in the glass of her boudoir / "there's nothing wrong with loving who you are" / she said, "'cause he made you perfect, babe / so hold your head up, girl, and you'll go far"

Archetype — The Joker Birthday — December 28, 1998 Zodiac Sign — Rising Libra, Capricorn Sun, Virgo Moon MBTI — ENFP Enneagram — Type 7: the Enthusiast  Temperament — Sanguine Moral Alignment — Chaotic Good Primary Vice — Sloth Primary Virtue — Patience Element — Air

Overview

Mother — Josefina Carolina Madrigal-Castillo  Father — Félix Diego Madrigal-Castillo Mother’s Occupation — Assistant to the mayor Father’s Occupation — Nurse Family Finances — Middle ground? Not rich, not broke lol  Birth Order — Middle! Brothers —  Antonio [middle name] Castillo Madrigal Sisters — Dolores Adalia Castillo Madrigal Other Close Family — the Madrigals, im not listing them all Best Friend — TBD Other Friends — TBD Enemies — TBD Pets — all of Antonio’s friends Home Life During Childhood — Idyllic, loving family, beautiful house, beautiful town--happy and fulfilling childhood surrounded by love <;3 Town or City Name(s) — Encanto, Isle de Silvia, Avalor; Swynlake, England What Did His or Her Bedroom Look Like — It’s always been the same! Camilo’s bedroom in Casita is a massive auditorium with many fun house mirrors. His bed is actually “backstage” so to speak and difficult to get to if you don’t know how. (It’s a Metaphor for him hiding behind all his different faces.) It has excellent acoustics and when he was little, especially, he used to invite everyone into his theater to see him perform.  Any Sports or Clubs — Theater! Also, he’ll play some football but mostly casually.  Favorite Toy or Game — Charades, ofc.  Schooling — Primary in Avalor, was 16 when they came to Swynlake so he went to secondary in the UK; did not go to college Favorite Subject — Theater lol Popular or Loner — POPULAR! Important Experiences or Events — Getting his gift, Mirabel not getting hers, Antonio getting his (Cami was PRESSED), Avalor…  Nationality — Avalorian-Colombian Culture — Avalorian-Colombian Religion and beliefs — Catholic, tho they have a loosey goosey version of the Bible they follow lol

Physical Appearance

Face Claim — N/A Complexion — Brown skin with freckles on nose/cheeks, some pimples, but not a lot; very little facial hair, etc.  Hair Colour — Dark brown afro with some red highlights in the sun Eye Colour — Hazel Height — 5’7 Build — Wiry, but short Tattoos — Probably a few? I gotta think more about this Piercings — Nose and ears Common Hairstyle — A nice proper fro that they sometimes twist Clothing Style — Queer lol Mannerisms — Big and expressive!! Usual Expression — Smiling!

Health

Overall (do they get sick easily)? — Nah and if they do, tia Julieta got them! Physical Ailments — None Neurological Conditions — Kleptomania Allergies — None Grooming Habits — Stays pretty well groomed tbh. Loves a face mask and manicure. Sleeping Habits — Sleeps a lot bc of his powers -- will fall asleep anywhere. Eating Habits — Eats anything. At all times is snacking on something.  Exercise Habits — Doesn’t exercise a whole lot, at least not purposefully Emotional Stability — Pretty good tbh, Camilo is pretty even-keeled Body Temperature — This is always the weirdest question why is this here? NORMAL Sociability —  Extremely sociable and good with people Addictions — Stealing things, maybe a lil alcohol dependency Drug Use — None  Alcohol Use — Too much probably

Your Character’s Character 

Bad Habits — Not caring enough about things, saying whatever is on their mind, no matter the cost lol Good Habits — Always a friendly face and a good listener, tbh  Best Characteristic — Being funny and charming Worst Characteristic — Too unattached Worst Memory — Fleeing Avalor Best Memory — Getting their gift! Proud of — Their family! Embarrassed by — Their family!  Driving Style — Do not let them behind a wheel, too irresponsible Strong Points — Fun, carefree, easily excitable, loyal (these are the traits of a dog)  Weakness — Being serious about stuff Fears — Something happening to his family Phobias — None…?  Secrets — Their stealing… Regrets — NOTHING BABY! (lies) Feels Vulnerable When — People try and make them be serious.  Pet Peeves — People trying to make them be serious.  Conflicts — Caring about their family v wanting to do their own thing Motivation — Do it for the bit!!  Short Term Goals and Hopes — Doesn’t really have any…  Long Term Goals and Hopes — Also doesn’t really have any… Sexuality — Queer Day or Night Person — Night  Introvert or Extrovert — Extrovert Optimist or Pessimist — Nihilist?  Greatest Want — To make everyone have as good a time as they are 🧡 Greatest Need — To maybe take things a lil more seriously

#character sheet #about #inspiration

[azurespica]

NF - HOPE

Hope Yeah, I'm on my way, I'm coming Don't, don't lose faith in me I know you've been waitin' I know you've been prayin' for my soul Hope, hope

Thirty years you been draggin' your feet Tellin' me I'm the reason we're stagnant Thirty years you've been claiming you're honest And promising progress, well, where's it at? I don't want you to feel like a failure (failure) I know this hurts But I gave you your chance to deliver (deliver) Now it's my turn Don't get me wrong, Nate, you've had a great run But it's time to give the people somethin' different So without further ado, I'd Like to introduce my (My album, my album, my album, my album, my album, my album, my album) Hope What's my definition of success? (Of success) Listening to what your heart says (your heart says) Standing up for what you know is (is) Right, while everybody else is (is) Tucking their tail between their legs (okay) What's my definition of success? (Of success) Creating something no one else can (else can) Being brave enough to dream big (big) Grindin' when you're told to just quit (quit) Giving more when you got nothin' left (left) It's a person that'll take a chance on Something they were told could never happen It's a person that can see the bright side through the dark times when there ain't one It's when someone who ain't never had nothin' Ain't afraid to walk away from more profit 'Cause they'd rather do somethin' that they really love and take the pay cut It's a person that would never waver Or change who they are Just to try and gain some credibility So they could feel accepted by a stranger It's a person that can take the failures in their life and turn them into motivation It's believing in yourself when no one else does, it's amazing

What a little bit of faith can do if you don't even believe in you Why would you think or expect anybody else that's around you to? I done did things that I regret I done said things I can't take back Was a lost soul at a crossroad who had no hope but I changed that I spent years of my life holdin' on to things I never should've kept, full of hatred Years of my life carryin' a lot of baggage that I should've walked away from Years of my life wishin' I was someone different, lookin' for some validation Years of my life tryna fill the void, pretending I was in They get it

Growing pain's a necessary evil Difficult to go through, yes, but beneficial Some would say having a mental breakdown is a negative thing Which on one hand, I agree with On the other hand, it was the push I needed To get help and start the healing process, see If I'd have never hit rock bottom Would I be the person that I am today? I don't believe so I'm a prime example of what happens when you choose to not accept defeat and face your demons Took me thirty years to realize that if you want to get the opportunity To be the greatest version of yourself Sometimes you got to be someone you're not to hear the voice of reason Having kids will make you really take a step back and look in the mirror At least for me that's what it did, I

Wake up every day and pick my son up, hold him in my arms And let him know he's loved (loved) Standing by the window questioning if dad is ever going to show up (up) Isn't something he's gon' have to worry about Don't get it twisted, that wasn't a shot Mama, I forgive you I just don't want him to grow up thinkin' that he'll never be enough Thirty years of running, thirty years of searching Thirty years of hurting, thirty years of pain Thirty years of fearful, thirty years of anger Thirty years of empty, thirty years of shame Thirty years of broken, thirty years of anguish Thirty years of hopeless, thirty years of (hey) Thirty years of never, thirty years of maybe Thirty years of later, thirty years of fake Thirty years of hollow, thirty years of sorrow Thirty years of darkness, thirty years of (Nate) Thirty years of baggage, thirty years of sadness Thirty years of stagnant, thirty years of chains Thirty years of anxious, thirty years of suffering Thirty years of torment, thirty years of (wait) Thirty years of bitter, thirty years of lonely Thirty years of pushing everyone away (You'll never evolve) I know I can change (We are not enough) we are not the same (You don't have the heart) you don't have the strength (You don't have the will) you don't have the faith (You'll never be loved) you'll never be safe (Might as well give up) not running away (You don't have the guts) you're the one afraid I'm the one in charge I'm taking the (no) I'm taking the Reigns

#song of the day #this is insane #Youtube

[audiophiliacfan]

Hope I'm on my way, I'm coming Don't, don't lose faith in me I know you've been waitin' I know you've been prayin' for my soul Hope, hope Thirty years you been draggin' your feet Tellin' me I'm the reason we're stagnant Thirty years you've been claimin' your rightness And promisin' progress, but where's it at? I don't want you to feel like a failure (Failure) I know this hurts (Hurts) But I gave you your chance to deliver Now it's my turn Don't get me wrong, Nate you've had a great run But it's time to give the people somethin' different So without further ado, I'd like to introduce my My album, my album, my album, my album, my album, my album Hope What's my definition of success? Listening to what your heart says Standing up for what you know is Right, while everybody else is Tucking their tail between their legs (Okay) What's my definition of success? Creating something no one else can Bein' brave enough to dream big Grindin' when you're told to just quit Givin' more when you got nothin' left It's a person that'll take a chance on Somethin' they were told could never happen It's a person that can see the bright side through the dark times when there ain't one It's when someone who ain't never had nothin' Ain't afraid to walk away from more profit 'Cause they'd rather do somethin' that they really love and take the paycut It's a person that would never waiver Or change who they are Just to try and gain some credibility So they could feel accepted by a stranger It's a person that can take the failures in their life and turn them into motivation It's believing in yourself when no one else does, it's amazing What a little bit of faith can do if you don't even believe in you Why would you think or expect anybody else that's around you to? I done did things that I regret I done said things I can't take back Was a lost soul at a cross road who had no hope but I changed that I spent years of my life holdin' on to things I never should've kept, full of hatred Years of my life carryin' a lot of baggage that I should've walked away from Years of my life wishin' I was someone different, lookin' for some validation Years of my life tryna fill the void, pretending I was in— They get it Growing pain's a necessary evil Difficult to go through, yes, but beneficial Some would say having a mental breakdown is a negative thing which on one hand I agree with On the other hand, it was the push I needed to get help and start the healing process, see If I'd have never hit rock bottom Would I be the person that I am today? I don't believe so I'm a prime example of what happens when you choose to not accept defeat and face your demons Took me thirty years to realize that if you want to get the opportunity to be the greatest version of yourself Sometimes you got to be someone you're not to hear the voice of reason Having kids will make you really take a step back and look in the mirror At least for me that's what it did, I Wake up every day and pick my son up Hold him in my arms And let him know he's loved (Loved) Standing by the window questioning if dad is ever going to show up (Up) Isn't something he's goin' to have to worry about Don't get it twisted, that wasn't a shot Mama I forgive you I just don't want him to grow up thinkin' that he'll never be enough Thirty years of running, thirty years of searching Thirty years of hurting, thirty years of pain Thirty years of fearful, thirty years of anger Thirty years of empty, thirty years of shame Thirty years of broken, thirty years of anguish Thirty years of hopeless, thirty years of (hey) Thirty years of never, thirty years of maybe Thirty years of later, thirty years of fake Thirty years of hollow, thirty years of sorrow Thirty years of darkness, thirty years of (Nate) Thirty years of baggage, thirty years of sadness Thirty years of stagnant, thirty years of chains Thirty years of anxious, thirty years of suffering Thirty years of torment, thirty years of (wait) Thirty years of bitter, thirty years of lonely Thirty years of pushing everyone away You'll never evolve, I know I can change We are not enough, we are not the same You don't have the heart, you don't have the strength You don't have the will, you don't have the faith You'll never be loved, you'll never be safe Might as well give up, not running away You don't have the guts, you're the one afraid I'm the one in charge I'm taking the— (No) I'm taking the Reins

#Spotify #Lyrics #Song #Music #NF #Hope

[aramoredanil]

'You are drowning yourself in work so that you can justify ignoring your own feelings.' As true as that was, they didn't have to point it out. Though, suppose, Eleyn had asked them to be blunt.

'You need to take a look at yourself in a mirror.' So here she was. Standing before the mirror in her shared bathroom. Dressed in nothing more than an oversized shirt that clearly wasn't hers. No matter her shapeliness, you couldn't beat a seven-foot behemoth of an elf. Distractions, her thoughts had wandered already, distractions... Look back in the mirror Eleyn. Mismatched eyes met the ones reflected back at her. Why did her ears wilt in shame?

"Do they know you didn't feel anything?" A voice asked in her head. Her attention on herself in her reflection wavered. It never used to be this difficult. "When you shot that woman in the head? A friend you cared deeply about? Someone you had known for nearly three years? She was one of your first employees, if you remember, and you shot her without feeling a thing." Eleyn, didn't respond.

Why was this so difficult? How long has she went without facing herself, fully, truly like this?

'You are not selfish.' Yet, wasn't she? What defined selfishness? 'You are not a monster.' She felt nothing. This wasn't the first time she felt nothing. It had been years she's been shooting those guns. Couldn't remember a time where she had missed. How many heads had gone the way they had? How many? Turning her wavered expression up towards the mirror again, she felt her body shift its weight with the adjustment of her pose. One leg crossed over the other. Her left hip rolled out to the side. Slowly, her left hand rose. Spellwork slow to be done along the front of the mirror. Weaving a visual enchantment that brought back an appearance of herself that she had long since replaced with this skewed and twisted version of elven blood. In this illusion, her eyes were a misty green. Mint-toned and glowing. Not a patch or imperfection was seen on her tanned blushing cheeks. Past the freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Easily hidden with makeup if desired. Though most found them charming. Her hair was shorter here. Holding loose ringlet curls and waves down just past her shoulders. Her smile was unfaltering. No metal or fang was seen anywhere on her teeth. Her elven beauty, more and forged to be of noble heirs, shone back at her in remembrance. Yet her eyes...now the same tone and color as one another...remained. Empty. No matter how much mana she shoved into the spell. Empty they were. No life was seen behind them. Just as she feared they appeared now. 'Acknowledge those feelings, but do not let them fester within you, that will only continue to feed the feelings of helplessness and loneliness.'

Her arm came upwards quickly. So quick she hadn't even noticed the movement until her fist was an inch in front of the mirrors surface. A blink. Another. Her eyes wandered down across her arm. The wrappings weren't for her sake. Not really, not anymore. she had always healed quickly. They were for others, you see. She didn't want them to worry.

Magic comes with a price. Always does, always will, and this time the price of such a spell had been clear.

It was a powerful tether that pulled an even more powerful being out of its host. That was a spell and a will that did not go without sacrifice. All across her right arm were not only bruises. Black and purple as deep as her patches. But cracks of magic she didn't understand. White and black. Like void and soul. Now spanned all the way up to her shoulder, where it all disappeared into her body.

She knew how it looked. How those around her would worry.

"You're such a problem Eleyn. Such a burden to those you keep around. Wouldn't it just be easier to push them away? Tell them to go? Where they can live happily without you. With the people they are supposed to be with. You're just a distraction. A nothingness in their wider story."

Her hand slammed back down against the sink. Along with her attention returning downwards. No tears were felt stinging in the back of her eyes. No emotion felt in her chest past that forced emptiness that hid all else from even her.

Come on Eleyn, break. BREAK! Her hands slammed over the sink. Don't go numb Eleyn, break. Please. Feel something other than this empty loneliness. Like your veins had been filled with ice. Lungs full of ice water. She could not breathe. She could not think. All she felt was cold.

BREAK!

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

I want to talk about mob traits and archetype au is some of it so let's gooo

Sam liked creeper, even with their explosive function, but the little patches of green growing on him every day he goes to the prison worries him, and one time he caught himself hissing to Puffy, his best hypothesis? The stress is making his genes appear, but still, the urge to hurt, kill and explode his friends isn't the best.

While building and struggling and being motivated by spite in general, Niki didn't notice the purple particles coming out of her, or the enderman not being so aggressive as before, but Jack notices when her skin started to become black, and worried both, but there isn't one legit doctor in the server to go and see what was happening, Tommy almost didn't recognize her with the point black ears and pink hair, but he still followed her to the forest to get the wood Sam nook wanted. And when she got out of her little city and gone to the north and cold, she was almost as tall as Ranboo, her sking completed black and her eyes glowing a faint blue inatural of enderman that she looked so alike now.

Bad smiled, they with help of Ant were cheking the preparations of their little... event, the cat was checking in their resources when suddenly something hit Bad.

"Ant, have you always been a cat?"

"Huh?... I think so, I don't remember being anything else... and you Bad, have you always been like that?"

Turning, Bad send a questioning look to where he could see the antropomorfic cat back.

"Like what Ant?"

"...I don't know, demon like? With horns and void skin you know?"

"...huh, I never noticed it."

"Well, you were the one to ask it!"

"Okay okay, we have to check some stuff up still"

...but still, Bad thought, why i didn't remember this?(before this, they would joke about how demonic and nether like Bad was all time, before he was taller too, just enough to fit the fostress corridors and dark enough to blend in with the withers, but now none remembers that time)

Karl had another nightmare, this time not of the past, but the grim future he saw one time and it must be already changed by the way things are going, he was again feeling disconnected, so he goes to the bathroom to wash up his face and leave the nightmare behind, and soon as water touch his hands he feels calmer already. With a towel he drys his face and looks at the mirror above the sink, not to find his usual reflection, but blocks of swirling and bright neon colors looking back at him, and at the same time it scares him, it is... nostalgic? Familiar? Why is it so familiar? And with a blink the neon colors are gone and forgotten from the time travelers memory, but the confusion still remained.(XD never liked the neon creature that appeared with Sapnap one day, so the moment he could, he twisted and changed and modified it until it looked right to him and send him back to the server, but if changing appearances is difficult, cutting ties with powers and other entities of creatures was almost impossible, so with white blocks and black roses, he made a place where the creature would be caught rest between his travelling adventures and not cause too much trouble for him... well, now he has to deal with versions getting stuck in the In between and not overcrowd the place)

Quackity was again, wiping away these dang yellow feather away from his prestigious cassino, and continues to swear that the day he gets his hand on the dang chicken or bird leaving them behind he will feast on it until he's full.(he never looked when scratching his back little feathers would fall or how when he moved much and his back was itching his shirt became more pulled)

Ghostbur hid beneath another ceiling, again somehow forgetting that rain melts him instead of... of what? He doesn't remember, and he doesn't want to walk on sun either, he will get hurt again and be more hungry with... with what? He doesn't remember. Ghostbur is becoming tired of not remembering important things but remembering unimportant things, he wants to find his family. But where...(but still, his grey sking was always itching in the bright sun and melting in the rain wasn't such a big thing, with how rapid he would recompose himself)

Phil again groaned, feeling his feet sore and again take of his boots to see what is going on but find nothing but still, the feeling of tiredness of his body was driving him nuts and with the murder screaming again about how he's old doesn't help in nothing, but at the back of his mind the feeling of wrongness did not grew, but become even more present with the tiredness of his body... maybe he should pull a Techno and hibernate for some time...(and maybe in his dreams, he will remember how with his big wings he could get such a impulse even from the ground, remember that this is his first time with complete human feet in his life and not a hybrid between a crow and a human feet)

Tubbo's horns were hurting again, but they stopped growing after he started building snowchester, so he has no clue what could be the cause, he washed and polished them but nothing was stuck in them, so most of the day he is just bumping his head against things and people, and his back is scratching all day too... whatever, he has better things to do.(than remembering that he too had wings to fly, but insect ones were always frail and easy to rip of, but they would normally grow back and he would be in the air again with his father and maybe Tommy if he really feeled like it, how he had things on his head but never fully horns, just little antenna to talk and waste time with his bee friends. Better than remembering how XD likes to tear down things and people apparently)

*cries softly at everything

Oh my god this? This is beautiful.

#dream smp #dream smp au #archetype au #awesamdude #captain puffy #nihachu #jack manifold #jack manifold tv #ranboo #badboyhalo #antfrost #karl jacobs #dreamxd #quackity #ghostbur #wilbur soot #philza #ph1lza #tubbo #ask #drabble #fanfiction #long post

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Melted Mask

awitchbravestheverge prompt: I don't know if you're still taking prompts but you are a master of hurt/comfort and would sell you my soul for some of that for Janus. Maybe where he's feeling insecure or like he's worn out his welcome post acceptance, or maybe a little touch starved, or both. Preferably with Virgil or Patton as the comforter, but if not thats ok. I just have a never-ending need for fic where people are soft and gentle with the snake boy, and I love everything you write with my whole heart

Thanks for the request, babe!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: DLAMPR, focus on anxceit and moceit, can be platonic or romantic you decide I don’t mind

Warnings: uhhh sympathetic deceit and remus

Word Count: 4804

 “How many masks of your own face are you currently wearing?”

 “At least four.”

Between the gloves, the cape, and the hat, there’s not an awful lot of Janus that is seen most of the time. Not that he particularly minds. There is a certain benefit that layers upon layers of clothing provides. One, they’re perfect for concealing his cane—the others always look so surprised when he summons it from nowhere. Two, he is Dark Side, thanks to Roman’s fantastic naming system. There is an aesthetic standard that must be met. What was he going to do, show up in some ratted old hoodie?

 Three, well—there is an awful lot to look at. If the others are focused on the clasps at his throat, the shock of the yellow gloves, the logo hidden under the black fabric, they’re not looking at him.

 If they were, they’d see his scales.

 He is the only side with a visible animal trait, after all. The scales cover the left side of his face, down beneath his collar. He doesn’t mind the stares—come on, it’s so easy to catch them off guard, how could he?—but sometimes he does wonder if they’ll ever get used to it.

  To him.

 The scales are a reminder. That he’s different. That he’s not like them. He’s not like the others, he doesn’t look like Thomas, at least not to the extent that they do. Thomas doesn’t have golden scales along the side of his face. Thomas doesn’t have a mouth that curves up along his cheek. Thomas doesn’t have a slit-eye pupil. No, no, Thomas is normal.

 How dreadful.

 Then, of course, there are the lies.

 ‘Deceit.’ Such a funny word. And so…polarizing.

 ‘Deceitful,’ ‘dishonest,’ ‘dastardly’—lot of ‘d’s, here, hmm?—all of the words that just mean he’s a liar. And lying must be bad, right? So it follows logically then, because we simply adore logic in this house, that he must be bad.

 He’s not to be trusted, he’s a liar. He’s not honest, he’s a liar. They have to double and triple-check everything he says because he’s a liar.

 They always conveniently seem to forget that you can always trust a dishonest person to be dishonest. It’s the truthful ones you have to watch out for.

 Janus knows he’s a liar. Frankly, he’s quite proud of it. He’s gotten very good at it too; twisting the words together just right in order to tug slightly at a heartstring there, block off just a little rationality there, get the job done. The others always get caught up in his words, too busy focusing on the minutia of it, the details, leaving him free to step around them and speak to Thomas.

 They see the gloves, they see the scales, they see the lies.

 They see the masks.

 Oh, sometimes he’ll put on a little bit more of a show if he needs to make a point, if the normal masks aren’t quite enough to get Thomas to listen. He’ll tie a hoodie around his shoulders, push a pair of glasses up his nose, knot a tie around his neck. Problem is…those ones are a little easier to see through. No matter how hard he tries, all of his disguises end up being a self-portrait.

 Which is how he ended up here.

 “You know the rules,” Patton says, his hands on his hips, “no impersonating others outside of filming!”

 Janus rolls his eyes and idly flicks a speck of dirt off one of his gloves. “Oh, please. You don’t want me to do it during filming either.”

 “No, I don’t, but we made a compromise, kiddo, now we both have to stick to it.”

 Janus raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m sure the others will be relieved to hear so.”

 “What have we said about impersonations?”

 He sighs. “The others may be idiots—“

 “Oi!”

 “—but idiots are also deserving of respect,” Janus finishes, glancing at Virgil draped over the back of the couch. “And I would never dream of being anything less than perfectly respectful.”

 Virgil snorts. “What do you even get out of it anyway?” He sits up a little straighter. “Wait, you haven’t been tricking Roman into telling you how to impersonate us better, have you?”

 “Now why would I do that?”

 “Janus!”

 “What? Like you don’t make a habit of going to the others for advice.”

 “There’s a difference between openly asking for it and tricking them into giving it to you.”

 Janus levels a stare at him. “I suppose there is, isn’t there?”

 “Hey!” Patton steps between them. “That’s enough.”

 “Oh, well—“ Janus makes a show of resettling his cape—“if you say so.”

 Patton sighs. “Janus, we are trying, okay? You heard Thomas, you’re…well, you’re more welcome now.”

 “And you’re doing a marvelous job of that.”

 Patton doesn’t quite deflate, but it’s close. “Well, maybe we could all try a little harder.” He gives Janus a pointed look.

 “Yes, I’m sure my efforts will be richly rewarded.”

 “Well, you could start by showing up as yourself more often.”

 “Myself?” Janus gasps theatrically, putting a gloved hand to his scales. “Who’s that?”

 “Dude,” Virgil sniggers—Virgil did always appreciate his sense of humor—“how many masks of your own face are you currently wearing”

 “At least four.”

 Patton lets him go with another verbal slap on the wrist and Virgil flips him off. Janus sinks out, striding down the hallway near his room. It’s quieter here. The walls hum a little less. He can think.

 He hadn’t gone to Roman to gets tips on his acting. He’d gone because Roman doesn’t want to talk to Janus.

 Janus, the liar. Janus, the manipulator. Janus, the Dark Side.

 Janus shuts the door of his room and instinctively slumps, the cape hanging off his shoulders. He knows Patton means well, and Virgil’s…Virgil, but sometimes it stings a little more than it should. Not that the others will ever see it.

 He’ll never forget the look on Thomas’s face when Logan said he was the side that acts with the one priority of self-preservation. Of how it instantly demonized the idea of protecting yourself. Of Thomas keeping himself safe.

 He looks at his hands, sees the gloves. They still don’t fit quite right, even after all these years. He can’t get the seams to run down the sides of the fingers, not curve around to the front or the back. It really shouldn’t be this difficult. Especially considering how much use he’s gotten out of them.

 Lying kept Thomas alive. It kept him safe. He helped keep Thomas safe. When Virgil couldn’t breathe, when Logan faltered, when Patton froze, Janus would quietly make his way over to Roman and whisper a suggestion. Just a suggestion. To lie. To keep Thomas safe. To get them out of here. And it saved them. So many times.

 Janus walks over to the mirror. It’s a fairly modest thing; about the size of a small sink, oval, large enough so he can see himself completely if he takes a few steps back. He ignores his own face and reaches for the golden latch on the side. He turns it.

 The cabinet swings open to reveal a dark velvet interior with several small podiums. Each has a thin mask laid atop it. They gleam in the low light of the room. Janus reaches out and carefully makes sure each is perfectly centered. As he does so, his gloves linger on the fine print beneath the podiums.

 Everyone has masks. Versions of themselves to present to the world when they need to. A mask that keeps you safe, a mask that keeps you alive, a mask that has the courage to speak when you don’t. The mask they wear around their homophobic relatives, the mask they wear when they need to make a phone call, the mask they wear when they need to pretend they’re something they’re not.

 Janus is very, very good at making masks.

 He never wears these. These are for Thomas. When Thomas needs help, Janus slips one of these out of the cabinet and sets it on the desk in front of the mirror. He looks at it, then at the mirror, and works. These masks are what helps Thomas.

 He shuts the cabinet with a decisive click, suddenly confronted with his own face.

Janus is so good at making masks that he doesn’t even need a mask to wear one.

 A mask because you’re the bad guy. A mask because you can never be trusted. A mask because when you try to be vulnerable they won’t listen. A mask because they don’t want you, they want the character that you embody to survive.

 He pities the others sometimes. They don’t have these masks and they hurt. They can’t distance themselves, pull away just a little more, embody a role so that when it’s over, when they’re safe again, they can take it off and breathe. But they don’t. So they just get hurt. Over and over and over.

 Janus’s lips involuntarily curl up into a snarl. The hand on the mirror closes into a fist.

 They’re not supposed to get hurt. That’s not how this is supposed to work.

 He’s not supposed to hurt them.

 Part of him argues that he has to. If he keeps working the way he’s been working he can get right to Thomas, who is who needs the most protection. If he tries to do it their way they risk Thomas getting hurt and Janus won’t have that.

 Part of him whispers that this is good for them. If he can make them a little tougher, help them get thicker skin, they’ll be safer. And then it won’t matter if they hate him. They’ll be safe. That’s all he cares about.

 The rest of him—

 …well, the rest of him is currently the reason he’s having trouble looking in the mirror right now.

 The problem with wearing so many masks is that it becomes harder and harder to figure what’s the mask and what’s not. And he’s gotten so good at making them that now…now he doesn’t have to think about it.

 A mask for when Logan asks to debate about philosophy. A mask for when Remus wants him to help him and Roman make something new. A mask for when Patton wants to bake. A mask for when Virgil comes to him for help.

 A mask for all of them. A mask for none of them.

 Janus doesn’t want to wear the masks all the time. He wants them to be warm, to care, to smile when he comes into the room, or even ask where he is. He wants to laugh as Patton smears batter all over his nose accidentally. He wants to listen to Logan ramble about some new advancement in quantum gravity. He wants Virgil to come plop down next to him while everyone else is in the living room. He wants Remus to stay with him while they watch the others get into ridiculous fights over board games. He wants Roman to not be afraid to come talk to him.

 He wants.

 Janus is selfish.

 But he isn’t stupid.

 He knows they don’t want him. He knows they don’t want him, even without the masks. Deep down, he knows they don’t need him either.

 But Thomas does.

 So here Janus will stay, in the dark, in the cold, wearing too many masks of his own face to keep count.

—————————————————————

The Mindscape is cold. It never quite feels solid. Drafts blow in and out of the walls, through the little gaps in the floor, from places that Janus can’t find, no matter how many times he looks for them. He bundles himself up in his cloak and his hat and does his best to hold still, sink in as much warmth as he can. He sneaks up behind the others, pressing himself up near them, purring in their ears, just to snatch their body heat. They always shove him away with flustered protests and blushy little faces. They’re so adorable.

 Plus, he knows that’s all he’s ever really going to get from them.

 But he’s cold, goddamnit. Why do they keep the air conditioning so high in this house? Snakes are cold-blooded. They get slow. Lethargic. Hypothermic, if it gets very bad.

 Janus can’t afford to be slow.

 So he wears his gloves, his cape, his hat. He stands opposite the window so he can get the most sunlight. He finds the patches of warmth where none of the others will find him and he can curl up for the warmth he needs...

 …and fine, maybe it’s a little more than just being cold.

 The others are…touchy. Patton throws his arm around just about everyone. Bumps his hip against theirs. Pats their shoulders, squeezes their hands, kisses their cheeks. Roman sweeps people into his arms, pulls them in for hugs, keeps an arm around their waists for as long as he’s allowed. Remus can and will just tackle whoever he wants. Logan holds himself a little further away, but even he’ll lay a comforting hand on someone’s arm. Janus will admit he was shocked when Virgil started exhibiting spider characteristics. That Side is a cat and you will not convince him otherwise. And everyone knows if a cat falls asleep on you, you’re not allowed to move until it wakes up.

 Not that Virgil has fallen asleep on him recently.

 Janus is not too proud to admit that at first, he didn’t want their touches. He had a job to do, he didn’t need to be distracted. But now…now he does.

 He sees the way they move around each other and it stings. The accidental brushes he gets from standing too close or when they aren’t thinking about it sear through layers and layers of clothing to burn into his skin. When he stays close to them—close, but not too close—his whole side begins to tingle, reaching for them, their warmth, for them. But now it’s too late. His mask is already firmly in place and they know Deceit hates being touched.

 That’s another reason for the layers. For the gloves.

 Janus knows that if they ever touch him directly, skin to skin, his mask will shatter. And that is too dangerous to risk. With his gloves, his cape, his hat, his masks, the only way that would happen is if one of them tried to touch his face.

 And that is certainly very likely indeed.

 The clothes give him a barrier. A last line of defense. No touch is better than unexpected touch.

 But that doesn’t stop him from being cold.

 He can tell it’s going to happen when he can’t quite close his fingers around the end of his staff in the middle of their conversation. His gloves don’t catch on the wood quite right and he has to fumble to grab it properly. He glances up. No one’s looking at him.

  Are they ever?

 He tucks his hands smoothly out of sight, frantically burrowing them into his cloak to see if they’ll warm up. He locks his knees. No good. His fingers start to hurt as he flexes them. They’re still not moving faster. It’s cold.

 He glances at the clock. Two minutes. He can last two minutes. Or so he thinks, until his jaw starts to clench. He clenches it harder, ignoring the protest from his neck, his shoulders, trying to make it stop. He takes a deep slow breath and tries to relax, to stop his muscles from tensing. It works, barely.

 One minute.

 His hands aren’t responding properly. He can barely move his fingers. He just needs to get out of here. If he gets out of here he can get warm. He has his electric blanket, he has everything he needs. He just needs to leave.

 Thirty seconds.

 The conversation draws to a close and Janus nods deeply, tossing one last barb over his shoulder as he sinks out, only to collapse in the hallway as soon as he does. A draft flows out right next to his shoulder, freezing fingers dancing up his arm, along the back of his neck, diving into his collar to snatch more of his warmth. He curses, heaves himself to his feet, and makes it to his room. It’s so cold.

 Something tugs in his chest. No, no—!

 “I suppose there must be a good reason for summoning me back,” Janus drawls, snapping his gloves right back into place as he appears in the living room.

 Patton and Virgil stare back at him. Patton fidgets with his hands. “W-well, we, uh, I had a question for you.”

 Damn. “Well.” Janus spreads his arms, trying to play off how slow he’s moving for dramatic effect. “I’m here. Ask away.”

 “I, uh, a few days ago you mentioned that you didn’t feel as welcome here.” Patton looks at him with such an expression of sincerity that it makes Janus’s tongue itch. “And I wanted to know what I could do to help.”

 “Aren’t you sweet?”

 Patton won’t be deterred, it seems. He stares at Janus, resolute as ever. It’s so cold in here he’s going to start slurring in a moment.

 “Janus?”

 “That is my name, yes.”

 “Are you…are you feeling alright?”

 Janus gestures to himself, movements growing slower by the second. “I’m right here, aren’t I?”

 Slow. Too slow.

 Patton frowns. He gives him a look. “You don’t seem like you normally are, are you sure?”

 “I am entirely in one piece.”

 “That doesn’t answer my question.”

 “Honey, if you’re looking for a straight answer, I’m afraid you’re looking in the wrong place.”

 Virgil moves. Right, Virgil was here too. Janus is slow. Too slow. He can’t move. He can’t get away. His mask forms a bored expression on his face, quirking an eyebrow. Virgil approaches him and holds out a hand. A cold part of Janus’s chest leaps.

 The lips of the mask part. “And what exactly do you intend to do with that?”

 “This,” Virgil mutters, and cups the side of Janus’s face.

 Everything stops.

 Distantly, he feels Virgil’s hand leave his face. Hears something about being too cold. Sees a blur of blue rush away. But all he can focus on is—

  Warm. Virgil touched you. Warm. Warm. So warm. Keep the mask on. Don’t let the mask slip. Warm. If the mask slips everything will be ruined. Warm. Don’t you remember how to take the mask off? Virgil. Patton. Warm.

 “Janus? Janus!”

 Janus blinks. Virgil is still standing in front of him. There’s a little wrinkle between his brows. The mask is frozen in place, iced into a neutral expression.

 “Hey,” Virgil says quietly, “you’re freezing, bud. You gotta get warm.”

 Janus can’t speak. The mask is so cold.

 “You remember what happens when you get too cold,” Virgil continues, taking a step closer. Janus can’t move. Virgil’s frown deepens and he tilts his head. “What’s going on, Janus, you don’t normally let it get this bad.”

  Yes, Virgil, we’re aware.

 “You could’ve asked, dude,” Virgil says, taking another step closer, a little exasperation mingling with the concern, “any of us.”

 The mask smirks. Barely. “Yes, because I’m sure everyone would be so willing to cuddle me so I could steal their body heat.”

 “You don’t know that.” The mask doesn’t move. Virgil glances over his shoulder. When he speaks next, his voice is lowered to a whisper.

 “You don’t have to keep that on right now, Jan,” he says quietly, “it’s okay. It’s just me. I know you. You can…you know. Emote and stuff.”

 Janus huffs a laugh. It’s weak. 

 “You ever wear a mask so long you forget how to take it off?”

 Vigil pauses. “Huh?”

 “Ever pretended to be something for so long you forget which is real and which isn’t?” Janus’s smile turns sad. “Made yourself believe it too?”

 Virgil’s eyes close for a second. When he opens them, the concern in his gaze takes the last of the warm breath from Janus’s lungs. “Does this have anything to do with…?” He waves in Janus’s direction.

 Janus nods, slowly, so slowly. “I can’t. Because I’ve been…I’ve been trained out of it. I built my masks to hide behind. And now I can’t take them off.”

 “And we haven’t been good about helping you do that, huh.” He sounds so tired. He’s been through so much…

 “I’m…”

 The mask won’t let him apologize.

  Like they would ever accept it.

 “No, no,” Virgil says, “don’t apologize. You aren’t to blame for what you’ve been put through.”

  Oh, Virgil…

 Virgil glances over his shoulder. Then he shakes his head. “Just…look, go.”

 “What?”

 “I know this isn’t the time to talk about stuff. You’re not in any sort of shape to do that and Patton will understand. Go get warm.” He gives Janus a pointed look. “You take care of yourself first, okay?”

 He tries. He goes back to his room and buries himself in blankets, in pillows, in more layers than he can stand. The pressure is good but it’s still so cold. The weight of the electric blanket is nothing compared to the warmth of Virgil’s hand. Everything in here smells sterile, clinical, detached. It’s all so cold.

  You take care of yourself.

 The last sentence rings through his head late at night. He wants. But everyone’s probably asleep by now, and god knows they need to sleep. Surely it’ll be alright if he just goes to the living room? That’s not too far, right?

 There’s a fire going in the fireplace—since when did they have a fireplace? And there’s someone sitting on the couch. Hmm. Maybe if…if he’s quiet, if he doesn’t make too much noise, he can slip in and soak up some of the warmth. 

 Virgil turns around.

 “Hey, Janus,” he murmurs, standing, and comes over to him. “Can’t sleep?”

 Janus shakes his head. It’s warm in here, but he’s still cold. Virgil can see that, apparently.

 “Here,” he says, handing him a cup of tea that appeared out of thin air, “drink. It’ll warm you up.”

 Janus takes it cautiously. Isn’t it Virgil’s? There’s no way Virgil would’ve know Janus was coming…right?

 “This is my third one, figure I should let you catch up first.”

 He gestures to the couch, an encouraging smile on his lips.

 “Sit. C’mon”

 Janus does, sinking into the plush couch and cradling the warm mug in his hands. The couch groans as Virgil sits next to him. He can feel Virgil just out of reach, just there…

 “I like watching the fire,” comes a low voice from next to him as he sips the tea. “Helps me think. Or stop thinking.”

 He keeps talking in that low voice and the warm tea flows through Janus, sapping the cold slowly away from his body.

 Distantly, he feels someone steering him down onto the couch, and heavy arms around him.

 “Or maybe you just need a cuddle. Go to sleep, Janus.”

—————————————————————

 “ — stop twitching, Remus! You’ll make a mistake!”

 “Stop tugging his arm all over the place and then you won’t.”

 “Will you two pipe the fuck down? You’re gonna wake him up.”

 “Says the loudmouth!”

 “Roman, stop it.”

 “Stop moving his arm!”

 What is…? He’s lying on something. It’s warm, really warm. It smells like…coffee, makeup, and…cinnamon? He shifts slightly, and oh he slept on his neck wrong. A low groan escapes his throat.

 His pillow stiffens. “Shit. He’s awake.”

 “Good going, Remus.”

 “You were the one yelling!”

 “Shut the fuck up, both of you.” The chest underneath him vibrates. “Shh, snake-face, go back to sleep. You’re alright. Go back to sleep.”

 Janus shifts again, trying to look around, but he’s held down by another strong arm. A hand cards itself through his hair—where’s his hat? “Shh, be still, buddy, you’re okay. Can’t we get you back to sleep?”

 “What…’s going on?” His tongue feels heavy, swelling up in his mouth.

 “I believe the chances of getting him back to sleep will increase if you tell him what you’re doing.”

 It’s…Logan? He appears, fuzzy but definitely there, over the back of the couch. Janus tries to turn to make it easier to see him but his right arm is pinned and he can’t move—

 “Easy, J, easy, shh, shh, you’re okay, you’re safe, just keep your arm nice and still, okay?” Virgil, it’s Virgil he’s lying on, runs his hand through his hair again. “I’m pretty sure Roman would pitch a fit.”

 “Hah.” Roman snorts from somewhere close to the ground. “If this got ruined, yours would be too.”

 “If you hadn’t insisted on going last,” Remus says, “this wouldn’t’ve been an issue.”

 And then he feels it. Something is drawn sharply across his right wrist.

 “Shh, shh, Janus, breathe, breathe, you’re okay, damnit, Princey, stop! You’re making him freak out!”

 It’s gone, the contact is gone. His arm is still hanging over the edge of the couch but it’s held there by Virgil’s arm and another hand.

 “Hey there, Snakey.” Remus appears over Virgil’s shoulder. “You’re okay. We’re just making sure you’re okay.”

 Roman snorts. “There’s something wrong with how you phrased that.”

 Then suddenly Patton appears out of nowhere and doesn’t surprise him at all. Luckily, or unluckily, Janus is far too exhausted and disoriented to react more than rucking up the fabric of Virgil’s hoodie a little. Patton looks at the couch.

 “There isn’t room, Pop-star,” Virgil says, lazily stretching so his bulk takes up all of it, moving slow enough so Janus isn’t jostled too much. Then Virgil yelps and their lower bodies are lifted and he can feel the couch sag under another body.

 “What the hell, Pat.”

 “Now there’s room.” Patton reaches up and ruffles Virgil’s hair.

 There are so many people and it’s warm but why are they all here? Did he miss something? Does he need to leave?

 “Looks good,” Patton says, interrupting his train of thought, “it’s coming along well.”

 Logan clears his throat. “Would someone like to inform Janus about what exactly ‘this’ is?”

 “Oh, right, sorry, Snakey,” Remus says, crouching back down, “let’s show you.”

 Virgil turns over slowly, lifting his arm and using the leverage to shift Janus onto his chest. “Jeez, Janus, you’re light. Patton, have we been feeding him enough?”

 “I suspect there’s been a lack of communication, kiddo.”

 “Now is not the time to yell at him, Patton,” Logan says quietly.

 “I’m not yelling! But yes, now is not the time.”

 Virgil coaxes his head to one side, and Roman lifts his arm by the back of his hand.

 Janus’s mouth drops open.

 There are little animals drawn on his right arm, from his wrist to his elbow. There’s a navy cat, simple and clean, near the vein. A light blue frog with little glasses. A purple and black spider. A green octopus with large black tentacles. And an unfinished red dragon right near his wrist.

 “If I could finish,” Roman asks softly.

 “Alright, calm down, here.” Remus lowers his arm and holds it steady. Roman puts the brush back to his arm and starts painting again. Virgil and Remus start arguing about something, probably, but he can’t focus on anything besides the soft bristles of the brush on his arm, the rumble of Virgil’s chest, and the warmth of the weight on his legs.

 Logan stands behind his head. “You don’t need to wear a mask here, Janus,” he says softly, “not unless you want to.”

 No one else hears him except for Patton. He gives Janus’s leg a squeeze.

 It’s warm. It’s so warm.

 He wants to watch as Roman paints the dragon but he’s tired but he doesn’t want to sleep yet…not just yet.

 Patton reaches towards his face. His finger lands on his forehead and drags gently down the bridge of his nose.

 What…?

 Oh.

 As he follows his touch, Janus’s eyes drift closed.

 It’s so warm.

 And a warm hand on his cheek wipes the last of the mask away.

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[paper-n-ashes]

sparks and embers - 20

Characters: Kylo Ren x Original Female Character, Poe Dameron x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 20 - The Gala

Words: 7.3k (I am sorry)

Chapter Tags/Warnings: I think... none? Please let me know if this isn’t the case!

Author’s Note: No longfic would be complete without a gala or ball, so here was my version.

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

~

“Risha, I don’t know if I can do this.”

It was early Zhellday evening, two days after I’d been told of the First Order Gala I currently found myself dressed for.

Truthfully, I was starting to panic.

“What? What can’t you do?” Risha called from the ‘fresher, placing the last touches of her make-up before she would have to attempt mine.

Standing in her bedroom, eyes scanning over my form in a full length mirror, I studied the gown now adorning my shape. Risha had insisted I borrow this specific piece from her surprisingly sizeable collection, telling me she’d never had the confidence to wear it herself.

And I could completely understand why.

Made of a delicately sheer fabric coloured to a deepened red - one of the two colours we were permitted to wear - the exposure of skin I displayed was far from demure. The neckline of the bodice was extremely low, two lines of bunched material sitting over my shoulders and contouring very precariously over my breasts, the layers twisting over each other at the cinch of my waist and falling into a loose, flowing skirt.

That alone would have been somewhat difficult to cope with, but the two thigh high slits revealing almost all of my legs whenever I moved to walk were what had sparked a stomach-turning edginess.

I twisted to gaze at the intricate pattern of thick black lace sitting each side of my waist, eyeing the two trains of thin dotted gossamer shadowing down my back, having no doubt I would trip over one of them by the end of the night.

“Wear this… in public,” I fretted. “Doesn’t it seem a bit ostentatious?”

I could hear her muted laugh behind the wall separating us. “You said it was perfect when you first tried it on.”

“I know.” I recalled our own show of dress-ups in the morning after my shift, trying to find a perfect outfit to inspire the height of temptation from a particularly complicated man.

It was during this time I learned I didn’t know anything about what he liked, what he would be enticed by. Hell, I barely knew anything about him at all. Although still an ongoing worry, I was now more concerned about what others would think of my attire.

“We’re meant to be professionals. How is anyone going to take me seriously after they see me like this?”

I could hear Risha’s heels clacking on the tiled floor as she made her way out. With her coming into view, I became caught in a stunned wave of disbelief at how the woman in front of me was the same who slipped calmly into my cell so many weeks ago.

A figure-hugging black gown was draped elegantly over her slim figure, silky velvet extending down her arms, the plunging V-neck making me feel only slightly less self-conscious about my own bust being flaunted. She made a point of gliding a leg out of the singular thigh split in her dress, crossing her arms.

“We’re not just our jobs Alex,” she said sharply. “Just because we dress a little more provocative for an evening doesn’t erase the intelligent women we are, and how good we are at our jobs.”

My eyebrows raised as I smiled, impressed. “I didn’t know the First Order kept such a feminist in their employ.”

Risha rolled her eyes at me. “Don’t tell me you disagree.”

“Of course not,” I insisted, before turning to gesture at the mirror my reflection still bounced off. “But this is a little more than provocative… right?”

She looked at me curiously, moving to join me in front of the mirror, standing at my side. “What’s changed? You seemed enamoured by the chance to wear it yesterday morning.”

“Maybe the idea of doing something is easier to handle than actually going through with it.”

There was simply no denying the fact I was nervous, stomach tumbling at the thought of what I’d planned on accomplishing this evening.

I desperately wanted to transform back into the enticing seductress I’d been in the supply closet, the one who wouldn’t be faintly concerned about stepping out in a piece of clothing like this. A woman who would wear it with all the sophistication and confidence that, right now, seemed so far away.

But she hadn’t shown herself, and I was terrified she never would again.

Risha bumped light-heartedly into me. “Don’t take everything so seriously. It’s just a dress. And you look lovely in it.”

I took a composing breath. “I guess I’m just a little anxious.”

Turning to secure our stares together, I tried to convey in my expression the profound appreciation for her presence in my life, so thankful in this moment it was her who had been sent to care for my blaster wounds.

My eyes wandered, seeing her accentuated features up close with makeup so skilfully set. Lips were dyed a bold plum colour, shimmering silver eyeshadow blended effortlessly on her lids, wings of deep black flicked from the outer corner sharp enough to cut glass.

“Risha, my goodness. You look… incredible.”

She smiled bashfully at me, looking to the floor. Yet again it was obvious Risha wasn’t used to receiving any kind of compliment. “Come on, let’s get started on your make-up and hair,” she subverted, grabbing my hand and leading me to the ‘fresher, the counter laid out with an array of dainty brushes and brightly coloured cosmetics.

“How frequently are these kinds of events held? You seem to be awfully prepared for it,” I noticed, letting Risha guide me to a small stool, settling down onto it. A blank canvas ready to be painted.

She plucked a balm of some variety from the crowd of small bottles and continued to smooth the cream gently onto my face. “Not exceedingly often, seeing as how expensive they would be to hold. The First Order don’t really do things by halves. But that’s why I, and countless others, have been waiting and preparing ourselves just in case another was announced. Haven’t you seen how happy the other staff in the Prestige appeared the last few days?”

My eyebrows crinkled together in thought for a few beats, recalling how delighted the atmosphere was in the ward today. “Why?”

I didn’t want to be too naïve in asking how something as seemingly trivial as a Gala could incite so much anticipation, so I left the rest of that question on my tongue.

“I suppose you haven’t lived on this ship, or with the First Order, for long enough to notice. We don’t observe any holidays, except for Empire Day. Even birthdays aren’t really noted, since so many on this ship are either unable to remember or a part of Project Resurrection. Celebrations of all kinds are few and far between, so events like this are an exciting novelty.”

“I see,” I breathed, mulling over Risha’s words. She didn’t know it, but I’d been living my life in much the same way. It has been so long since I’d enjoyed any sort of celebration or joyful gathering. My own birthday had been but another day in the Galactic Calendar, one I usually spent in completely the same way as the rest.

Alone.

And while I’d been invited to countless weddings and name-days on Raxus over the years, being away from my clinic for too long was too risky, so I’d never made the trip to attend them.

“Also,” Risha added, mixing a heavy white fluid to her darkened foundation, attempting to match my lighter skin tone. “This is one of the few times we get a chance to… mingle with people from the rest of the ship.” I watched as a sly smile crept slowly across her lips.

“So, when you say mingle, you mean…?”

A softened chuckle escaped. “It seems like you already know the answer Alex.”

I raised an inquisitive eyebrow as Risha began to coat the prepared liquid onto my cheeks, my slightly stunned silence making her giggle even more.

“You really think we’re all mindless robots, don’t you?”

I shook my head quickly, worried I’d offended her. She batted my face with the brush, indicating for me to stay still. “No! Of course not! I promise that’s not what I was trying to imply.”

“I know,” she smiled down at me. “I’ll admit, I assumed the same before I began my training here. The First Order likes to evoke a front they’ve created a perfect military force that couldn’t possibly be tempted by basic needs. But we’re humans, and humans like to fuck.”

I coughed out a breath, caught completely off-guard by her cussing, before peering up to her amused expression. “Is that what you’re hoping for tonight?”

She shrugged one of her shoulders. “I’ll see where the night takes me.”

I didn’t have any more of a reply, still in quiet disbelief at the true reason behind the thrill I’d felt in the air around me today. The next few minutes were spent in silence as I pondered why the idea of those who worked for the First Order looking for… companionship, was so peculiar to me.

The concept warred so heavily with all the preconceived notions I’d had about this ship and the people who lived here. I assumed they’d simply adapted to a life without needing to submit to biological urges, learning to live without paying them any attention, much like I had before-

“Stop looking so serious Alex,” Risha interjected. “Tonight is supposed to be the one time we can actually have some fun.”

I gave my best attempt at a cheery grin, trying hard to suppress any thought of the pilot from surfacing. Knowing what I needed to do, what I had to somehow achieve in the hours that followed, I couldn’t bear to think of him and our non-existent future.

She wasn’t fooled. “What’s wrong?”

I inhaled a calming breath, letting the air slither slowly out of my lungs. “Risha… Have you ever been drawn to someone you didn’t actually… like?”

She fell to a crouching position, snatching both of my forearms within her grasp. “Who!?” Although immediately after posing the question, my face obviously a telling image of the person I’d phrased my query about, she shook me, eyes wide with excitement. “I knew it! I knew there was a reason he showed his face to you!”

“N-no! That’s not who I was-”

“Alex, you don’t have to lie,” she cut in, her tone suddenly stern. “You can trust me. I promise.”

Our gazes locked, glistening green eyes staring back at me, my mind tearing at the seams. I was constantly on edge in knowing the First Order were always waiting in the shadows, instinct pressing me to keep my thoughts internal. But there was something about Risha’s energy, sensing only the genuineness in her assertion, that tore down my usual defences.

“There’s something between us… Something I can’t explain,” I whispered, pushing against the voice in my head demanding I stay silent.

She seemed somewhat surprised I’d confessed, mouth slipping open. “Wait, really? I thought I was going mad.”

“You already suspected something? When?”

“The minute he ordered a doctor to care for a hostage. I’ve been here for years, and neither he, or Snoke, have ever asked to have their captives be tended to like that.”

“There’s more to it than you think,” I insisted. “But…”

Risha’s expression fell. “But you can’t tell me, can you?”

“I don’t want to get you caught up in this. If I could tell you more, I would.”

With a gentle smile, she dipped her head in acknowledgment. Rising again, her fingers plucked an angled brush, swiping it across a dark powder before beginning to precisely graze it over my cheeks.

“He must be rather attractive under that helmet for you to be so tense.”

“That’s not the reason why.”

“Sure it isn’t, Alex.”

*

Moving through the durasteel corridors of the Finalizer in my completed ensemble, hair curled into tumbling waves, lips painted a bold scarlet, I was gripped by an unprecedented courage.

I wasn’t able to think of a moment I’d looked more tempting in my life. Every curve and contour of my body and face outlined by fabric or makeup. There was truly nothing more I could do to make myself more appealing. In the physical sense at least. 

We weren’t alone in our journey to the Grand Hall. Countless others sauntered along beside us, all chattering in anticipation for the evening to come. Risha had insisted on making a late entrance, her justification being the first hour of these events were always horribly boring as people relaxed into the unfamiliar surroundings.

My crimson heels clicked on the metal, still adjusting to this particular type of footwear, eyes drifting over the lavishly dressed individuals around me. I marvelled at how many different shades of red and black had been utilised within the flowing gowns and dashing formal coats.

It settled more of my unease to see other women baring a similar amount of skin to what I currently had on show. Although, a sizeable amount covered the exposure with ornate jewellery wrapped around their arms and ankles, chests glittered with twinkling gems encased in silver or aurodium, giving the illusion of a more modest, yet captivating, appearance. 

Risha had offered some pieces to me, but I hadn’t picked this dress only to cover what I was trying to accentuate.

As we neared the hall, I could hear the beginnings of orchestral music emanating out the large double doors. A small contingent of armoured Stormtroopers stood guard, scanning over guests as they entered, checking for weapons. I was chuckling to myself at how redundant it was for them to scan me, being utterly impossible to hide anything underneath this small amount of thin fabric, when I heard a turbo-lift slide open behind us.

I sensed the buzz of recognisable energies hum in the space, one of them giving off a particularly petulant atmosphere. The breath I took was prolonged as they moved closer, fortifying as much strength and determination I could muster within my body.

I can do this. 

While the group of waiting guests, including Risha, began to step back and make an unobstructed path for their Supreme Leader, I maintained my position, waiting for the perfect moment to shift and face the advancing enclave.

My movements were slow, precise, brushing the bouncing waves of my hair over my shoulders. A charming smile spread across my lips as I looked towards the masked man. It took the flicker of moment for Kylo to notice my figure, another to fully comprehend the woman who now stood before him.

His reaction, while physically unseen under metal, quickly billowed into the air around his shape, before rushing to pull it back under the cover of his mind. Evidently, he hoped to conceal it from the Force-sensitive entourage behind him. Even with his prompt retraction, I’d felt it so intensely, so clearly, the animalistic craving suddenly clawing at him. The longing to touch a single finger to the skin tantalisingly exposed.

Perfect.

My heart thumped through a few pounding beats, relieved all of this effort had brought about exactly the outcome I’d hoped for.

Kylo stopped his march a few steps from where I stood, each Knight behind him following suit within the next instant. I caught the gradual tensing of his right hand as he balled it tightly into a fist.

“What are you doing here?” he seethed, the words coming out harsh and bitter, making the unmasked men at his rear vaguely confused. I saw Vicrul roll his eyes, while Ap’lek shifted to whisper something into the ear of a Knight I hadn’t been introduced to yet, his angular face fraught with suspicion.

“I’m here to enjoy your festivities, Supreme Leader,” I answered sweetly.

He was already struggling to hold down the aura that longed radiate out. “I don’t recall including prisoners as part of these celebrations.”

It was interesting, even with all these people around us, that he didn’t bother to hide the fact I was his captive.

“I was under the assumption this Gala was to honour the medical personnel who worked so tirelessly to keep your Order alive. A group you made it a strict directive I be a part of.”

I eyed the man I remembered as Ushar putting an impressed smirk onto his features, his energy emitting subtle amusement.

Kylo couldn’t have been further from that mood. “You haven’t earnt the privilege of being here.”

I had to stop myself from smiling wider, knowing the word he’d used wasn’t a coincidence.

“Uh, she did technically keep Cardo alive,” Vicrul pointed out.

“Yeah she did!” Cardo concurred, his voice finally clear of the roughness he’d had on his discharge from the ward. “That not worth a night off?”

Kylo’s head shot towards his subordinates, anger flaring at their audacity to involve themselves in the conversation. “Anyone could have done what she did.”

“Then why tell me to get Cardo directly to her?” Vicrul questioned, caring very little about the silent threat Kylo posed, staring back at him with a taunting eyebrow raised.

If there weren’t so many witnesses still circling us, I was sure Kylo would have launched a charged physical attack on his Knight for daring to undermine him. Yet, with unusual restraint, he exhaled a steadying breath.

“She is one of the few who had dealings with that category of virus. Purely a strategic move to give Cardo the highest chances of survival as possible.”

“Would you look at that,” I marvelled mockingly. “A compliment on my work. Mustafar must have frozen over.”

A muffled chuckle slipped from Ushar’s mouth as Kylo’s helmet snapped back to meet my face. Again, the lustful energy surged just above his frame, before he willed it behind a similar wall to my own.

Ap’lek seemed to notice this, his eyes flickering from his leader to me, the lids narrowing as he grew absorbed in thought.

“Don’t misconstrue my calculated decisions as praise for knowledge you stumbled onto by chance,” Kylo protested.

Hm, Vicrul hadn’t been exaggerating. Grumpy asshole indeed.

I didn’t let the offense show on my face, crossing my arms to frame my bust. “Well if you’ve sufficiently exploited this fortunate area of expertise I have, can I finally be allowed out of your service and off of this ship?”

The chatter around our strained discussion grew more alarmed at my question, an increasing domino of hushed whispers released into the air.

“No.”

He didn’t extrapolate on that answer, and I never expected him to. I was simply curious to see if he would openly express the reason for my imprisonment in front of all these people.

“I’m sure these guests of yours would like to know why you’re keeping me here as your slave.”

I saw Kylo’s stature tense, and it became clear he was more focused on my closing term than the rest of my statement, his hold on the fervent aura he wished to keep hidden from his comrades rapidly weakening.

Vicrul’s eyes were widened in fascinated shock at my boldness. Ap’lek tilted his head back with a cold wariness in his expression. Cardo looked towards Kylo in eager anticipation of the volatile man’s next move. It was Ushar who finally moved through the troupe of bodies to clasp a gloved hand around his leader’s arm, tugging his body around to face the older Knight.

“This is not an exchange you should be having with so many ears listening,” he advised, voice hushed, giving Kylo a meaningful look. “If you keep provoking the tooka, it will bite.”

There was a noticeable stillness as Kylo contemplated Ushar’s words, before he forced his stance to relax. His silence continued as he suddenly made his exit from of our stand-off, storming past me into the Grand Hall without another glance in my direction.

As the Knights followed his retreat, the corridor was a flurry of whispers, Risha finally making her way back to my side.

“That was… interesting,” she remarked, a worried edge to her voice. “Are you alright?”

I turned to look at her concerned expression. “I feel great,” I grinned, leaning in close. “He doesn’t scare me anymore.”

Risha searched over my face, wondering how this brash confidence had appeared as if from nowhere. “Are all your interactions as… charged as that?”

“No,” I laughed, watching as the bodies around us started to crowd around the entry, although still keeping a wide berth around my figure. “But it’s not an uncommon theme in our dealings.”

“He seems a little angry at you,” she noted as we took our place in the line-up.

“That’s not unexpected.” I began to examine what I could of the hall as we stepped closer to the entry, already able to catch a glimpse of the exquisite red drapery hanging in elaborate arrangements on the impossibly high ceiling. “He doesn’t particularly enjoy being challenged.”

“No kidding,” Risha affirmed. “I don’t know how you keep so calm when he speaks to you like that.”

I took a deepened breath. “When someone has made several attempts at ending your life, their words don’t incite so much fear anymore.”

Risha’s energy turned uneasy, yet she didn’t voice her concerns, giving a comforting squeeze of my arm as we gradually moved ahead in line.

Entering the Grand Hall, I was lost in quiet awe at the lavishness on display around me, the walls of the immense space decorated in richly coloured red and charcoal pieces of material, all elaborately embellished with thousands of dazzling gems.

Many extravagantly sculpted silver chandeliers hung over our heads, the glow from hundreds of tiny lights making it appear as if the ceiling was sparkling. Numerous large, rounded tables filled most of the room, save for a sizable piece of floor pairs were already gliding through as they danced along to the soothing orchestral music I could hear over the chatter of hundreds of voices.

I was quickly mesmerised by the couples twirling around each other, flowing fabrics of women’s skirts and men’s robes rippling elegantly around their bodies as they moved. Being so engrossed caused me to lose my footing, gripping into Risha’s dress as the heel of my shoe slipped on the exquisitely patterned floor.

She giggled, helping as I steadied myself. “Still getting used to wearing heels?”

“I mean, it’s been a while. But it’s more that I was distracted. Risha… This is all so… beautiful,” I admired, my eyes skimming over the stylishly placed black roses adorning every table, small obsidian ornaments weaved through their twisting vines.

“Not bad for a violent militant regime huh?”

Risha chuckled to herself as we began to walk again, but I couldn’t join in her light-hearted amusement. It began to occur to me then, the offensive nature of the affluence implied within this occasion.

The fact the First Order had enough credits to pose such a consistently devastating threat to the galaxy and also throw these types of lavish events, it made a previously dulled anger rise inside.

On Raxus, a small blip in the vastness of space, I’d seen so many go without proper medical care simply because they couldn’t afford it, losing everything they had after fleeing from war torn planets.

Planets now under the rule of this heartless organisation.

It made me feel dirty, being here, being a part of this, the sour taste in my mouth difficult to ignore.

Looking over the room, contempt stung me, my mind unconsciously calculating the millions of credits that’d been spent to bring together this scene. I found myself searching over the head table sitting at the far end of the hall, wishing I could cause each High Command member sitting there to burst into a ball of flames with my vision.

Suddenly my eyes were focused on a scarlet lined helmet. I could tell Kylo had fixated on my form too when his face followed the path Risha was leading me towards. It was the only time I’d ever wanted to let down the shield around my thoughts, just so he could uncover the searing disdain for the Order he claimed leadership of now occupying my mind.

Without observing them, I could sense his eyes holding a fierce glare, our stares locked for more than a few moments before my vision of him was blocked by the many bodies moving between us. His energy was impossible not to take note of, it’s intensity so much greater than any of the other forces swirling around this room.

Irritation was potent, but his hunger is what burned more passionately. However, in this moment, I didn’t want it.

I didn’t want to him to lay a single finger on me. I merely wished for another way to get the hell away from all of this.

Finally arriving to our table, I saw my full name written in a skilfully curved script on the place card, indicating my reserved seat.

“Oh!” Risha suddenly sounded. “I think I see some of my colleagues from my old assignment! Want to come along and meet them?”

I began to pull out the chair, my bubbled-up emotions making me feel heavy. “I’ll catch up with you in a little while. I just need a second to… take this all in.”

“Are you alright?”

I nodded, sitting down, and looked up reassuringly at her. “I’ll be fine. Just have to adapt to my surroundings again.”

She twisted her mouth in reluctance, but soon let it settle back into the tiniest of frowns. “If you’re sure. I’ll only be over there if you need anything, okay?”

Dipping my head in acknowledgment, I waved her off as she flittered away towards the small group she’d eyed through the crowd.

I tried to keep my expression calm as I concentrated on my breathing, letting a sweet floral scent filter into my nose. My eyes traced over the roses perched before me, focusing on nothing else other than the dainty shape of each dark petal, allowing my mind a moment of peace so it might settle back into equilibrium.

The faint squeak of the chair to my right interrupted my meditation, looking over to see Vicrul hastily sitting down beside me, his smile beaming.

“Well aren’t you just the biggest troublemaker at this party?”

Pushing through the initial shock his sudden presence had caused, I couldn’t help but smirk back at him. “So much for slipping under his radar.”

“Ah yes, a slight miscalculation on my part. But you’re here now! I’m still surprised Ushar managed to subdue the temper tantrum before it happened.”

“That’s right, he did…” I recalled. “How did he do that? I assumed Kylo Ren listened to just about no one.”

Vicrul nodded knowingly. “While technically correct, over the years we’ve all learned how to… deescalate his outbursts.”

“Are you taking students?” I asked eagerly, not completely joking.

Vicrul let out a booming laugh, slapping me endearingly on the arm. “You’re actually kinda funny Alex.”

“Uh, thanks,” I replied uncomfortably, not having been described like that before. “So what actually happens at these things? You said you’d been to a few before.”

“To be truthful, not a whole lot. Drinking, dancing, maybe a little debauchery,” he winked playfully at me. “Speaking of…” His head spun around in searching, before leaning closer. “Who was that woman? The one you walked in with?”

My face dropped. “No, Vicrul.”

His hands flew up in humorous defence. “I was just curious! Although I do remember you promising to introduce me to some of your colleagues.”

“I didn’t make any such promise,” I muttered. “She’s my supervisor, and too smart for your undoubtedly cheesy pick-up lines.”

“Well, we won’t know unless I try them on her,” he countered, making the move to exit his chair.

I immediately grabbed at his robes, making him plonk back down on the seat. “You’ve been here five minutes around you’re already on the prowl?”

“Why else do you think I come to these things?” When he appeared serious about his statement my face morphed into an unimpressed scowl, watching as Vicrul’s grin appeared again, barely containing the snicker under his breath.

“I was kidding! Relax! Come on,” he piped, gesturing his head away. “Come and join us at our table for a little while. I promise it will be much more entertaining than sitting on your lonesome. Plus, it’ll annoy the frack out of Ren.”

One side of my mouth curled into a half-smile, both at the thought of Kylo displeased at me being in the company of his Knights, and the enjoyment Vicrul seemed to get out of that idea.

“Lead the way.”

I followed behind as he guided us through the small pathways between tables, edging around the enlivened guests, watching as he picked up a short glass of honey coloured liquid, obviously alcoholic, from the tray a waiter was carrying around. I was offered a champagne in my passing, shaking my head curtly, knowing I needed to have all of my wits about me this evening.

“I’m surprised you’re not at the same table as His Royal Highness,” I hollered.

Vicrul turned back for a moment to smirk at me, yet again amused by my sarcasm. “It was us who made that decision,” he explained. “Spend the night with a stuffy bunch of High Command leaders who have to maintain their overly pretentious decorum at all times? No thanks.”

“Hm, understandable.”

It wasn’t long before I could eye the familiar tarnished robes all of these Knights seemed to wear, obviously caring very little for upholding the dress code the rest of us had adhered to. As I appeared from behind Vicrul’s figure I immediately eyed Cardo’s delighted expression. He rushed up to meet me with arms wide, enveloping me in a tight embrace.

“Look who it is! My saviour!” he burst, moving to stand beside me, his arm pressing on my back, pushing me closer to the dark clad men. “Trudgen! Kuruk! This is the doctor who saved my life!”

As much as I mockingly applauded Kylo for finally affording me some kind of recognition of my skills, it still made me uncomfortable to have Cardo give me such an accolade. While I stayed in my awkward stance, a dark-skinned man with a deep green hue in his eyes stepped forward with his hand outstretched.

“Trudgen,” he introduced. “Kuruk’s over there, by the wall.” His head pointed toward a lone shape that seemed to be standing guard, watching quietly over the area. “He doesn’t really do much socialising.” His eyes moved down my figure before focusing on my face. “It’s Alexys, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” I squeaked, his firm grip around my palm unsettling me for a moment, before a white-toothed smile took over his features.

“That was quite the interaction you had with Ren before. I’m starting to understand why he’s been such a pain the last few weeks.”

I recalled hearing Ap’lek mention Trudgen being a victim of one of Kylo’s flareups. It was hard not to feel a little guilty knowing I was almost definitely the cause of it.

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry.”

Cardo squeezed me tighter into his bulky frame. “You got nothin’ to be sorry for! It’s his own fault for bein’ too weak to break through that block the Jedi put on you.”

I didn’t know why, but hearing this particular word spoken of Kylo sparked a sliver of insult to course through me. He was the last person I would call weak, and for Cardo to say it so casually seemed almost… cruel.

“To be fair,” Ap’lek interjected, skulking in from behind Trudgen. “We don’t know if that’s quite true yet. That it was the Jedi who managed to execute this feat.”

“Oh not this again,” Vicrul grumbled, taking another sip of his drink.

Ap’lek shot a scornful look in his direction. “I’ve looked into the Jedi texts myself and Ren was right. There’s nothing to substantiate any Jedi had this ability.”

“As if that proves anything. You still haven’t given us a plausible alternative for the block. Maybe bring it up again when you do?” Vicrul provoked.

I felt my insides contract during their bickering, wondering why Ap’lek had formed this extremely suspicious, and worryingly accurate, attitude towards me.

I needed to throw him off my scent.

“I was told she trained with Luke Skywalker, before he… uh, left this universe. Maybe he taught her something the texts never defined,” I posed, hoping I sounded more assured to the men around me than I did to myself.

Trudgen contemplated my idea, pursing his lips. “Not the most unlikely scenario. It’s well known Luke cut himself off from the Force not long after his disappearance. He could have learned how to apply that ability to someone else.” He turned to Ap’lek. “Could that be a good enough explanation for you?”

“It’s noted,” he uttered. “I’m getting a drink.” He slipped past my figure, his frustrated aura brushing my skin as he walked by.

“Seems like it’s not just the Supreme Leader who dislikes me,” I commented, as Cardo finally let his hand on me fall.

“It’s not you. Some days I think he barely likes us,” Vicrul reasoned. “He detests being without all the answers. Knowledge is power in his opinion.”

“And the rest of you don’t think that way?”

“Power is power,” I heard Ushar finally remark as he rested at his seat, facing away from the rest of us. “Knowledge. Determination. Strength. You can have all three and still not be powerful.”

I was too intrigued by his sudden poignant entrance into the conversation to stop myself from asking, “So what does? Make you powerful I mean?”

He shrugged, turning to face me, recalling his icy blue irises from the training arena. “Who knows. Ren is still figuring that out himself.”

Vicrul huffed. “Enough with the serious talk. This is supposed to be a night off for all of us, remember?”

Ushar agreed silently, turning back to the drink he was nursing. Cardo soon helped to guide me to what was evidently Kuruk’s empty seat, as the Knights I now found myself completely surrounded by launched into lively conversation, prompting me with countless questions about my past, a whole different type of interrogation than what was conducted by their master.

I didn’t find myself lying too often, simply skirting around the truths I didn’t wish anyone on this ship to discover.

*

Speaking with the men was oddly fascinating, their differing personalities making for somewhat erratic discussions. I found myself relaxing, almost enjoying myself as time floated past.

Suddenly a hand unexpectedly grasped my shoulder, almost squealing in shock as I spun in my chair to see Risha looking down at me, relieved yet extremely alarmed.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere Alex!”

I heard a chair screech out from my right, knowing immediately who had made that action.

“Well, you’ve found her,” Vicrul crooned. “But who might you be?”

I turned my face away long enough to roll my eyes, seeing Trudgen chuckle at my exasperated expression, joining them both in standing. “This is my friend, Risha. A doctor that works with me on the Prestige med-bay. And Risha this is-”

“Vicrul,” he finished himself, presenting a hand towards her. To my surprise, she took it and allowed him to touch his lips to her knuckles gently. “One of the Knights of Ren.”

I noticed Risha’s cheeks turn a subtle shade of pink, obviously not as deterred by Vicrul’s tawdry attempt at being charming as I was.

“Ah,” she breathed, letting her hand slip back down to her hip. “You’re the one Alex had to treat after being stabbed with an electrostaff.”

Vicrul nodded, the smile not fading from his face. “And I still lived to tell the tale.”

“Thanks to me,” I muttered, sincerely hoping Risha wasn’t the type to be won over like this.

She sensed my mood easily. “Well, we better get back to our table. I’m sure they’ll be serving dinner soon.”

“I believe we’ve still got some time left before that. What about you join me on the dancefloor until then?”

A Knight of Ren wanting to dance? This night was already one of the most peculiar I’d lived through.

Risha looked at me for confirmation, her eyes sparkling at the chance to be whisked away by the stranger.

“Go on then,” I huffed, though internally filling with glee at seeing Risha so enthused.

Vicrul swiftly offered his arm, and she weaved her own through it, the two of them strolling off towards the space where other couples were swaying along to a rhythmic waltz.

I stood back, ready to watch how this scene was about to play out, when fingers curled into mine, Cardo pulling me along the same path.

“Oh! Uh, I don’t really know how to dance!” I objected, my heels speedily clicking under me.

“Neither do I! But we can’t let them have all the fun!” he trilled.

Before I could protest any further, Cardo had already pulled me into the fray of twirling guests, setting his palm at my upper back and bringing my right arm up to meet his, clutching it tightly.

As soon as I managed to remember to place my own hand at his shoulder, he was immediately leading me around the floor, surprisingly in time with the music, placing his steps more skilfully than mine. Eventually I matched his movements, a wide smile spreading across my face, almost falling into a jovial giggle, cold air gliding past my legs as the skirt and train of my dress fluttered around me with each stride.

I was... happy.

Likely for the first time since I’d been captured, until my senses felt a prickling energy from the front end of the room.

It wasn’t the same fury-filled aura I’d felt from Kylo before. It wasn’t even the same type of envy he’d projected in the past.

There was jealousy, but it was more subdued. Almost… sad.

No, that couldn’t be right.

I tried not to make it obvious to Cardo when my eyes began to search for Kylo’s mask at the High Command table. I needed to make sure it was truly his Force signature emanating the emotion I hadn’t sensed in him before.

Hearing the music coming to a slow conclusion, I was about to make an excuse to leave Cardo’s hold and investigate, when an eerily familiar voice chimed in beside us.

“Might I cut in?”

A uniformed man with curled blonde hair and amber eyes greeted me, his palm facing up in waiting for an answer.

“Sure thing!” Cardo answered enthusiastically, stepping back for the man to immediately take his place. I was positive I saw him wink at me as he sauntered off the dancefloor, but I was so startled by my sudden change in partner I couldn’t be completely certain.

Promptly I was back into the same embrace I held only moments ago, although this stranger made an effort to pull me in closer, our faces not far from touching.

“It’s nice to see you again, Alex. Under better circumstances too.”

“I’m sorry, should I know who you are?” I questioned, still noting how identifiable his voice was to me.

He exhaled a soft laugh. “No. We’ve met, but I’ve never introduced myself formally. And I’m still unable to now.”

“Why?”

He leaned close to my ear, his words only barely audible above the music. “Just in case the Supreme Leader figures out how to get past that mental wall you’re keeping up.”

My eyes grew wide, the grip I had on his shoulder clamping down hard. “H-how? How did you know about that?”

“It’s alright Alex. I’m not here to expose you. We actually have some mutual friends...”

“It’s you! You’re the-“

“Shhh,” he hushed. “Best not to say that word in this type of crowd.”

“Right, sorry.” I was momentarily distracted by the rising simmer in Kylo’s energy that’d flared, riddled with a fervently possessive nature. “Can I at least ask how we’ve met before?”

“Let me say this before anything else. I’m truly sorry for those blaster wounds on your leg.”

My teeth clenched. A memory of the man - the Death trooper who’d cornered me on Raxus and ruined my chance at fleeing with the Resistance - flashed into my mind. Wrath was swift to course through, my immediate reaction wanting to wrench myself from his grasp.

His strength clearly surpassed mine, keeping me within his hold, lips close to my ear again. “Keep calm, Alex. I promise I’m not the same person who tried to kill you and your friends. I’ve been the one helping them to keep an eye on you, giving you opportunities for communication.”

I tried to keep my tone even, but it was still saturated with contempt. “They wouldn’t have had to do that if you hadn’t attacked and captured me in the first place.”

Another burst of Kylo’s energy exploded from behind me, able to feel the radiating heat touch my skin.

“I know,” the Death trooper conceded. “But you saved my life. I’m just trying to return the favour.”

I scoffed lowly. “I patched up the hole in your knee. That’s hardly life-saving surgery.”

“You don’t know what they do to men in my line of work when they’re unable to perform their duty, do you?” His eyes found mine then, not needing my answer. “I would have lost my leg if it weren’t for you. And if that had happened, I would have been made… redundant.”

I was quiet while we still continued our dancing, thankful my feet had figured how to unconsciously move themselves while I was so bombarded with differing emotions.

In those moments while no words were spoken, my thoughts were heavily diverted again by Kylo’s immense surge of frustration, knowing he was hitting a breaking point.

I’d wanted this to happen, I’d planned for it, but this was undoubtedly the worst timing possible.

“So why meet with me face to face now?” I asked impatiently.

“I have a message. From the pilot.”

My lungs halted their progress mid inhale, heart stopping along with them.

“What? What is it?” I was the one to lean in closer then, nearly touching my cheek to the Death trooper so I could grasp every word of his reply.

As he began to speak the words, I was hit by a wave of unseen infuriation, knowing immediately Kylo had just tipped past the edge of his temper.

“He’s coming for you. Soon. A plan is in motion.”

“What? The Resistance is getting me out of here?”

“No. The pilot is. Alone. He said he was tired of waiting,” the stranger whispered.

I was torn in the middle, desperate to speak more of Poe and this suicide mission, yet also sensing Kylo begin to march away from his place at the head of the room.

The opportunity is here, Alexys. You need to take it.

“Frack!” I hissed under my breath. “I have something I need to do.” My expression grew stern, voice weighing with importance. “You tell that pilot, whatever plan he has, to stop it now. Tell him he doesn’t need to save me. I can do it myself. You got all that?”

The Death trooper nodded, and I immediately withdrew myself from his arms to dash out of the crowd, heading towards the exit Kylo had already stormed past, heart pumping searing blood through my veins.

~

Next Chapter

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[amuelia]

How do you think Roose will meet his demise? Or will he survive? What's your best Roose end game predictions?

Thank you for the question! This will be a long post under the readmore, going into my thoughts on the show ending and exploring what the books may have set up in regards to themes and characterization, as well as a bit of general analysis of Roose' story arc in a Dance with Dragons (and some speculation about Ramsay as well).

If you click on the readmore i will have divided the post into sections with bolded Headers, if you want to only read my specific endgame ideas you can skip ahead to the "His Endgame?" section.

In The Show

The show had him get killed by Ramsay in s6, which informs a lot of the fandom speculation about this storyline.

I am not a fan of the show's scenario as it was both similar to tywin and tyrion as well as a mirror of robb's death; it would also be offscreen in the books since neither of the characters are PoVs and Ramsay would need to do the act in secret. This would ultimately undercut Roose' role and impact, being a death scene that is not very unique and also isn't shown to the reader directly. Since no PoV is even in Winterfell currently, we would just hear of it from afar and not witness the consequences.

The show also has a different dynamic in the Bolton storyline, emphasizing Ramsay as the "main character" of this arc, and elevating him to the main villain for s5-6 to fill Joffrey's shoes as an evil character played by a very charismatic actor. Ramsay's show writing is informed by the needs of a TV setting that wants shocking moments and capitalizes on "fan favourite" actors; his rising importance in the show thus is not necessarily an indicator of his book importance. The show was also missing many central characters like the northern lords and the Frey men in Winterfell.

The show had a tendency to kill off characters early when they wanted to cull storylines or had no plans to adapt more of the character's story (like Stannis, Barristan, possibly the Tyrells...); In Mance Rayder we have the most obvious example, where they killed him off for real in a scene that in the book was a misdirection. We also have characters like Jorah where it appears the showrunners had their own choice of how they want his storyline to end, even if Grrm has his own ending in mind.

"For a long time we wanted Ser Jorah to be there at The Wall in the end," writer Dave Hill says. "The three coming out of the tunnel would be Jon and Jorah and Tormund. But [...] Jorah should have the noble death he craves defending the woman he loves." - Dave Hill for Entertainment Weekly

So a death in the show does not need to be an indicator that the books will feature an equivalent scene, even if it gives a hint as to what may happen. By s5 the show has become its own beast, and the butterfly effects from radical changes they made as well as the different characterizations results in the show having to cater to its own needs in many cases when it gets to resolving a plotline.

"We reconceived the role to make it worthy of the actor's talents." - Benioff and Weiss for the s5 DVD commentary, on Indira Varma's casting as Ellaria

In The Books

(Since this post was getting out of hand in length a lot of these arguments are a little shortened/not as in-depth as i'd like! Feel free to inquire more via ask if something is unclear or you disagree)

In the books i find it hard to make a concrete guess as to how it will end. Occam's razor would be to assume the show sort of got it right and that it will vaguely end the same, which could very well happen and i will not discount the possibility; Ramsay is cruel, desires the Dreadfort rule, and is a suspected kinslayer and has no qualms to commit immoral violence.

"Ramsay killed [his brother]. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison." - Reek III, aDwD

Reek saw the way Ramsay's mouth twisted, the spittle glistening between his lips. He feared he might leap the table with his dagger in his hand [to attack his father]. - Reek III, aDwD

Arguments against this or for a different endgame come down to interpretations of the themes in the story arc and opinions on dramatic structure/grrm's writing, and are thus very subjective.

The way the story currently is going, Ramsay killing Roose treats Roose almost as a plot device; his death brings no change or development to Ramsay's character as we already know his motivations and cruelty align with such an act, and we can assume that he would feel no remorse about it either. The results of such a scene would be firmly on a story level, as it brings political changes and moves the plot along into a specific direction. Roose himself cannot have any relevant character development about it as he does not have a PoV and we would not be able to witness his reaction from the outside.

“The only thing worth writing about is the human heart in conflict with itself.” - William Faulkner, often quoted by Grrm

Further, killing his father is very difficult to pull off in secret (Roose is frequently described as very cautious, and employs many guardsmen). And even if Ramsay pulls it off (people often interpret Ramsay as Roose' blind spot, assuming he might be caught by surprise, not expecting Ramsay would bite the hand that feeds him), Roose is the one that holds his entire alliance together; The Freys would be alienated by Ramsay who would antagonize Walda and her son as his rivals, The Ryswell bloc appears to dislike Ramsay (especially Barbrey), and the other northmen are implied to not even like Roose himself. Killing Roose would quickly combust the entire northern faction, and hinder Ramsay's further plans (another reason why I am not convinced of a book version of the "Battle of Bastards"). Though this might of course, if we look at it from the other side, be grrm's plan to quickly dissolve this plot and move the northern story forwards.

"Ramsay will kill [Walda's children], of course. [...] [She] will grieve to see them die, though." - Reek III, aDwD

"How many of our grudging friends do you imagine we'd retain if the truth were known? Only Lady Barbrey, whom you would turn into a pair of boots … inferior boots." - Reek III, aDwD

"Fear is what keeps a man alive in this world of treachery and deceit. Even here in Barrowton the crows are circling, waiting to feast upon our flesh. The Cerwyns and the Tallharts are not to be relied on, my fat friend Lord Wyman plots betrayal, and Whoresbane … the Umbers may seem simple, but they are not without a certain low cunning. Ramsay should fear them all, as I do." - Reek III, aDwD

Roose' death at Ramsay's hand also removes him thematically from the Red Wedding, as we can assume such a death might have happened regardless of his participation in the event (seeing as Ramsay is getting provoked by Roose constantly in normal dialogue, and has a general violent disposition). Roose already took Ramsay in before aGoT started, and married Walda very early in the war, which is already most of the buildup that the show's scenario had. It also has little to do with the The North Remembers plot except set dressing, since the northmen are presumably neither collaborating with/egging on Ramsay nor would they appreciate the development.

Themes: Ned Stark and the rule over the North

Roose is treated as a foil to Eddard; They are often contrasted in morals and ruling styles, while also having many superficial similarities that further connect them (they are seen as cold by people, grey eyed, patriarchs of rivalling northern houses, etc...).

Pale as morning mist, his eyes concealed more than they told. Jaime misliked those eyes. They reminded him of the day at King's Landing when Ned Stark had found him seated on the Iron Throne. - Jaime IV, aSoS

They both have a "bastard son" that they handle very differently; Roose treating Ramsay in the way that is seen as common in their society. Ramsay and Jon as a comparison are meant to show that Catelyn had a reason to see a bastard as a threat (since Domeric was antagonized by his bastard brother), but also shows that her suggested plan for Jon would not have stopped any danger either (as Ramsay being raised away from the castle didn't help).

And if his seed quickened, she expected he would see to the child's needs. He did more than that. The Starks were not like other men. Ned brought his bastard home with him, and called him "son" for all the north to see. - Catelyn II, aGoT

"Each year I sent the woman some piglets and chickens and a bag of stars, on the understanding that she was never to tell the boy who had fathered him. A peaceful land, a quiet people, that has always been my rule." - Reek III, aDwD

It appears to me that Roose' story functions in some ways as an inversion to Ned. He makes an attempt to grab a power he was not destined to (becoming warden of the north), where Ned did not want the responsiblity thrust upon him ("It was all meant for Brandon. [...] I never asked for this cup to pass to me." - Cat II, aGoT). Where Ned rules successfully and his northmen honor his legacy ("What do you think passes through their heads when they hear the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned's precious little girl." - The Turncloak, aDwD), the Boltons are largely hated and there are several plots conspiring against them ("Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die." - The King's Prize, aDwD).

It seems possible to me that in terms of their family and legacy, Roose might also live through an inverted version of Ned's story; where Ned died first, leaving his family behind, Roose already lived to see the death of his wives and trueborn heir, and might thus also live to see Ramsay's death. Ned leaves behind well raised children and a North who still respects his name, and even though he dies it will presumably all be "in good hands" in the end (in broad strokes, obviously this is all much more morally complex). Roose however built up a bad and toxic legacy, and also built his way of life around evading consequences; it makes sense to me that he would be forced by the story to finally endure all the consequences of his actions and witness the fall of his house firsthand. After all we already have Tywin who fulfils the purpose of dying before his children while his legacy falls to ruins, and a Feast for Crows explores this aspect thoroughly.

Roose' arc in A Dance With Dragons

The story repeatedly builds up the situation unravelling around Roose, and him slowly losing a grip on it and becoming more stressed and anxious.

Reek wondered if Roose Bolton ever cried. If so, do the tears feel cold upon his cheeks? - Reek II, aDwD

Roose Bolton said nothing at all. But Theon Greyjoy saw a look in his pale eyes that he had never seen before—an uneasiness, even a hint of fear. [...] That night the new stable collapsed beneath the weight of the snow that had buried it. - a Ghost in Winterfell, aDwD

Lady Walda gave a shriek and clutched at her lord husband's arm. "Stop," Roose Bolton shouted. "Stop this madness." His own men rushed forward as the Manderlys vaulted over the benches to get at the Freys. - Theon I, aDwD

It also directly presents him as a parallel to Theon's rule in aCoK, who similarly experienced a very unpopular rule and his subjects slowly turning against him. Presumably, the point of this comparison will not just be "Ramsay comes in at the end and unexpectedly whacks them on the head". Both Theon and Roose invited Ramsay into their lives, giving him more power than he deserves, and causing Ramsay to make choices that increasingly alienate others from them (the death of the miller's boys for example has repercussions for both Theon and Roose). Grrm is likely steering this towards a difference in how they will deal with this situation.

It all seemed so familiar, like a mummer show that he had seen before. Only the mummers had changed. Roose Bolton was playing the part that Theon had played the last time round, and the dead men were playing the parts of Aggar, Gynir Rednose, and Gelmarr the Grim. Reek was there too, he remembered, but he was a different Reek, a Reek with bloody hands and lies dripping from his lips, sweet as honey. - a Ghost in Winterfell, aDwD

"Stark's little wolflings are dead," said Ramsay, sloshing some more ale into his cup, "and they'll stay dead. Let them show their ugly faces, and my girls will rip those wolves of theirs to pieces. The sooner they turn up, the sooner I kill them again." - The elder Bolton sighed. "Again? Surely you misspeak. You never slew Lord Eddard's sons, those two sweet boys we loved so well. That was Theon Turncloak's work, remember? How many of our grudging friends do you imagine we'd retain if the truth were known?" - Reek III, aDwD

Roose' arc is deeply connected to the relations he shares to the other northern lords, which has been heavily impacted by the Red Wedding. It stands to reason that they are going to be an important part of his downfall, and we see many hints of them plotting to betray him.

The north remembers, Lord Davos. The north remembers, and the mummer's farce is almost done. My son is home." - Davos IV, aDwD

Themes: Stannis and kinslaying

The books set up Roose and Stannis as foils as well; Both lack charisma and have trouble winnning the people's support, Stannis and Roose both parallel and contrast Ned, Stannis appears as a "lesser Robert" where Roose is a "lesser Ned", Stannis represents the fire where Roose represents the ice, both struggle over dominion in a land that doesnt particularly want either of them, etc... What i find interesting is how they are contrasted over kinslaying:

"Only Renly could vex me so with a piece of fruit. He brought his doom on himself with his treason, but I did love him, Davos. I know that now. I swear, I will go to my grave thinking of my brother's peach." - Davos II, aCoK

"I should've had the mother whipped and thrown her child down a well … but the babe did have my eyes." [...] "Now [Domeric's] bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?" - Reek III, aCoK

Stannis is set up as someone who is very thorough and strict in following his own code and his "duty", even if he does not like what it forces him to do.

Stannis ground his teeth again. "I never asked for this crown. Gold is cold and heavy on the head, but so long as I am the king, I have a duty . . . If I must sacrifice one child to the flames to save a million from the dark . . . Sacrifice . . . is never easy, Davos. Or it is no true sacrifice. Tell him, my lady." - Davos IV, aSoS

The armorer considered that a moment. "Robert was the true steel. Stannis is pure iron, black and hard and strong, yes, but brittle, the way iron gets. He'll break before he bends." - Jon I, aCoK

Roose however is frequently characterized as someone who tries to get as much as he can while avoiding negative consequences, and who does not have a consistent moral code and instead bends rules to his benefit to be the most comfortable to him.

It is often theorized that Stannis will end up burning his daughter Shireen; the Ramsay issue might then serve to contrast the two men. If Grrm intends it to be compared by the reader, I can see it going two ways: Either Roose will be forced to finally act in a drastic way after avoiding his responsibility in regards to Ramsay and he will be forced to get rid of his son, making him break the only moral hurdle he has presented adhering to during the story (though analyzing his character, the kinslaying taboo is probably less a sign of moral fortitude and more him using the guise of morals to explain a selfish motivation). Or he might not act against Ramsay and suffer the consequences, presenting an interesting moral situation where some readers might consider his action "better" or more relatable than Stannis', breaking up the otherwise very black and white moral comparison between the two men. It serves as an interesting conflict of the morality of kinslaying compared to what readers might see as a moral obligation of getting rid of a monster such as Ramsay; contrasting Shireen whose death would not be seen as worth it by most. Ramsay as a bastard (who was almost killed at birth if he hadnt been able to prove his paternity) also makes for an interesting verbal parallel with the bastard Edric Storm, and might be used for a look at the utilitarian principle of killing a child (baby ramsay/edric) to save countless people from suffering that underpinned Edric's story.

"As Faulkner says, all of us have the capacity in us for great good and for great evil, for love but also for hate. I wanted to write those kinds of complex character in a fantasy, and not just have all the good people get together to fight the bad guy." - Grrm

"Robert, I ask you, what did we rise against Aerys Targaryen for, if not to put an end to the murder of children?" - Eddard VIII, aGoT

"If Joffrey should die . . . what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?" - "Everything," said Davos, softly. - Davos V, aSoS

However Grrm decides to present these conflicts or which actions the characters will take in the end, it will result in interesting discussion and analysis for the readers.

His Endgame?

Looking at the trends of the past books, it is probably going to be hard to predict any specific outcome; every book introduces new characters and plot elements that were impossible to predict from the last book even if their thematic importance or setup was aptly foreshadowed.

Roose has a lot of plot importance and characterization that has, in my opinion, not yet been properly resolved in a way that would be unique and poignant to the specific purpose his character appears to fulfil. However I also have a bias in that i did not like the show's writing of that scene which makes me averse to see a version of it in the books, and i really like Roose as a character and want to see him have more scenes in the next book(s). This leads me to discount plot speculation that cuts his character arc short offscreen early. Roose is only a side character; however, i have trust in grrm's writing abilities and that he would give him a proper sendoff that feels satisfying to a fan of the character.

"…even the [characters] who are complete bastards, nasty, twisted, deeply flawed human beings with serious psychological problems… When I get inside their skin and look out through their eyes, I have to feel a certain — if not sympathy, certainly empathy for them. I have to try to perceive the world as they do, and that creates a certain amount of affection." — George Martin

Considering my earlier analyis, there is a case to be made for Roose killing Ramsay; however it appears grrm might have a different endgame in mind for Ramsay, foreshadowed in Chett's prologue:

There'd be no lord's life for the leechman's son, no keep to call his own, no wives nor crowns. Only a wildling's sword in his belly, and then an unmarked grave. The snow's taken it all from me . . . the bloody snow . . . - Chett, aSoS

I tend to think something might happen to Roose/the Bolton bloc later in the book that would cause Ramsay to attempt to flee the scene again like he did back in aCoK fleeing Rodrik's justice; perhaps Ramsay is sent out to battle but then flees it like a coward, or he sees his cause as lost. This time, the fleeing and potentially disguised Ramsay would not make it out to safety though, and get killed without being recognized as Ramsay, dying forgotten. This would serve as dramatic irony since Ramsay so strongly desired to be recognized and respected as a Lord of Bolton, without being too on the nose.

As for Roose, i could see him getting captured and somehow brought to justice (either when someone takes Winterfell or in some sort of battle). I see it unlikely that he will be backstabbed like Robb was, because it seems very "eye for an eye" and ultimately doesn't teach much of a lesson except "he had it coming"; But the various people conspiring against him could lead to his capture by betraying him (giving a payoff to the northern conspiracies and the red wedding). I would find a scene of him standing trial interesting since i believe we didn't have one of these for a true non-pov villain yet, and it would be an interesting confrontation that he cannot escape from (he also loves to talk so it would be a good read to see him make a case for himself).

I assume Roose will be out of the picture when the Other plot finally properly kicks into gear (whether dead or "in prison"). With Stannis as a false Azor Ahai and Roose as a false Other (with his pale, cold features), their struggle in the north seems to be a representation of the false "Game of Thrones" that distracts people from the "real threat" of the Others.

As always this is just my opinion, and it could all go very differently in the books! There could always be something that completely uproots my analysis and goes into a direction i did not expect from the material we had; But i have fate that Grrm as a writer will deliver and give me something i can be satisfied with.

#asks #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #roose bolton #valyrianscrolls #a song of ice and fire #not art #anonymous

[dr3amofagame]

more of the ghost!dream au!! still no good names for it, sorry (feel free to give me recs? maybe?) - picking off right where we left off here [x]. i’ve gotten quite a bit of this pre-written already as well as quite a bit planned - it’s definitely one of my favorite universes at the minute and something im really excited to show yall !! 

tw: death, memory loss (?), grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy relationship, grief, emotional distress, implied torture/abuse, aftermath of prison arc/pandora’s vault, dark(ish?) portrayal of c!sam (he’s one of the main figures of this au lmao but it grapples quite a bit w/ what he did in pandora)

Sam had only met Ghostbur once.

He never knew the former president well, had been busy with his own base during the Revolution and came back to the server in chaos after an ill-fated election and the man exiled. It hadn’t mattered, much, at the time; Wilbur was an imposing man, even in others’ recollections of him, and their words left very very little to the imagination. From what he knew, Wilbur was a smart man, cunning and silver-tongued, brimming with an unending fountain of belief that he could change the world with his words and his words alone; the server, overrun with memories of scuffles and battles and wars and countries Sam had not been around to remember, only seemed to serve as proof that he could. The few glimpses of the man that he managed to catch showed dark, tired eyes, a figure that stood almost as tall as he did, lips twisted in a perpetual tight-lipped smile.

Even as he spiraled, unexplainably, whispers of madness chasing the wind and landing in choppy fragments in the Badlands meetings held over Skeppy and Bad’s dinner table, those eyes never became less piercing, never failed to seem like they were burning through whatever and whoever they looked at. Sam hadn’t been the subject of that stare many times, but he remembers the bone-deep anxiety from having those eyes on him, even now.

Ghostbur, somehow, was the complete opposite; where his eyes had once been all-too knowing, belying their owners’ intelligence, a ruthless penchant for analysis that would split bone from marrow with a single sharp-edged glance, the phantom’s eyes were completely vacant. Instead of the glossy whites and rings of brown that would flicker warm to cool and warm again without warning, there was only an empty, all-encompassing blue.

He had floated over to Sam following a particularly difficult- session, with the prisoner, greeting him with an airy call of his name as Sam set off to his base for the night. He’d startled, then, still fresh off the adrenaline that was sent coursing through his veins each time he entered those blackstone walls, and started a sort of easy, unfocused conversation as they went along the path to the nether portal.

Ghostbur was - off, for the lack of a better word, even with Sam’s lack of familiarity of either side of the man - who he’d been before and what he’d become. His memories slipped through his mind like water seeping through fingers, and his attention span didn’t seem much better. Still, Sam listened to that echoing, otherworldly voice, nodded along as he eagerly recounted his day - or what he could recall from it, at least, until his feet had brought him along the same well-worn path to the nether portal, spitting purple sparks into the night.

“I’ll have to be going, Ghostbur,” he’d said through a thin smile, muscles aching under netherite as he pulled his shoulders back. The ghost’s head had cocked to the side, watching him with empty eyes, hands outstretched in front of him, palms up.

“Sam-” the ghost blinked slowly, “Are you sad?”

Sam froze. Ghostbur stared at him, face still kept in that same blank expression, eyes still an endless blanket of blue, but something - in his stance, perhaps, in the echoes of his words as they reverberated off of nothing, felt familiar, felt like looking up expecting a window and coming face to face with a shattered mirror - before the phantom’s face broke out in a weightless smile.

“Have some blue!”

The blue was dropped unceremoniously into his hands as he fumbled the catch and nearly let it fall to the ground; the clear, glassy surface of it tainted blue by his fingertips, the color swirling and darkening in his hands. He watched it, mesmerized, as blossoms of blue bloomed beneath his skin; his feelings, sharp-edged, became sea glass tossed in its shifting waves, smoothed, numbed, slowly sucked away in a pulsing chorus of blue blue blue-

“That’s quite a lot of blue,” Ghostbur chirped, and Sam blinked at the thing in his hands - navy, the same color as the sky above their heads clinging to the last remnants of twilight - “Would you like some more?”

“...no thanks, Ghostbur,” Sam looked back up, feeling through the new, blue-tinged fog in his brain, memories blurred at the edges but lacking the same burning sting of regret, “Good night.”

“Good night, Sam!” Wilbur smiled, blank blue eyes trained on his face even as Sam stepped into the portal and the world swirled away. “See you soon!”

---

“Sammy,” Dream walked - no, floated, forwards as Sam took a step back, unresponsive, “is there something wrong?”

Sam swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

He was a spitting image to Dream as he first knew him; the same tousled hair, freckled face, down to the ratty old jacket that he’d insisted on wearing at all times, made of a garish shade of lime-green and covered in customized patches that Bad - unable to resist his puppy eyes - had always ended up fixing the thing with. He had a gap in his teeth that had left him with a lisp for weeks back then, prompting Sapnap’s teasing much to Dream’s annoyance; his head tipped to the side, curious, familiar, and something deep inside Sam’s chest ached.

“Dream-” he tried, chest tightening further when the ghost’s face broke out into a brilliant smile, “why are you here?”

Why do you remember me?

He hadn’t talked to Ghostbur much, but he’d heard, to some degree, about how the ghost operated, how his memories were inconsistent at best, seemingly dependent on the emotions he’d attached to them while alive. How he went through the world in a state of unshakable bliss at the cost of his mind. Dream’s memories of him should’ve been anything but happy; why was he here?

“What do you mean?” Dream blinked at him, eyebrows scrunched, lips set in a small frown. His eyes, black and vacant, seemed to swallow all light, even with the sun streaming through the branches. “Where am I suppos’d to go?”

“Don’t you want to be with George and Sapnap?”

Dream’s face was blank, and the pit in Sam’s gut grew deeper. “Who’s that?”

“George?” Sam could feel his voice begin to tremble, eyes widening. “Sapnap? You know them, right?”

“No?” Dream drew out the word, looking at him like he’d grown another head. “Should I know them?”

“Should you- Dream, this isn’t funny- they’re your best friends! They were your best friends- Pandas? Do you know Pandas?”

“You mean like in the jungles? I haven’t been in a jungle before, Sam, d’you think we could visit one?”

“No- Pandas, do you-” Dream only looked at him with the same confused, uncomprehending expression, not even a flicker of recognition in his face; Sam could hear his heart thudding in his ears, a distant horror growing and wrapping around his throat, “How about Ponk? Alyssa? Calla? Bad?”

Each name did nothing to change the blankness on Dream’s face, the screaming thoughts in Sam’s head growing to a fever pitch when the ghost in front of him shook his head, hair whipping back and forth.

“Nope!” His hands tugged at his hoodie sleeves, the movement familiar in a way that had echoes of long-forgotten memories drifting to the surface, holding his heart in a chokehold and squeezing tight. “Are they your friends?”

“Dream,” he stepped forward - felt a shadow of a pickaxe held in his fists, the shape of the name in his mouth bringing forth the taste of iron and smoke and painting the inside of his eyelids red - and stopped in his tracks. The images melted away, left just a kid standing in front of him, rocking back and forth on nothing, and Sam was going to be sick.

“Who do you remember?”

Dream smiled as the question registered, directing a look of such open, unadulterated adoration his way that it stole all of the air from Sam’s lungs.

“You, dummy!” He laughed, airy and light. “Who else?”

---

He brought him to his base, because what else was he supposed to do?

Dream skipped behind him, entirely enamoured with Fran; he watched as she melted under his enthusiastic scratches at the tufts of fur at her neck. He’d always been a soft touch with animals, had brought home stray mobs more than a few times as a kid; Sam swallowed around his unease and trudged forward.

“Puppy!” He nearly screeched with laughter, and Sam looked back to see Dream with his arms wrapped around Fran’s neck, face buried in her fur as giggles made his shoulders shake. Fran gave him a sloppy lick on the cheek, making him break out into a new round of high-pitched wheezes, “Good girl! Good puppy!”

“Hurry up, Dream,” Sam turned away. “We don’t have all day.”

“Oh- m’sorry,” Dream’s voice quieted, almost seemed to wobble, and Sam bit down on his tongue as they continued to walk back. He- didn’t know what to do, not with this version of Dream, not the little kid he’d half-forgotten instead of the masked monster he’d become so accustomed to. It was so much easier to slip into the mask, let his voice drop cold and deep and empty, the role of the Warden heavy and comfortable like a set of netherite armor. He pointedly kept his eyes staring forward, looking for the edge of the forest they’d ended up stuck in so he could finally see.

A sudden, yipping bark came from behind, thoroughly startling him and sending a sword appearing in a flash of white. He huffed at Fran, looking at him with faux innocent eyes, really?

Unfortunately, both she and Dream had somehow fallen ridiculously behind, the ghost having lowered to the ground at some point as Fran sat and wagged her tail. He rolled his eyes, making his way back towards the duo, feeling irritation press in the form of a headache against the front of his skull.

“Come on,” he muttered, wincing at how clipped his words sounded, even in his own ears. Not the same Dream, Sam. You’re not in the prison anymore. He shoved his hands into his pockets, eyes narrowing as he came closer; Dream hadn’t just stopped because of some distraction, as he first assumed. The kid was leaning against Fran, hands twisted loosely in her fur, head tipped forward and leaning against her body.

“Dream?”

The ghost looked up at his voice, one hand going to rub at his eye. His hair seemed to be moving around less than earlier, lips twisted in a small frown.

“M’sleepy, Sammy,” he mumbled around a yawn, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He reached both hands up, palms facing the sky, as he stared expectantly. “Up.”

Aren’t you a little big to be carried? The retort came to mind as easily as breathing, echoed in his own head by his own voice, younger, exasperated but fond. His arms shook with the memory of a kid wrapping his arms around his neck and fumbling with his crown, with the feeling of a dead weight resting against the crook of his elbows, tall and lanky and far too light for its size, held in his arms one final time-

“Please?”

Sam shook his head.

“We’re walking to my base. Come on.”

#tw death #tw grief #tw torture #tw abuse #prison arc #pandora's vault #tw unhealthy coping mechanisms #tw unhealthy relationship #tw emotional distress #tw memory loss #ghost!dream au #queue <3 #long post #my writing :D #my asks !!

[detective-crescend]

let go

The low buzz of the electric shears fills the air within the four walls of the apartment’s bathroom.

With its sleek body and rapidly vibrating blade, the machine looks oddly foreboding in Klavier’s hand. It is heavy, too, enough that Klavier can feel its potential for change in its weight.

“I am going to cut my hair,” he’d said to Apollo an hour ago. The comment was made without any preamble, no prior indications of his intentions, and yet when Apollo looked up into Klavier’s face from the desk he was sitting in, he did not look surprised.

His reply was equally succinct. “Okay.”

“You are alright with that?” Klavier had pressed. He was not so deluded to think Apollo was unaware of his reasons for making this declaration—after all, Kristoph had played a significant role in his life as well—and yet, this was the only version of Klavier that Apollo had ever known.

But, again, Apollo’s answer was direct; he’d only shrugged with his lips pressed into a small, obliquely supportive smile. “Yeah. It’s your hair, Klavier.”

And that had been that.

Now, the monotone humming of the clippers continues, persistent.

It is hard for Klavier to compartmentalize the symbolism that the artificially blond strands represent.

He was seventeen when he’d first made the decision to grow it out. Despite what the tabloids and water cooler gossips alike had surmised, it had been his choice alone—Kristoph had mocked him for the decision; though his face had been oddly affected, his words lashed out with all the sting of a steel tipped whip, imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, I suppose—and it was one that he had not taken lightly. With his atypical ascension to the district attorney’s office cemented by the events of his first trial, it had felt necessary to mark his newfound dedication in some form; the hair, therefore, was a representation of the gravity of his commitment, the resolute pursuit of the truth.

The irony that the declaration instills, in hindsight, should be enough to raise the clipper in his hand, to methodically shear each and every bleached and dyed piece of hair from his previously wide-eyed and faux-idealistic head.

And yet, though he had been arrogant and presumptive, Klavier had also been sincere. His only thought, then, had been to leave the word better than he had found it. Through the law or through his art—the specifics hadn’t mattered, much. Yes, it had been naive of him. But had it really been wrong?

Klavier stares at his reflection, expression so blank that it could be a portrait looking back at him from the dark wood frame of the mirror. The hair of his reflective doppelgänger is longer than it’s ever been before, curling slightly where it falls inches below the line of his collarbone. It had taken time and effort to reach this point, regular cuts and careful application of products, hours upon hours spent in a chromed, rotating chair.

He had been proud of this hair, once. It had been a part of him for so long, such a recognizable feature on the front page of entertainment magazines and newspapers alike. Synonymous, almost, with his name, with his brand.

But it was also recognizable in photographs of Kristoph as they’d led him in recently applied handcuffs from the courtroom—calm and collected on the first occasion, with his own hair perfectly styled, not a strand out of place; unraveled and wild on the second, a perfect allegory to his brother’s deteriorating mental state.

After the trial, Klavier had placed all the mirrors from his apartment that could be easily removed into the back of a very deep closet. Those that could not be taken down were covered in dark and opaque sheets. The thought of looking into the eyes of his reflection, then, and seeing the accusations and the truths in Kristoph’s eyes staring back at him had been completely unbearable.

For that reason alone, he should cut it.

And yet…

Klavier tucked an errant piece of hair behind his ear as he spoke, almost, but not entirely, clearing it from the line of his gaze. Apollo’s eyes, on the other hand, had narrowed considerably at the gesture. “Why do you always play with your hair when we talk? If there’s something you want to tell me, just say it.”

And,

Apollo wrinkled his nose, plucking a long strand of hair from the weave of his suit’s fabric. “Ugh, you shed worse than Mikeko and Vongole combined. Your hair is literally everywhere.”

And,

The room was completely silent, except for the sound of Klavier’s own pulse crashing in his ears and the gentle sound Apollo’s dress shirt crumpling upon contact with the floor. Klavier’s hands were still placed firmly against the sides of Apollo’s jaw, partially to keep Apollo close, but also for support—it was very possible that, without Apollo there to ground him, Klavier might lose himself in the rush of ‘finally’s and ‘at last’s. The sensation of Apollo’s fingers raking through the hair at the back of his neck, twisting around handfuls of the strands, tugging slightly in their haste to feel as much as possible in the shortest span of time, hadn’t helped to keep his thoughts level. He’d found himself gasping gently into Apollo’s lips, the sound enveloped almost immediately by an even more intent kiss.

And,

Apollo looked up sharply at the question, his gaze confused as it passed between Klavier’s amused face and his own hand, which was still coiling strands of Klavier’s hair absently around his fingers. “I guess I didn’t even realize I was doing it,” he’d shrugged, face shifting to an expression that was half embarrassed and half apologetic. “Your hair’s nice? I can stop, if you want.” But Klavier had only shaken his head slightly—it was difficult to move more without losing several of those same strands to Apollo’s grip—and laughed.

And,

Though the room was dark, Klavier’s too-wide eyes could see the scene quite vividly, a frame by frame replay of the trial flashing before his eyes in the stillness. He was aware of Apollo’s arms holding him, of one hand rubbing circles across the skin of his back while the other moved rhythmically to smooth the strands of Klavier’s sleep-wild hair. It would take time for the nightmares to fade, for Klavier to fall asleep in the comfort of Apollo’s arms without the worry of waking hours later in the throes of the guilt-ridden dreams, but knowing that Apollo would be there, should he need him, had helped.

And, back in the bathroom of Klavier’s apartment, nearly half an hour after retreating behind the closed door, Klavier thumbs the switch of the clippers. The sudden silence rings out like an alarm around him; the absence of their sound, so encompassing only moments before, is nearly as distinct.

When he opens the door, Apollo is waiting just beyond, legs folded beneath him in the armchair where he sits. His face is carefully arranged into an expression that would pass, for most people, as neutral. Klavier, however, can see the slight furrow of concern in the space between his brows, the tint of relief in the curve of his mouth.

“Changed your mind?” Apollo asks, equally mindful in tone.

His attempts to maintain neutral despite the worry he is so clearly struggling with evokes a surge of emotion from deep within Klavier’s chest that is difficult to swallow back down.

Klavier’s voice, when he responds, shakes gently. “Ja. Is that alright?”

Sometimes, it is possible to watch a person’s heart break under the strain of nothing but a simple question.

Without another word, Apollo stands and takes the steps across the room, too quickly to be anything other than affected by Klavier’s words. The difference in their heights is enough that Klavier has to bend slightly to fit into the circle of Apollo’s arms; in the process, his loose hair falls all around them and over the curve of Apollo’s shoulder.

“It’s your hair, Klavier,” Apollo repeats. The words are insistent and their meaning, dichotomous.

Klavier sighs gently—the exhalation a mixture of grief and the early traces of relief—and closes his eyes.

#day two of forcing myself to write something everyday stream of consciousness style #whatever comes to mind!!!!! #all klapollo!!!! #technically this is day three day two got too long and needs to be ended #will post that one soon #anyway this is for @nessiemccormick #they 100% inspired this with that picture of Klavier’s hair #anyway everyone and their mom writes Klavier cutting his hair so I figured I’d write him NOT cutting it #sometimes I write things

[aesthbaby]

Attention pt. 2

Summary: After being the unsub’s latest victim in a joint case with the BAU, you see what was missing. Nothing’s ever been clearer and all it took was being rendered unconscious by an unsub in front of your girlfriend and her entire team. 

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Plus!size reader

Prompt: Check part one

Warnings: cursing | kissing | injury | mentions of a fictional case | poisoning

Word count: 2719

Masterlist

An: I’m pretty sure you can read this as a stand alone if you wanted to but here’s part one. Also, I’m sorry this took me 2 months to publish.

The moon is brighter than the sun? No I’m pretty sure the sun is. What’s wrong with me? Why does my head hurt?

You attempt to reach for your head but your arms are too heavy to be of any use. 

That’s definitely not the moon.

The light source is moving. It’s a flashlight, the pocket sized one.

“Stay with us.” You hear a jumble voice from behind but can’t make out who it is. “We’re almost there.” The light is too bright but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. It hurts. “No, no stay up. We’re almost there.” It’s Emily, and she’s the source of the blinding presence. “Can you sit up for me?” You’re saying yes but nothing seems to come out and all you feel is fatigue. Your body is leaving this earth.

And there she is, yelling your name as its being drowned out by the darkness that’s enveloping you.

~~~~~~~~

“Hey!” Emily shouts from the stairs. “Stop day-dreaming and help me.”

“Help you? What’s going on?” The ground feels unsteady but the scene looks familiar.

Emily sets the box of towels on the counter top. “What?”

“Where am I?” You start to examine your hands, wondering what in the holy hell is happening.

“Babe,” The nickname gets your attention immediately. “Are you okay?”

“Emily,” She places a hand on your forehead.

“No fever.”

“Emily, I’ve already done this.”

“What do you mean?” She laughs. “We’ve been at this for hours. You have may more stuff than you let on. Plus, if we’ve ‘already done this’ I wouldn’t have had to tote all of these boxes by myself.”

A ‘sorry’ almost rolls off your tongue but it doesn’t make a sound. “No, Em I’m being serious.”

She plops down on the white arm chair and let’s out a huff. “Fine, you got me.” At your confused expression, she continues. “We’ve been here before, atleast you have. Three months ago you moved into this apartment with the love of your life, Emily Prentiss.”

Barely managing a stutter, “You’re not Emily?”

“Yes. Well, not exactly. I’m your version of her.”

“Am I-” You swallow the lump in your throat before saying the next part. “Dead?”

“What?” She smiles. “No. Just sleeping. A deep sleep at that.” She mumbles the last part.

“What happened? Why am I here?” You Can feel the panic and dread starting to set in. “I want Emily. I don’t want to be here.”

“Woah.” The brunette stands from her seat. “Calm down, you’re okay. Just take it easy.”

“Easy?” Now the anger is starting to boil. “I’m in a fucking coma with a fake girlfriend and you’re telling me to ‘take it easy??”

“Hey, look at me.” When you don’t move to look at her she gently takes your head. “You’re not in a coma y/n/n. You’re just sleeping.”

A tear starts to wellup in your eye. “But what does that mean?”

“Do you remember why you went to work with me today?”

“Uh,” You trail. “I think it was for a case.”

“Right, but why were you there?”

“Emily mentioned me to Hotch a year ago, about how good of an agent I am. That was before we were together.”

“Right,” She nods while doing that lip biting thing. “But why?”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘why?’ I don’t know why.” You begin to pace the shared loft. “I thought she was just putting in a good word for me.”

“Y/n, you know there’s more to it than that.”

You stop your movement and turn to face her. “Then tell me, you know!”

“No I don’t. I told you in not really her; I’m your version of her. I only know as much as you know.”

You slowly sink down on the plush couch. “I want Emily. I want the real Emily.”

“Then go to her.” She sits beside you and lays a gentle hand on your knee.

“How? I don’t even know why I’m here or what’s going on with me. I just want to go home.” The tears are staring again but not falling.

“Yes you do. Come with me.” She stands and holds out a pale palm to you. Hesitantly taking it, she leads you to your bedroom door. “Are you ready?” As soon as she sees you nod she opens the door and a bright light pulls you both in.

“Em, where are we?” In front of you is the bed to which you’ve been sharing for months now. On it is Emily in one of your big t-shirts on the phone with someone. “Wha-”

“Wait,” Your artificial Emily whispers.

The closet door opens and you step out in the new pajamas she bought you. “You look good.” She smiles with the phone away from her ear.

“Who is that?” You mouth as you crawl into bed with her.

“Hotch.” The classic toothy smile is on display as she replies. “Yes! Sir— I’m sorry but I- no we do not. Okay thank you.”

“What was that?”

“Hotch was asking for my input on the new trainees.”

“And....?”

“I did a thing.” She drags.

“A thing?” You arch your eyebrow.

“Yes.” She moves to straddle your lap.

“What was it?” Her lips on your neck completely scrambles your brain. Effectively making you forget what you were asking.

“What is this? I barely remember it.” You turn to face your rendition of Emily. All you get is a shrug in reply from her. “She wasn’t actually talking about trainees, was she?” Another shrug. “I’ll take that as a no. Was she talking about the poisoning case?” Silence. “She recommended my department to help with the murders.”

“Finally, but you still don’t know why.”

“Do I need to? Why does it actually matter.”

“Come on babe,” She brushes a hand down your arm. “I know you’re smarter than this.”

“Since when do you call me ‘babe?”

“We’ve been over this, I’m not Emily. I’m your version of Emily and apparently you subconsciously wish she’d call you more pet names.”

I’ve never thought of it like that...

“I want to show you something else,” She gestures to the bathroom. “Pay attention this time.” As she leads you through the door you can hear your past self speaking.

“She told me I have a weight problem with a god complex intertwined.” You huff from the bathroom mirror.

“Who?” Em is sitting on the edge of the bath moisturizing.

“That bitch I work with!”

“The same one who asked if Africa was a country?” She scrunches her face up in a disgusted twist.

“Yes! Who says that to someone?”

“Yeah how did she get into the academy anyway?”

“Privilege, both Pretty and Rich.”

She lets out a scuff. “That cannot be real.” You turn to her with a confused look. “Pretty privilege.”

“It’s very real and you clearly have it.”

The brunette stops dead in her tracks. “What?”

“You’re gorgeous Em, and you have been appointed more opportunities for it.”

“I’d like to think differently....” she trails.

“I’m not saying you haven’t worked hard to get where you are today but your looks have pushed you a bit further than the rest of us.”

She’s silent for a bit, to the point where you start to worry that you’ve done something wrong. “Then what does that make you?”

You place your towel on the rack and turn to face her again. “What do you mean?”

“You have the looks, charm, and brains. Do you consider yourself to be ‘privileged?”

Completely bipassing the question, “You think I’m pretty?”

“Was that not obvious before? I practically drool whenever I look at you.” She’s as sincere as always but your eye rolls says you don’t believe her. “I know how you can get trapped inside your head sometimes, but I want you to know that I do not share the opinions you have of yourself. You look at yourself and dismiss your beauty while I embrace it. You’re always doubting your intellect when I find myself wondering how I got so lucky to fall in love with a female version of Spencer.” Your small smile morphs into a laugh at the Spencer mention.

“I can’t stand it when you go all soft on me.” Hearing Emily say stuff like this always surprises you because she’s not really the type of person to confess all of this first. It’s usually you who has to adress your emotions as a couple.

“Only for you.” She leans up and plants a kiss on your cheek.

As the memory fades you turn to the consciousness you’ve been talking to. “Shit.”

“Yup.” She draws.

“The reason she didn’t see my connection to the victims is because she doesn’t see that side of. She doesn’t see me as her ‘Plus-Sized Girlfriend.’ She only sees me as her girlfriend, no other labels attached.”

“So, you get it? Do understand why?”

“I get it now.” A tear teeters on the edge of your eyelid. “Yeah, I get it.”

She snakes an arm around you, effectively pulling you into a tight hug. “Are you ready now?” She even smells like your Emily, the memory making the tear fall from your eye. “Remember what I showed you, okay?” Before you can respond a warm light envelopes you.

It makes sense now, she recommended me for the case because of my abilities, no because we’re together or she wanted me to get ahead. She has a blind spot that’s blocking a good chunk of her perception of me. She couldn’t have known I would’ve been targeted. The unsub could’ve been watching me way before I got involved. There’s still a bunch of holes in the case but this is the best you’ve got. Please remember all of this before you wake up.

Your eyes are heavy again. The room feels cold but warm at the same time. Trying to peak out of one eye proves more difficult than it seems. The blinding light of the room is overwhelming, it’s like white ice. Now I’m not making sense. You try to cry out for someone, anyone, but the words die off on your dry lips before they can formulate. “Hey,” You hear a voice softy call from the other side of the room. A tender hand plants itself on your knee, making you flinch a bit. “Glad to see you awake.” Why do I know that voice? In front of your barely open eye is a blonde blob; as your eyes began to focus you realize it’s Jennifer.

As you try to master a hey all that comes out is a low croak. “Its okay, don’t try to speak just yet.” Everything in your head feels fuzzy but the only thing you’re able to think about is Emily. A hum that barely resembles an ‘M’ boils out your vocal cords.

“Emily?” She clarifies on your behalf. A small smile breaches your features. “I’ll go get her and the doctor.” No less that a minute later you can hear her healed boots tapping towards the room. She rushes to your side, planting kisses along your forehead. The doctor does her round of intake on your body with Emily glued to your side.

“Agent y/l/n should make a full recovery so long as the healing process goes as planned.” Was all you managed to absorb as she explained the aftercare plan for you. All of this while JJ is in the background putting the pieces together. She had a feeling Emily was seeing someone but had no idea that someone was you. The way she’d been acting since you collapsed in the office made her also connect the dots. Emily explained her concerned behavior as a long friendship you two once had. Everything was starting to make sense now; you’re the one person who could break Emily’s walls and tear down this compartmentalization bullshit she has going on. Not wanting to impede on what she can only assume is a private moment, she steps out of the room to inform the rest of the team.

“Are you okay?” It’s like she wants to cry, scream, ball her eyes out but all of that built up emotional strain won’t allow her. Instead of letting her do this to herself, you try your best to shift in the bed. “What are you doing?” You didn’t get very far but now there’s an empty space beside you. Motioning for her to lay next to you actually works. With both of you in the annoying small hospital bed you can hold her closer, feeling the quick heart beat. The brunette head of hair in nuzzled in your chest so not to interfere with the tubes and wires still attached to you.

Taking a deep breath and just enjoying the moment, you finally speak. “I’m okay. I mean I feel like I swallowed sandpaper but I’m okay.” You can almost feel the sigh release from her chest.

“We still have no idea how you were poisoned or why you were targeted.” Her jaded voice is always never this emotional, it’s strange to hear her so vulnerable. “For the smartest minds of the FBI we feel a little stupid.” The laugh the bounces around in your throat is painful, still welcomed. “Baby,” She starts after a moment of silence. “If I have realized the connection between you and the victims, I wouldn’t have let you work this.”

“You didn’t know,” You have no idea where this is coming from but something in the back of your mind is telling you to explain it to her. “You don’t see all of me, Em.”

She sniffles and buried herself deeper into you. “When I look at you, all I see is you. I don’t see your weight or your figure, I only see you. My girlfriend. You’re right, that’s the problem. I’m only seeing part of you. Not all of you. I don’t deserve you.” She moves to stand but you quickly pull her back in before she gets the chance.

“You can’t run from this, Emily. I understand that you didn’t do this intentionally.”

“My actions- blindness almost costed you your life. I can’t put you in danger again.” When she pulls away you let her go this time.

“Emily. You’ve ran away from your own shadow before, aren’t you tired?”

“If it means keeping you safe, I’ll file a fucking restraining order!” She nearly yells.

“Don’t do that. Everytime you fuck up you get that look in your eye like I’m going to break up with you or something. I’m not. I know you’re waiting on the other shoe to drop but I promise it’s not. All of those other guys you’ve been with? I’m not them. Big difference is that I’m female and a lot more mature. I’m also not as psychotic as he who shall not be named.” A small smile breaches her features. “I love you. Rather you like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh really? Wait until Garcia finds out I’ve been hiding this from her. She’s going to wanna know all about you. You’ll definitely be invited to the next girls night.”

“I don’t mind.” You shrug. “But seriously, how did I get poisoned?”

“The forensic team is still searching our place, nothing yet but you know they like to take their sweet time with cases. I’ve obviously be recused from the case while the rest of the team works with the CDC and the Anti-terrorism division. We also have agents and Unis posted outside the room and hospital so the Unsub has no chance of coming after you again. Even an added air filter so he has no vent system.” She waves towards the attachment on top of the existing air vent. No wonder the air smells so crisp in here.

“Sounds like I’m in good hands.”

“You are, just wish I could be out there with them.”

“You’re right where you need to be, right where I need you.” You stretch your arms out to her like the way a child does.

She laughs at the gesture but complies. Instead of squishing into the small bed she drags the chair to the side of your bed, firmly clasping your hand in her’s.

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[romaxnogersav]

Losing the bet

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson & Reader (platonic/flirt)

Warnings: fluff, bickering, drinking

Word count: 2789

Summary: Bucky and Sam are restless in being the winner of their bet. It’s too bad that Steve was the winner all along.

Request by anon: Can I request a fic were Bucky and Sam flirt with the reader and have a bet on who can kiss the reader first. But the reader is secretly dating Steve. Fluffy and comedy.

A/N: I finished this today, in one sitting and I’m really proud of myself. I haven’t written anything in a few weeks, and it’s so good to fall back into place. Thank you to the anon that sent this in! I adore the idea; it just took a little while to finish. I hope you like it, love!

Enjoy 💫

You were in the gym at the Compound. Your hands were wrapped in boxing tape. A sheen of sweat covered your whole body. Your hair was tousled from the intense work out you had, which apparently wasn't enough because Bucky had wanted to go a couple of rounds in the sparring ring.

You were up against the super-soldier.

You pulled your hand back, closed it in a fist, and swung it forward. It never did connect with its' target, because Bucky used his metal arm to block the incoming assault. You tried with your other hand, but he blocked that one as well. He was proving to be a difficult opponent, driven, sure of his ability, but so were you.

You went back and forth for another minute or two. He threw a pinch, measuring his strength so he didn't use it all on you, and you blocked it. You threw a pinch, and he did the same.

You were just about ready for the sparring match to end. Your muscles were sore, your throat, dry. You were sweaty, and you felt disgusting. You just wanted to take a shower, a bath even.

When Bucky tried to twist your arm out, you lifted your knee and aimed for his hip. You were successful in your plan. Your knee hit him in the hip, providing you with a second or two to plan your next move. You swung your arm back one last time, distracting him long enough to kick his legs from under him. He fell on his back on the mat, the loud thud bounced off the walls.

You leaned forward, your palms going to your knees, taking deep breaths. Bucky wasn't much better, on his back in the ring, panting. Even though he was a super-soldier, you were able to tire him out after some time.

"Damn, woman." He started, before he stopped to take another deep breath, "That's what? The third time you've beaten my ass in the last two weeks?" he breathed, wiping at the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. You lifted your head and send him a smirk, your brow quirked up.

"Maybe you are just out of shape," You suggested, pulling yourself to your full height again. You outstretched your hand, waiting for Bucky to take it. When he did, you helped him pull himself up. The moment he did though, his body was flush against yours, his elaborated breath beating down on your cheek.

You tilted your head up a little, looking at him. His lips twitched before they formed into a grin. His eye shone with mischief.

"And maybe I just like seeing you win, doll. Like seeing you put me in my place." He whispered out, and the flirtatious tone was not lost to you. He tended to be like that sometimes, it was Bucky Barnes after all.

Ever since you've known him, he'd always been flirty with you. You never dwelled on it, he had been like that back in the day, too. Steve on his part had been pretty elaborative when he told you all about the 30s and 40s version of James Buchanan Barnes.

He had been a known charmer, a bit of a lady's man, but not as much as Tony once was. He'd been able to attract a number of women in his early days. Steve had told you all about it. How easily most "dames" fell for him, and you were kind of able to see why. Even decades later, Bucky was still a smooth talker. He was witty, yet careful, and teasing too. Those were some of his best characteristics.

You decided to play along, indulge him. It never hurt having some teasing conversations with him. It also helped keep up with the lie of being single. You were in a happy, prospering, secret relationship with a heartfelt, and gorgeous human being. A certain blond, who also happened to be his best friend since childhood. But, no one knew that, and you wanted it that way for the time being.

"And I like putting you in your place, Barnes, I really do. But you stink right now," You laughed, and moved around him, getting off of the ring. You reached for your water bottle and took a large sip. Bucky chuckled from his place in the ring before he moved out of it as well.

"Admit it, you secretly like it."

"Flirting with me will get you nowhere, sugar." You winked over your shoulder and walked towards the exit. You heard him snort before you exited the space.

---

You smoothed out your dress, ran your hands through your hair, and put your earpiece in. You picked up your clutch and gave yourself one final glance in the mirror before you took a deep breath and let the mask fall into place. You walked towards the bedroom door, opened it, and stepped into the living room of the hotel suite. There, bottoming his tuxedo was Sam. He wore a dashing black, three-piece suit, no doubt hand-picked by Natasha.

You were in a five-stars hotel in Prague, undercover. There was an art exhibition going, a cover for a human trafficking cartel. You had to get intel on how they were operating, in order to take them down. You and Sam were going to play a couple, Steve and Natasha were your back up, posing as husband and wife, and Bucky was the extra precaution, located on a rooftop across the street.

Sam grinned at you, gusting towards your outfit. "Wow, you look…." He trailed off and you smiled, looking down at yourself.

"Good?"

"No, not good. Magnificent. Good doesn't even begin to cover it," he said, giving you his arm, which you gratefully took, and the two of you exited the hotel suite.

"Thanks, Sam."

"I should be thanking you. Man, how much money I'd pay for this to be a real thing, and not a mission," he said with a shake of his head, and you just laughed in amusement. Much like Bucky, Sam was quite the flirty guy, but he was a tad subtle. He always made you laugh; he was always cautious when he flirted.

He complimented a lot and wasn't as straightforward as James. Even when he flirted, it was hard to call it a flirt since he was always so nice and careful, it surprised you. The guy had game, and you had to give him that. You'd known it since the first time you met him, as subtle as he was back then, he wasn't that smooth.

"Alright Casanova, we get it," Natasha's voice bloomed from your earpieces and you just looked at each other and continued down to the lobby, and then to the car waiting to drive you to the exhibition.

Twenty minutes later, you and Sam were walking into the gallery, hand in hand, mindful of your surroundings. Upon entering, a head or two turned your way. You spotted Steve and Natasha across the room, and Steve flushed you a gentle smile. You were a bit on edge, but seeing him smile like that, and knowing he'd be there, not that much far from you, made you relax. He always has a calming effect on you, even in situations such as this one.

"It's good to be in the company of a gorgeous woman," He turned towards you with a smirk and winked at you, which made you giggle a bit. He was getting cocky, probably doing it to piss off Bucky, they were always bantering about something.

"Don't flatter yourself birdy. It was supposed to be me," Bucky's voice pierced your ears, just a tad annoyed. You wanted to laugh, but you suppressed it.

"You are just mad because I have a lovely lady on my arm, and you are holding onto a binocular," Sam sassed, which did make you laughed this time not being able to hold it in.

"Keep on dreamin' Wilson"

"I would, but this ain't a dream tin-can man," You heard Nat chuckle in your earpiece, and when you looked at her and Steve, the blond was shaking his head with a smile.

"Get your heads back in the game, we have work to do," he scolded you all. You took the glass of champagne Sam was offering you and brought it to your lips.

"Copy that," you muttered, and took a sip of the beverage.

---

The flirting continued for a while. A cheeky remark here, a compliment there. You tried to not pay that much attention to it. They were like that sometimes and it wasn’t worth dwelling on it.

Steve though, he started noticing it too.

At first, much like you, he tried not to think about it that much, surely they were just messing around. They were two of his closest friends, and even though they had no idea that you and Steve were dating, he knew they were respectful enough not to get into your business if you didn't want them too.

You, more often than not, just to mess with them, flirted back, but just a little, and pretty casually. You didn't want to give them the wrong idea, but you also didn't want to seem like you were cutting them off, or not paying attention at all. They were your friends after all.

It wasn't until one night, that something in Steve seemed to snap.

The team had decided to go out and have some good time at a bar. It was just after another mission, one you barely made it out of. It called for a celebration.

Both Bucky and Sam had flirted with you, more than they had in the past. A drink here, a dance there, a couple of compliments thrown for good measures. How good you looked, how well you danced, how much you could drink. How good you had been on the last mission, stuff like that.

It was well into the night, and Steve was sitting in their usual booth, with both Sam and Bucky. Each of them was nursing a drink, while you, Natasha, and Wanda were dancing.

It was evident that both flirty guys had had too much to drink because they were rambling stupid things every other minute. Even though Bucky was a super-soldier, a bit of Thor Asgardian mead tucked into Steve's jacket to relax them both, had proven to be able to loosen his lips.

"Man, I'm so close. I'm telling ya, you'll lose the bet," Bucky slurred, taking another sip of his whiskey.

"Don't be so sure of yourself Barnes. Did you see the way she was looking at me earlier? Prepare to lead the training sessions for the next week in a Hello Kitty boxer briefs," Sam giggled, just like a schoolgirl, and Steve had to shake his head in order not to laugh.

"What bet?" Rhodey, who had just sat down mare minutes ago, asked.

"Who can kiss Y/N first," Bucky said, craning his neck to look at you on the dance floor. You were positioned between both Natasha and Wanda, swaying your hips left and right, with hands above your head.

Upon hearing that, Steve's breath hitched. His closest, no scratch that, his best friends had a bet going on, on which one of them can kiss his girl first? It was ridiculous. His heart beat faster, his hands got a little sweaty.

The sudden urge to smack them both, punch them even, was almost unbearable. Yes, he was jealous, and what about it? He had every right to be, he had every right to feel that way. They were talking about his girl, placing a bet on his girl.

But then it hit him.

You were his girl, and he was the only one who could kiss you, taste you, and be enveloped by your smell. The aroma of vanilla and rose, and the little bits that were just you and your natural scent.

He was the only one who could hold you at night and kiss every inch of your body. He was the only one that knew about that one place on your neck, just behind your ear that made you sing. He was the only one that knew how to touch you. He was the only one that knew not only your body, but your soul too. You were his girl after all.

He didn't want to hide it anymore. He didn't want to sneak around anymore, not being able to be close to you, without it being too close. He didn't want to sneak glances and little smiles all day and be able to have you close only in the dead of night, when everyone else was asleep.

He didn't want to watch from afar while other men, even his best friends, flirted with you.

If able, if you let him, he'd go shout from the top of The Avengers Tower, that you were his and he was yours.

He was tired of hiding, tired of concealing his love for you in front of the others. He wanted to be able to touch and kiss you, even when you were in the company of the team, and he didn't want to wait any longer to do so.

He drowned his drink and set the glass down. "Sorry fellas, but that ain't gonna happen. I have already won," he said and raised from his seat. Both men sat straighter, brows furrowed. Rhodey in turn chuckled, shaking his head as if he knew what was about to happen.

Steve walked towards the dancefloor, moving around bodies, trying to make his way over to you. You were gracefully dancing with the other girls, a charming cute smile on your face.

You didn't even see him walk towards you until he was towering over you, with those azure eyes full of determination. You stopped moving, and it was as if time was moving on autopilot.

His hands took a hold of your face, and then he was leaning down until his lips smashed against yours. The kiss was hot, urgent. It lacked the gracefulness Steve usually put into his movements, yet it still had that fire you were oh so familiar with. His lips moved against yours with resolve, as if he had something to prove. Regardless, he still poured all he had into the kiss.

He nudged your bottom lip with his tongue, and you opened your mouth just enough to let him in. His tongue caressed yours, danced in sync, his movements a little gentler than they had been at first. One of his hands moved to your waist, pulling your body flush against his, keeping you close. The other stayed on your face, going a bit lower to tilt your head. Yours sneaked around his narrow waist, holding and not wanting to let go.

You didn't know how much time passed, seconds or minutes, it didn't really matter. Nothing around you was important, expect the person in your arms.

When you separated, he leaned his forehead against yours, both your breathings elaborated from the heated kiss you just shared.

"What was that about?" you asked quietly, and even with the music blasting in the background, Steve's super-hearing was able to pick on your question.

He held you just a little tighter at that, lowering his head to peck your lips again.

"Now they know you are mine," he murmured just loud enough for you to pick up on it. You laughed at that, full-on laughed. He was jealous, and even if he tried to deny it, you wouldn't believe him.

"Yeah, now they know," you mirrored, and he wrapped a hand around your waist before he pulled you toward your booth. Nat and Wanda had made their way over after you and Steve had started kissing, and both grinned at you.

Your flirty buddies had their eyes wide, a questioning look coloring their faces. You just laughed at them, what else was there to do really? The picture was pretty much clear by now.

Steve sat down, then pulled you into his lap. You winded your hands around his neck and laid your head on his shoulder.

"I guess both of you are going to be training the recruits in Hello Kitty underwear for the next week, after all." Steve sassed, not even sorry for those dumbasses.

"Oh come on," both of them cried at the same time, and everyone at the table burst out laughing.

Your relationship was no longer a secret, and honestly? You didn't mind it one bit. Now you'd be able to show your affection with much more than just a glance or a smile.

-----

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