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autisticlenaluthor · 7 months

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Maroon

“That’s what you’re wearing?”

It’s the first thing Kara says when she opens the door. Her eyes go wide and her brows shoot up– an involuntary response to the sight in front of her. And immediately, Lena retracts. She smiles, the way she always does when uncomfortable, and lifts her hands in defense.

“Shoot– I’m sorry, I don’t mean it like that,” Kara stammers. “You look great– I mean, you always look great, really! I- I don’t know why I said that. Like– you could step on me, and I’d probably thank you.”

She doesn’t know why that last bit slips out either. But it does. And for a solid five seconds, she freezes, beet-faced as she stares at Lena, who stares back, with brows raised so high her forehead creases to accommodate them.

“I am… so sorry for that,” Kara murmurs after what feels like an eternity.

She steps aside so her friend can enter the apartment and awkwardly adjusts her glasses, mentally kicking herself for, well, everything.

Because really, Lena doesn’t look bad. If anything, it’s the opposite. In a black button-down and plaid dress pants, Lena remains the most stunning woman Kara has ever seen. For embarrassing as they all were, not a word of Kara’s ramblings had been dishonest.

“I just…” Kara shuts the door and fidgets uncomfortably as she approaches Lena. “It’s like a million degrees out, are you gonna be comfortable?”

“I just came from work,” Lena responds. Her voice is flat, her posture stiff.

“I- I know,” Kara says. “You do look very good.”

Lena smiles. “Thank you.”

She sucks in a breath and glances down at herself. She’d had a feeling this wasn’t the most appropriate attire. Kara had invited her to a baseball game at Aztec Stadium- not to a dinner party or board room. Now that she sees herself next to Kara, she does feel pretty ridiculous.

“Could I…” Lena sucks in a breath. “Do you have something I could borrow?”

“Oh– yeah, of course. Come with me!”

They spend the next fifteen minutes in Kara’s bedroom, Lena perched on the edge of the bed while Kara digs through her closet.

“I can’t wait to get nachos,” she says. “I know technically liquid cheese is kind of disgusting. But I feel like the rules don’t really apply at baseball games.”

Lena hums and nods.

“I’ve actually never been to one,” she says.

Kara turns around, holding a few hangers and pairs of pants.

“Any kind of sports, thing, really. Unless you count high school fencing.” Lena laughs as she says it. “But, I was the one doing the fencing.”

“You fenced?”

“Yeah. For about three years.”

Kara pauses and folds the clothes over her arm.

“Why’d you stop?”

Lena shrugs. “I guess I got bored.”

“You got bored sword fighting?”

“Yeah, well…” Lena gives a teasing smile and raises an eyebrow. She’s going to make a remark about how she is a Luthor and after a while, the weaponry in fencing begins to feel a bit juvenile. But she keeps it in, unsure of how a joke like that will land.

Thankfully, Kara doesn’t seem to notice the hesitation. She stays in the swing of things and holds up two pieces from her pile– a maroon tank top and jeans.

“What about this?” She asks.

“I don’t know…” Lena stretches out the words.

She tilts her head and scrunches up her nose as she says it. Kara can pull the look off. She’s nothing if not beautiful in her National City Warriors t-shirt and ripped denim shorts. But with her, it’s different. Because Kara’s muscular and tall. She’s got a sunshine smile and the softest golden waves. And as goofy as she may be, with her baseball cap and fanny pack slung across her body, she’s still her. She’s still perfect.

“Don’t you think I’ll look silly?”

“No, I think you’ll look cute,” Kara answers without an ounce of hesitation. “But it’s up to you.”

Lena rises from the bed and steps forward to take the outfit from her friend. She wants to ask if Kara has another one of those big tees but the words escape her.

“Okay,” she says after a moment. “I’ll try it.”

She strips and changes in front of her (with Kara, it’s never felt strange) while Kara talks to her about everything going on at CatCo. The new intern who Ms. Grant brought to tears on her first day (she brought her a mocha instead of a white mocha) and the techie who was fired for trying to steal one of the company tablets.

“Lena!” Kara exclaims when she’s done.

“What?”

Instinctive arms wrap themselves around Lena’s abdomen. She’s so exposed in this. Her stomach protrudes over the waistline of the jeans and the unfaded stretch marks she normally covers with concealer are visible. She’s too casual, she’s too sloppy, too–

“You look so good!”

Kara claps her hands together. She’s smiling so bright her eyes get all squinty and dimples appear on either side of her mouth.

“Wait- can I do something? Can I touch your hair?” She asks.

Kara's s so happy Lena can’t help but oblige. She nods and smiles, letting her friend come over to her and carefully take the bobby pins out of her bun. She moves slowly with hands so gentle. It’s a welcome break from the nights when Lena gets home and rips them out fast enough that they take clumps of hair with them.

“You look so nice,” Kara softly reiterates as she removes the first hair tie. “I don’t know what it is but you just… you feel so human, I guess.”

The bun collapses into a ponytail and Kara carefully pulls out the second hair tie. She rakes smooth fingers through Lena’s hair, pulling it all back behind her shoulders.

“Human?” Lena chuckles.

“Yeah… I guess I’ve never really seen you outside of your work clothes. You’re always so put together but you just– I mean, you’re always beautiful. And now…” Kara hesitates. She needs something to do with her hands, so she goes back to combing out Lena’s hair. She can feel her face filling with heat, thankful Lena’s back is to her. “You feel less… less far away. Like, you’re less of an entity and more…”

Lena turns around. Her expression is relaxed, save the knit in her brow, like she finally released the breath she’d been hanging onto.

For a moment, she waits, clinging to Kara’s every last word, needing to know where she’ll land. But Kara falls quiet. She’s too focused on the inch of space between them. They’re so close she can smell Lena’s warm vanilla lotion and the faint scent of coffee on her breath, see the scab from where she chews her lip, and the freckles under faded foundation.

“You…” She tries again but the word gets caught in her throat.

“Kara?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I…”

Lena takes Kara’s hand in hers, intertwining their fingers as she steps forward and closes the gap between them. When their lips touch, she waits to feel the fireworks. The butterflies in her stomach, fluttering and pouncing with glee. But instead of an explosion that overtakes her, it’s a calm that washes over her body. Warmth that starts where Kara’s body meets hers, radiating all the way down to the tips of her toes.

It feels right. It feels safe.

When she finally pulls away, Kara’s sunshine smile instantly returns.

“You good?” She asks with a laugh, giving Lena’s hand a squeeze.

“Yeah,” Lena says, smiling in a way that causes her nose to get all scrunchy and small. “I’m really good.”

#supercorptober2023 #supercorptober #supercorp ficlet #supercorp fanfiction #lena luthor #kara danvers

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knight-dwx-09 · 1 year

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Return

After a long comfort from Juniper and the young girls including the still confused reaper and trying a different method to separated them like the boost himself and used the leaf which merely lead him to find himself once again. They were ready to went back to Remmant.

Oh yeah, Neo chose to stay there to fix herself. Nothing he should worry about, though he wishes the best for her.

After departing through the door, the five of them meet with the tree in her human form.

She began to retell the story of the god of brother, where two beings were created in the ever after for the purpose to take care of the place. Soon enough, they started to create a living being like the Curious Cat to fulfill theirs and even more. But their experiments became too much for the tree to handle, so it constructed a door to the greater beyond, allowing them to create even more.

She also say that how a dishonest path could cause a unfortunate change, and the horrible things about broken hearts is that there’s nobody send them back for the repair while holding the wooden statue of the cat.

The said cat suddenly hissed in his mind at the comment, seemingly irritated by what she just said.

He had asked if she can remove the cat from him. However, she told him that it was beyond her power, saying the cat and his soul had completely fuse together. If she severed it by forced, his soul will be damaged permanently, worst he could die.

Great, there’s nothing he could do to kick the cat out without gambling his own life.

She also give him Alyx’s knife and he became young again when he grabbed it, joy spread through him as he hold his own young face. He never thought he will never see it ever again, although he was dumbfounded by his own voice when he speak.

CCat: I prefer the old you. It’s much cooler and got the mature aspect around it.

And just like that, his happiness get wash away into the sea.

Soon after, the blacksmith open a portal behind them, a doorway back to Remmant.

CCat: Ohhh, This is so exciting! I can’t wait to see your world. I have been wondering the food there, how is it taste? sweet? Salty? And does the nugget really look like a dinosaur? I also want to meet your friend, especially this Oscar boy who have a old man inside of him. I have a ton of questions for the wizard like how it feel to inhabit the boy body or where the other soul go after he absorbs them. Agh! There’s simply too much I wish to know and see.

His eyes twitch in annoyance, letting out a sigh.

Weiss: Are you really fine?

Jaune: I… not really sure. Not only he irritated me to no end with his questions, I’m still afraid what’s this would do to me, how will it affected my mind as time goes by…

He turned back to Weiss with a confident smile that showed his resolve hadn’t falter.

Jaune: But I won’t let this stop me, I will find a way to get this bastard out of me if that’s the last thing I do.

Seeing him so lively in spite of his condition, all of them smiled.

Yang sling her arm around his neck and pulled him closer, pressing him against her chest and ruffling his hair.

Yang: That’s what I’m talking about! You can’t let that lying pussy win, we are gonna kick that kitty butt as soon he leaves you!

Blake didn’t say anything, merely giving a supportive smile as she place a hand on his shoulder.

Weiss: I can ask for the scientists’s help in Vacuo. I don’t know if they can do anything, though it’s still worth a shot.

Ruby: Don’t worry Jaune! We, team RWBY, are going to help to split you and the cat apart even if it takes years.

Jaune smiled at the young girls, proud for having a great friends around him.

Jaune: Thank guys

CCat: How can you say that Jaune? After everything we have we went through, we are practically a best friend.

Jaune promptly disregarded it.

Blake and Yang were the first to leave as they hold hand, follow by Weiss and then Ruby after she said thank you to the lady. Being the last one to leave, he started walk towards the portal, looking forward to reunion with his team and everyone after years of living alone.

Blacksmith: Wait!

He halted and face back at her.

Jaune: Do you need something?

Blacksmith: Can I request you a favor?

Jaune: what’s that?

Blacksmith: The cat, I know he can be very handful and immature.

Jaune: That put it Lightly.

Blacksmith: But he used to be kind hearted, he simply walk down the wrong path… And he need a good guide like you in his life to help him through. I know this a bit much of me to ask, but... Please, be at his side no matter what.

Both stared each other, not utter a single word for a moment. He turned back and marched into the light as he gives his answer.

Jaune: I will try.

#rwby #jaune arc #rwby jaune #ruby rose #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #blake bellodona #rwby volume 9 #rwby curious cat #Cat Arc AU #rwby volume 9 spoilers

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writing-reaper · 2 years

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Bound through the Force

The Bad Batch x f!OC Mara

Description: Mara’s first mission with the bad batch. Just how wrong can this go? A simple delivery, past acquaintances, and distrust. Just how strange is life?

Note: even though this story has so far been focused on the relationship between Mara and Omega, this story is not for the faint of heart. Warnings are listed below, do not read if any of these things make you uncomfy. More light hearted stuff next chapter! Enjoy!

Warnings: dealing with trauma, crying, noncon kiss, mentions of rape, mentions of nudity and death

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five (here)

“Think you’re ready to handle this?” Echo asks for probably the fifth time that afternoon. She had to be ready in an hour and he’d been pestering her for the last three.

“I’m certain I’ll be able. I’ve done deliveries before and frankly they’re the least of my concerns.” She answers, explaining more thoroughly in order to avoid the question being repeated once more.

“I don’t mean for the job, I mean for the person. The one we’re delivering to.” Echo elaborates. “You know, the one that knows you?”

“Right.” Mara pauses and furrows her brows. “I cannot know for certain until I know who it is. There are many I’ve met that I don’t particularly care for, some that I like, and many that leave a bitter taste in my mouth. However, if it’s a pirate, I’m certain I’ll enjoy their company.”

“Why a pirate?” He questions, looking confused.

“I can always trust them to be dishonest. Honest men are liars for calling themselves honest, and pirates may be narcissistic but they’ll never deny being dishonest.” Mara answers, a small grin on her lips. “I’ve worked a lot with pirates and while they have turned on me or have run for the hills, they never lie about having my back. They’re daft and brutes, but they’ll always lie and you know never to believe what they say.”

“That’s certainly a different way to think about it.” Echo answers, a strange disapproving expression on his face.

“Not to worry, I won’t put any of you in harms way if I frolic with any pirates.” She exclaims, humor in her voice and smiling eyes.

“I’d sure hope not. You should get Cid to take over and get ready.” He suggests, never having worked with her before and not knowing how long it takes for her to armor up. Mara looks him in the eyes, examining his features, taking in the sincerity on his face.

“If it concerns you so, I will.” Mara answers, nodding her head and walking off to Cid’s office. She wanted to roll her eyes or scoff at his obsessive worrying, but another part of her found his concern for her well-being sweet (even if it was just for Omega’s sake).

“You’re not talking me out of making you go.” Cid informs, not looking up from her datapad with her squinted gaze.

“Not at all, I was just letting you know that I will be stepping away from the bar to get ready.” Mara replies, leaning against the doorway.

“Alright. I’ll be out in a minute, you got get ready or whatever.” Cid grunts, waving Mara off.

She shrugs and makes her way upstairs, the apartment still a slight mess. Mara had yet to build the storage units because she had passed out the other night before she could get started. It annoyed her, the storage boxes sitting there so uselessly. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to start and finish the shelves within her short time frame.

Perhaps Echo was right to send her up so early to get ready, it has been a while since she’s been in her old armor. It wasn’t that she didn’t think she’d fit in them, those chances being entirely unlikely, but she didn’t know if she was emotionally prepared to wear it again.

Just putting on the chest plate made her heart rate quicken. She knew what she had to do, put it all on and dive into her mask that’s she’s used for ages. However, all she wanted to do right now was cry. She wanted to drown in her sorrow, in the memories of her past. She wanted to feel the love, regret, the pain, but time would run out too soon for her to indulge. Instead, she put piece by piece on.

Her armor has always been anything but conventional. Mara came from a place that saw wearing armor as weakness. In other words, the less armor, the stronger; the more armor, the weaker. That is why they fight naked at their final trial before becoming in training assassins. That is why Priya was killed so easily.

Her armor wasn’t much. A single sleeve of armor and a pointed shoulder pad, similar to Crosshair’s but wider. It was all attached at the neck. She wore a plate over her stomach to protect vital organs which attached to a belt to hold extra weapons and a credit purse.

Beneath it all was a romper with long sleeves. The legs were short and ended right at her knee, however, her legs were mostly guarded by her tall boots that covered the rest of her skin.

Finally, she braided her hair and pinned it behind her head. Unfortunately, she couldn’t find her hair cap so she’d just put the helmet on, not that there was much of a difference anyway. The only difference was a decrease in the chance of her hair getting stuck to something.

Then, a moment of realization hit her, the symbol of her old cult. She finds some dark tape and quickly covers the symbol. Tech had seen it before, and while he hadn’t questioned it, she didn’t want the others to pester.

Mara wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready to tell the truth. She couldn’t trust them. She didn’t want to lose Omega.

“Looks like you’re missing some armor.” Crosshair tsked, looking annoyed about the fact.

“No, this is it.” Mara answers, holding her helmet at her hip.

“No wonder you have all those scars.” He grunts, putting a toothpick in his mouth.

“It’s a cultural thing I’m afraid.” Mara answers with a shrug. “The people believed the more armor worn meant the weaker the person, the less, the stronger.”

“So what, they gave you a full set then took pieces away the “stronger” you got?” He pesters, finding the idea ridiculous.

“Not exactly. When training they look at how you fight, see which areas are more prone to injury and how you respond to injury. So they give armor based on your first move, if you block, and what injuries make you the weakest.” Mara answers. Shrugging her shoulders. “I block the most with my right, so I get a sleeve, the extra pad is more for looks than ability but can still be useful, the stomach blading is to protect vital organs, and the boots are barely necessary, I’ve done plenty of jobs fine with a pair of flats or heels.”

“That is interesting, what culture is this?” Tech asks.

“Enough chat, when are we leaving?” Mara deflects. While she was certain he could discover the culture on his own, there also may have been the chance others did it as well and he wouldn’t discover the cult.

“As soon as Cid gives us the go ahead.” Hunter answers, giving her a confused side eye, which Mara ignored.

“Yeah, and you’re good to go. Make sure you don’t break anything.” Cid waves them off. Mara nods and looks toward the group.

“Let’s go.”

Mara sat aboard the ship in the gunners mount as Omega excitedly showed her the space and rambles on and on about the time they used to spend together on Kamino. She examines the view from the spot she was sitting as Omega went on and on.

“Oh! And I’ve been keeping this here!” Omega exclaims, opening a small compartment and removing a familiar looking bag. When she opened the bag, Mara found the Crystal she had given Omega.

“You still have this?” Mara asks, picking up the small Crystal from the bag.

“You said it was a family heirloom, I didn’t want to lose it!” Omega answers.

“I thought you would have left it on Kamino, it’s such a minor item.” Mara answers, examining the crack in the crystal that had been there since her mother’s passing.

“I’ve been holding onto it since the day you left.” Omega admits with a small smile. “Can you tell me what it is?”

“Maybe when we get to the apartment.” Mara answers, placing the Crystal back into the little bag.

“Omega, Mara, come down here.” Hunter calls from the cockpit. Mara gets down and watches Omega in her descend to ensure she didn’t fall. The two enter the cockpit and Omega takes a seat in one of the empty chairs.

“Since we’ll be approaching the drop off soon, we just want to go over some rules.” Echo says to the two. Omega huffs and crosses her arms, perhaps having heard this discussion before. Mara, however, adjusts her stance to show her full attention.

“First, no wandering off. Second, the second you see this person, you need to let us know if they’re a threat or not.” Hunter lists, turning to Mara for the second.

“Understood.” She nods. “However, I hold no concerns.”

“Why not?” Echo questions. “You said you don’t know who this is.”

“Yes, if they planned on causing me harm they wouldn’t have allowed me to be in your company.” Mara answers with a shrug.

“Maybe it’s a scare tactic.”

“We’ll certainly be finding out soon.”

“What is it we’re delivering this time?” Omega asks, looking toward Tech.

“It’s just another weapons shipment.” Tech answers, not looking up from his datapad.

Mara stepped over to the control panel and looked out at the view of hyperspace, it was much more beautiful with the wide window. The ship was quite decent as well, and while there was a lack of racks and rooms, she could understand the difficulty of living with 6 people in such a tight space. While that scenario may never happen, her living with the batch, it still stirred the anxiety in her stomach.

Abruptly, the pulling blue color disappeared and the moon they went meeting on was in view. Mara stepped away from the dash as Echo and Tech took their seats to land the ship.

“Are you alright?” Hunter asks Mara as she takes a seat in the hangar. “Your eyes looked so distant and your heart rate sped up.”

“My heart rate?” Mara questions, suddenly feeling flustered.

“Yeah, I have enhanced senses and I could hear your heart rate. I also heard your conversation with Omega.” Hunter answers, sounding awkward and flustered himself.

“Oh… I see.” Mara takes a look at him. “That must be difficult. Is it just your hearing or is it more?”

“You sure have a way of deflecting.” Hunter says, taking a seat beside her and moving his helmet onto his lap.

“Your point?” Mara asks, a small glare on her features.

“If we’re going to be working closely together, I think it’s important you trust us.”

“I do trust you.” Mara says. “The problem is that you won’t.”

The ship jolts and Mara rises to her feet, picking up her helmet. She keeps it at her side as the others put their helmets on. The moons air was breathable so Mara and Omega didn’t wear any safety gear, though Mara had her helmet just in case.

Wrecker picks up two of the weapon bins and exits with Crosshair close behind him. Echo and Tech follow out next, holding the third crate. Omega walked out between Mara and Hunter to ensure her safety.

A ship lands in front of them and Mara froze. There was only one man she knew with this model and make of ship. A simple errand boy, she knew as the spice runner “Idiot” or rather Elliot.

When the door to the ship opened, it was quickly confirmed it was him. He approached with confidence over to the group.

“I see you’ve brought what I requested.” He says to the mercenaries before turning to examine Mara. “If you’d be so kind, put the weapons in my ship for me.”

Hunter looks to the three members who brought the shipment out and nods. Then, he looks to Mara. He could hear her racing heart and see the small wrinkle in her brow as she holds back her rage.

“Mara Deoradhán, it has certainly been a while.” He says.

“It’s only been 6 months since you abandoned me on a desolate rock such as this one.” Mara answers. “I’m not certain 6 months counts as a while.”

“Still upset about that?” He hums, sauntering closer to her. “Well, I guess you never were one to forgive and forget.”

Mara’s features remain the same as the two enter a stare off. Elliot’s smirk didn’t move from his lips once.

“I see you finally have what you wanted. Omega looks just as you described her.” He states, looking over at the child, Mara stepping into his view, silently telling him to back off.

“Why’d you ask for me?” She questions, her expression remaining unchanged.

“I wanted to see you.” He answers. “And so I could finally do this.”

Mara hadn’t known what she was expecting him to do, but kiss her was at the bottom of that list. His lips were on hers quickly and she froze. Her eyes widen in surprise and after three seconds she swung, punching him in the jaw.

“Heh.” While she hadn’t knocked him entirely off balance, he was hunched over momentarily. “Well, since I couldn’t take your life, the least I could do is take your dignity.”

Hunter stepped between the two as a protective barrier. Mara was angry, burning rage in her chest as her heart pounded against it.

“Payment.” Hunter demands, uncertain of what to say about what had just happened. He just knew that if the man in front of him was going to try anything again, he was going to be getting his right hook next.

“Yeah, yeah. Protect your lady.” Elliot speaks up. “It’s funny how you’d get with one of these guys but reject me 10 times. To think I got so close that one time—"

“Shut it. Payment, plus the extra.” Hunter interrupts, becoming increasingly annoyed by the man. Omega walked up to Mara and held her leg.

“Yes, yes, I got it.” Elliot steps away to his ship, returning with three cases of credits. “There. You can leave now. Enjoy your misery, Mara. It’s going to eat you alive till the day you die.”

Mara picks up Omega, she felt like her shield. While she knew Elliot was right, and how emotionally detrimental his actions had been to her, she knew he couldn’t beat her down. She wouldn’t let him win this.

“It was disheartening to see you as well. I can’t wait for the day your decisions catch up to you.” Mara answers, giving him a polite smile before turning her attention entirely to Omega, smiling at the child and brushing her hair back. She knew what she was doing and the angered glare on his face reassured her.

“You’ll never escape the past, Mara. No matter how much you’ve changed.” Elliot scoffs, finally returning to his ship as the other three return to the group.

“Are you alright?” Hunter turns to Mara, worry hidden beneath his helmet.

“Let’s get back to Ord Mantell.” She answers, walking onto the ship. The five look at each other before walking onto the ship themselves. Finally, they set their course back to Cid’s.

Omega had fallen asleep an hour ago, while the gunners mount seemed uncomfortable, Omega seemed to be able to rest anywhere. Mara took a seat in the hangar, rubbing her temples as frustration fills her body. She wanted to cry: the armor, the memories, the man, the kids— it was all too much.

It was surprisingly quiet on the ship, all the boys in the cockpit, probably discussing what had happened to her. While she didn’t care much what they thought, what did scare her were the questions they were bound to ask.

Her hand involuntarily moves to her lips. If she had been a regular girl within her community, she would be shamed. At least, that is what Elliot had been referring to when mentioning her dignity. She did not love him, kissing in her community was saved for those who loved each other and reserved for marriage.

And while she wasn’t a person this cultural aspect exactly applied to, she had still experienced it first hand. Her body used and abused by multiple men, not one had kissed her. And while she would have despised it if they had, she felt even in those final moments she was dehumanized by the simple reservation.

Now, that dream was gone. His lips stolen away her only prayer for normality, for love. She could only hope the batch wouldn’t steal Omega from her, not when she’s already lost so much.

“Hey.” Hunter’s voice catches her attention as he sits across from her. Why had it always been him? “She finally asleep?”

“Yeah.” Mara answers, a small smile coming to her lips. “Hopefully she stays that way for the rest of the night.”

“Can only hope.” The two share a small laugh, stifling it in hopes they didn’t wake Omega. “About what happened—”

“Please…” the plead leaves Mara’s lips before she could even make her request. “I do not wish to discuss the events of today. At least give me tonight before you demand any explanation.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.” He answers, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

“Oh… my apologies.”

“It’s fine, I know we’ve all been a little pushy.” Hunter says, nodding slightly toward Omega seeing as she was the reason why they were trying to learn everything about Mara. “I just wanted to apologize for not stopping him sooner. Even if that wasn’t what I had originally thought he was going to do.”

“I was surprised as well. You do not need to apologize. Elliot is a coward and he always will be. He’s just a spice runner who can’t stay out of trouble and throws others in the dirt to assure his own safety.” Mara answers. “He had come onto me before, but that was a long time ago. I hadn’t expected him to kiss me.”

“Yeah, I picked that up from your conversation.” Hunter answers a little awkwardly.

“I just don’t understand why he’d insinuate that I’m with you. He has certainly always been a flirt, but I didn’t think he’d be so jealous.” Mara ponders aloud. She looks at the man across from her who suddenly appeared uncomfortable. “Sorry… I’m not used to my emotions and others. It must be annoying and uncomfortable.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s also not the first time I’d heard that be insinuated. The woman running the… ‘toy’ stand had insinuated it as well.” Hunter answered with a chuckle. His face was red, clearly he had been uncomfortable with the insinuation.

“That lady was very rude. Calling you two toys like she has some sort of authority.” Mara states, sounding rather upset, much to Hunter’s surprise. But perhaps that was just another thing he had a missing detail to.

“One other thing.” Hunter speaks up, Mara nods, waiting for him to continue. “You told him about Omega?”

“Yes, and now I fear that it is something I will come to regret. But you don’t understand. I didn’t think I was ever going to see her again. Or anyone who ever showed me an ounce of kindness. We’d been traveling together for four months before I told him.” Mara sighs as she feels those warm tears finally slip from her eyes. “I told him everything. I didn’t think I was going to live long enough to regret it. But I do and I don’t want it to happen again. So forgive me when the day comes that you learn everything about me. Even if it’s not from my own lips.”

She rises to her feet and leaves him once more, climbing the gunners mount to join Omega. Omega was her shield, and Hunter wasn’t going to wake Omega just to demand information about her.

Mara was scared. She’s in a battle she’s going to lose. She just wants to be with Omega for a little while longer, at least until the day comes when she has to leave again.

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@mybigfatspoonielife @gjrain20-starwars @goddess-of-congeniality @redpool

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb echo #tbb tech #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair #tbb omega #the bad batch x oc #bad batch x oc #read the warning #star wars tbb #star wars oc #Star Wars

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voidpacifist · 9 months

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the following is an excerpt from the sticky notes rewrite, which is still in its first draft. this is easily some of my best writing, so I wanted to share it with you. as a treat :)

content warnings for implied and overt ableism, though it is fairly brief

October, traveling south on I-81

The wind was whipping at his mother’s hair through the passenger window. Steve could feel it in his ears, warm and fast and unrelenting as the vehicle growled beneath his bare feet. It was autumn now, an unusually hot day, and he was twelve years old, and the year was 1979. In his head, he could see the individual numbers, the one of his pointing finger, the nine of his index and thumb tapping twice, the seven of his fourth finger following the same motion, and the nine again. It was easy this way, to pretend it was just a year, just a fraction of his life that he was withstanding.

Easy, and merciful, but ultimately dishonest to himself. It was 1979, which meant the beast of change had shown up to barrel through him. They were in New York not one hour ago, but soon enough, they’d be someplace new.

He wanted to hate it, the way he hated a lot of things that had happened in his short span of existence, but he couldn’t bring himself to. It wasn’t something he could judge as a good or a bad change, it was just…a change, really. The things he’d grown used to had ultimately not stood the test of time, because something about the last month had turned his mother into someone restless, and his father restless with her. The two of them stopped talking with their hands as much in conversations he was present for, and he sensed it long before they told him that they would be moving states.

He didn’t like the suddenness of it. But his mother, rock solid in much of her ways, had an underlying vigilance his whole life that couldn’t be quelled. He supposed now that this was just part of it.

A sign passed by his window that read in great, white letters the names of different cities. Scranton 20 was all he needed to read, dead center on the list, to know that his home state was out of sight now, passed by some time ago when he wasn’t paying attention. The thought stung — his chance to say goodbye had been snatched from him by the density of his own brain and everything passing through it. He felt like a black hole, not so much his mind destroying anything not related to moving states, but rather pressing them smaller until he forgot they existed.

He didn’t understand it. His mother adored the house they’d lived in for the past nine years, and told him often and at length about how much she loved it when his father had surprised her with the place. Once, she’d said to him, eyes alight in fond memory, the paint on the walls had been so bright it felt like stepping into a vacuum of color, rather than a colored room. If he thought back to his early childhood, to the ages of four and five and six, he swore he could snag glimpses of the same colors that captured his mother’s happiness in such visceral ways.

His mother, who painted on a smile and kept her head high for the drive across the country, but couldn’t meet his eyes when she spoke, fidgeted with the buckles on her purse, looked so frightened when she thought Steve wasn’t paying attention. Or maybe she did know he was — maybe it was just her looking for moments where she truly felt tethered enough to display what weighed most on her.

He pulled his school bag off of the floor of the car, unzipping the top and fishing out a notepad. His father had given him a new one each year since his sixth birthday, along with a new, shiny pen for writing with. At first, Steve had been puzzled by them, and a little bit bruised by it. The kids in his classes and at the park and at church never wanted to talk to him anyway, never wanted to face him when they did because they were afraid of what he sounded like.

He’d yelled at Ronan Harrington about it once on a Sunday afternoon, screaming what surely sounded like nonsense except in his head. Empty empty empty, he’d shrieked at him until his throat felt torn up by grains of sand.

His father, remarkable and extraordinarily calm even while Steve’s ire rained on him, let him do so, took the sting of his own son’s rebuke because he would never need paper and ink for others to talk to him and he would never experience the humiliation of people wrinkling their noses at how he sounded and he would never know fully what it felt like, to keep giving and giving and giving more of himself without getting anything back to fill the holes. His father let the tirade continue for an hour, until Steve could do nothing with the energy he’d siphoned out of himself except collapse to a tearful heap on the floor.

It will be filled, he’d said when Steve was calm enough to see his hands through his moist vision. You will meet people, and it will be filled.

The one he had in his hands now was hardly used, but enough by the few people he’d been acquainted with who got on with him that a few pages were sparsely covered. Looking over the four different fonts left his guts feeling like jelly, like his resolve could be felt waning bit by bit. The further away from the maybe-friends he’d made that he became, the less grounded he felt.

He scribbled where are we? in his scratchy, fresh-seventh-grader font, before tapping his mother on the shoulder. She turned and faced him, the underside of her eyes pink in a way that meant he should pretend not to notice. He offered her the notebook, along with a painted smile of his own, small enough that it didn’t feel fake. Taking the pen from his hand, she jotted down her answer, and he received it back in her loopy cursive. North Pennsylvania.

Having it in writing felt fiercely and wholly undoing of his first conclusion — this wasn’t just a change the way a change in and of itself was new and different and jarring. This was the awful kind, the kind that left him grieving for the months he could have had if they’d stayed. The same grief ping-ponged between himself and his mother in seconds, and he leaned over to kiss him on the head.

O-K? she asked him. She didn’t have to, because she could see the real answer in his face the way he could see it in hers.

O-K, he parrotted back to her. She couldn’t look him in the eye before turning back around, and the wind continued whipping in her hair as the outside world blurred beyond the car windows.

#steve harrington #steve harrington drabble #wip #fanfic wip #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things wip #sticky notes rewrite #to be edited #steddie fanfic #steddie

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theres-whump-in-that-nebula · 2 years

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Ok, cold take but:

One of the main problems I have with the whole “the G*verning B*dy don’t make their members proselytize to convert people; they do it to give them a persecution complex” argument is that it completely discounts the amount of time and effort put into what are essentially retail and customer service techniques.

All the pamphlets, videos, and presentations showing members how to make themselves as palatable as possible to “The World,” even so much as being dishonest (“neutral”) about their true feelings on certain topics, proves that they want to be looked upon with a certain level of respect; not scorn. And with all the translation efforts under way, it would be unreasonable to assume that Headquarters aren’t genuinely trying — and succeeding, mind you — at getting people to convert. Besides, there are far more efficient and less time-consuming ways to get people persecuted than undertaking a years-long, multi-million-dollar printing and translation project. They didn’t create the MEPS System for nothing. Hell, every time I go to a convention I’m exposed to about five different languages I didn’t even know existed before then (as a language nerd; it’s the only good part of the whole retched program).

You must remember, too, that the leaders were once normal members; they worked their way up to such a high position by being good at following doctrine. To say that they don’t actually believe in that doctrine, and that they are only in it for the power is also unreasonable. True, they did get power, and they like having it. But that does not constitute a contradiction between the beliefs of the higher-ups and the lower-downs. I am inclined to believe it is the same, no matter what position one is in on the hierarchy; and hypocrisy can exist within any ring of that hierarchy — you’re just more likely to notice it with high-profile members because they’re so visible. They all believe the same thing, and all of them want to convert people. It’s spiritual colonialism, delivered with a hug and a smile.

While cult members do annoy people to the point where they get themselves harassed by “The World,” it is only a helpful side effect of the doctrine. Cults don’t need to have an evil mastermind behind them. They don’t need any deep, dark secrets or ulterior motives for their behaviors. They can simply be viruses and parasites, whose only goal is to breed and die, propagating for the sake of propagation and nothing more.

#exjw #ex cult discourse???#yeah I’ll tag it like that #please be kind /hj #no actually tear me to shreds #I like a juicy debate #let’s deconstruct together

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jessiebanethedragon · 3 years

Text

Rampage (Hunter x reader)

WARNINGS BAD BATCH EPISODE 5 SPOILERS

click read more if you've seen the ep bc this fic is about it!

also to be clear i'm not romanticizing slavery - there's nothing romantic about it. The fic is supposed to be more about how hunter feels towards the reader when she's put in danger.

summary: Captured by slavers, hunter witnesses the leader of them make a fatal mistake.

reader pronouns = she/her

warnings: mentions of slavery and implications towards reader being sold to the hutts...

Hunter is beginning to wonder if the galaxy is working against him. After all, how does a simple smash and grab go so wrong? In his squad's defense they hadn't prepared for whatever flying menace the zygerrians had tamed. Though it doesn’t make the electro-collar sit more comfortably around his neck, even if his vod are being just as problematic as usual.

“I think it’s getting looser!” Wrecker says, twisting it around his neck, before promptly being shocked by the guard looking over them. And as Echo points our the laws against slavery, and he too is shocked Hunter see’s you push the fragile clone behind you protectively.

“Come off it!” You sneer in your coruscanti accent. And while his face stays solom Hunter can't help but enjoy the way your voice sounds and his heart flutters at your protectiveness. The sound of the whip makes everyones head turn.

“You want to say that again, skug?” the slaver taunts you. And unconsciously Hunter is already moving towards you. Maker, you stir up feelings in his chest Hunter didn’t even know existed. Tech had called him obsessed when you had first joined the team, but obsessed didn’t seem to cover all the different ways he fell for you. Had he had more time to contemplate what was going through his head and his heart he might’ve realised not only that he was in love with you, but that you had fallen head over heels for the sergeant as well.

Hunter is broken from his thoughts by the sound of laughter.

“Look at what we have here.” says the zygerrian obviously in charge, as he walks down towards the group of you. “ Five new slaves to add to my collection. Strong ones too.” Hunter hates the way he’s looking and talking to his vod, but when the slaver scum turns and notices you, a different type of hate starts to boil.

“Look at you!” He exclaims, clapping his hands together in excitement. Watching you front your knelt place in front of Echo and essentially giggling when you swift backwards away from him.

“How lucky am I…” He says as he motions for his guard to wrench you to your feet, Hunter watches as you struggle and twist in your armour and how your hair goes wild with the movement. “To have had a creature as stunning as you, just waltz into my hands?” As Hunter goes to stand as well, he’s stopped by the chain that restrains him to the rock. He settles to glaring at the man instead, even more so when he stands too close to you. Looking you up and down and craning his neck around as well.

“Savor the view while you can, I won’t be in your hands for long.” You tell them determinedly and dangerously. Chuckling again the zygerrian reaches out slowly to wrap his hand around your jaw and grip your face until it hurts.

“I can tell you’ll need an attitude adjustment.” He snarls watching your hands come up to try and pry his own off of your face.

“Get your fucking hands off of her.” Hunter says slowly. The tattoo looking more mancacing than normal thanks to the way his face glares at the zygerrian. With a snap of his fingers, a moment later there's searing pain throughout his body, his muscles clenching and tensing against the electrical current forces through them. Hunter stiffins and then slumps as the collar turns on and off. And when his eyes open again the man has dragged you over to Hunter, a firm hand around your neck.

“Take her in.” The Slaver says, pushing you to your knees so that you’re level with the love of your life. “Take a good long look.” He says into your ear, but he’s not really talking to you, more like taunting a very dangerous man. Hunter knows he’s the one binded at the moment but all he can focus on is everything he's going to do to the zygerrian when he gets out of his shackles. Only to acknowledge the man when you let out a noise of pain as he pushes you forward.

“I hope you realise how generous I am.” He states, “letting you say goodbye.”

Hunter goes feral, at the implication of never seeing you again, at the inferred separation he sees red and tugs impossibly hard on his chains.

“There’s so many places she could go,” He taunts ever so calmly. Hunter can recognize Tech trying to reason with him, telling him it’s a mind game and to relax, but he doesn’t care. The only thing he can see and hear is you - and the threat of never seeing or hearing you again.

“If she’s lucky i’ll sell her as a servant, but that would be a waste, imagine how much the hutts would pay for something like this.” Hunter assumes he’s actually beginning to scare the slaver because he receives another shock.

And by the time he recovers, you’ve been thrown aside as everyone races after the Rancor and Omega.

It’s much later when the sergeant seeks you out. Preoccupied with the adrenaline and the events from the day, he hasn’t been able to get the privacy he wanted. But now the ship is quiet, and the only thing interrupting the two of you is the hum of the engine as the ship hurtles through hyperspace.

“You killed him, didn’t you?” It's a question he knew was coming, and he considers lying to you telling you he left him for officials to find, but Hunter can’t bring himself to be dishonest. He could never be dishonest to you.

“Yes.” He says plainly, turning his head to look at you in the passenger seat, a conflicted look on your face, shucking off his gloves, Hunter engages autopilot.

“I’m sor-”

“Don’t.” you cut him off, “don’t apologies.” Your voice is softer now. And he can't help the way he looks at you as he moves to kneel in front of your chair. Running his bare hands over your thighs, which look so much smaller without the armour plating attached.

Intimacy isn’t foreign between you and him, in fact you’re the only person Hunter likes to be close to. Rather than get overwhelmed by you, he indulges in the way you feel under his hands. He smiles as you gasp when his hands meet your waist.

“Is this okay?” He inquires, seeing you nod before sinking down awkwardly to be level with him. Hunter has to bite back a groan when his hands move under your tunic and his calloused fingers splay over your shoulder blades.

“Hunter…” You murmur his name as he pulls you flush against him and buries his face into your neck.

“I was scared.” He admits, for the first time in his life, the sergeant of Clone Force 99 tells someone he was afraid.

“I wasn’t.” You pull back to stare him down. “I’m never afraid when I'm with you.” you’re trying to read him - he can tell. And he tries not to think of how much he enjoyed when his hands wrapped around the zygerrian’s neck and he flailed around as life was choked out of him and he realized his fatal mistake.

He pushes all of that from his mind as he kisses you.

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rainydaydream-gal18 · 3 years

Text

(Clone Wars) The Awkward Chronicles: Clone Wars Edition

(Author's Note: Wooo, here we go, fam.

Join Rex, Fives, Jesse, Dogma, and Kix for some embarrassing encounters.

Warnings: embarrassing situations, second-hand embarrassment).

Rex was explaining the situation a little more thoroughly than he needed to, but out of courtesy and respect for the captain, you put on an attentive expression and listened despite how exhausted you were. The last few evenings had not been too kind to you, and you were going on less than six hours of sleep each night. Rex’s strategies were usually pretty straightforward, but Skywalker’s input was easily recognizable when the strategy took a turn and became a little more complicated.

Rex pointed to the holodiagram with each part of the strategy, and your eyes followed along.

“Now, remember,” he said for the second time. “This will only work if you and your squad is there on time.”

You nodded quickly, finally feeling your patience wear a little thin. “Yeah, yeah, Anakin, just make sure your squad is there,” you rushed. The look on Rex’s face made you realize your mistake. He had gone silent, eyes widening slightly for a moment before his brows pulled down in offense. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you apologized, instantly regretting your bout of impatience. “This is a great strategy which I’m sure will be very effective. I’m just a little tired is all.”

Rex’s brows rose then. “It’s fine. Just…” He paused, lips quirking slightly in an amused expression. “I an a clone. There are quite a few men out there that I share a likeness with, yet you called me ‘Anakin.’”

You pinched the bridge of your nose in embarrassment. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Rex’s smirk grew into one of those rare smiles, the ones that usually only came out when he was joking around with the men on leave. “Why don’t you get some rest? We’ll talk strategy later.”

You smiled sheepishly and nodded, though grateful to have been given an out. You’d definitely be more up for this conversation later after a nap.

- - - -

You were so going to kill him.

Even from your favorite booth in the corner away from all the commotion at 79’s, your face flushed. Fives had taken the liberty of setting you up on a blind date. With a trooper. A trooper you’d never met before. He had given you 79’s as the location and left you with a short and rather vague-as you’d come to realize- description of the man.

“His name’s Chrys, and he’s got the standard trooper haircut,” he had explained over the comm. “But he’s not hard to miss; he’s got a tattoo of the Republic symbol.”

Did Fives have any idea how many troops had that symbol at the 79’s tonight? Some had it tattooed on the side of their forehead, placed in a similar spot to where Fives had his signature “5.” A few had it on the back of their hands, only visible because their gloves were off. One trooper had the symbol tattooed on the side of his neck just below his ear, barely peeking out of the collar of his blacks.

It was amazing. As much as you believed that each trooper was their own man with their own rights and destiny...the hard fact was that they were indeed clones that looked very similar. The last thing you wanted was your blind date to think it made no difference to you, that a clone was a clone. So you were trying your very best to find him on your own as soon as you could.

“Hey there,” a trooper greeted. You glanced his way and offered a polite smile, though you didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. There was no Republic tattoo, so you didn’t want to lead him on when you were waiting for someone.

“Hey,” you said.

There was an awkward silence as he remained standing in front of your booth, and you turned your attention back to him. Your gazes met, and you became more alarmed the longer he stared at you.

“Can I help you?”

“Are you _________?” he asked finally.

“Um, yeah,” you lifted a brow. “Are you Chrys?”

“That’s me.”

“Oh my goodness, I’m sorry.” You blushed. “I didn’t realize it was you. He said you had a Republic tattoo.”

Chrys chuckled good-naturedly, pulling up the sleeve of his military uniform to reveal the tattoo on his forearm. “I suppose that would’ve been more helpful information if you could see it.”

“Yeah, I’ll have to get him for that later,” you mumbled.

- - - -

“And what brings you here?” you asked, resting your hands on your hips as you did a once-over with your gaze, and being sure to add a playful wink in there. You weren’t entirely certain when it began, but you and Jesse had an inside joke of flirting with each other. It was just something you both liked to do.

Maybe it was the way the light-hearted jokes and flirts put you in a good mood, no matter how bad your day was before he arrived. Maybe it was the eye-rolling the two of you would get from any bystanders during your little banters.

Either way, it became a thing that only the two of you shared.

“I just needed to get another look at those pretty eyes of yours,” he replied smoothly.

“Oh yeah? Well you’re not so bad yourself there, hotshot.”

It was easy to forget the other troopers coming and going from the medbay as you focused on the task at hand and bandaged up Jesse’s wounded arm. A few more flirts were exchanged before you needed to move on and check up on some new arrivals. With a promise that you’d return shortly, you made your rounds. Dogma, Fives, and Echo were amongst the wounded that you patched up. Before long, you were at your station checking some records with your back turned to the rest of the bay. With eyes focused on the list in front of you, it barely registered that someone had approached.

“Excuse me, but if I’m clear, I’d like to return to my duties.”

Oh right, Jesse. He was all taken care of, so there was no issue with him ducking out at this point. You were ready to throw in another flirt for good measure.

“You sure about that, handsome? I’m certainly going to miss you...” you turned around with your best pouty face to see a wide-eyed Dogma staring at you. Your heart plummeted at the mortified look on his face, and your eyes flickered to the right to see Jesse perched on his gurney nearby. Your friend snorted at the scene, and you offered Dogma several apologies.

“I’m so sorry, Dogma. I thought you were Jesse. Your paperwork is cleared, and you’re free to go.”

“Thank you,” he replied, then paused. “S-sweetheart.” And then he practically scurried out of the medbay, leaving you a blushing mess and Jesse laughing his head off.

- - - -

“Hey, Kix!” you greeted one of your good friends as he approached you. 79’s was certainly bustling that night. It was crowded beyond belief due to a recent victory that brought a wave of troops in on leave.

Kix ran a hand over his elaborately-shaved head. You saw his lips move, but his reply was drowned out by the blaring music. He handed you a drink, your usual, and you mouthed a “thank you” in response. As he led you over to the table where a group from the 501st were, he continued speaking to you. His lips were moving at the speed of light it seemed, so you weren’t quite able to pick up what he was saying. You could, however, tell that he was waiting for some sort of response by the way he gazed at you with lifted brows.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” you said, gesturing toward your ear for emphasis. He nodded in understanding, lips turning up in a chuckle, before he came a little closer to shout near your ear. When he pulled away to wait for your reaction, you stared blankly at him. You still couldn’t hear a single thing he said. So you tried one more time to sheepishly let him know. Kix, patient as ever, leaned even closer. This time you could at least audibly hear his voice, but it was still difficult to make out any words.

You thought you heard “drink....time...crazy.” And judging by the smile on his face, you figured it was an amusing notion he was trying to share. As much as you didn’t want to be dishonest, you’d already asked Kix twice to repeat himself. You figured it was best if you just nodded and laughed along. So you did.

And the smile fell from Kix’s face. You watched as he nodded slightly and took a swig from his own glass, expression suddenly so serious. Your embarrassment spiked instantly.

What had you just nodded along to?

As Kix took a seat, you inwardly face-palmed. You’d have to sort this out later and admit you still hadn’t heard what he said. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but it sure beat living the rest of your life having no clue what made him frown.

#the clone wars #captain rex #clone wars reader insert #clone wars x reader #arc trooper fives #jesse #clone wars rex #clone wars fives #clone wars jesse #clone wars dogma #clone wars kix #the clone wars fanfic #the clone wars x reader #clone wars fanfiction

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bleep-bleep-richie · 3 years

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They don't talk about it.

After Eddie mashes their lips together to wake Richie up from the deadlights, there isn't time to discuss it- they're too busy trying to kill It and stay alive at the same time. It slashes Eddie's side, just a quarter of an inch away from nicking his lung, the doctor said. Then, later, when Eddie's recovering in the hospital and Richie presses his mouth to Eddie's, gentler than Eddie thought he was capable of, and with more desperation than Richie knew he had in him, they still don't talk about it. And even later when he's recovering in a hotel room in New York, they keep not talking about it. They still don't talk about it when Richie accompanies him to said hotel room. Richie's surprised they still find the words to bicker with all the not talking they're doing.

He knows he can't stay forever. He's got an apartment, a life, back in LA. And Eddie has the business to tend to and a divorce process to start. Eddie drives him to the airport one rainy morning exactly three weeks after they left Derry for the last time. The giant bandage is making an impression through his thin henley.

"Call me," Eddie tells him when he puts it in park at the entrance, "when you land. Or when you get home. Or both. So I know you're safe."

"Yes, mother," Richie jokes, because it's expected of him. Eddie's looking at him with the giant doe eyes that he does and Richie wants to beg him to get on the plane too. He barely stops himself. "Don't miss me too much," he says, going for playful but missing by a mile.

"I won't miss you at all," Eddie lies.

They hold the gaze for about thirty seconds longer before Richie thinks 'fuck it' and leans across the gear shift to kiss him. Eddie's fingertips ghost over Richie's cheek and then it's over.

"I'll call," Richie promises a minute later, out of the car and duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

Eddie nods and shifts back into drive, not trusting his voice.

Richie resolutely does not breakdown watching Eddie drive away. He won't forget, this time, so it's not a goodbye.

He calls. They still haven't discussed what they are to one another but he thinks they must be something so he keeps calling. They talk on the phone for at least an hour every night for six months before it occurs to him that they could have been video chatting the entire time.

"It's a little button that looks like a camera. It'll probably have a slash through it, so you just have to click it and-"

"I don't see it. It's on the keyboard?"

"No, not the keyboard, you absolute moron, the screen."

"Well, you never fucking specified, asswipe."

"I'm sorry, Eds, I was under the impression you were 37, not 97, my mistake." Eddie's face pops up on the screen, looking as disgruntled as ever. "Hey, there he is!"

"You look tired."

Richie's grins. "Gee, thanks for the reminder that I look like shit, man." He leans closer to the camera. "I'm fucking exhausted."

"I didn't say you look like shit, I said you look tired." His eyes are shifting all over the screen, like he's checking to see what, if anything, has changed about Richie since he's seen his face last.

Richie studies him right back, noting that his hair is longer and he's got some semblance of a five o clock shadow. "You look good. Your hair's hot like that."

Eddie runs a hand through it. "I kind of hate it actually. I was thinking- Stop doing that."

Richie blinks. "Doing what?"

"That!" He points. "There, that. You've got a tell."

"A tell for what?" Richie asks with a smirk.

"In the grand total of three times that you've kissed me, you wanna know how many of those times you've stuck your tongue in the corner of your mouth right before? All three of them. You've got a tell, Tozier."

Richie's full on grinning now. He purposely wiggles the tip of his tongue in the crease where his top lip and bottom meet.

"Quit it!" Eddie all but growls. "You can't kiss me, so just quit it."

Richie leans in. "But I want to."

"Well you can't."

Richie smiles at him a moment longer before settling back in his seat. "How's business?"

"Good. Great, actually. Better than ever."

Richie looks away from him. "That's great."

"You don't have to sound so disappointed about my success, ya know."

"It is the only thing keeping you on the other side of the country," Richie says. He gives the camera a pointed look. "The only thing."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"And don't play stupid, either," Eddie gripes. "I've got a business to run, Rich. I'm trying to find someone to manage it, so I can come out there. And I'm trying to find a spot in LA to open another branch. And, lookie here!" He grabs something off camera and brings it back into focus. "Divorce papers!" He shakes the stack. "Sent to me by my fucking lawyer today. Myra's refusing to sign them, she wants half the fucking company." He tosses them down. "I've got to be here for all this shit. And it doesn't make it any easier when you-"

"Eddie," Richie interrupts, raising his hands, "I'm not fighting with you."

"You are! You drop those little comments, like you don't believe- like you think I would be dishonest-"

"Eddie! I don't not believe you." Richie watches Eddie's face scrunch as he works out the logistics of that sentence. "I'm not fighting with you," he repeats.

"You're trying to."

"No, you're fighting, I'm not. You're fighting with nothing."

Eddie looks at him a moment, jaw set. He sighs. "You know, don't you, Rich? You know I want to be with- that I'd rather be there."

He's doing that doe eyed thing again. Richie's palms itch with the need to touch him. "I could always come there."

"I don't want you to uproot your life for me."

"How is it any different from you-"

"Because I'd be building a business there, the same way I did here. I want to leave this whole shitshow behind and never look back. That's not uprooting my life, that's starting over. Besides, if you came here... I just can't give Myra any ammunition to say I've been unfaithful."

"You haven't been."

The edge of Eddie's mouth lifts. "Don't sound so bitter about it."

Richie huffs a laugh. They're quiet a moment. "Do I really look like shit?"

Eddie rolls his eyes. "No, you look good. You always look good. Fuckhead."

Richie smiles, leans closer, wishes his laptop's picture quality was better. Wishes he could kiss him. "I miss you," he says finally.

Eddie smiles back, close lipped and sad. "I miss you too. I'm trying, I swear I'm trying."

"I know, it's fine." He shifts back and threads his fingers together behind his head. "Now, take your shirt off. Gimme a show," he says, effectively ruining the moment on purpose.

"You first, asshole."

Richie yanks his shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the ground next to him, never one to back down from a dare.

Eddie laughs, shakes his head.

They still don't talk about it, but maybe they don't really need to. Maybe they already know. Maybe they'd known all along.

part two

#this is.....what is this #random ramblings #it 2017 #it 2019 #reddie #otp: i'll show you a staph infection #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #this popped in my head and i had to write it #long distance relationships suck major monkey balls #eddie lives!#also just know in this universe stan lives too

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feelingyourheartlines · 2 years

Text

Reconciliation.

Just as Lucy was getting ready to head home, she caught a whiff of that familiar scent. She sighed quietly to herself and wished that her chair had a secret button she could press that would teleport her elsewhere.

“Lucy.”

“DIA Officer Whistler. I’m heading home. If this isn’t work-related, I don’t want to hear it,” said Lucy without looking up at Kate.

“Just give me five minutes, and I’ll be out of your sight before you know it,” pleaded Kate.

“I think I’ve already heard enough.”

“Do I have to get injured for you to give me the time-of-day, Lucy?”

Lucy looked up at Kate incredulously.

“Don’t do that! Don’t guilt-trip me like that!” snapped Lucy.

“I’m sorry, Lucy. For everything. I know I haven’t technically apologized to you. I’m truly sorry. I really had no intention of hurting your feelings.”

“Then what was your intention, Whistler? You took control of whatever that was going on between us, so you could hide the fact that you had an unfinished business back home. You were dishonest right from the beginning. You had the gall to call me out for not getting to know you intimately when you couldn't even take the time to end things with Cara. If hurting me was not part of the plan, then what was? What am I missing here?”

Kate immediately looked down at her fingers and started to fiddle with her ring. While Lucy had every right to call her out again, the reminder of her own stupidity still stings. Kate wasn’t expecting Lucy to forgive her overnight, but the road to reconciliation seemed pretty bleak right now. Despite this setback, she knew better than to give up on Lucy because she could not imagine living in a world where Lucy wasn’t by her side.

Lucy didn’t wait for Kate to respond. She gathered her belongings and strolled past Kate, but she was stopped by Kate’s grasp on her hand.

Kate looked at Lucy intently and asked, “How can I fix this?”

Before pulling free of her grip, Lucy replied, “I don’t know, Whistler. What do you do when you can no longer trust the person you’re still in love with?”

A WEEK LATER

Ever heard of the saying “Be careful what you wish for”? Earlier last week, when Kate asked Lucy if she had to get hurt just to get Lucy's attention, she did not mean literally. Now fast-forward to a week later, and here she is, lying on her hospital bed, with her left arm slung in place. Even though the injury she sustained isn’t serious, the doctor still insists on keeping her overnight for observation. She’s just thankful that she didn’t injure her dominant hand during the altercation. The ibuprofen she took earlier to relieve the pain and swelling has already made her drowsy. Just as she’s dozing off, she hears a gentle knock on the door. The door opens, and she sees the silhouette of the woman she loves entering the room. The smile on Lucy's face is warm and kind.

“Hey,” says Lucy softly.

“Hey you,” replies Kate.

After closing the door, Lucy walks towards the bed and instead of collapsing in Kate’s arms, she stands at the foot of it and says, “Under a different circumstance I would have taken a jab at you, but since you saved my life, and to prove that I actually have a heart, I will not do that. I’m really glad you’re still alive because I want you to know that regardless of how mad I am at you, I will never wish harm on you. I also want to apologize for the way I treated you. I was hurt, but I had no right to hurt you back. It's painful to see you like this, and knowing that it was because of me makes it even worse.”

Kate smiles at Lucy as she reaches out for her hand. Lucy immediately moves towards her and grabs her hand as she sits next to her on the bed. “You shouldn’t have done that. You’re lucky it’s just a clavicle fracture.”

“But you’re here right now. I did get your attention after all,” replies Kate teasingly.

Lucy doesn’t say anything in response. Instead, she looks down, stroking Kate's fingers as tears stream down her face. Kate lifts Lucy's chin and wipes her tears away. “I did what I did because I cannot imagine my life without you in it. When Noah died, a part of me died too. I have lived my life with this huge hole in my heart for years until you came along. You were the only one who managed to fill that void. So, when you ended what we had – sorry I take that back, when I threw it all away, it felt like as though I would be living with that void forever.”

“But I was awful to you.”

“You’re still hurting, Luce. I understand. I might not have officially ended things with Cara, but it was over in my head. I thought the message was clear, but I guess I didn’t do a good job at ghosting her after all, since she assumed that she and I were still an item.”

Lucy lets out a chuckle.

“I can’t erase the past. But I can work towards being a better person for us both if you let me.”

“To be honest, there's still a part of me that's upset with you. If only I could snap out of it. It’s exhausting to be mad at the person I’m –”

“In love with?”

Lucy nods as she starts to tear up again.

Kate wipes the tears on Lucy’s face and says, “Just because I saved your life doesn't mean you will suddenly forgive me and stop being mad at me, Luce. You can't just snap out of your feelings. It doesn’t work that way. I didn't save your life just to have leverage over you. But I do hope that this is a start of our reconciliation journey. Because if it isn’t obvious already, I’m so in love with you Special Agent Lucy Tara. I will wait for you until you’re ready to try again, no matter how long it takes. It has always been you. And it will always be you.”

Lucy collapses on Kate’s chest and begins to sob. Kate gives Lucy a loving kiss and caresses her head until she stops sobbing. The last time she saw Lucy crying was when Lucy ended their story. She hasn’t seen Lucy cried ever since. Hence, it’s no surprise that she gets teary-eyed when she sees Lucy this emotional.

When Lucy's able to articulate her feelings, she tells Kate, “I thought I would never be able to trust you again. But today, I was reminded of how amazing you are as a person. You didn’t have to risk your life for me, but you did. So, thank you for that. I know that I have been hard on you. I know how unprofessional I was at work when you were around. If there was an award for the most petulant person on earth, I would have won. But Kate, just because a part of me is still upset over what happened, doesn’t mean I have not forgiven you. I just need to navigate this at my own pace. I hope you’re okay with that.”

“Thank you, Lucy. Your forgiveness means everything to me. Like I said earlier, I’m not going anywhere. We can do this at your pace.”

Lucy leans in and kisses Kate on her lips. Kate suddenly pulls away from Lucy and raises her eyebrow. “Did you call me by my first name just now?”

Lucy laughs and says, "Even though we still have a long way to go, I figured I'd call you Kate instead of your last name. Baby steps. If that’s okay with you.”

Kate pulls Lucy towards her and kisses her passionately. In between the kiss, Kate smiles and says, “I’m more than okay with that, Luce.”

#Kacy #kacy fanfic #kate and lucy #NCIS HAWAII

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anakinisvaderisanakin · 3 years

Text

Evil Unmasked AU Part 3 - Lord Vader (aka Ahsoka learns the truth)

If anyone had, by sheer luck, missed the news or the announcement - every single broadcast via the holo networks made sure to either remind or inform people of the event. “Revered war hero and former Jedi Knight revealed as the Emperor’s right hand man”. Every single one left out the man’s birth name, the name by which he had been celebrated by Republic forces and maligned by the Separatists mere months before the revelation. The Hero with no Fear, he had been dubbed by the media. It was easy to see, in hindsight, that this too may have been a ploy constructed by the then chancellor, Palpatine.

Anakin Skywalker had been built up, like a fictional hero bestowed with charm, intellect and skill. His appearance had never detracted from the positive spin on his tale, his handsome features inviting people to buy into and accept the public image created for him. It was this man, this living legend, that had been retooled to masterly.

The man who had been cherished, with his wit and his cocky half smiles masking a perceived shy insecurity, was nowhere to be seen now. Once or twice, in the wake of major events during The Clone Wars, Skywalker had been projected on holo networks. The interviews had been brief, the young man seemingly uncomfortable by the attention, as if he struggled to live up to the public image tied to his name. For the past month, since he had been renamed, none of that persisted. While it was evident that the man cared even less for making public appearances or statements, he had been forced into giving a slew of them.

Every broadcasting network wanted a tout-a-tout with this reinvented icon. Little of the boyish charm remained, and all that persisted of Skywalker seemed to be his dry sarcasm and his inherent desire to act out in favour of his political and personal beliefs. As he had explained, with little interest, his “loyalty has always lied with Emperor Palpatine, and it will remain to do so.”

To those who had known Skywalker closely beforehand - those who remained alive to tell the tale, that was - were shook by the altered man, and the confusion this change left behind. His new persona was so vastly different, he might as well have been a new person altogether. Some would say that Skywalker had always been a snake in the grass, had always maintained a charade - acting out a falsehood to lull former friends and allies into trusting him. On the other hand, some were convinced something tragic must have happened to Skywalker, or that he had been bribed or manipulated by the Emperor into giving up on his morals.

Ahsoka reacted accordingly.

She had been lucky to miss out on the initial, official inauguration of her former master. She had come back from Mandalore, no longer a child but a woman. Forced to grow up at the age of 17, her and Rex had been the only survivors. And Maul, of course, who’d made his escape and remained cleverly hidden ever since. The fall of the Republic had been enough of a shock, in the wake of Order 66 and the death of Jesse and the entire 212th battalion. On top of that, the Senate’s power had been reduced to virtually nothing, restrictions and documentation of every single Galactic citizen had become mandatory; every ship was to be licensed and catalogued.

A long list of names had been released to the public with large bounties on their heads; names of those considered dangerous foes to the newly formed Empire. Most of them were former politicians, military deserters and Separatists; few were Jedi. Ahsoka didn’t take that as a good omen, seeing as the omission so many Jedi names probably came from the fact that Order 66 had already eviscerated the order. Ahsoka herself had been absent from the list, as had Rex, and as such they were presumed dead to the new government.

While Ahsoka had let out a sigh of relief to see master Yoda and Obi-Wan were noted as dangerous Jedi fugitives still considered to be alive; her stomach sank when master Plo and Anakin’s names remained absent.

Ahsoka had, thankfully, been left in the dark when her former master’s fate was concerned. She had assumed him dead, at first. Two months had gone by, she and Rex parting ways soon after they had buried their fallen soldiers and friends on the unrecorded moon where their Jedi cruiser had crashed. It was too dangerous to stay together, and while Rex had returned to Coruscant for supplies and to hopefully seek out further clones who may have avoided or resisted the command of Order 66 and the inhibitor chip’s programming - Ahsoka had lingered in the outer rim. A brief meet and greet - albeit unfortunate - with Hondo Ohnaka had granted her a false new identity as Ashla, before relocating to the mostly peaceful Thabeska. In the blink of an eye, two additional months had passed. Then another, and another. Settling into mundane life, building a new future; she had honed her knack for mechanics and turned it into a profession - making just enough credits to scrape by. Five months had passed since the end of the war, when the news finally reached her.

Ahsoka had been scouring one of the few off-planet affiliated trading shops for supplies and tools. She was in desperate need of spare parts for her comlink which had been dead since she arrived. She had promised Rex they would stay in touch somewhat regularly, and figured it was finally safe to reach out and catch up. Rex, Ahsoka presumed, was still located on or near Coruscant in hiding. She would have by-passed the slim offering of flimsiplast and data-tape prints, had a preview the issue of the day not been screened on the beat up, flickering holo screen poised on the wall above the aisle as advertisement to draw her attention. A reporter seemed to be enthusiastically interviewing one of the freshly promoted Imperial figureheads. The sound was muffled, the image grainy - but it was the voice that caught Ahsoka off guard.

“It has been just short of six months since the Republic was officially denounced, and the new Galactic Empire firmly installed. How do you feel this transition has affected you?” asked the reporter, eyes wide with awe and admiration as his face filled the holo-screen.

“Very little,” said a gruff, monotone voice - so void of emotion or excitement, that it came off as nearly synthetic. “I believe my position is quite similar to that of my pre-Empire self. While I am no longer, by profession, a knight or a general - I still carry out similar services. It is, naturally, expected of me to hunt down detractors and traitors. There is little difference in leading a war effort where casualties are a constant, and leading a judicial effort of assimilation.”

The words were big, foreign, and unnerving. Words Ahsoka had never heard uttered by that particular voice before. The voice itself seemed unrecognizable; twisted, and warped. But still, a familiar note to it remained - one that urged Ahsoka to keep watching, one that beckoned her, and compelled her naive curiosity. Her stomach sank before she even had laid eyes upon the screen, before the image that came with the distorted voice could confirm her greatest fears. As she focused on the screening, the reporter had come back into frame and Ahsoka’s heart pounded nigh painfully hard against her ribcage as she waited for the man that was the focal point of the interview to answer the next query.

“Do you struggle with any guilt, in regards to your unfortunate responsibilities? I understand it must have been difficult to carry out the order of persecution towards the Jedi order. Indeed, you were raised within those walls, were you not? Indoctrinated with their religious beliefs, did you ever doubt their teachings beforehand? Were you ever disillusioned by their cult before the assassination attempt upon the Emperor came to light? I am aware that you wish to distance yourself from the order, but I’m certain you understand the importance of your shift.”

“My own former master lied to me. That was the moment at which I was first privy to the mastery of manipulation that ran deep within the sect, as he had been required to carry out their dishonest schemes. I was not raised within the order, but I was offered training under the false pretense that I might free someone close to me from slavery once knighted. This was another malignant lie, as I was restrained from realizing these wishes.”

Ahsoka didn’t notice the screwdriver slipping from her hand, nor did she pick up on the clatter as it hit the durasteel floor once the man’s face came back into view; at once painfully reassuring, and horrendously frightening.

“I feel no guilt in the wake of my actions. I pity the Jedi order for their misinformed notion of the Force as a sacred yet passive entity. True power and understanding of its whims has thus evaded them. I pity their hunger for control, and their warmongering. I pity their attempts at kidnapping and brainwashing young children into following their flawed dogma, and any child present at the temple during the march is indeed better off becoming one with the Force, than continuing to serve a false doctrine. I was not raised entirely within the temple, and as for my morals, no person within the order served as a model or mentor me through true honesty,” said a begrudging Anakin Skywalker - and there was a prominent anger flickering beneath the drawled monotone.

Outwardly, Anakin appeared nearly the same as he had the day Ahsoka had said goodbye to him before she set off to capture Maul, and he went to rescue the kidnapped then Chancellor Palpatine. Anakin had offered a forlorn yet gentle smile as they parted ways. His wavy hair had been long and unruly, but his eyes were bright, and blue, and warm. Full of hope. On the holo screen, despite the inevitable blue tang to the recorded session, his face seemed pale and gaunt; fine lines were traced around his eyes, at the corners of his lips, and dug into his forehead.

His sockets seemed dark and sunken, as if sleep had evaded him for weeks. His expression was a perpetual scowl, his arms folded across his chest as he stood nonchalantly beside the armchair that had no doubt been offered for him to settle into. He was taller than Ahsoka recalled - even with the limited props of the room the conversation was being held in, he towered over every single piece of furniture.

The reporter, Ahsoka recognized him as Mas Aqui - he’d been present at her trial, waiting with bated breath to record her conviction - had been tall and lanky then, but seemed almost frail and miniscule while standing next to the former Jedi he was now bothering.

“It is my belief that the order had a singularly negative effect on my character, and it is impossible for me to harbour any remorse towards a sect that so thoroughly stunted my growth. In the wake of Order 66, and the subsequent termination of the Jedi sect, I have had sufficient time to consider the events. I believe the Jedi were inherently incapable of showing humanity. It is for this reason, first and foremost, that I am determined to distance myself from any remaining ties I may have to the order. I consider myself enlightened, and do not wish to be associated with the negative connotations of the cilt that so maliciously affected the Galaxy.”

Ahsoka couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The words coming out of Anakin’s mouth seemed pre-scripted in their delivery, but still genuinely professed. They sounded nothing like the man who had nurtured her, and cared for her as an older brother - but the conviction behind them was similar to the one that had backed every lesson he had taught and passed onto her. She felt cold and numb, hands trembling and eyes wide as she stared at the unsettling display.

Anakin’s dark blonde hair was trimmed and combed back, a few fresh battle scars lining his brow and his left side cheekbone. His robes seemed a mixture of de facto Imperial garb, armour, and sacred Jedi robes twisted to mock the order's very existence. But his eyes were the biggest detractor. Their colour could not be discerned, but their iridescent, glowing quality carried through. The blood vessels were visible, lining the irises like an intricate work of haphazard artistry. Cruel, calculating, animalistic. Ahsoka had seen those same eyes too many times, and had been confronted with their unhinged quality in the Sith Lord Darth Maul’s every expression. In Maul, they conveyed a deep seated insanity - in her former master; they spoke of a fury so overt, it seemed to reach right through the screen with their oppressive glare.

“I see. As to sum up our brief rendezvous, Lord Vader, I am obliged to aim a few final questionnaires at this past connection of yours - I aware that this is to be the last time, as of now, that you speak out on the matter - and am thus mandated to collect a few loosely affiliated tidbits,” Aqui cautiously pointed out.

“Make it a quick affair,” was Anakin’s only reply; gleaming eyes narrowed in a disgruntled surrender that matched his threatening cadence.

“Very well. There have been some questions frequently asked by our dedicated viewers. As such, I’ve picked out the topmost three. They may be a bit personal of nature, so feel free to dodge them if you are uncomfortable with their direction,” the reporter reassured.

Anakin’s dramatic eye roll at the implication was grand and demeaning, but served as the only, silent reply. Aqui shrunk back, no doubt feeling embarrassed by the disregard of his patience and attempt at pandering.

“Do you miss any of your connections within the fallen Jedi order, and if so, whom?”

“No,” was Anakin’s direct response, a sharp warning of a hiss. “Every single one of them was a traitor and a liar. I pity their ignorance, but I do not mourn them. I rejoice in their fall, and I would aid the Imperial efforts to eradicate their kind all over again if need be.”

Ahsoka swallowed back the lump forming at the base of her throat; her eyes burning as they watered against her will. The Jedi had cared deeply for Anakin. Master Yoda, Master Plo, Obi-Wan. How could Anakin not have seen their love? They may have practiced a no attachment policy, but Obi-Wan had clearly contradicted the rule to his own detriment. So had Ahsoka, one of the reasons behind her decision to sever her ties with the order - something she knew that Anakin too had longed for.

“Is there any hope for a Jedi on the run to reform and thus evade persecution?”

“No. Some have attempted to reform, but it is in the grand scheme of things, useless. The Jedi are the sole reason behind the detriment of the Galaxy, and their hubris is the foundation upon which the war was built. No man or woman raised within the temple walls is unaffected by their harmful teachings. As such, few if any may break the vicious cycle. I have yet to meet a truly dedicated Jedi who would admit their fallacy and turn away from the sect. The few reinvented Force wielders I have come across, have all doubted the order before its inevitable fall, and were thus given the tools necessary to break away,” Anakin simply stated, still as arrogant in his stance; his tone premeditated but with a sincerity that made Ahsoka feel sick to the stomach as a lone tear escape and trailed lazily down her cheek.

“Alright. Finally, what is behind your change of persona?”

Anakin’s expression shifted for a brief moment, the rage behind his eyes laid bare and unveiled. His eyes burned, their glow predatory and unadulterated. He seemed to heave a sigh, his mouth drawn into a repulsed sneer. When he spoke, his voice was calm and calculated, but his eyes were dangerous and intimidating.

“Anakin Skywalker is dead. I do not associate myself with this man, whom the Jedi were attempting to shape me into. I reiterate, and hope to never need state again, that I denounce my past as an act forced upon me. In severing my ties to the order, I have found freedom with the true facets of the Force. As such, the Emperor has bestowed upon me the title of Darth Vader. Lord Vader is the only title befitting of my stance within the Empire. Lord Vader is the name by which all Galactic citizens are expected to address me, as is my right. There is no Anakin Skywalker, and there never was. The Jedi order destroyed the weak child bearing that name. I am Darth Vader, and that is all that there is.”

Another tear followed the first, and Ahsoka bit back a choked sob as she covered her mouth. The Anakin Skywalker she had known was no more. Barely a trace of him remained. In his place, stood Sith Lord Darth Vader.

Vader, who would stop at nothing to keep his promise and reaffirm his loyalty towards his Emperor and master.

****

Because I was inspired by the commenters of the second chapter to explore how Vader may be used for propaganda, I wanted Ahsoka to find out about Anakin's turn through one of the many media Palpatine would no doubt promote Vader through. Vader could be used as a tool to strengthen the notion of the evil Jedi, and his breaking free from their brainwashing. I figured this was a fun spin on it, and included it! There will be more coming!

Ao3 link below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32029582/chapters/79572163

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theeeveetamer · 3 years

Note

I really like how you write Dimitri! Do you have any tips on writing his character?

Thank you so much!

Well depends on if you’re writing canon or AU, but these are the factors I usually keep in mind for a more canon-compliant Dimitri interpretation:

1) Dimitri is polite, but he’s not a pushover.

Remember he’s basically been raised from birth to be king. He knows how to say “fuck you” with a smile. I think his Dedue B-support is a great example of this: he’s able to be polite yet very clear in expressing when someone has gone too far and he will not stand for it. He can and will be assertive if he needs to be, and he knows how to wield politeness like a weapon.

2) Dimitri is honest, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have secrets nor does it mean he’s not adept at keeping them.

He’s very good at talking around issues when he doesn’t want to reveal things. He cannot taste, and despite being with him and presumably cooking for him for five years Dedue still has not discovered this information. Throughout the game you get hints of it, but he only ever outright states this fact in his support with Flayn.

It’s weird because that should make him feel like a dishonest character, but it doesn’t because...

3) Dimitri’s first concern is never Dimitri.

He’s always thinking about others and how what he does affects others (well minus that bit in the middle of AM but he’s kind of sort of very very unwell at that point). Frequently, he does the things he does without thinking of his own personal feelings, status, or image. When he lies, he usually does it with the intent of protecting someone’s feelings or saving them from some ugly truth.

Again I really think this shines through in his relationship with Dedue. Their whole support chain is mostly Dimitri desperately wanting a closer relationship with Dedue, even outright stating that he doesn’t mind if people dislike him or judge him for it, and it has to be Dedue that refuses to get closer for his sake. In their B support he defends Dedue without hesitation, without thought to how that might reflect on him, and Dedue has to be the one to point it out to him.

4) Dimitri is not stupid

He’s actually an incredibly observant character. He discovers that Arundel has a connection to Duscur during his time at the academy, and he can see right away that Rhea isn’t just an Archbishop, she has some serious fighting experience under her belt. Even if he can’t always get there by himself, he can at least recognize that there are pieces to a larger puzzle.

That’s pretty much it. AUs make it a little tricker but I think 1, 3, and 4 can be carried across a lot of different situations.

#Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd #fe3h #Anonymous

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mrsbenedictbridgerton · 3 years

Text

The truth about loving you

Polin Modern au

Part one

4.5k

*Here it is - finally -part one! I hope you enjoy! *

Loving Colin Bridgerton had been the joy and the heartache of her life. It was time for Penelope to move on. He was never going to notice her. He was never going to love her the way she loved him. Always travelling, always seeking something... Colin was back in the small town of Grosvenor. But something was different and he had a feeling, it was him.

Also on AO3

Prologue

Penelope Featherington was well aware that, generally, the idea of love at first sight was laughed at. In addition, the thought that a young woman who had just reached the age of sixteen should find the love of her life in such circumstances was preposterous to most people. Well, almost everyone, really.

But she had. Fallen in love that is. Deep, head over heels, irrevocably in love. With Colin Bridgerton, brother of her dearest friend Eloise. Tall, handsome, charming… kind. Yes, she knew within a few minutes of meeting him and of becoming mesmerised by his smiling eyes that he was kind. She knew that he loved his family to distraction, that he was decent, that he was caring and that he did not have one bad bone in his body. That whoever should be lucky enough to win his heart would be treasured and loved…

So, really, one could not blame her for the instant, fatal bolt of something that had left her painfully in love with a man who saw her, she shuddered to think, as almost another sister. And he already have plenty of those. Penelope, being somewhat shy (and certainly lacking in the kind of confidence that would have let her believe she had any chance of being seen in anything more than sororal terms) had hidden her infatuation behind smiles and blushing cheeks. She had told no one - not a single soul - and miraculously none had guessed. She daren’t divulge the deepest secret of her heart to anyone. It was her private treasure; every moment in his presence was a potent mixture of exquisite joy and painful torment. He was the sunshine of her life.

And he was completely, utterly oblivious. He had been both the greatest pleasure and tragedy of her life. For twelve. Whole. Years.

Until one day, as she approached the age of 29 and began to have those philosophical internal conversations that one often has when reaching a significant age, she had a revelation. No more, she told herself, no more…

Something had to change.

Part One

Twelve years, three months and two days of being in love with Colin Bridgerton

With a final few clicks, followed by a deep sigh, Penelope flicked the lid of her laptop closed and glanced at her watch. Six pm. That gave her exactly sixty minutes to prepare herself for the town Spring Gala - otherwise known as Lady Agatha Danbury’s annual party; held every April by the social leader of the small Oxfordshire town of Grosvenor, in which not a soul dared to miss either through fear of Lady Danbury’s interrogation at a later date or simply because it was the first post-Christmas social event, where the chill was finally fading from the air and the dark nights of December had been replaced by the tempting promise of the bright summer evenings to follow.

Penelope didn’t know if she had the energy to face the entire town, but go she would. Really, she should try and make the most of the evening. She would actually miss the predictability of life here. In Grosvenor, nothing of real substance ever changed. It was comforting, but it was a crutch. It was a life she had clung to to avoid making the hard decisions.

As she stood to leave her desk, her eyes fell upon a polaroid. It was a picture of Pen, her best friend Eloise and Eloise’s brother, Colin, taken at Christmas a few years ago, they all were wearing ridiculous jumpers and Colin was trying to stuff a whole mince pie in his mouth. A frown crossed her face. She grabbed the picture and tossed it into the first drawer of her desk, slamming it with a satisfying thud.

It’s time to grow up, Penelope, she told herself.

It was time for a change.

After locking her door, Pen stashed her keys in her pocket and… nearly jumped out of her skin. Perched on the small brick wall surrounding her cottage was Eloise Bridgerton, her oldest friend, lit cigarette dangling from one hand and black leather jacket slung over her shoulder.

“Jesus, El, you scare me!” Her friend smirked and took a long drag of her cigarette. “And you know if your mother catches you smoking she will kill you.”

Eloise scoffed. “I’m 28 years old Pen. I think I’m pretty far past the age when my mother rules my life.” Pen gave her a pointed look as she put out the cigarette on the stone wall before slipping it back in the packet. “Okay, so she could make my life a misery. As you well know I smoke precisely three times a year: the Danbury party, the Smythe-Smith musical evening and Simon and Daphne’s Christmas Fete.”

Pen knew her thoughts on forced social occasions, they were very similar to her own. Forced socialisation was akin to mental torture to the middle Bridgerton sibling because, like Pen, she had little time for the more vapid members of town society, and sadly, they made up a high percentage of those one would meet on such occasions. Which was why, as ever, she was once again thankful for friendship with Eloise. They were as much alike as they were different but there was something intangible between them that transcended the ordinary. On a higher level, they just fit. Many a time they’d postulate over large glasses of wine about becoming eccentric spinsters one day, with a dozen cats each and a cozy little house that overlooked the sea. It was a comforting thought for someone like Pen, who usually avoided thoughts of the future.

Slipping her arm through her friend’s, Penelope pulled Eloise to stand and began to walk in the direction of the Danbury’s large, sprawling house.“And then why do you attend tonight?” Penelope teased, knowing fair well what the answer was.

“Danbury would have my head on a platter - and then my mother would serve it for dinner. You know how those two are!”

Indeed, Penelope was well aware of the friendship between two of the town’s grande dames, both forceful in their own way and both determined matchmakers. “I wonder who they are trying to set up this year?”

“Don’t look at me,” El spat with an incredulous look, “Mother let that go a long time ago.” “Hyacinth maybe?”

“She’s far too busy with her graduate degree. She’s determined to get firsts across the board. She’s now onto her fourth language you know?” Pen did know El’s youngest sister had an uncanny knack with languages, it was unnerving really when noone else in her family spoke more than a smattering of bad French. She’d already also mastered Spanish and Mandarin - helped of course through the year she had spent travelling in China. Oh how Pen wanted to go to China… okay, perhaps not China, maybe she wasn’t that adventurous. But just anywhere other than here. “Pen?”

“Hmm?”

Eloise jabbed Pen softly with her elbow. “You like you are on another planet.”

“Just thinking,” she replied, not really being dishonest.

“Well I’m glad to see I am such scintillating company. I was actually trying to tell you I have news.”

Oh. News. Eloise had news? This was the moment Pen had been waiting for. She wanted El to know first, she hadn’t even told her mother yet...

Pausing, Penelope turned to face her friend and forced a smile. “Actually, I, too, have some news-”

Just then, a large pair of arms wrapped around Pen from behind, hugging tightly around her waist before lifting her and spinning her around.

Oh God. She’d know those arms anywhere. She’d know that cologne. She’d just know it was…

“Colin! Put me down!,” she screamed, wriggling from his grip, “I’m far too heavy!”

Feet landing back on the pavement, Penelope stumbled a second before spinning on her heel to face him.

“Nonsense, you are light as a feather Pen,” Colin replied, grinning as reached forward and pressed a loud kiss on her cheek - leaving the patch of skin his lips had touched tingling and a deep blush threatened to engulf her face. Thank god it was getting dark already.

“That was my news,” Eloise announced smugly, crossing her arms. “Brother three is back on British soil.”

Stunned was not quite the word to describe Penelope’s state of mind as she stared at Colin Bridgerton. Colin with his warm, wide smile and deep, dark eyes… eyes she had drowned in more times that she cared to count. His thick, brown hair had grown and now licked at the collar of his shirt. But otherwise, Colin had changed very little in the six months since she had last seen him - and indeed in the twelve years since they had met.

“Colin,” she began, still a little tongue tied from the brief kiss and, moreso, his entirely unexpected return, “But you were in Australia?”

“I decided to come home.”

“Clearly,” she mumbled, her head whirl. He always had that effect on her. His mere presence sent her stomach into knots and her head into a whirl and thinking clearly was almost impossible. “How wonderful,” she added.

She was dizzy. She felt a headache coming on. Actually, she felt just a little sick. Why was he back? Why? He was supposed to be gone for another five months. She should really have guessed that this might happen, Colin’s plans were always flexible and his adventures were subject to whatever whim or passion he was currently in the midst of. Still, it was unlike him to return from a trip early. It would have made more sense for him to spend those extra months exploring some other little corner of the world( and giving her the time she needed). Time for Penelope to make all the changes to her life that her carefully made plans had necessitated. Time for her to finally get over him. Severing her childish adoration for this man was the only way of moving forward with her life and just as she was about to make the great leap into the unknown… there he was. Same old Colin.

Damn, she was tired of loving him. Because the truth about loving Colin Bridgerton was that it was equal parts heaven and hell.

“Pen!” El shouted, breaking her reverie. “You phased out on me again.” Penelope gave a wan smile. “So what were you going to tell me before my idiot brother here interrupted us?”

“Oh,” she shrugged, “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Lady Danbury, of course, had planned her event to perfection. A string quartet greeted visitors in the large, marble lined vestibule of Danbury Hall and uniformed wait staff meandered around the milling guests carrying shining silver platters of champagne and fancy-looking canapes. As the trio arrived, friends of Colin’s surrounded the siblings and welcomed their friend home. Colin had always been extremely popular. Between his good nature, sense of humour and ability to make whomsoever he conversed with feel important and noticed, he has managed to forge friendships with almost every inhabitant of Grosvenor.

Seeing an exit, Penelope grabbed a flute of champagne from the first passing server and managed to sink down half of it in one swift gulp as she headed towards the large ornamental garden that was accessed from the house’s terrace. She needed a moment. She needed air. She needed to think.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be thousands of miles away.

She really had convinced herself that she was growing out of her feelings from him. It was quite ridiculous. It had been over TWELVE years. She’d mooned over him all through her teens and twenties, both cursing and thanking her friendship with Eloise for placing them in such close conspiracy. Being close to him and watching him over the years had only deepened her feelings whilst simultaneously feeding a torturous sense of insecurity. It was a curse. Any man she met was instantly compared with Colin. Was he as kind as Colin? Was he as generous as Colin? Did he make her laugh like Colin did? Did she dream of sinking her hands into his hair the way she did with Colin? Would he kiss like Colin... The list was endless.

Admittedly, the few fleeting relationships she had found herself in over the years had little longevity in them on their own merit. If a man showed an interest in her she was flattered - and flattery led her to trying to like them too. But no matter how much she tried, it was impossible to force attraction, or even friendship, and spending an evening with any of them was a close second to a glass of wine and a good book. So almost permanently single, she’d hidden her feelings under the guise of a bright demeanor and focused herself on building a career and becoming more than a woman driven by her emotions. Well, she had tried.

Tried and failed miserably as proven by her visceral reaction to his presence that evening. Who was she kidding? The only way to finally free herself from this madness was to take herself out of the equation. Physically.

With a sigh, she downed the rest of her glass and left it on a little decorative iron table that edged the patio. There was little use in ruining the evening by letting herself sink into a mood. Tonight he was here and there was little she could do about it.

Colin was home. Jetlagged, overtired and not-quite sure exactly what the time was, but he was back in Grosvenor with his luggage already deposited in his childhood room at Aubrey Hall. As expected, nothing of any note had changed in Grosvenor in the half a year he had spent travelling across Australia. It never did actually. Not during his tour of Europe, his kayak trip down the Amazon nor those six months spent trekking in India. There was something comforting about that. Home was always home. With very little change to have to acquaint oneself with when returning after a prolonged absence.

Except… Well… She looked different. Penelope did. No, that wasn’t right. Penelope was the same as always. Pen was always there when he came back: she was dependable, as much a part of home as his mother’s Sunday lunches or the broken clock at the town hall - and inevitably joined at the hip with his sister Eloise. But something was different this time.

When he’d seen her across the street, he’d stalked up to her as he often liked to, picking her up and spinning her around - it was an old trick that had started so long ago he’d forgotten exactly how or why. Yet this time he didn’t just feel the sense of enjoyment in making his friend laugh, as he picked her up he had immediately noticed the curve of her hips and the brush of her breasts against his arm. Startled, he had let go, only for her to turn to him with flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes and- well -it was different. He’d always known Penelope was a woman, but tonight for some reason, he knew.

While he had been awake for over 30 hours (thanks to a delightful assortment of caffeinated beverages), he could not blame the tightening in his gut and the moment of breathlessness he felt in that brief moment on sheer exhaustion. In fact, he’d felt a rush of adrenaline and a kick of excitement, as if he had just discovered something new. Something that no one else knew. It was… unsettling. But not exactly in a negative way.

Puzzled and curious, Colin made light work of greeting those old friends who didn’t yet know he had returned and then left Eloise to be grilled by their sister Daphne and her husband Simon about just when she planned on moving out of Aubrey Hall. He slipped away quietly. The simple solution to his confusion was to go and talk with Penelope as he normally would. Surely that would settle whatever had affected him so much. He needed to have a nice, normal conversation with her. It was understandable, he supposed, for friendships to be a little strange after such a time. It hadn’t happened before between them, but still...

It was in the garden that he found her. The evening was still light, the sun turning a hazy orange behind the springtime clouds. He’d left Australia as the summer was turning to autumn and here he was about to experience summer yet again. The idea made him smile. Summer was always his favourite time of year. It seemed filled with so much promise - the days were long, the weather fine and even the gloomiest of souls could not retain their negativity when faced with an English summer’s day.

“Pen,” he said as he approached where she stood at the edge of the ornamental gardens. In one hand, she had a full flute of champagne and in the other an impossibly sized canape. She seemed to be studying the canape and deciding how best to approach it’s consumption - not easy when it took the form of an oversized base of puffed pastry topped with a heavy dollop of cream cheese and an artful sprinkling of caviar (Colin had always appreciated good food). Her eyes met his and she smiled, perhaps a little self consciously.

“Colin, I thought you were enjoying a hero’s welcome.”

He smirked a little, “I should hardly think my travels are an accomplishment. Indeed, mother sees them as somewhat the opposite.” His mother was actually very supportive of her son’s desire to see more of the world, but she had mentioned many times how perhaps spending every penny he earned on the endeavour was not the best forward planning. A large part of him knew she was right. The transient lifestyle he had lived for so long was starting to wear on him if truth were told. Not that the urge to discover new places would ever leave him, but perhaps the way it manifested in his life needed to change. More to think on later, he supposed. “Anyway, I’m reliably informed that my mother is planning a welcome home and belated birthday party very soon. My loyal fans can fawn over me then,” he teased

“Oh,” Penelope gasped, “Your birthday was last month - I didn’t exactly forget I just - well, with all the travelling I didn’t even know where to send you a card. Here,” she said pushing the canape in his direction, “A present. I’m sure you are starving.”

“Oh no no no,” he chuckled, pushing her hand back. “I could not possibly deny you the pleasure of… that.”

Penelope frowned as she glanced at the oversized canape. Really, Colin was being a little cruel. Even he, who had never been accused of being small of mouth, would struggle to eat that with some semblance of dignity. But Penelope’s pouting pink lips were perfectly proportioned for her petite heart shaped face, forming a flawless pout as she considered the clearly impossible challenge. Colin, for his part, was seriously contemplating the lush fullness of her bottom lip until Penelope let out a deep sigh, opening her mouth wide and pushing the entirety of it inside. Colin sucked in a quick breath. As she chewed a drizzle of cream spread across her lip and he watched, hypnotised, as her tongue slipped out and cleared it away. There was something startlingly erotic in the moment and he found himself transfixed. Their eyes met as her jaw worked, the silence between them somehow startlingly loud, even as the sound of the party increased behind them in the house. Not breaking the eye contact, Penelope took a long sip of her champagne. “Done,’ she murmured softly.

The edges of his lips curled as he reached forward and brushed a crumb of pastry from her petal soft cheek. “Was it enjoyable?” he asked quietly.

Wordlessly, she nodded.

And, hell, he had enjoyed it too.

‘Well then, I’d say I’m rather jealous.” He was overcome with a sudden urge to kiss her. He wanted to step closer to her, wrap his hands around the devastating curve of her hips, press his body to hers so those lush breastswere flush against his chest and then he would taste those maddeningly erotic lips. The idea pulsed through him. She was staring. Her blue eyes widening. He reached for the glass in her hands, intending to set it down-

Buzzz. Buzzz. Buzzz.

The moment was broken by the vibrations of a mobile phone. It took Pen a few seconds to acknowledge it was hers, a confused look crossing her face until she fished the device from her jeans pocket.

“Pen? PEN? Where are you?” Eloise’s voice bellowed down the line.

“Eloise,” she mouthed to him, though he had no trouble hearing his sister, who was never known for her subtilty. “You need to get here. Daphne is PREGNANT!”

“Oh,” Pen smiled, looking back at him. “I think we should head back to the others.”

Wordlessly he nodded. His sister - for whom motherhood had always been so important - announcing her first pregnancy, was certainly something he wanted to be there for. “C’mon,” he whispered, holding out his arm, “Time to play proud big brother.”

Further exploration of his newfound fascination with Penelope Featherington’s lips would have to wait.

Hours later...

The world was silent when they reached her cottage. An intrepid white cat darted across the street as a gust of wind rustled the branches of the small oak tree that dominated the garden of Penelope’s cottage. Despite the light chill to the air, she was wearing a warm coat of alcohol, her cheeks glowing as they always did when she had drunk champagne. Pleasantly tipsy, she leaned into Colin, his warmth comforting against her side as she fumbled in her pocket for her key.

“Thank you,” she said quietly as she opened the half gate that breached the stone wall around her home “But you really didn’t have to walk me all the way home. I’m a big girl, you know.” There was a double meaning to her words; yes she wasn’t exactly young, but she also wasn’t exactly small in size - the phrase ‘curves in abundance’ could have been written just for her, she had thought on more than one occasion.

“It was my pleasure,” Colin replied, “It was a fine excuse to leave before the revels became too tiring- you know these things can go on until morning and I already feel like I could sleep for a year.” With that, he yawned and ran a hand through his hair. Pen watched those lightly tanned fingers come through the dark chestnut locks and swallowed down a sigh.

“Well,” she nodded, “I’d say that it’s time to say goodnight.” For a second, she fidgeted, her keys jangling on her finger. Impulsively, she reached out her hand and immediately felt ridiculously awkward. She and Colin did not shake hands. She didn’t shake hands with anyone. Ever. She cleared her throat and felt her cheeks deepen in colour. Oh god. After their strange moment in the garden, things had felt almost normal between them as they congratulated Daphne and Simon and then passed the rest of the evening hearing stories from Colin’s travels and bringing him up to date with the (somewhat limited) local gossip he had missed. And so when he had insisted on walking her home, she hadn’t been overly wary. Yet now… now they were alone on her quiet street and he was staring at her so oddly that she was actually finding it difficult to breathe-

“Good night,” he said softly, reaching down to bring her into a hug. It was a beautiful, warm embrace, her face almost nestling against his neck so that she could enjoy his musky, soft cologne. This was nice. This was safe. Friends hugged.

She made to pull away, but he only loosened his grip a small amount. Looking up he was so very close. His dark, velvet eyes fixed upon hers. “Pen…” he whispered, a look of concentration upon his face. She tried to wriggle gently free of his arms, his close inspection feeling uncomfortable and somehow searing.

And then he kissed her. Just like that.

His lips were against hers, his hands slipped up her back, his mouth suddenly urgent and wonderful and if Penelope could have imagined his kiss a thousand times she could not have imagined this. He pressed her back against the door, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with a satisfied groan. Her hands, which had been limp around his neck, surged into his thick locks, the satin strands feeling obscenely good between her fingers. He pushed his hips forward, anchoring her in place, his mouth tracing her jaw and then her neck, one hand racing down to cup her buttocks and squeeze just hard enough to make her gasp in surprise.

Colin Bridgerton was kissing her.

Colin was kissing her.

Colin.

Suddenly, she froze, pushing against his shoulders. “Are you drunk?” she panted.

“No,” he frowned, “Are you?”

“No,” she admitted, shaking her head. And, oh she was thankful that she would remember every moment of this...

Without her noticing, Colin had taken the key and opened the door behind her. Quickly, they fell inside. Their arms instantly back around each other and the kiss resumed and it was intoxicating. It was magnetic. It was drugging… Penelope had never been kissed like this before.

Colin was nibbling at her neck and pulling her shirt out from her jeans. She dug her fingers into the firm muscles of his shoulders and felt herself being swept away.

“Wait-”

He paused and looked up.

Penelope took a step backwards. This had to stop. It was madness. “I-I can’t do this right now. I-”

His face creased in confusion. “Pen?”

She began pushing her shirt back into her jeans. “I need to think. I need to sleep. I-” She sighed and pursed her lips. She couldn’t believe what was happening. She couldn’t believe what she was doing.

He responded with a small nod and a whispered, “Okay.” He reached back and placed his hand on the doorknob, before adding, “Later?’

And Penelope tried to smile.

Colin left, the door closing softly, followed by the clip of footsteps and the creak of her gate. Quickly, she locked the door and then stared at it.

And then Penelope Featherington started to cry.

Oh god, what the hell just happened?

To Be Continued...

#bridgerton #bridgerton ff #bridgerton fanfiction #Colin Bridgerton #Penelope Featherington #penelope x colin

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 1

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Eventual smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo... a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - mentions of a verbally abusive relationship

Author’s note: Happy November 1st! Here is chapter one of December Magic. I am so so grateful for how many people have asked to be part of a taglist/enjoyed the prologue. It makes me so happy. If you want to be tagged in future parts please let me know! Enjoy x

MASTERLIST | SUBMIT REQUESTS

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER ONE - NEXT

Waking up on December 1st, you had no idea what was in store for you. You had no idea how the coming month would change your life forever.

It was that time of the year again. Your favourite time of year, and boy were you a sucker for tradition. Any excuse to light your cinnamon and pinecone scented candles and wear the cosiest wooliest sweaters you could find. The time of year where you would search around in storage for your favourite cashmere gloves, tartan scarf and faux fur hat. It was the time of year where you had to have your car defrosted every morning. The thought of your peppermint mocha warming your hands as you did your Christmas shopping was something to look forward to all year round.

The crisp cool air hung above your shoulders. Washington DC felt bigger than life when you were amongst the bustling December crowds, city life filled with people running around trying to get sorted in time for Christmas. The whole city was painted in thick layers of white snow and an abundance of glittering fairy lights. WHAM’s new Christmas song was a number one hit and the catchy melody filled up the department store on every main street corner. But this year was different to any other.

“You can’t pay, you can’t live here. You have three days to box up your stuff before you’re evicted.” Your landlord, Tristan, said sternly, his voice completely monotone and with no empathy whatsoever. You knew it was coming. You had determined that this was your karma.

“Please, it’s Christmas and I’ve just been laid off from my job. You know my family don’t live in the state and-”

“Not my problem,” Tristan snapped back, a small smirk playing on his lips. He had a habit of interrupting you, but doing so at this very moment irked you like no other time. “You’re a big girl. Figure it out.” And with that, he slammed his door in your face.

You stood there momentarily trying to process the confrontation that had just occurred between not only your landlord, but also ex-boyfriend, Tristan. You consider yourself lucky to have a place as nice as your apartment. It was located right in the centre of Washington DC, a two bedroom, one bathroom, with an outstanding view of the city. You always admired how it looked at night, with eccentric tall buildings lighting up the skyline. But now you were essentially made homeless, and you knew for a fact that Tristan was getting a rise out of making you suffer like this.

That’s exactly why you broke up with him. He liked to have power over you, and everyone else he met. He wanted to be the top man. He wanted to be feared; and by the rest of the people in the building? He was. But by you, not so much. His attempts to make you scared were foolish and you wouldn’t stand for it. You’d think for someone who made a living from robbing people of their hard earned money, they would be able to afford a better anniversary dinner than Pizza Hut— but no. The two of you sat in the restaurant and you were lazily dipping your nachos into the cheese sauce when he came out with something preposterous.

“I’m thinking about upping rent,” Tristan informed you with his signature smile. “By forty percent.”

You almost choked on your food. “Forty percent?!” you gasped, covering your mouth as you coughed slightly. “You can’t do that!” You knew that you could get out of paying it because, girlfriend privilege. But you were also aware of the financial status of your neighbours. The family of five who could barely afford to put food on the table, and the teenage boy who had to drop out of school to work and make an earning so he could provide medication for his sick mother. They were already struggling and with a rent rise, you just knew they wouldn't be able to take it.

“And why not?” Tristan raised an eyebrow quizzically, taking a bite of the floppy slice of pizza. You scrunch your nose up as you watched him eat with his mouth open, bits of cheese falling out and onto the table.

“Because it’s not fair,” You told him. “It’s greedy. If you need extra cash you could always look for another job. Even if it’s just part time! I heard Black Gold Cooperative are hiring and you just know the pay will be good-”

Tristan slammed his fists on the table, making you jump at his sudden movement. A few heads turned to face you both and you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “Black Gold Cooperative?” He snarled. “And work for that self righteous asshole Maxwell Lord? I don’t think so, sweetie.”

You sighed at his audacity to call anyone else self righteous before giving the chance to check his own behaviour.

“It was just a suggestion.” You mumbled, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Right, because you don’t think being a landlord is a real job.” Tristan said nastily. His tone of voice sent a shiver down your spine. He was doing it again. He was speaking down to you because it was the only way he could exert power over you. “Says the girl who pours coffee all day and only works twenty hours a week and barely makes enough to avoid a goddamn bowl of pasta from Pizza Hut.” He pointed at your bowl of nachos that you had selected from the Starters menu.

You were getting really sick of his attitude. “It’s dishonest work.” You growled back at him. “You overcharge families and people who can barely get by just so they can have a roof over their head! Don’t you see how immoral that is?”

“Someone has to do it.” He shrugged cooly, taking a sip of his red wine.

“But you’re going about it the wrong way!”

“Right.” Tristan stood up and grabbed your arm. He pulled you out of your chair and dragged you outside of the restaurant.

“Let go of me!” You cried out, yanking your arm out of his hard grip. You rubbed where his fingers had dug into your skin and had no doubt it would leave a bruise.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is the broke ass barista telling me how to do my job? You’re the one to talk. You’re nothing. And you’d be nothing without me. Look at yourself,” Tristan scoffed, and suddenly he was making you feel very self conscious. “You were foolish enough to think you could move to DC and make something of yourself. You have ambition but you don’t know how to use it. And the way you tried to embarrass me during our anniversary dinner…” He was doing what he always did. Villainsing you.

“I never want to see you again.” You spat, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. Your voice was shaky but you didn't want to break down in front of him. You didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

“That’ll be hard since we live in the same building,” he rolled his eyes and tried grabbing your hand again but you flinched away, fear prevailing in your eyes. “Oh come on baby.”

“Don’t call me that.” You said through gritted teeth. “I’m calling a cab. And don’t bother calling me. See you around Tristan.”

And that was the last time you had seen Tristan, until today— talk about bad break-ups.

You shuffled upstairs back to your apartment and slumped against the door trying to figure out how you were going to find a new place to live in three days. Maybe if you found a job you could persuade Tristan to let you stay a little longer. You knew that's what he wanted. Everything he had done, everything he said, was to scare you. But Tristan was attached and despite threatening to evict you, he didn't want to see you leave.

You wanted out. Your apartment was filled with bad memories and maybe this was your opportunity to start fresh. This could be your calling. But judging from your current situation and the time of year, you figured you’d be lucky just finding a roadside motel to spend Christmas day in— and you really didn't want that. You grabbed the phone book from under your coffee table and walked over to the dial up phone hung by the kitchen door. Locating one of the most popular property marketplaces in central DC, you dialled up and found your fingers twirling in the telephone wire.

“Hey,” you greeted.

“Hello!” an older sounding lady chirped on the other end of the line. “How can I be of service?”

“I um, I gotta find a place to live— and fast. I’m getting evicted and my budget, well, I don’t have a lot-” your eyes scanned the living room as you weighed up possible things you could sell for just a little more cash.

“Oh, I’m sorry dear. We’re shut for the holidays and there's no place in DC that will help you find a place before new year,” She said sadly and you couldn't believe your bad luck. No place at all? “It really is a shame that you're being evicted, but if you drop into our store after the new year, I’d love to help you find a place that is suitable for you and your budget!”

You were left rendered speechless. “I- I’m going to be homeless.” you said to yourself, the fact finally dawning on you. You knew that you wouldn't ever be truly homeless and that Tristan would be more than happy to let you stay with him during the holiday season but the thought of having to go back to him knocked you sick. You’d rather freeze on a street corner than feel his embrace once more. You wondered if you could travel back home to see your family. “Hey, are there any train trips or flights to Oregon?” you asked.

“Nope,” the lady popped her p and she sounded far too cheery for your liking. “Tickets have been sold out for months. I could get you a flight for January 12th?”

“No.” you mumbled. “My car broke down… but what are the chances I could get a cabbie to Oregon?”

“You want to get a cab to Oregon?” The woman on the other end laughed in disbelief, and you supposed that could be justified. “You can't be serious. Besides, Astoria bridge has been closed down due to last week's snow storm and I can't see it reopening until after the snow has cleared. Heaven knows when that will be.”

Tristan had really caught you in a loop. “So there is no way I can find a place to stay, nor travel to Oregon, at all, this month?”

“I’m sorry dear.”

“Okay, well thank you for your help.” You said wistfully, feeling dread forming in the pit of your stomach.

“Merry Christmas and have a hap-” You hung up on her.

You weren't ready to give up hope just yet. If there was one thing you always clung on to, it was faith. Your belief that everything happens for a reason and everything is sure to work out for the best in the end. You figured you could go job hunting and then tell Tristan you would be able to pay him double once you got your first paycheck. No, it wasn't ideal but what other choice did you have?

You grabbed your jacket and purse before leaving your apartment. Did you have a plan? No. You didn't even have your resumé with you.

You plodged your feet through the snow, your socks dampening even through your boots but finally made it to the bustling main street. You looked in the windows of all the different department stores and in desperate search for hiring signs, even going inside and inquiring with members of staff— but there were no positions available.

Just then, you found yourself outside of Black Gold Cooperative and you remembered that they were hiring. Granted, you didn't know what the position was, and figured you almost certainly didn't have the qualifications to work for such a prestigious business.

You looked up at the tall building, always feeling like an overwhelmed tiny insect when you stood next to it. It sparkled a sleek black and in a large, gold, cursive font BGC was displayed so high it looked over the whole city. It was certainly the tallest skyscraper you had ever seen with your own pair of eyes. In that moment, you almost backed down. But this wasn't a choice anymore and you had to shoot your shot. Just roll with it. You told yourself.

You were able to take a peek at the lobby in the double door entrance. Everything was marble with gold embellishments. If you hadn't known any better, you would've thought it was a palace. Trodding over the red carpet, you were stopped by a man’s arm, not allowing you to enter. “Name and business?" He asked, his voice rough. You looked up at him. Tall and broad, no hair and dressed in all black. A doorman that looked like a nightclub bodyguard. If you weren't intimidated you would've laughed.

“Sorry?” you asked, trying your best to sound as innocent and polite as could be.

“Name and business.” He repeated, his tone of voice the same. He didn't budge— still standing there with his arms folded against his chest. You weren't even sure if he was looking at you, with his black sunglasses hiding his face.

“Uhm,” you stood on your tip toes and took a glance at the clipboard which was pressed between his forearm and chest. Names that had been typewritten were printed on the page and most of them had been crossed out— bar one. You read out the name. “Barbara Minerva.” you said confidently. He looked at you for sure this time and pulled his glasses off, narrowing his eyes. He took the clipboard and checked for your fake name and sure enough, there it was.

“You’re Barbara Minerva?” he beckoned, raising an eyebrow.

“The one and only.” you lied with a charming smile. “And my business is…. actually I'm here for a job interview.”

“Oh!” the man grinned, like something had clicked in his mind. He scribbled out Barbara's name on your clipboard and ushered you inside. “Mr Lord’s office is on the top floor. Best of luck Ms Minerva.”

When you entered the lobby, warmth washed over your body and you couldn't help but smile. It was all lit up with yellow fairy lights and an enormous twelve foot Christmas tree in the centre. The tree was decorated with red and golden baubles. It was simply magnificent and looked like it was straight out of a catalogue.

You walked over to the elevator and pressed the button. No way would you be walking up 22 flights of stairs to the top floor. You really couldn't believe you were even granted access to the building, nevermind the fact you now had an interview with the self acclaimed and prestigious mutli-billionaire Maxwell Lord. A feeling of dread filled your stomach. What if he caught on? What if he figured out you weren't this Barbara woman? Could you go to jail? You tried your best to shrug the feeling off and remain confident. To be honest, you'd rather spend Christmas locked away in a cell than with Tristan. You promised yourself that this would be worth it.

The top floor was sleek, a long and wide corridor with an office at the very end. Marble statues were dotted around, and the walls were filled with oil paintings bordered with solid gold frames. At the front, not too far from where the elevator had dropped you off, was a help desk. Three women with sleek hair and matching pencil skirts scoped you out, almost glaring at you. You were sure you noticed one of them stifle a laugh. But you were too mesmerised by your surroundings to care. Everywhere you looked was just so magnificent.

"Can I help you?" one of the ladies snapped you out of your thoughts. Your head bolted in their direction.

"Oh!" you exclaimed, pulling off your faux fur hat and sliding the gloves off your fingers. You shoved them hap-hazardly in your coat pocket. "I'm Barbara Minerva," you introduced yourself with the politest smile you could muster. "I have an interview with Maxwell Lord?"

The three girls gawked at you in silence. It was like you had grown a third head. "You have an interview with Mr Lord?" one of the women raised her eyebrows. She flicked her blonde long ponytail and settled a hand on her hip.

You hesitated, considering her rude attitude for a moment. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."

The three girls started at you for just a beat too long before one of them, with the sleekest ebony hair you had ever seen, handed you a document. "You need to sign this NDA." she said simply, rolling a pen over to you.

Your eyes scanned the document which just so happened to be very vague. "Why the need for a non disclosure agreement?" you beckoned. "It's just a job interview."

The blonde girl snorted and the ebony haired girl slapped her arm. "Yeah, just a job interview." The blonde assistant rolled her eyes, a small smirk playing on her lips. "We don't make the rules, Mr Lord does. And we know better than to question him."

This was really odd. You wondered if it was really worth it but you had already come this far— you couldn't just walk out now. You sighed and signed your name over the NDA. The blonde girl let out a cackle.

"Is there a problem?" you questioned, stone faced and unamused.

Your heart was racing. These ladies were so pushy and you were certain that if it was going to go wrong at some point— it would be now.

"No, not at all," a girl with chestnut hair smiled. "That's just Stephanie being a bitch as per usual." The blonde girl, who you now could identify as Stephanie gasped.

"I am not a bitch!" Stephanie cried.

"You kinda are." The ebony haired girl shrugged her shoulders.

"Shut up Amanda!" Stephanie spat. Amanda rolled her eyes and blew a bubble of gum before analysing her nail beds.

"Brittany started it." Amanda accused and before you knew it, the three girls began to cat fight each other.

"I- I'm just going to take a seat over there." You said, trying to speak over the girls who were shouting at each other.

"Amanda you know Mr Lord hates it when you blow bubbles with your gum!" Stephanie accused, narrowing her eyes.

"She does it because he still won't let her blow him." Brittany cackled.

"That is not true." Amanda gasped again, shaking her head.

You felt yourself waver out of their little argument, truly taken by surprise at how unprofessional they were being. You expected higher standards from people who were employed by Maxwell Lord. You shuffled into the black leather sofa, trying to get cosy when the double doors to his office opened. You adjusted yourself, watching as a young looking girl walked out. She didn't make eye contact with anyone, her movements were almost robotic.

"How do you think she coped?" You heard Stephanie whisper.

"Look at her," Brittany replied. "She's a mess. I better go check on Mr Lord."

"No, I'll check on Mr Lord."

"NO, I'll check on Mr Lord."

Once again, you muffled out their argument and paid close attention to the girl. As she neared you, you saw her lipstick was smeared to one side and her cheeks were tear stained— black kohl eyeliner smudged just as much as her lipstick. Had she been crying? You felt your nerves increase and you picked up on the fact that she was walking with a limp. Noticing the three girls race to Maxwell's office, you took the chance to approach the young girl. You stood up and held your hand out.

"Hey, are you okay?" you asked her, taking a compact mirror out of your purse and handing it to her. She shook her head, rejecting your sentiment. "What- uhm, what's he like?" You asked her hesitantly.

"He's just the way you imagine him to be." She told you with a shaky exhale. You rolled your shoulders back as you contemplated her words. You hadn't really thought much of Maxwell Lord. Of course, everyone in the world knew who he was. For generations, the Lord family had shares in the oil drilling enterprise, but Maxwell Lord IV made a name for himself when he bought out 90% of the oil fields around the world; his father only owning a measly and yet still impressive 15% before him. The front page of Forbes magazine three years in a row— practically the face of 80s television with his cheesy infomercials being broadcast on every channel, every time of the day. Everyone knew his face, they knew his voice, they knew Maxwell Lord. Stories about him graced the tabloids, speculating who his latest lover was, whether or not there had been a new strain on his family and what his financial earnings looked like circa 1984. "He's just getting cleaned up now," the girl informed you with hazy eyes. "Maybe do yourself a favour and bring yourself tissue."

"That bad huh?" you bit your finger anxiously.

"No, he's amazing." the girl swooned. "I just hope I get a call back."

Okay, now you were really confused. "Well, good luck." You offered her a warm smile but she just bit her lip and continued limping to the elevator. A few moments later, the three girls who manned the main desk approached you. Stephanie took a step forward, offering you quite possibly the fakest smile you had ever seen.

"Mr Lord will see you know."

Taglists: [comment or drop me an ask if here if you would like to be added]

December Magic: @goth-topic (im so sorry it won’t let me tag you) @kiwi-the-first @100layersofdaddyissues @mrschiltoncat @honeymandos @thisisthe-way

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria

#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #max lord #maxwell lord smut #max lord x reader #max lord smut #december magic

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readerinsertfanfiction · 3 years

Text

Soulmates

So Venus wrote some soulmates headcanons and I said that they inspired me and then promptly was asked to share whatever I had and //sweatblobs

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Character: Yukimura Sanada

Prompt: Soulmates AU

You supposed, just like how many things ran its course in the world, that it was humanity that laid at the core of chaos. For what else is a creature to do when they are born in a world without colour? When the world was so dull and only shades of black and white could be seen around, didn’t that turn thoughts black and white as well? A greyscale of existence, with little choice between what colour you loved best, for it was all just another nuance of that one shade you could see. A dull experience until you met someone that could help you see the world in a different light.

And so your existence had been fairly simple as well, with a definite definition of good and bad and what was just and wrong. You never had to give much thought to it, no more than that you had to squint your eyes at a shadow in which you tried to figure out just what degree of gray it was, or that it was perhaps black after all, or just a dirty white. It all had seemed so simple until you found yourself five centuries back. A place where morality and justice didn’t come hand in hand so easily. Where laws weren’t so definite as you had always granted it to be, for the world hadn’t come to exist with all these rights readily formulated.

"Hey witch. What spell did you put on me."

You had liked to ask the same question as well. You knew danger from safety, you knew good from bad, but never had the night seemed so colourful as the time a young man had caught you in his arms to prevent you from falling down the cliffs. The deep red of his kimono, with a white collar, that brown dust of hair. Colours you had never registered before, but knew by name anyway. Colours you knew to be warm accompanied with a frown and the same brown eyes that were so true yet so rare.

If it had been a spell it was the spell of fate. One decided by the heavens above, a red string of fortune tied between. You had never supposed that this was something you would find in the past, for why would the world play such a cruel jape?

But the contradictions to the world were numerous, so you learnt. Just as you found that good and bad weren’t so definite, and rights and plights came so natural. They were all a formulation of one's thoughts, nourished by a love for the world, like you needed your meals just as much as this fate in which you had come to love the colour red.

"Hey witch, can I stay with you?"

Dishonest words from an awkward man. But a love all the same for someone that had been cast out by time. Yukimura had never learnt to speak better, but he was trying as you were learning to name the world by its colours and see the nuances between. Together you learnt that there was more to a shade and more to the warmth of the sun.

“Would you leave if I said no?”

You had challenged him as you set down the poultry dish, fragrant and nourishing, as the meals here in the era were sparse but much appreciated. Simple in its preparation and style, but it would keep you fed for days and that was the aim. Yukimura had proven himself to be quite helpless with cooking, but he tried his best, making up for his lack of talent with hunting. The dish was caught and washed by him. You had done the rest, a symbiotic relationship had formed.

The male grimaced boyishly at you, eyes smiling along with him, “nah,” he spoke, his head shaking along and you could only sigh at that, rolling your eyes in quasi-annoyance, but the both of you knew better.

“Too bad you forgot what spell you used, now you’re stuck.”

You disagreed, but so did he.

#ikesen yukimura #yukimura sanada #ikemen sengoku yukimura #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikesen x reader #ikemen sengoku x reader

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khaleesiofalicante · 2 years

Note

Helloooo... here we gooo!!!

Hey Asmodeus! Go Fuck Yourself!

Yeah bitch go fuck yourself!

THE BEGINNING

Fuck Shinyun, seriously this is like the third chapter in a row that starts with a message from her 😒

Today, she is here.

She is just a kid.

Yeah but like the creepy kind from horror movies

She looks happy.

Because she now has an evil overlord 🤷🏻‍♀️

Camille had been different.

The devil has many faces

But he has people.

Yeah... you have Alec

That’s when Asmodeus entered his life.

She can be single-minded like that.

Obsessive, that's the word you're looking for

He wants to stay with Alec.

Then stay!!

“I would do it for you,” she says then. “If the roles were reversed, I would do anything to ensure your future is secure.”

Magnus is different 😌

She never is dishonest.

🤔

He hates liars.

😳

“Chronic lymphocytic leukaemia,” she replies. “Treatable but not curable. We don’t know how long he will live.”

Too long, even if it is one second

“Just once,” he nods

I don't like it

Alec. Alec is home

🥺🥺

"Will you stop harassing me via email then?"

Please and fuck you 😒

For she has the most beautiful smile.

Alec is standing opposite her, looking…well, he doesn’t look pleased.

Oh no, oh no...no no no

Fuck Shinyun 🤬

Angry Alec is going to cause trouble for regular Alec

Angry Alec should stay quiet

“You can’t leave,” Alec says again. “You can’t just leave me like that. You can’t just run away to London.”

Ay nooo... sin pelear!!! Me van a hacer llorar!!

“I’ll be with Shinyun.”

That's not at all comforting! 🤦🏻‍♀️

“Don’t go,” Alec says when Magnus finally gets ready. “Baby. Don’t go. Please.”

And... now I'mcrying, thank you Dani 😭

“What do you want from me?” Magnus asks.

Nothing good, Magnus run!!

Magnus’ blood goes cold.

This is going to end terribly

“You don’t have a choice, love,” the man chuckles. “When I pass, it will be passed onto you.”

I hate him so much for this, he found the way to mess with Magnus even after his death

“Then I’ll never have children,” Magnus announces. “Edom will die with me.”

Oh Magnus... don't listen to him... I swear if he breaks up with Alec because of this I will Asmodeus myself!!!

Magnus is done with this man.

Good, go back to Alec and never ever leave him again

“One day, my love, you will realize the truth,” Asmodeus tells him gently, his final words to Magnus. “Sometimes love isn’t enough.”

THE MIDDLE

Rafe's obsession with phones shouldn't be cute, but aww 🤗 💕

Alec never had the chance. He lives in the Lightwood mansion. And one day, he’ll live in the executive mansion – hopefully.

Maybe you should stop doing politics and move to a hut with Magnus, I promise you, you'll be happy

“We missed World of Colour!” Clary huffs. “We had to go back! Obviously.”

I want to be their child

“Hey, Rafe?” Alec asks. “How many amendments does the Constitution have?”

“27.”

Of course he knows, my beautiful nerd 😌

“I set them free,” Selena says casually.

😍😍😍

Magnus runs after them because he gets distracted by animals easily. Just like Max.

This is all so sweet I feel full of rainbows

“It’s a sphynx,” Jace informs them. “A black sphynx.”

“Chopin likes you,” David smiles.

Chopin has the finest of tastes

“May I come with you?” David asks.

Yes you can you cutie pie!!!

😳 wait are we getting a Mavid moment??? OMG!!!

Izzy splutters on her wine. “You paid five thousand dollars for…this?”

Nop he paid five thousand dollars to make David happy 😌 as one should!!

“Really?” the boy perks up. “Cuándo empezaste a aprender? Hablas con tus hijos en español todo el tiempo?”

Por supuesto que mi príncipe hermoso habla español 😍 por eso lo amo!! 🥰

His class teacher has asked Magnus to come along, a little too eagerly, and Alec had told her to go to hell.

How did this disaster man become governor??

Max grabs David and gives him a bone-crushing hug, totally ignoring Alec.

🤣🤣🤣

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Alec demands.

Oh Alec 🤦🏻‍♀️🤣

He's texting Magnus about swear word 🤣🤣🤣 I can't!!

Fuck Shinyun... why Dani? Why? I was so happy I was rolling in fields of happiness 😒

“Then who the fuck are you-”

Noooooooooooooo!!!!

“Right. Of course,” Asmodeus nods. “Pardon my mistake. I would have remembered better if I had been invited to the wedding.”

Asmodeus makes such a good villain, I love to hate him!!

“We have a lot of money,” Max announces proudly. “I don’t want your money. Go away Shoo!!”

I love Max so so so much!!!

“Max is not an idiot!” David yells at him. “Don’t ever call him that!”

“No,” Alec tells his little one. “That man’s eyes are nothing like bapak’s.”

Oh no 😔 I never wanted this part to end... !

THE END

Magnus doesn’t really have such privileges anymore.

If you remarry him he'll be yours to annoy forever and ever

Again!

Then he goes to Alec’s account.

This two are going to kill me!!!

He feels like a stalker. A cheater.

Don't he is worse than you

One of the many secrets he kept from Alec.

Gif flipping tables

“You make date night so fun, Shinyun,” Magnus grins.

EW!

Why does doing any of it feels wrong?

Because is not Alec

Their relationship is so wrong, and that's not just my jealousy there's something really detach about it

“I wasn’t finished,” Magnus says calmly. “Will you do the interview and the photoshoot if I do it with you?”

MAGNUS BANE!! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ALEC??

Dani you are a master story teller!!!

This chapter was absolutely fantastic, I cried at the beginning, but that's perfectly okey, thank you!!

YOUR COMEBACKS ARE SO FUNNY LIKE I CRY LAUGHING EVERY TIME ISTG

My fave was "how did this disaster man becomes governor?" fdsjkhfjkdhfksdjcf LOVE YOU.

#tlnd

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