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the-ineffable-demon-crowley · 4 years

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The Temple

You’re chosen to be an offering to the angel Aziraphale in exchange for a miracle: protecting your village from invaders. As divine intervention (or a rigged coin toss) would have it, Aziraphale ends up travelling to Edinburgh, and asks Crowley to go collect the offering for him. Except Crowley was told it would only be a few baskets of harvest. Not you.

Pairing ↝ Anthony J. Crowley x reader

Genre ↝ Smut, fluff

Length ↝ 7.1k words

Warnings ↝ Probably loads of sacrilege (this is not meant to offend any religion/peoples) - temple sex, religious themes, mentions of blood-drinking, oral (m receiving), fingering, praise kink, dirty talk, general demonic sexy times

“I’m away to Edinburgh tomorrow.” The angel said.

“So very damp.” The demon complained. “I’m meant to be there as well.”

“Well... suppose I’ll see you there, Crowley.”

Crowley turned his head and smiled wickedly at the angel named Aziraphale. Though he tried, the angel did not look as surprised to see that look on the demon’s face as he should have been. This wouldn’t be the first time they’d come to form some sort of an arrangement.

“I’ll flip you for it.” Crowley offered.

Aziraphale paused and looked over both shoulders, hesitatingly so as if he expected God herself to come out and discorporate them both. He then looked at the demon, and nodded subtly. Crowley smiled to himself, and reached in to grab a coin from his pocket. He always kept one in his pocket just for such an occasion - there had been many arrangements over the centuries that required flipping. He could probably count on one hand the amount of times Aziraphale won.

He held it between his fingers, then with a snap, flipped it. The coin hung in mid-air until Aziraphale called it - and he almost always calls ‘heads’. Tails is reserved for you, for obvious reasons, he once explained. The coin fell onto the back of Crowley’s hand with a soft tap, proudly displaying the opposite side. Aziraphale huffed, slightly put off at the typicality of the result as he crossed his arms. He still never questioned the fairness of Crowley’s flips, which he should have, Crowley reasoned, so it was perfectly acceptable that he not broach the subject.

The coin was slipped back into his pocket.

“Oh, alright.” Aziraphale conceded, arms dropping to his sides. “I’ll go to Edinburgh. And you stay here where it’s lovely and... warm.” He pouted, but Crowley flashed his signature grin, and Aziraphale knew there was no appealing the demon.

“Bring your wellies, angel.”

“You really are a scoundrel. Now, let me think... Alright, then I shall have to wrap up some things here then, and be out first thing. Oh drat! That reminds me - there’s a small village east of here that pledges some of their harvest to me, be a dear and go pick it up. It’s just a basketful or two of fruits and vegetables. I wouldn’t want to be rude.”

Crowley blinked behind his spectacles. “I’m sorry, this lot give you a sacrifice like you’re some sort of ancient deity?”

Aziraphale scoffed in his posh way. “Hardly. I did some petty miracles for them a few decades ago, revived some malnourished crops, and this is their way of thanking me. It’s become a proper tradition.” He smiled, chest puffed out a bit, pleased with the idea. Crowley looked less enthused, tossing his head to the side with something nearing a sneer on his face.

“Won’t they notice we look only slightly different? Y’know, general demonic appearance, and all?”

“No, no, you needn’t be seen. Just go to the temple at dusk, there’ll be nobody in there. Oh, Crowley, you simply must go. They have the most divine pears.”

Crowley barked a laugh at that. “How am I meant to go into a temple? I’ll be tenderized into a pair of boots.”

“It’s less of a temple and more of a ceremonial altar. Really, now you’re just looking for excuses, Crowley. And anyway, you owe me. I’m almost certain you cheated this time.” Aziraphale snapped his fingers and miracled himself away after the last word. Crowley noticed how he’d only said ‘this’ coin toss, and he wondered what made Aziraphale suspicious this time. Perhaps he hadn’t put enough oomph into it. Well, it was a small price to pay for not having to ride a horse in Scotland. Picking up a basket of fruits from some temple sounded relatively doable, and he knew Aziraphale would never forgive him if he stood between him and his pears.

Especially pears that he’d eat with crepes.

So Crowley waited until dusk fell, then he sought out the village to the east. It didn’t take long, not for a demon anyway. When he came upon it, the sun was beginning to set and from a tall hill on the town’s perimeter, he watched as the villagers doused candles in their homes. A breeze buffeted Crowley’s loose tunic, the ends of hair not tucked into the bun tickling his shoulders. He trained his eyes on each of the simple yet sturdily built structures within the village until he spotted one in particular. Even from a distance, he could see that the wood and stone used to build it were ornately carved, with a looming arch and small pillars. It positively screamed temple- er, ceremonial building to him, anyway.

As the little village tucked away under the hill prepared for slumber, Crowley set down the hill rather leisurely. He’d miracled himself to appear invisible, his presence marked only by an invisible breeze. What the villagers saw was a bit of a leaf swirling in the wind, when in reality, he traipsed through the town quite comfortably, glancing at each of the homes as he passed.

Though most of the lights had now been doused, Crowley saw that a few people stayed outside, positioned several feet away from each other, at what seemed to be their posts. Weapons glinted menacingly in their hands, axes and knives and bats. They were arming themselves. But against who?

Crowley continued on, idly wondering what sort of miracles Aziraphale had managed for the villagers, and if they had gone sour.

Still, he was only here to pick up some fruit; it was no concern of his. Perhaps he’d mention it to Aziraphale later, if he remembered (though the last time he’d had a mind to remind Aziraphale of something, it had been a few thousand years later and that particular civilization had collapsed). Regardless, he continued on with his stroll through the folksy town square, under the awnings of the shops until he reached the front of the temple (in his mind it was still a temple).

His chin tilted upwards as he surveyed the building, found it rather mediocre as far as temples went, and sighed quietly. Bloody angel. He lifted one hand, and with slender fingers, snapped himself inside. Immediately, he felt the overwhelming solemness settle onto his shoulders, a most unsettling feeling. He shook it off, and looked down to see his feet were still firmly flat on the ground. No burning. The angel was right, it wasn’t concentrated.

“Hm. I would’ve thought he’d be lying if he wasn’t an angel.” Crowley mused to himself. He reached up and tucked a loose strand of red hair back that had fallen out of the bun behind his ear, and stepped deeper into the temple. The building was mostly stone inside, with altars carved into the sides of great boulders worn down and shaped to be suitable to build with.

He walked along the interior, fingers brushing over the cool stone faces of the pillars, mindlessly loitering around, seeing no fruits or vegetables, until he spotted another door. The inner sanctum. Alright, let’s get this over with.

Crowley’s light touch against the wood of the door prompted it to open without a single sound. As he walked in, the entirety of the room was shrouded in shadow, aside from a raised stone platform which was bathed in the light of the moonlight from the skylight above. His steps were slow, the heels of his shoes clicking quietly against the stone floors. His eyes fell upon the bounty; a basket of plump fruits, fresh vegetables, what looked like some baked goods wrapped in cheesecloth, and... a woman.

Crowley blinked behind his black spectacles as the woman raised her head from her position laying on a flat stone surface where the foodstuffs had been placed. She did not seem surprised to see him, which did not necessarily comfort him any.

“Ngk.” Said Crowley.

The stone was cool against your cheek, and your breath was even as it fanned out against the rock beneath you. Your fingertips traced patterns around the small embedded stones mindlessly, shifting only slightly when the hardness of the surface began to stiffen your bones. The moonlight cast pale blue light upon your skin, and black shadows underneath your raised hand. You studied it with pointless scrutiny, anything to keep your mind off the coming dawn. The one you weren’t likely to see.

Truth be told, you weren’t afraid. There were worse things than being offered to an angelic deity as an attempt to beseech him to protect the village from a looming threat. It had to be done. Even from behind thick stone walls, you could hear the clattering of the weapons the able-bodied brandished to protect themselves and their loved ones through the night. The sounds travelled down through the skylight, and you tried to close your ears to it all, humming a soft song to yourself to fill your mind.

You thought you might be nervous, pacing, climbing out of your skin, but nothing suited you more than just laying there in the moonlight. Almost as though you could already feel the angelic presence surrounding you through the moonlight pouring in. Reassuring you that things would be alright. But the moon would also act as a signal. It was said he would appear when the moon was at its peak; directly above the opening of the skylight above you. For now, it simply skirted the edge of it, as though peeking in. Wouldn’t be much longer now, you mused. When you volunteered to be the offering, nobody really argued. You had almost no ties to this village, having been left on the doorstep of this very temple when you were just a baby.

The phrase ‘it takes a village to raise a child’ rang true in your case, and while everybody was kind and generous as you grew up, nobody took the role of family. Everybody already had their own, and you didn’t fit into any of them. Nobody had time to spend on a child that wasn’t blood when survival was on the line. So you wandered around from home to home, perfectly content to spend your days lost in the forests around or holed up in this very temple. How poetic that you were now being offered up in the same place you had been abandoned just two decades ago.

You’d wanted more from life, and this was your way of getting it, no matter how it all ended. But your intentions weren’t all selfish. You still loved the village you grew up in, and you didn’t want to see it burned to the ground by invaders. You couldn’t afford to lose another home, even if you weren’t around to see it saved.

Suddenly, the stillness of the atmosphere was disturbed. A soft clicking sound reverberated in your ears, the unmistakable noise of a leisurely cant. You lifted your head, and found yourself staring at a man.

Who was certainly no angel.

“Ngk.” Was all he said. You blinked as he stepped closer from out of the shadows, clearly very uncertain of your presence. His lithe and lean form was slightly hunched as though in thought, fingers stuck in the pockets of his dark trousers. His black tunic hung loosely from his shoulders, as did the bun on the back of his head, allowing stray locks of fiery hair to come loose. But what was most peculiar was the pair of black spectacles perched atop his nose, hiding his eyes from you. His entire presence was slack, nothing at all like the formality you’d been expecting.

You stared at each another for a silent beat.

“Is that how most angels talk?” You asked, your voice ringing through the stone walls. You hadn’t meant to sound impertinent, only that you were fairly certain no angel looked like this, clad in black like a warrior. He was beautiful like an angel would be, but a different aura seemed to flow from him than piety. Temptation.

“Er, yes. Something like that anyway. And um, you are?” His voice was low, smooth, but decidedly confused. You smirked.

“Y/N.”

“Right, that obviously clears it up.” He responded sardonically. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m here as an offering to the angel Aziraphale. And your name is?” You raised a brow, lifting yourself to a seated position. Your white dress positively glowed under the moonlight, bringing an ethereal aura to you. Crowley blinked at the sight of you behind darkened lenses.

“Aziraphale, of course. Silly girl.” Crowley replied easily, smirking in return.

You scooted to the edge of the raised platform, letting your feet rest on the stone step below, and adjusted your dress to drape nicely over your legs. Glancing at the man with a scoff, a disbelieving smile encroached on your lips. “I think not.”

“And what makes you think to the contrary?” His words were almost purred, the first attack of charms from... whatever he was.

You lifted your hand and gestured vaguely at him. “Just. All of you.”

“You have a way with words, don’t you, love?”

“Well,” You shrugged, absentmindedly touching your hair. It had been done up, but you rolling around on the ground had made it come loose. You touched a few stray strands, unsure what to do with your hands, and dropped your eyes from the man. “I guess I didn’t think being a sacrifice required much articulation. I am, after all, an afterthought to all the pears.”

“Ah yes, those bloody pears.” The bloody pears that had netted him in this situation. And Aziraphale, he’d get an earful. Did he know about this? Was this revenge for the coin toss?

“An angel who curses.” You deadpanned.

“A sacrifice with a lip.” He responded smoothly.

You stood from your place on the stone table, and stepped down from it. He hadn’t moved this entire time, regarding you from a distances with cool indifference. If he was here to eat you, he was taking his sweet time. Perhaps he liked having philosophical, self-scrutinizing discussions about his identity with his prey. Perhaps he just liked being a trickster. You couldn’t read his eyes, and that gave him the advantage. You’d essentially decided that he was here for no good, though for all intents and purposes, you’d obviously never seen an angel before. Who were you to decide what one should look like?

“You’re still keeping up this facade?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m merely here for the food. What you’re doing here remains an utter mystery to me.” Crowley gestured towards the food with his elbow, his fingers still locked in the pockets of his trousers.

You crossed your arms over your chest petulantly. You hadn’t expected any sort of fanfare, but this was getting a little insulting. Wasn’t this meant to be a little bit more... climactic?

“Look, are you going to take me or not?”

Crowley choked on nothing. “Pardon?”

“Take me. As an offering.”

“To what extent exactly?”

You threw your hands up in the air in frustration. “To save my village, you... being! We’re at risk of being raided by another clan, we need nothing short of a miracle!”

Crowley made a noise of understanding. That explained the brandishing of the weapons outside the temple. Apparently the village was looking to tack on another miracle in exchange for the girl. Though what Aziraphale was meant to do with her, he had no idea. “That lot out there, with the angry faces and sharp things.”

You didn’t know if he was mocking you or not, but the longer you stood in front of him, the more you were starting to get a little distracted from the matter at hand. The way he was standing in the moonlight let you look at him more clearly, and it was becoming unsettling just how beautiful he was to you. The fact that you couldn’t read his gaze made him all the more mysterious, the more unknown. And you wanted to know who this man really was.

“What’s your name?” You repeated.

“Crowley.” He purred again, suddenly taking a step forward. Despite your initial confidence, you jumped and nearly tripped over the steps as an attempt to jump back. You’d barely noticed he’d given his real name in that moment. “Well skittish, aren’t you, love?” His long fingers calmly reached for an apple that sat atop the pile. It was a bright gleaming red, though it looked like a pallid pink in the light of the night.

“Not a pear?” You couldn’t help but tease, though your voice shook a bit. Perhaps it wasn’t best to anger him, not until you knew more about him. The closer he was, the more curious you became. His features were sharp up close, but chiseled like a statue. His skin looked smooth, and his hair soft to the touch. You swallowed.

“Oh, apples have been a favourite of mine for a long time.” He grinned like he knew something you didn’t, and took a bite. Gesturing with the pierced fruit at the baskets, he spoke while chewing, “Go on. It is yours, after all.”

You were still sat on the edge of the step on the side of the table, having somewhat collected yourself after falling back. Still, your heart hammered. He was an unpredictable, strange man, and you were alone with him. But.. you were also hungry. Crowley continued to chew, this time pacing a few steps back and forth as he surveyed the temple, as though he’d only come in for a visit. Though it was surely akin to some sort of sacrilege, you leaned forward and plucked a peach from one of the woven baskets. It was soft and ripe in your hands. You took a bite, but your eyes did not leave the curious man.

“So you’re not Aziraphale.” You deduced, sucking the juice from the peach. Crowley swivelled on his heel at your words, the apple now missing several bites from it. He continued gesturing with it as he spoke.

“‘M not. But I do know him. He was indisposed, so here I am.” He sighed quietly. “Dealing with his complications.”

You hooked your arms around your knees, your peach hooked between your thumb and index finger. “You’re also not an angel.”

Crowley shrugged. “Nobody wants a history lesson, love. I fancied a walk, and sauntered vaguely downward one day. It became a whole thing.”

You quirked a brow at that, chewing another bite of the fruit. “A demon then.”

Crowley began slowly pacing towards you, but you forced yourself not to flinch. The longer you spoke, the less afraid you were of him, but that didn’t mean you knew what he was capable of either. “Very good, angel.” He praised in that raspy voice. You felt yourself flush, and hoped the temple was too dark to see. “How d’you feel about that, then? Being in the same temple as a demon?”

Your eyes widened slightly at his words. Truthfully, you hadn’t even considered that.

“Well-”

“And what was Aziraphale meant to do with you, anyways?”

“I-I don’t know. It’s just what’s done, isn’t it? Whatever he saw... fit to do.”

Crowley was silent for a beat, but the smirk on his lips said it all. “And as his stand-in, does that extend to me? Do whatever I see fit?”

You laughed dryly. “Only if you keep up your end of the bargain, demon. And you can’t do miracles.”

“‘Course I can, angel.” He tossed the empty apple core into the air, snapped his fingers, and it disappeared without a trace. Your lips parted in surprise. The peach pit also suddenly disappeared from between your fingers, leaving them empty and sticky from the juices.

“How...” You murmured to yourself, staring at your hand, then stood up triumphantly from the steps. “Wait, you can? Then you can help us!” You picked up your skirts and ran down the steps towards the demon, stopping just a few feet short. It was hard to keep your wits about you, especially when he turned to look at you with thinly veiled curiosity. Even from behind his glasses, you could tell he was as intrigued as you were.

He pursed his lips in thought for a moment, then furrowed his brows. “Why would you want to help a village that’s offered you up so easily?”

“I don’t know, I suppose I still want to do right by them. And anyway, this was my choice.”

“Well, that’s normal.”

You smiled to yourself; he was right. This was not the normal thing a young woman would choose to do, but you were beginning to get the feeling that this was meant to happen. “Will you help us?” Your request was quiet, your voice barely travelling the length of the distance between you.

Crowley didn’t respond for a moment, and he thought hard. Between you and Aziraphale, he’d get an earful if he didn’t do this one favour. Especially if this town’s pear supply was eradicated. Nobody had to know.

“I don’t have to, y’know, ceremoniously drink your blood if I say yes, do I?”

“Well, I’d think you’d know more about the nature of demons than I would, Crowley.” You purred his name back at him, attempting to throw some of his tricks back at him. It seemed to work; he raised his brows playfully.

“Nah. Our lot prefer alcohol, and this being a temple and all, I don’t fancy there being any nearby. Your blood will have to do.” He nodded solemnly, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Jokes aside, you paled at his words, which he seemed to find very amusing. “Relax, angel. Not my taste.”

“Will you take the harvest then, in return?”

“I will.”

“And me?” You felt your heart begin to beat faster. “Are you going to kill me? Do you need my s-soul?” Curses, that was difficult to get out. Perhaps this sacrifice business required a little bit more strength than you’d anticipated. When actually faced with the reckoning, you’d begun to falter. You balled your fingers into fists, digging your nails in to keep yourself present. It wouldn’t do to pass out now.

“Is that what you want?”

You didn’t respond. You let out a shaky breath, and released your nails from your skin. Crowley began to slowly walk towards you, just five paces or so, absolutely nothing for his long legs. He towered over you, but his presence was not as intimidating as you’d expected. For all intents and purposes, he’d been respectful of you during all of this. So you weren’t afraid when he raised his hand, and using his index finger, slowly traced it down your cheekbone to your jawline, and along the column of your neck. His touch did not travel any farther down. Your breathing grew shallow, skin burning from where he’d touched it. It was an addictive feeling, and you found yourself already craving more.

“I’m not going to kill you, angel, because that would be a sin at which even hell itself would shudder. I don’t need your soul or your blood.” He spoke lowly, calmly, and all the while you couldn’t think of anything but his hands on you again. To your frustration, his hand fell to his side and did not come near you again. You hung on his every word, entranced in the sound of it, the roughness of it. “Your village will be safe from any attackers. And in payment for this miracle, I just came for the fruit.” His mask fell away, and he grinned again. “Don’t tell anybody, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

He stepped back away from you, and the spell between you was broken. His eyes turned towards the baskets still lining the steps of the ceremonial altar. He stepped around you to assess them, and with three consecutive snaps of his fingers, they disappeared. The stone steps were bare now, except for you, the last of the sacrifices.

“I can’t go back.” You said suddenly. Crowley turned his head to look at you, a confusion etched on his features.

“Are they expecting to find a bloodbath in the morning or something? Blimey.”

“No-” You couldn’t help but laugh a little, though defeat was beginning to seep into your voice. “No, it’s just- I don’t belong there. I never did, and if I go back to the village as the one who escaped the sacrifice, they’ll never accept me. Even if the raiders never attack. They’ll say it was their own doing, warding them off with their men.”

“That’s why you did this whole sacrifice thing then?”

“Yes.” You replied quietly, almost feeling foolish. “I just wanted to experience something new, feel a purpose. Even if it was just for tonight.”

“Right. Of course.” Crowley took his spectacles off, but his eyes were closed and his fingers were rubbing at them. You couldn’t help but peer, trying to see the reason why he wore them even in the darkness. He replaced them before his eyes opened again, but from what you saw, he looked perfectly normal. He let out a short breath, “You’ll have to come with me then, angel.”

“Wh- to hell?”

Crowley snorted. “Not unless you’ve committed some atrocious sins, which I somehow doubt. Anywhere you like. Other side of the world, or across the river. If you can’t stay here, you can choose where you’d like to.”

Relief burst through your heart, though outwardly, you were still coming to grips with his words, standing perfectly still with your mind racing. It all almost seemed too good to be true, and yet you’d be damned - literally - before you let it all slip away. Crowley was standing on the raised part of the stone platform, and you stepped onto it to meet him. He still towered over you, looking devilishly handsome in black.

“That’s two miracles, then.” You looked up at him. He was watching you curiously. Your eyes scanned his face. “The addition of a second miracle requires further payment. Can I give you something?”

Crowley inclined his head in acquiescence. The moonlight drowned both of you in its cold, blue light, yet the demon in front of you still looked warm to the touch. His hair retained its fiery red colour, even tucked back into the loose bun, and his skin was a warm hue. You lifted your hand, fingers mirroring his previously as they traced over his cheek and jawline. It was then that you noticed a small black smudge near his hairline, depicting the symbol of a snake. Your other hand came up to cup his other cheek, at which point you stood on the tips of your toes and pressed your lips to his.

You felt him kiss you back, you felt it with every fibre of your being as his lips pressed into yours, deepening the kiss. The feeling immediately spread warmth into your chest, but it didn’t last. He broke the kiss, concern adorning his face.

“You’re not indebted to me.”

You smiled. “Not anymore, I’m not. The kiss was your payment. Anything else is because I want to.”

“Anything else?” He repeated in that low tone, and you just knew he was doing it on purpose this time. “Don’t you know it’s bad practice to tempt demons, angel? What am I meant to do?”

“Sin, of course. Silly demon.”

He playfully mocked your teasing smile, which made you laugh. The sound quickly died in your throat as his lips crashed against yours again, this time more fervently. It wasn’t until your own hands, gingerly and hesitantly, touched his sides that his hands came up to rest on your waist. For a demon, he was certainly gentlemanly, you thought dryly.

You became bolder by fisting his tunic in your hands as his kiss deepened, his large hand come up to snake into your hair. Your updo began to fall apart at his touch, though you suspected that was no accident as pins tumbled to the floor. His other hand tightened around your waist, bringing you closer against his lean, hard body. The juxtaposition of his rough tunic and leathery trousers compared to your white, draping gown created a delicious friction, and you wanted nothing more than for him to tear it off. He broke the kiss again, both of his hands slipping along your waist, down to your hips and over your bottom. Your fingers gripped his shoulders, a small gasp from your lips. He brought his mouth to your ear.

“Just remember you asked for it, love.” He growled, then licked a short stripe down the column of your throat, just underneath your ear. You shivered in his arms, nails digging into him. “As long as you want this, you’ll get it.”

“And when will I get it?” You teased, at which point you felt his teeth nip at your neck. You let out a quiet yelp at the feeling of his canines scraping against your skin, and you felt him laugh against the crook of your shoulder. He soothed the sting with a kiss, at which point you heard him murmuring against your neck.

“Are you a virgin, love?”

“No.” You admitted shyly.

Crowley chuckled again. “It’s not a requirement.”

“Now, first things first,” He lifted himself to his full height, and you tipped your chin back to regard him. The moonlight created a soft aura around him, in direct opposition to the wicked way he was looking at you now. You could practically picture him licking his lips. “On your knees. Like a good sacrifice.”

Before taking your position, you reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his jawline, unable to stop yourself from tasting his skin. Your eyes fell to his trousers, and you began undoing the corded leather belt that cinched him in. His waist was impossibly slim, and you couldn’t help but see the snakelike resemblance. You could already see he was hard through his trousers, and you teasingly passed your hand over the bulge. He hissed in pleasure, one of his hands coming down to tangle in your hair, now freed from its pinned-up confines. “Don’t tease me, love, or you’ll have a long night ahead of you.”

You chuckled smugly to yourself, and began to kneel down when you felt your legs hit a soft surface. A cushion had appeared on the stone surface, providing a welcome barrier between your skin and the cold floor where your dress would not have sufficed.

“A kind demon.” You mused to yourself, and you felt his grip tighten in your hair impatiently. You smiled, knowing he must not have appreciated that. Finally, you pulled his trousers down, allowing his hard cock to spring free. He was long, but mostly he was thick. You let your hand pump against him a few times, then you proceeded to take him into your mouth.

Crowley groaned above you, fingers scraping deliciously against your hair. You saw that he was trying his best not to thrust into your mouth, and you couldn’t help but internally applaud his self-restraint.. for a demon. You bobbed your mouth up and down, using your hands for the last inch or two you couldn’t fit. He was hard and heavy on your tongue as you swirled it around the head, tasting the salty pre-cum.

“Oh, so good for me, angel.” He said hoarsely.

You placed your hands on his hips, eyes flickering up to his as you sucked on his cock. His praise warmed you, but it was the sensation of being on your knees for a demon that was beginning to make you soaked between your legs. When his eyes met yours, you nodded slightly, and he acted upon the permission you gave fervently. His hips gently thrusted forward against your mouth, causing tears to spring to your eyes almost immediately. You dug your nails into his hips after a few more thrusts, and he pulled himself out of you, your saliva connecting to his still hardened cock.

“There’s a good love,” He praised quietly, and pulled you up from your knees. “But I need you to stop there, if I’m to take you properly.” He spun you around with a flick of his wrist, deft fingers immediately working on the clasps of the dress. You knew he could have just snapped his fingers and it would have disappeared completely, but you weren’t complaining against the feeling of his hands against your skin, caressing as the gown fell to your feet. He slowly turned you back around, hands slipping from your hips to your breasts, which he kneaded gently.

You took the opportunity to tug on the bottom of his tunic, which disappeared in a moment’s notice at your request. His pants followed, leaving you both naked.

“I’d love to taste you, angel.” He murmured as he fell to his knees himself in front of you, and you blushed at how obvious your arousal was. It was not lost on him, either. “-But I can see you’re far too excited for that, hm? Do you think you’re ready to take me, angel?” His fingers slowly made his way between your legs, and with practiced swiftness, one of his fingers slid inside of you. You let out a shuddered gasp, goosebumps breaking out all over your skin.

“Yes, let me take you, Crowley.” You hissed at the feeling of his thumb barely ghosting over your clit, but giving you no relief in your frustration. He was enjoying the power, you saw it in his grin. “God, please.”

A second finger slid inside, and your breath quickened at the feeling. You were positively dripping at this point, your arousal slick against his fingers. Again, his thumb just barely touched your clit before his hand was gone completely, and you were in his arms. Desperate for his touch, you wrapped your legs around his slim waist, and felt yourself being lowered onto a soft sed of blankets. Turning your head to the side, you saw that you were surrounded by a lavish display of feather-filled cushions and blankets, turning the raised stone surface into a temple of hedonism.

Crowley hovered over you, his arms corded with lean muscle on either side of your head. His hair had almost completely come loose from his bun now, so you reached up and tugged the rest of it out, tossing the band aside. His red hair fell to frame his face, creating a hellish aura that seemed far more appropriate for him and his station... and for what he was about to do to you. You reached up, brushing some of his hair away from his face.

“Can you take them off?” You whispered, seeing a tiny version of your face reflected back at you in a fuzzy, distorted image against the black spectacles.

“Not sure you know what you got yourself into, love.” He warned, but raised a hand to take them off all the same. You watched his body shift, appreciating the sinewy way he moved. The spectacles were gone, and you gazed up into his uncovered eyes. They were a little startling, perhaps, but you had assumed he’d look something of the sort. You raised a hand to swipe your thumb underneath his eye, smiling as you looked up at him. His gaze was green-yellow, positively reptilian, but you preferred it to the blackness of the spectacles; at least now you could see the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

You tightened your legs around his hips, and bucked up. The heat boiling in your lower stomach was getting to be too much to handle. Crowley’s face scrunched in a moment of pleasure as you displayed your frustration, and his grin grew.

“Impatient little thing, aren’t you? So eager to be sullied by the likes of a demon. Ready for me?” He pressed a kiss to your collarbone, and you nodded, feeling yourself dripping against both your skin and his. He must’ve felt it too, because he didn’t spare another second before sinking fluidly inside of your folds. You shuddered at the feeling, your breathing immediately becoming uneven as his hips, slowy at first, then steadily, built up a pace.

He was thick and hard inside of you, hips rolling against your pubic bone in order to hit that one sensitive spot. You positively keened against him, never having been so full before in your life. Bucking your hips against his, you finally started to feel the friction you had been searching for so desperately this entire time. Crowley’s hips pounded mercilessly against you, skin slapping against yours in the silence of the temple. Only your groans and his panting could be heard, though it was steadily growing louder.

You cried out when you felt his hand snake down between the two of you, and begin to rub against your clit. His thumb pressed down against it harshly, and you squirmed against the overwhelming sensations. All the while, he thrusted in and out of you without breaking his rhythm.

“Crowley!” You sobbed, your own hips unable to keep up. Instead, he pressed you down with one large hand, the other still rolling around your clit. Unable to move, you had no choice but to take his relentless cock.

“Yes, angel.” He hissed, pleased with the way your sensitive body was reacting to him, back arching as you desperately sought your release. Oh, he’d give it to you, alright. “I’m here, and you are mine. Say it.” His hand released your hips and moved to your breasts.

“I’m-” You cried out again as his fingers rolled one of your pebbled nipples.

“Say it and I’ll let you cum.” He cursed at the way you clenched around him when he said that. “Liked that, did we? Knowing your release is in my hands? Be a good girl and say it.”

“I’m yours!” You panted between your words, your breaths now laboured as his fingers returned to your clit. The only way you could tell that he was close too was by the way his hips began to stutter against yours, though each of his thrusts remained hard and perfectly calculated to hit your sweet spot every time.

It didn’t take much more - a few more swipes, and the sight of his face, a wicked smile that reached his demonic eyes, to set you off. You bucked your hips against his a few times to ride out your release as it sent sparks up and down your spine, and stars behind your eyes. You tightened your legs around him as he thrusted one, two, three more times inside of you, fingers still swiping at your clit. You squirmed at the overstimulation, fingers digging into his back as he pressed his hips against yours, spilling himself inside of you.

“Fuck, angel!”

You gasped, feeling his hot cum fill you up, and you desperately soaking all of it up. He collapsed beside you moments later, and you felt your arousal mixing with his release all over the inside of your thighs. But you were too exhausted, laying spent on the velvety blankets, to care. A thick fur blanket materialized on top of you, and you happily pulled it over your shoulders. The moon had now passed over the skylight and was no longer visible. Instead, the sky was beginning to turn a lighter shade of purple. The thought of morning almost seemed threatening to the little hideaway this had become for the two of you. You smiled as you felt Crowley’s arms wrap around your waist, pressing his chest against your back. His chin rested on top of your head, and you were certain he could feel your heartbeat hammering away underneath his hands.

“Well, I don’t know what Aziraphale would’ve done with you, but I know it wouldn’t have been that.”

You couldn’t help but a laugh, fighting sleep as it tried to take hold. You wanted to cherish was little time you had left in this temple, silly as it might have seemed. Though you wanted nothing more than to see the world, and hopefully Crowley again, you knew you’d look back at this village and this temple (and especially what happened inside of it) with happiness in the years to come.

“I guess it’s a good thing you showed up instead, hm? Can I call it kismet?”

“If you like.” Crowley’s nose nuzzled against your neck. “Though I prefer ‘divine intervention’.”

“Who, Aziraphale?”

“No, love, a rigged coin-toss.”

You turned your head to face Crowley with a disbelieving smile. “All of this was dependant on a coin toss?”

“A cheated coin toss, you must learn to listen.” Crowley taunted.

“And you didn’t know I’d be here?” You asked, your fingers trailing up and down his arm, the one wrapped around your waist.

“No, I sent him packing to Edinburgh. He asked a favor of me to come here.”

“Hm. So you won the coin toss, yet you did him a favor by coming here... then you did me a favour by promising to save my village, and to take me away from here.” You looked up at him, sparkly-eyed, high on the pleasure still coursing through your blood. Crowley’s gaze narrowed, and you grinned. “Awful nice of you. Did his angelic tendencies rub off on you?”

“I’m not nice!” Crowley grumbled petulantly. “’M a demon.”

“Of course you are.”

“Right then, let’s have that neck. Time for the ceremonial blood-drinking.” Crowley’s hands slithered against your body, and you shrieked at the feeling, squirming between fits of laughter. When his teeth nipped against your skin again, you screamed in mock fear of the villainous demon. Crowley’s mouth against yours muffled the sound, and you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

Meanwhile, down in the village, the moon began to fade, and the sun began peeking out over the horizon. The otherwise dewy and tranquil morning was broken by the sound that of blood-curdling scream, followed by an eerie silence that seemed to settle over the town. All of the villagers looked out from their windows, some stepping outside to see if they could witness anything happening. They all sighed and shook their heads, tutting at what a shame it was for the young woman to be taken so. Yet, as the fear began to shake off of them with every passing moment, a sense of relief spread through the inhabitants. The anxiety was gone. They would be safe now.

And so would you.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens AU #good omens fanfic #good omens smut #Anthony Crowley #anthony j crowley #anthony crowley x reader #anthony j crowley x reader #anthony j crowley x you

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javierpenaspinkshirt · 4 years

Text

By Force

Mando x Y/N

A/N: based on this amazing idea by @mandowhorian. I hope I’ve done your idea justice! Please forgive any ugly errors, it's very late and I am but a mere mortal incapable of spelling.

Warnings: violence (nothing graphic), descriptions of death, little bit of soft. Nasty formatting.

Words: 4.9k.

By Force

‘What have you got?’ The words were low and gravelly through the modulator.

Karga knew him well enough to know that that was the extent of the conversation he was going to get from his best hunter. Rather than bother trying to force a friendly chat between acquaintances he took the bounty pucks from his pocket and laid them out on the table.

‘I’ve got… a nobleman’s son, bail jumper, bail jumper, escaped convict…’ Karga held each one up to The Mandalorian as he named them but he raised and eyebrow and smirked slightly as the helmet stayed dead still in front of him.

‘What? None of these good enough for you, Mando?’ He laughed.

Mando hated how Karga would toy with him before giving him the bounty he actually wanted, but he needed the work and the guild was the only place he could get it. He tolerated Karga’s antics.

Karga stoped laughing and retrieved another puck from his pocket. He placed it carefully on the table right in front of Mando.

‘Now this one, this one is fun. She’s had several failed attempts on her already. And she…’ Karga looked around him before leaning in close across the table and whispering slightly, ‘she’s ex-Rebellion’.

‘Being a Rebel isn’t a crime, the New Republic has no problem with Rebels’ Mando was matter of fact in his response, turning his helmet to look away from the guild-man who was trying to enthuse him.

‘No questions asked, Mando, you know the rules’ Karga sat back against the seat of the cantina booth, ‘we don’t ask, we just take the puck’.

Mando knew the rules. He knew it was much better not to ask. The less information he knew about his bounties the better. He had a reputation as a fearsome hunter, skilled and efficient he could track quarries across the galaxy. And he did. If he pulled your number, you weren’t getting away. But below the Beskar he wasn’t some terrible monster. He was a man loyal to his creed, loyal to the Tribe, and dedicated to his work. But he wasn’t heartless. The less he knew the better he slept.

He sighed and scooped the puck up off the table, snatched the tracking fob from Karga’s outstretched hand and got up to leave, grabbing his Amban Pulse Rifle and securing it to his armour.

‘See you soon, Mando’ Karga crooned giving him a mock wave.

Mando didn’t bother to acknowledge him and strode out of the cantina on to the dusty streets of Nevarro. The sunshine glinted off his armour, as old an worn as it was. It had served him well on many an adventure and it would continue to do so until the time came for him to be able to earn new armour. But Beskar was not easy to come by, so for now he would continue to rely on the worn, battle scarred armour that was his second skin.

He made his way to the Razor Crest, hating the way eyes always seemed to trail him. Usually harmless and often just curious they would follow him as he moved, staring at the weaponry and the Beskar. He was grateful that his tall stature and powerful presence mostly kept punters from actually approaching him.

Finally he breeched the safety of the Crest and got off the ground as quickly as he could. His fortress of solitude sped away from Nevarro as fast as he could dare and finally he felt his muscles relax.

Sat in the pilot’s seat, Mando took a moment to properly examine the puck. The bounty was ex-Rebellion. Named Y/N and aged 35 she had evaded capture several times already. An ex-Rebel wasn’t his usual bounty and if she had already had several attempts on her she wasn’t going to come easy. Though he enjoyed a challenge he did wonder whether he should’ve settled for one of Karga’s numerous bail jumpers instead, just to take the easy route for once. But the covert was relying on his income and his loyalty to the Tribe outweighed his dislike of difficult jobs.

Y/N was suspected to be on some outer rim skughole called Tatooine that Mando had only heard mentioned when sat in bars frequented by guild members. It was a planet known to be used by smugglers and thieves. The ideal place to hide yourself away if you were looking to avoid capture.

Mando set course for the smuggler’s paradise and let the auto pilot take the reigns. He sat back in the seat and let his head tip back to rest. It would be several hours before he was anywhere near his destination. Enough time to remove his armour and get some rest.

Mando dragged his tired body to his quarters and began to strip the Beskar, carefully and slowly. He respectfully lined each piece up and inspected it for damage. The last piece was his helmet. He pressed the release and felt the cool air of the ship on his face as he shook back the sweat dampened hair from his face and ran a glove-free hand over the back of his neck. He stripped down further until he was wearing only a pair of undershorts and stretched. He felt every joint click and every sinew pull as he did. Sweet relief for a few brief hours.

He made his way to the ship’s small fresher where he showered and shaved the stubble that was growing itchy beneath the helmet. He cut a few loose ends from his hair that were untameable and looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t hate what he saw but it wasn’t exactly his favourite view. Several cuts and scrapes adorned his face and scars covered a good portion of his shoulders and upper torso that he could see in the small mirror. His jaw line was sharp but to him it bore marks of fights and squabbles. His nose accentuated the beautiful symmetry of his face but to him it had been broken one too many times. His eyes were dark and enchanting but to him they looked like the muddy swamps of Mimban. He’d seen plenty worse than him in his time, but as he looked into his own exhausted eyes he was reminded how ever grateful he was for his creed. No living thing had seen him without his helmet since the day he had sworn it. Though he could occasionally find himself pining for the touch of another he had spent so long alone that those wants were infrequent and harmless.

He drudged back to his quarters and lay down on the make shift bed that hurt his back and offered about as much comfort as the cantina benches. It wasn’t much but it was safe. He would afford himself a little sleep.

After a few hours of much needed rest, the Beskar returned to its rightful place and the helmet once again obscured anything human about The Mandalorian from view. The location of his next bounty was well in view from the Crest’s cockpit and the tracking fob began to bleep in that familiar ominous tone.

There was a ship port in Mos Espa, one of the planet’s few port cities, and Mando decided that would be the safest place to leave his ship. He knew the planet was overrun with pirates and bandits and he didn’t want to run the risk of the Razor Crest being hijacked or stripped for parts while he was out working.

He docked in one of the empty bays and tossed a few credits to the Gamorrean manning the port and headed into the city.

It was hot and dusty and the suns were relentless already. It was early morning but the arid air was still dry enough to catch in Mando’s throat. The fob bleeped slowly, the bounty wasn’t likely to be in the city. But he knew that. No former-Rebel with a bounty on her head was going to hide out in a city. He was in for a long day.

Mando walked slowly through the tight streets and through the small market. Naturally, once again, all eyes were on him, an outsider – obviously there on guild business. The people of Tattooine were no stranger to bounty hunters or Mandalorians for that matter, but he still drew attention as a visitor to Mos Espa. He kept his eyes straight ahead, heading for the small cantina at the end of one of the narrow roads. It was a likely hang out spot for local bounty hunters and smugglers and he hoped that from there he might be able to procure some transport or at least a little more information about his former-Rebel quarry.

He entered the cantina, having to duck slightly to fit through the small door way. Automatically patrons turned to look at him but the band in the corner kept playing and no one seemed to pay him much mind as soon as it became apparent he wasn’t there to cause any trouble. He sidled up to the bar and rested his forearms on the sticky, unpolished surface waiting for the service droid to notice him.

‘Here on business, Mando?’ The voice came from behind him and Mando spun round quickly, braced for a fight. Instead he was met by a smile and two large hands reaching out to pat him on the arms.

‘We see plenty of your kind round here’ the smiling face and outstretched arms belonged to a tall, large man wearing a dirty apron and a pair of trousers all but dripping with grease obviously wiped on them by the hands now gently gripping Mando’s arms.

The man released him and motioned him to sit at the bar with him.

‘What can I do for you, traveler? Welcome to my humble cantina, can I get you a drink?’ The man kept smiling and clicked for the service droid to come over.

‘No thank you’ Mando replied as politely as he could, ‘I’m here for a job, I wont be staying’.

‘Figured as much’ the cantina owner shooed the droid away and pointed to the slowly blinking fob on Mando’s belt, ‘guild business?’.

Mando nodded but said nothing more, not wanting to give away his position.

The owner let out a bellowing laugh, it shocked Mando but the Beskar covered his reaction. No one in the cantina blinked an eye, this was obviously a regular occurrence.

‘Let me guess, you’re here for Y/N’ the owner offered, grinning at his own deductions.

‘Yes’ was the single word answer.

‘We have boys like you pass through nearly every week! But I admire the guild’s commitment to keep sending you guys after her’ the owner was pushing Mando to ask him questions, knowing he knew exactly what Mando needed.

Mando sighed and obliged, ‘tell me about her’.

The owner sat up on the bar stool and grabbed a drink from behind the bar.

‘She’s ex-Rebellion’ he began, settling in to tell a story Mando didn’t really want to hear, ‘she came here after the Battle of Yavin about 8 years ago. She’s been here since, legends say she’s waiting for someone’.

‘Being a Rebel isn’t a crime’ Mando offered.

The owner shook his head, ‘no its not, but the winds say there’s something about her that both sides of the fight want. They say she can move things with her mind and command the sands to do her bidding, they even say she can foresee things’ the owner nodded enthusiastically waiting for Mando’s equally as enthused response.

He didn’t get it.

‘Tell me where she is’.

The owner slumped back, visibly disappointed by Mando’s lack of curiosity but he continued on, ‘she lives out by the old rock formation north from here… you look like you’ve got a lot of heavy weaponry on you and that suit cant be fun to walk around in under two suns… if you go out back my boys will be happy to drive you’ something flashed in the owners eyes.

‘What’s in it for you?’ Mando’s voice was gruff and a little hushed.

A smile formed on the large man’s face, ‘maybe a few credits for the guys and if you do catch her’ he leaned in close to The Mandalorian, ‘and you survive her… you come back here and tell me if it’s true’ he tapped the side of his head and moved out of Mando’s space.

If he survived her? Who was Y/N? Exactly what was he walking in to?

Though he was about as far from trusting the man in front of him as he was from Nevarro, Mando agreed to pay his men for a ride to the rocky outcrop the bounty was supposed to live on.

The owner showed him out back where a group of four men were hanging around a beaten up old Landspeeder. Mando’s hackles raised, he felt uneasy and his instincts were usually right. He made sure the Pulse Rifle on his back was visible and hoped it served as a warning in case he was walking into an uncomfortable situation.

‘This is this week’s hunter looking for Y/N’ the cantina owner addressed the four men, ‘take him to the rock and he’ll pay you’.

He motioned for Mando to get into the speeder and went back indoors.

Mando stood still, no one spoke. He realised that he was in a small alley way, one end enclosed by walls of buildings, the other cut off by the four men who were now beginning to move towards him. None of them had blasters but all were wearing knuckle dusters.

This was a set up. He knew his instincts were correct.

‘Hand over the fob, Mando, and we’ll let you walk away alive’ one of the men called at him.

So that was it. They wanted to mug him for the fob in hope of getting to Y/N and collecting the reward.

‘I thought the other guy said you get hunters through here every week? If you know where she is why do you need me?’ Mando tried to reason, he didn’t need a fight.

‘What’s the use in a bounty without the puck for reward?’ The men laughed.

Mando flexed his fingers. He didn’t want a fight. But he guessed he was going to have to.

‘Come and get it’.

And with that the men lunged at him, all four of them in a frenzied and uncoordinated attack. Mando guessed they hadn’t been working together long.

One of them struck the Beskar with the knuckle dusters causing and almighty clang to echo out through the alley way. Mando all but brushed him off as the steel did it’s job and protected him from harm. The man shrieked in horror as his hand crumpled on impact and sunk to the floor.

Hand to hand combat wasn’t Mando’s forte, in fact he despised it. More often than not it ended up in another new scar and several days of nursing bruises. He didn’t have time for that right now.

Mando drew his blaster and shot the man that was furthest from him, hoping to draw the other’s attention away from him for a second. It worked and Mando stepped forward grabbing the two remaining men by the back of their heads while they were turned to look at the one with the blaster wound and slammed their heads together. Out cold they dropped like flies on to the desert dust.

The man who had first flown at him was on the floor cradling his probably broken hand against his chest. Mando grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him to his feet and slammed him against the wall of the cantina.

‘Where is she’ he growled.

‘She’ll kill you, man you don’t understand’ the ‘wannabe’ assassin whined.

Mando slammed him against the wall again, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to break anything.

The man whimpered in pain, ‘she kills them all, she killed the guys we replaced! The last lot robbed the bounty hunter and went out to get her and they never came back, just like the ones before them and the ones before them! They just lose their minds and jump!’

‘What does she do to them’ Mando tightened the grip on the quivering man’s shirt and he yelped.

‘They say she makes them kill themselves, they say she can control their minds and they throw themselves off the rock, they say she drives them crazy with her thoughts’.

Mando let the little man go and he sunk to his knees and groaned in pain. Surely the sound from his blaster had been heard from inside the cantina and surely someone had realised that the four men had not returned with the fob.

It was time to go.

‘Which way?’ Mando didn’t need to shout, the man was so afraid he simply pointed to the north with his unbroken hand and sobbed slightly.

Mando tossed him a credit then leapt into the Landspeeder and sped off as the suns rose higher into the sky.

It was no more than an hour before Mando saw the shimmering outline of the rock formation in the distance. It was a large red stone lump in the middle of otherwise empty desert. Not exactly conspicuous, but completely inaccessible by foot and he had no doubt that she would have seen him coming long before he could see the rock.

He kept the speed up, unsure of what he was speeding towards. If she was as powerful as the men at the cantina had said then he was in for a fight.

As he approached the rock he slowed the speeder to a near halt. He hopped out and used the slowly moving speeder as cover until he reached the rock and flattened himself against it.

He checked over the Pulse Rifle, making sure it was in perfect order before he advanced further.

He looked up. There was what looked like a cave several feet up the rock and to his right was a staircase carved into the deep red stone. There was no wind, only scorching heat. He was grateful for the shadow the rock was casting. There was total silence. The only sound was of his own gentle breathing and the hurried bleeping of the fob on his belt. She was here. And there was no question that she knew he was too.

He sighed and made his way to the staircase. He slowly ascended, keeping his ears open for any sound that might indicate her presence. He arrived at the top of the staircase onto a carved balcony before the mouth of the cave.

He stopped and stared as he was greeted by murals painted on the stone face with astonishing detail. They portrayed men, bounty hunters by the look of their dress, being thrown from the top of the rock. Mando gulped. He put his hand up to touch the painting. If this was drawn by Y/N then she certainly had a knack for gory detail. The tortured twists of the falling men’s faces were horrifying but beautiful, but it was the drawing of the small woman, dressed in white with her hands above her head and eyes closed that grabbed his attention. It looked as though she were commanding the men to leap to their deaths.

It felt like he knew her?

Mando’s hackles raised again. Perhaps some of what he had been told wasn’t completely fictitious? Or perhaps she was just a talented artist marketing herself as a fearsome sorcerer? Only one way to find out.

Mando slunk against the wall and moved slowly towards the mouth of the cave. He drew his blaster before peering round the corner to look into the mouth of the cave. His blaster dropped to his side and if his jaw could have swung open it would have done.

The whole cave was filled with paintings. Lit by naked flame the cave was deep and silent. But the walls were plastered with paintings. Hypnotised Mando moved further in and admired the paintings, the detail was mesmerising. They were all portraits of a man with mirror like precision. And then stopped dead in his tracks. His blood ran cold.

He stared at the paintings of the man adorning the walls. He saw the unkempt hair and the forehead covered in scars. He recognised the sharp jawline and the nose that had been broken one too any times. He saw the tired eyes and the day old stubble. It was as if he were looking into the mirror in the small fresher on the Razor Crest.

He reached out expecting the stunning realism to reach back at him but it didn’t. Instead his gloved hand brushed at the face he recognised as his own.

The cave was covered in murals of him. Stood in various poses, sometimes smiling, sometimes scowling, all of them dressed in simple white – no armour.

He was lost in awe and panic when a quiet voice pierced the sharp silence.

‘Why are you here?’

Mando snapped back to reality and redrew his blaster and pointed it towards the voice.

Out of the shadow stepped a woman, dressed in all white, hair hanging around her shoulders, bare feet making gentle ‘paps’ against the cool, dark stone.

The fob bleeped relentlessly. Her.

‘Come for the bounty?’ She smirked.

As she came out of the shadows and closer to him he could see she was wearing what looked like a blindfold. White silk was wrapped around her head covering only her eyes. It was as if she radiated power and the way she moved was as though her feet floated inches above the floor.

Mando recovered his composure and lowered his blaster.

‘I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold’ his voice held firm despite the fear and confusion burning within him.

‘Do you like the paintings’ Y/N gestured to the walls.

‘Who is he?’ Mando asked before he could even think.

‘I don’t know’ she smiled gently, ‘I cant see him’.

Mando stood up tall. He looked back at the walls as if his eyes had deceived him the first time. But no, he was sure. The man on the walls was him. A stunningly real version of him looking back at him from a thousand angles around the cave. But she didn’t know?

‘You.. can’t see?’ Mando hated himself the moment the words left his mouth. That was a question right up there with ‘why don’t you take your helmet off?’.

She smiled at him again, ‘I’m not wearing this for fun’ she touched at the wrap around her eyes, ‘I was born like this. I’ve had to rely on the Force to guide me my whole life’ her smile faded and it was as if the energy around her turned to sorrow.

Mando tensed. Who was she?

‘So the mural out front didn’t put you off’ she laughed and the light around her returned.

‘No’ he said matter of factly.

She cocked her head to the side, the smile still dancing on her lips.

‘You’re not like the others that come here. You’re not so frantic, less hurried. Who are you?’ She moved closer to him, now only a few feet separating them. ‘Do I know you?’.

Mando gulped.

‘Who are you?’ She repeated.

‘I’m here to take you back to the guild’ he was doing his best to keep his voice solid and monotoned.

But she picked up the slight wobble of his cadence and stepped closer still.

‘Who are you?’

‘Who is the man in the paintings?’ Mando’s voice almost cracked, the fear welling up in him. The words of the cantina man ringing in his ear ‘if you survive her’. He had thought it was superstitious nonsense, a story hyped up to keep hunters like him away from her. But as she stood before him, questioning him, his own silhouette adorning the walls of the cave, he felt a chill travel through his body despite the heat of the desert around him. And yet she felt familiar, almost safe?

Suddenly her posture softened. The smile returned and she shrugged.

‘Okay’ she said, ‘before I have to send you away like the rest of them I’ll tell you’.

She stood perfectly still as did he.

She breathed in, ‘he’s my soul mate’.

Mando’s brow furrowed and his lips moved as though he was going to say something, to protest maybe, but no sound came out.

‘I see him in my dreams, sometimes I see him in the day. I see him so often it’s as if I know him. But I can’t speak to him, so I paint him. He’s the only thing I can see’, she began to shuffle under foot, ‘it told me to come here to wait for him, of course it did, where else but the birth place of the Skywalkers. Who knew the Force had a sense of humour?’ she laughed.

He didn’t laugh back. The chill still running through his veins.

‘Who are you?’ His voice was soft and nervous.

She responded with a smile again, ‘I’m Y/N, and now it’s time for you to leave’.

She slowly reached out her hand and Mando went for his blaster and suddenly stopped. He couldn’t move. Panic rose in him and he tried to squirm but he was being held firm in an in invisible vice.

‘Thank you for coming, bounty hunter, but today is not your day’ there was menace in her voice and as she lifted her hand he began to move back, slowly towards the mouth of the cave.

He was held fast, as if he was one of his bounties frozen in Carbonite. The eyes of the paintings of him seemed to watch as he was slowly pushed towards the drop down onto the sand below.

‘Stop’ he shouted, the modulator covering some of the fear in the plea ‘I know him! The paintings! I know that man!’

He dropped suddenly to his knees, his lungs filling with the hot desert air in hurried gulps.

‘Who are you?’ She repeated, this time less calm.

Mando caught his breath and rose up on to one knee. She was standing still, her arm lowered. What the hell had she just done to him?

He stood up tall, his breathing erratic. He stepped back into the cave.

‘The man you’re painting, who did you say he was?’

‘My soul mate’ she was matter of fact about it, ‘I don’t know whether he knows but I know one day he’ll come to me, the Force tells me so, I feel it. That’s why I stay here, I’m waiting. It’s why I cant allow you to take me away’ she moved to raise her hand again and Mando put both of his out in protest.

‘Stop! I know him! I know the man you’re painting’ his pleas worked and she lowered her hand again.

His breathing hitched and his heart raced, ‘do you promise me you can’t see through that blindfold?’

‘What kind of question is that?’ Anger laced her response and he understood it more than she knew, but he had to be sure.

‘Promise me’ he commanded.

She nodded, her stature timid at the tone of his voice.

He didn’t know what he was doing, he just felt compelled to do it. He couldn’t explain it, he couldn’t understand it himself, but he reached up and listened for the click and gentle hiss of the release of his helmet. He felt the warmth of the air on his face and brushed the sweat dampened hair from his forehead.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t move, didn’t say a word. She couldn’t see him.

He stepped forward and her fingers flexed.

‘I know the man in the paintings’ he stopped as he stood right up close to her, her heart leaping at the sound of his un-modulated voice.

Her breathing increased and her body tensed.

Mando reached down and took her hands. She flinched and pulled away but he caught her arms and held her gently, ‘trust me’.

She did. She couldn’t tell herself why but she trusted the bounty hunter.

He carefully lifted her hands to his face, ‘I know the man in the paintings’ he repeated softly.

She put her hands on his face, felt his hot skin and his sweat dampened hair. She felt the beautiful curve of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw, every scar and bruise that told a story and she gasped.

‘I know him’ he repeated.

She smiled as she traced her fingers over his face, seeing him.

He felt her seeing him. He was used to stares from strangers, he hated the way they looked at him, but she was the only person he wished could see him. Finally someone he wanted to look upon him and she couldn’t. But she felt like home.

She kept smiling, touching the smooth skin, the chapped lips, the long eyelashes. She recognised it all. She could see him, his image as clear as her visions beneath her gentle hands. Her favourite view.

‘You’re him,’ her voice was shocked but her face gave away her joy.

‘You’re Din’.

#the mandalorian #mando #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #mando x you #mando x reader #mando x y/n #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #star wars #pedro pascal

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fleckcmscott · 4 years

Text

Fun and Only

Summary: During a night out, Y/N and Arthur bump into someone from Arthur’s past. Y/N tries to decipher him.

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 4,088

A/N: This was a request from the sweet, kind @imdeaddear2! I hope you like it! Thank you for making the request, because I never would have written this scenario without it. 😀 Special thanks to @arthurflecc for the beautiful intro pic! Also, thanks to @hhandley80 for reviewing the exchange in the middle section!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

"Y/N, it's little league season. Know what that means?"

Needing to finish the paragraph she was reading, Y/N raised a finger. The dense case on her desk was a tough assignment; she'd been toiling at it most of the morning. She liked her new position. Truly. But the pace at which she prepared files was slower than she would have preferred. The particulars of labor laws were, well...laborious. Reviewing evidence types she wasn't familiar with took time. It made her impatient. Anxious to soak up all the information she could get her hands on.

But, she supposed, no longer being plagued by guilt for indirectly supporting the Waynes was worth the learning curve.

Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her ankles, swinging her foot back and forth as she regarded Terry. While he was incredibly friendly, chatting with everyone and anyone, they remained acquaintances. Periodically, she conferred with him over a motion or sought to get his opinion about the upcoming mayoral election. ("I've seen Wayne's legal bullshit. He's not getting my vote.") Those discussions didn't go far. Usually, he tried to bond over parental matters - she and Arthur didn't even have a plant.

She could tell this was going to be another attempt. "You're doing a fundraiser and I should buy chocolate bars?" she asked.

"Even better." Digging into his too-tight pants pocket, he retrieved a checkbook-sized pamphlet. "The Gotham Squires are selling these to charter a bus for the All-Stars tournament. They're the number two team in the state!" He shoved a photo of his kid at her.

She murmured a polite, "He's all grown-up." He spoke of the team's new uniforms and his nine-year-old's batting average. Half-listening, she flipped through the booklet. It was a coupon collection, mostly two-for-one sales at various restaurants and vouchers for discounted movie tickets, good on weekdays only. They were quite pricey at fifteen dollars apiece. But she was inclined to buy one. The savings might help Arthur practice letting go of his wallet. Allow him to stop worrying about money and indulge a little, the way he deserved.

What made the cash fly from her purse to Terry's palm was the certificate in the back: a half-off deal for Amusement Mile. Satisfaction was written all over her face as she studied the yellow cardstock's terms and conditions, the outline of a circus tent, the faded ink encouraging her to "Enjoy the Ride!" Coming from a rural area, she'd never gone to an amusement park. One had been four or so hours east, but her father had preferred to stay close to home, fearing he might be needed in an emergency.

The annual county fair had been a must. Everyone had worn his or her Sunday Best, the occasional breeze kicking up dirt as they toured the fairground. The rides had been creaky, unsound, and should have been reported to the local safety commission. She'd gone on the Tilt-A-Whirl and the giant slide, waving at her parents and hanging onto her burlap sack. One year, Mabel had screamed and cried until Y/N grabbed her hand and led them out of the house of mirrors.

Swinging the mallet as hard as he could, her father had impressed her mother with the strongman game. The puck wouldn't hit the bell. Doily and needlework competitions had been her mother's purview, crafts Y/N had practiced but quickly tired of. She'd preferred the pie contest. Her mouth had watered, hankering for a taste of the first-place winner. The agricultural exhibits had been the largest section, with its prized horses, pigs, and chickens. She'd broken the rules and stuck her fingers in the rabbit cages to feel their soft fur; she'd been bitten once.

Wistfulness wasn't the only reason the theme park appealed to her. There was Arthur's history with it. He kept a postcard of the Ferris wheel pinned to the divider in his writing nook. And he'd described some of the odd jobs he'd done. Carrying boxes of merchandise, filling in for other clowns, picking up litter (and keeping the returnables). It hadn't been steady, merely hours offered to him if he'd inquired. But it'd given him pocket change. Enough to buy cigarettes and keep the utilities on for another month.

The week had been warm up till now, and the good weather was expected to continue. He loved taking her to new corners of the city, had ever since their first date. Introducing her to his old stomping ground wouldn't take a lot of convincing.

When she got home, he was perched on the sofa, clad in a thermal shirt and a pair of her too-short pajama bottoms. (A funny combination that meant their laundry was in the machine.) Elbows on his knees, journal on the coffee table, and pen at the ready, his concentration was plain to see. The discipline he had to pursue his dreams, the way he studied comedy specials on TV was admirable. She got a glass of water and smiled at his ill-timed laughter. That he didn't understand the host's humor was logical. Roasts were usually unkind. While Arthur's jokes weren't always funny, they weren't mean-spirited.

She crouched next to him, peppered kisses along his shoulder. His damp curls brushed her cheek, and she breathed in the zesty musk of his shampoo. "I wouldn't waste too much effort on this guy," she said. Her caress followed the freckles on his bare forearm, feeling the muscle flutter under her fingertips. "He's kind of an asshole."

"The audience helps me figure out the timing." He muted the television, lips quirking. "You like some of his songs."

"He makes a better singer than comedian," she rebutted with a peck.

They went over their respective days, how his earlier appointment went, the paperwork she'd done. Tuna casserole was their choice for dinner, and Arthur put on an LP while they cooked. Once the dish was in the oven, she hugged him close. "I have an idea for Thursday night." She went over the Amusement Mile discount, enthused about his expertise, reveled in how her praise softened his features and brightened his eyes. "I'd love it if you took me around. Taught me all the magic behind the scenes. And I'm dying to see where you do your street performances." She massaged the nape of his neck. "Maybe I'll stop by and give you a tip."

Crooked tooth peeking out, he nodded. Then he grasped the counter on either side of her hips and pressed his forehead to hers. "That sounds great."

~~~~~

A small memorial flowerbed, filled with alternating swirls of white gardenias, purple pansies, and yellow daffodils, was situated just beyond the park's main entrance. The marble fountain bubbling in the center reminded Y/N of a bird bath. It was modest, from a bygone era in which the wealthy hadn't dared to flaunt their fortunes for fear of strikes. The bronze plaque declared the city's thanks to Benjamin Wayne for funding Amusement Mile's construction during the height of Gotham's industrial boom. Before most of the factories had fled. Before times had become tough for the majority Gothamites. It was annoying, how the Waynes had their fingers in everything. She hoped not one nickel of what they spent tonight went into their bank accounts.

Arthur paid it no mind. His head was tipped back a degree or two, his clear green eyes darting from attraction to attraction. Smoking was one of his habits she disapproved of. But she couldn't dispute how attractive he was, puffing the cigarette dangling from his puckered lips. The chestnut tones of his brown hair were brought to the fore by the grounds' multi-color lighting, and a lock or two fell over his temples. The loose curls at his neck bounced with each step, a boyish buoyancy to his gait.

Her stomach growled as soon as the aroma of fair food hit her. They picked a booth that claimed it sold Gotham's original franks. He asked to order for her. She let him, watching as his grin widened and he stated, "Four hot dogs for my girlfriend and me, please. With relish and mustard." Then they shared a candy apple, taking turns nibbling at the fruit's hard, sugary shell. Its juice dribbled onto her pale pink top, staining the embroidered neckline. Her groan of disapproval became giggling as he stole chaste kisses, wiping her off as she chewed.

His palm at the small of her back, guiding her as they walked down the midway, fanned a glow in her heart. He'd made headway when it came to displaying his affection in public, though he still tended towards timidity. Early on, she'd concluded his reticence had nothing to do with her - he never pulled away if she grabbed at him. He was simply a gentleman.

Most examples he followed were from an older era, one lost to the bluntness of the eighties. Those moments he'd let himself go, when he'd make it clear they were a couple, lifted her spirit. Not only due to the pride she felt at being on his arm, but also because it meant he was finding his own way. Arthur wasn't a shy suitor or a contemporary romantic hero. Rather, he was somewhere in the middle. Old fashioned, through and through, with threads of modernity woven into his fibers.

As they strolled, they stumbled onto a black and white photo booth. She sat on its cracked wooden stool and tried to tug him inside. But he wanted a picture of her, he said. To put in his wallet. To look at if he was having a bad day and wasn't at home. Her response was to snag his collar and yank him to her lips. Snorting, he shut the nylon curtain. At the clink of quarters in the coin slot, she straightened her puffed, cap sleeves and fixed her hair in the scratched featherweight mirror. The camera's flashes blinded her, but she thought she'd managed to smile naturally enough.

Before she had a chance to stand, he whipped open the drape and showed her the strip of portraits. "I knew I was dating the prettiest woman in the city. Maybe even the sweetest."

She cupped his cheeks as she stepped out. Rubbed the tip of her nose to his. He was unfailingly generous. Too generous. While she was fine with her appearance, she wouldn't win a beauty pageant. Hell, she wouldn't even be a runner-up. Or a contestant. And sweet was one of the last words she'd use to describe herself. But she wasn't going to correct him. "And I found the handsomest, funniest man." His stare was wide-eyed. After releasing a stuttering breath, he pulled her along.

Upon entering the gaming area, he slung his arm around her waist. Mischief laced his whisper as he spilled secrets. The darts for the balloon pop were dull, the balloons underinflated. He advised her to stay clear of the baseball and milk bottle stand, saying, "The bottom bottles have lead in them. You'll never knock them over."

Then he warned her off the ring toss, saying the rings were too small to win the best prizes. She decided to take her chances, regardless, and paid the attendant. Arthur tutted gently as she gave him the last ring, having already wasted four. A step to the side, then he paused to line up his throw. A short clap announced his victory. The prize options included a dinky toy car and a rubber snake. She picked a plastic, red keychain, embossed with "I was Amused in 1982" and the silhouette of a coaster. It was an improvement over her old car dealership tag. "I'll think of tonight whenever I see it."

Gaze fixed on her mouth, he sighed happily. He began to reach towards her, his arm raised ever so slightly-

"Art!" a rich baritone called. "Hey, Art!"

Arthur flinched. She moved to peer behind him. The approaching man was tall, his balding head half a foot higher than Arthur's. A blue and red flannel shirt with gray trousers covered his portly physique. Confidence oozed from him with every stride, a pleasantly surprised smirk on his round face.

Y/N's interest was piqued. Unless it was someone who remembered Arthur from Live! with Murray Franklin, no one ever approached him on the street. And she hadn't heard him be referred to by anything other than his proper name (besides Penny's terrible "Happy.").

But his reactions concerned her. Arthur's back tensed as the man closed in, stopping a yard away. "Hi, Randall."

"How's my boy been?" Randall asked jovially, hands at his sides. "Gary told us about your mom. Could you use a little cheering up?"

Arthur blinked faster than usual. "No. She's okay. And I feel a lot better now."

"Oh. Well, good for you," Randall said.

Going back and forth between them, she tried to puzzle out their dynamic. Their familiarity was obvious. Randall seemed caring enough, although she found it odd he'd referred to her thirty-five-year-old partner as "boy." Arthur had mentioned Gary was a former colleague. It would make sense Randall was, too.

He threw her a glance. "Hey, you have family visiting. Is this your cousin?"

She brushed off the assumption and extended her hand. "I'm Y/N L/N. His girlfriend."

"Oh, yeah. The paralegal." He shook it firmly before addressing Arthur again. "Gary said you finally got a date."

The pat to Arthur's bicep was a little too hard, jolting his stiff frame. The set of his jaw and flaring of his nostrils betrayed a turmoil she hadn't initially picked up on. She touched his hand but he shoved it in his pocket.

All right. She had to get to the bottom of this. It was hard to ascertain if his current reaction was due to his social challenges (which could cause discomfort) or Randall's words. She didn't want to jump to conclusions. After all, she and Patricia teased each other whenever they met for lunch or chatted on the phone. A good ribbing was needed every once in a while.

Starting a cross-examination in front of Arthur would contribute to his unease. After a moment's deliberation, she nudged him. It took a couple of tries to get his attention. "Would you please get us a large lemonade?" His brows rose, anxiety in the wrinkles of his forehead. She stretched to kiss his temple. His eyes narrowed but he got the hint, scuffing his shoe and glowering at Randall as he walked off.

When Arthur rounded a corner by the water pistol race, she lounged on one of the booth's metal poles. "Have you known Arthur long?"

Randall nodded in the direction Arthur had gone. "We worked at HaHa's. I'm a clown, too. We did parties, the children's hospital, store openings."

"Arthur loved that job." She crossed her arms over her chest. "It's too bad the slow season hit. But he's doing pretty well on his own."

Confusion crossed the big man's visage. "Uh, yeah. The slow season." He chuckled, then. "Anyway, you and Art, huh?"

Smiling broadly, she folded her arms over her chest. "Yes, me and Art."

"Pretty serious, huh?"

If he wanted gossip to bring back to the workplace, she'd gladly give him some. Especially if it reflected well on Arthur. "We live together. It's been great."

"No kidding." With a sardonic grin, he shook his head. "A woman like you. I didn't know he had it in him. It was always just him and his mom. Talked about stand-up sometimes. Mostly kept to himself, though. Never really talked much." Randall shrugged lightly. "But we liked him. He did all the shitty jobs no one wanted and never complained."

Arching a brow, Y/N felt her suspicions grow. While Arthur was learning to disagree and contradict her without hesitation, he nevertheless had the inclination to go along. It was plausible he hadn't argued about gigs. Had they taken his preferences into account?

Then Randall confirmed her skepticism, saying in a jokey tone, "That laugh really got everyone going, too. And his laminated cards. We had a pool on whether it was part of his act. I mean, him being in Arkham and all, who knows what the fuck he could have come up with?"

Deciphering what kind of man stood in front of her was suddenly uncomplicated. She'd run into his type all too often. They lurked in garages and offices. Diners and restaurants. Courtrooms on both sides of the bench. People with no real power who walked on others. Persons who threw their weight around to feel in charge. Bullies who hid behind a veneer of kindness.

She understood why he'd called Arthur "boy."

What she said had to be chosen carefully. Randall and Arthur worked in the same field, likely competed for clients. If her big mouth came back on Arthur, she wouldn't forgive herself. She straightened, squared her shoulders, and forced her voice to stay professional. "If you liked him, wouldn't you have split the less desirable jobs with him? I'm sure he didn't like being taken advantage of."

His looked at her in disbelief. "Hey, he was paid fair and square, like all of us."

"And he understands how to speak to a 'woman like me' more than you ever will." A sharp exhale as her cheeks burned. "From what Arthur has said, you could learn a lot from Gary. Please tell him hello from us and have a good evening." With that, she headed off to find Arthur, ignoring Randall's lame attempts to call her back.

Arthur was in line when she spotted him. He stepped forward and pointed to the menu. As she approached, she noticed how he fidgeted with his cigarette, tapping it repeatedly though there was no ash. The subtle tremble in his knee. If he continued to carry himself so tightly, his muscles would cramp.

Clearing her throat, she slipped behind him and hugged his back. "Did you have to deal with that insufferable know-it-all every day?"

He grabbed the proffered cup from the clerk and headed to a nearby table. Plunked himself down and took a drag off his smoke. Stress poured off him, clear in every flex of his fingers. His palm went to his stomach as he practiced controlling his breathing. "What- What did he tell you? That everyone thought I was a freak? How much I fucked up?" His voice lowered then, barely above a whisper. She could tell he was talking to himself. "The hospital?"

"Enough to know he was a jerk. I'm glad you're not there anymore." She put her chin on his shoulder. Watched him take a sip of lemonade. "Nothing he said matters, but I told him how important you are to me." She tucked a hair behind his ear, and he leaned into her touch. Their gazes met, his shining in the dim light. The evening had been fantastic so far. She wasn't going to let some asshole ruin it. "Come on," she urged, jutting her hip towards him. "We still have half the park to explore."

~~~~~

About a third of the way through their ride on the Mad Hatter, Amusement Mile's famous coaster, Y/N realized eating had been a mistake. A big one. Thrown to a fro in the sharp curves, she could nearly taste the bile in the throat. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, willing her nausea to pass. For his part, Arthur appeared exhilarated, laughing with every peak and valley. Seeing that happiness was a gift, one that gratified and partially distracted from her queasiness.

Fortunately, the enclosed cabins on the Ferris wheel were a respite. They waited an extra turn to board the outer wheel, which rotated at a leisurely pace and allowed her stomach to settle. The view from the top was beautiful, Gotham Cathedral's lit spires and the Westward Bridge prominent against the night sky. Wayne Tower was also visible, but she did her best to ignore the high-rise and its gaudy "W." He pointed in the direction of Burnley and said, "There's our home." She was unexpectedly moved. Then he kissed her soundly, which quickly advanced to mild necking when the wheel paused.

The carousel was antique, according to the sign. The only original attraction left in the park. A massive wooden structure with a mirrored center, it had three rows of horses, broken up by the occasional bench. He stepped onto the gray platform and picked one, painted red and yellow, roses etched along its back. But she climbed a nearby leaping horse instead, its black mane and tan body faded by years of sunlight.

He quirked a dark brow until she beckoned him with a nod. Cheeks pink, countenance tender in the lingering blinks of the incandescent bulbs, he followed suit. "Hang onto me," she instructed. As the calliope's whistles began their jaunty tune, he cupped her hips and pressed into her. A flutter tickled her stomach. She reclined against him, let her eyes fall shut as his warmth surrounded her. Round and round they went, chuckling airily. Not at any jokes or amusements, but at the joy of one another.

Arthur picked the last ride, an old mill called Romantic River Caves. She had to stop herself from snickering at the idea of a middle-aged woman and her nearly-middle-aged boyfriend cruising along in something built for teenagers. But he delighted in cliches and corniness, a preference she attributed to his inexperience and kind nature. Though such gestures hadn't thrilled her since she was a girl, she appreciated them with him.

The boats were short and narrow, just wide enough for the two of them to sit side-by-side. Curved backrests encouraged cuddling. Off-key versions of old standards played through tinny speakers. Myriad displays were inside, a mix of plaster dioramas and paintings. Two swans swimming, their beaks touching. A couple on a picnic under a tree. Bouquets and hearts galore. There were five or so seconds of darkness between each one. He took advantage of those breaks, kissing her again and again until she was breathless.

She scanned the starry painting above them, the comets' trails stretched across the tunnel's ceiling. "It's been a long time since I've done anything like this. Twenty-five? Thirty years?"

"Me, too. I snuck in when I was a kid. To see the circus and the merry-go-round." He smoothed his hair back, pressed his legs tighter together. "When I moonlighted here, I could've gone on the rides and to the shows. I- I didn't want to alone."

He paused and she put her palm on his thigh. Gave him an encouraging squeeze. "That postcard I have?" he said. "By my desk? It was in my locker at HaHa's." His fingers covered hers, tips tracing her knuckles. "It's good to have a person to have fun with. To have you."

She beamed at that sentiment, for she felt it, too. Yes, she'd been complete on her own. No, she hadn't been lonely. But he added to her existence. Introduced her to activities and experiences she hadn't previously considered or realized she'd needed. Going to a comedy club. Dancing despite her lack of skill. Or enjoying vulnerability during quiet conversations in their bedroom rather than fearing it. He'd broadened her life in ways she was still discovering. And he regularly told her she'd bettered his. "You're my favorite ride," she said.

A sharp snort left him, followed by a bashful chuckle. He shook his head. "You're crazy."

"I didn't mean that." She batted his chest playfully. Tried to cross her legs under the safety bar. "This relationship we've started." Light appeared at the end of the tunnel, the shallow pool's grimy floor coming into view as the water level fell. Soon they'd be amongst the crowd. "Remember when I said we'd never be perfect? I like our imperfections. They fit. Like..." She contemplated. "A pen and paper. They're good on their own but they're best together." Cringing, she covered her face. "God, that didn't even make sense. A pen needs paper."

"Didn't you say you needed me?" he teased, pulling her hand from her brow to place it on his sternum. "I don't mind being your paper." Blushing, Y/N turned to him when he cupped her jaw. Ran his thumbs over her cheeks. She joined him in ignoring the attendant's instruction to disembark. Arthur kissed her, a delicate graze to her mouth before he drew her bottom lip between his. "You're the best ride, too."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve, @howdylilflower, @sweet-nothings04, @stephieraptorr, @rommies, @fallenstarsabyss, @gruffle1, @octopus-plasma, @tsukiakarinobara, @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile, @another-day-in-chuckletown, @hhandley80, @jokerownsmysoul, @64-crayon

#arthur fleck #arthur fleck fanfic #arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck x ofc #arthur fleck x female reader #joker 2019 #watchwhathappens

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flipomatic · 3 years

Text

Internship Chapter 34: Day 27 - Amity, Emira, Edric

Author Note: I'm posting this chapter a couple days early, since I have a busy week coming up and I don't want to delay the final chapter.

First Chapter Previous Chapter

_____________________________________________________

As it turned out, their parents had already been informed of the incident by the time they made it home. They had been waiting in the study, not bothering to come to clinic.

Amity had left Ed and Em in their care, though they didn’t seem upset about what had happened.

No, they actually seemed pleased, which was super strange. Their mother said something about how the publicity of this would look good for the family, which Amity didn’t understand. Amity could hear them interrogating the twins as she left, asking for all the details.

It was hard to fall asleep that night, though not due to what happened with the twins. No, Amity realized that after visiting all of the major covens, she still didn’t know which one she was going to join. Sure, she had learned about each one of them, but she hadn’t succeeded at her true goal.

Despite all of the time spent searching, she didn’t have an answer.

She had no idea what to do about that, which led to uneasy sleep.

The next day, Amity went back to the library as arranged with Luz. The plan was to finish the conversation they’d been having about Azura yesterday, but Amity couldn’t focus on that.

They were sitting in the same spots they had been the day before, both flipping through a book. Amity closed hers and looked up at Luz slowly. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Since we visited them all, have you decided which coven to join?” Amity asked the question that had been haunting her since last night.

Luz brought her eyes up, connecting their gazes together. “Nope.” She said the word with certainty as she closed her book. “They were all so cool, with so much awesome magic, I can’t decide.” She still sounded happy though, even without having come to a conclusion. “I really loved seeing the different beasts for beast keeping, oh and the future at the Oracle Coven.”

Thinking back to what the oracle saw in her future warmed Amity’s cheeks. “I remember.” She also recalled how excited Luz had been, looking around the covens, and how eager she was to learn new spells.

“Plants too, oh plants are too great!” Now Luz’s eyes were sparkling. Amity thought about the plant that almost ate Luz’s hand, and was less enthused. “It’s impossible to pick.” Luz stated with a firm nod.

“What will you do then?” This was the question Amity had been asking herself, for the whole month now. The question she’d been struggling with all this time, with no progress.

For Luz, the young woman who always seemed to know what to do, the answer came easily. “I’ll keep learning all of them!”

Was that the answer then, to learn all types of magic? It wouldn’t work for Amity, she knew that. But that wasn’t the point.

No, what Amity was starting to understand was that it was okay to still be learning. Luz felt perfectly comfortable stretching her wings and trying new things. She wasn’t prepared to choose a coven, and so she didn’t.

Amity could do that too. She’d spent the last month traveling around with Luz, after all, exploring what different covens had to offer. She had loved almost every minute of it, all of the time spent learning with her friend.

With Luz by her side, the possibilities were endless.

Even though Amity hadn’t come to the end with an answer, with a coven to join, she had still learned something.

“That’s just like you.” Amity replied to Luz’s exclamation, which surprisingly caused the other teen’s face to flush pink.

Luz broke eye contact and ducked her head slightly, seeming embarrassed. “What about you?” She asked.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Amity chose her next words carefully. “Do you mind if I keep learning with you?”

Luz lifted her head and looked right at Amity. Her bright brown eyes were wide with surprise. “Of course!” She almost shouted, then covered her mouth with her hands. “I mean, of course I don’t mind.” She looked so endearing like this, too cute.

Amity smiled; she couldn’t help it. “Thank you.” She then looked back down at her Azura book, which was lying forgotten in her lap. “Maybe after book club, we can get started.”

Luz’s hands fell away from her face. “For sure!”

The two resumed flipping through their books, though they had to try and remember what they’d been searching for earlier.

Later, after they were done, they would start trying to learn a healing spell. After seeing Ed and Em’s burns the day before, they felt that was the best place to start.

Progress was slow, but that was fine. Amity was in no hurry.

As long as she was spending time with Luz, expanding their limits together, she was happy.

____________________________________________________

The attic was dusty, despite its more regular use. Emira had been very careful while climbing up as to not irritate her healing side.

The burn had hurt quite badly on the walk home, which was only made worse by her parents fawning over her. It had been weird, and she got away from them as soon as she could.

The burn cream, which the clinic gave her, helped ease the pain. She had applied it carefully while changing the bandages.

When morning came, she mostly sat around the house. She couldn’t go anywhere, and with the internship over it wasn’t like she had anything she needed to do. School work wouldn’t start again until Monday.

Emira had been sitting in her room when a small magic symbol flashed on her desk; Ed was summoning her to the attic.

That was how she ended up carefully hauling herself up the ladder, taking it one step at a time. Ed had beaten her up there, which was no surprise since he put out the summons.

He had taken his bandages off to let the burns breath, which he could do since they were smaller burns. He was sitting on the same box as usual when Emira made it to the top, wearing his casual clothes.

“We could’ve met downstairs.” Emira protested as she got both of her feet onto the landing, moving to sit on a box and rest.

Ed looked her over, eyes stopping where the large burn was. “And risk being overheard?” He asked, with the real unsaid question being, would that be worth it?

The answer was no. “You’re right.” Emira sighed, slouching against a box.

A small smile crept onto Ed’s face. “Thank you.” He quipped, before the smile shrank back away. “Frederick sent me a note this morning, the coven is investigating Nick.”

That sounded like good news. “So, did we win?” Emira asked, still not sure of all the details involved.

“I think so, yeah.” Ed put his elbows on his knees, leaning forward so he could rest his head on his hands. “Can’t believe it’s over.” He muttered.

Emira understood how he felt. The second half of the internship felt like it had flashed by, like a firework. “Back to school on Monday.” Emira replied, causing Ed to roll his eyes.

“Unfortunately.” He grumbled. “Did you at least learn any new spells?” He asked, still leaning on his arms.

Oh, that was right, Emira hadn’t had time to show him yet. “I did.” She said with a smile. Though she hadn’t expected to, she learned a lot from Jen.

The internship had turned out far better than her first impression of it; she probably should’ve given it a better chance from the start. Emira would try not to make that mistake again.

Ed sat up straight, now intrigued. “What kind?” He asked, and Emira could practically see the gears in his brain already turning.

“A layered fireworks spell, I’ll teach you once I’m healed.” Creating fireworks while covered in burns wouldn’t exactly be responsible.

“I learned one too.” Ed replied, now smirking. “By that, I mean I created it.”

“Ooh.” Emira leaned closer, though had to sit back up when her side twinged. “What’s it do?”

“Creates a patch of anti friction ground, it’ll be great for pranks.” Ed then explained the basis of the spell, and demonstrated it on an object in the attic. Emira couldn’t wait to try it.

They continued talking about the spell, along with potential combos it could be used in, for a while longer.

“There is one more thing I have to do, before we go back to school.” Ed said as the conversation was winding down.

“What’s that?” Emira thought that dealing with Nick had been the last thing.

“Later, when Mittens gets home, I’ll show you.”

________________________________________________________

“This is the spot.” Edric stopped about a hundred feet away from the house, marking a patch of grass with his foot.

“Are you sure?” Em asked, with one eyebrow arched in his direction. They had already reassessed two different spots.

“Yes.” Edric ignored her sass and nodded. “Go ahead and cast.”

Emira rolled her eyes, but did as she was directed. She spun her finger in a large circle, casting an illusion mirror. It sat between them and the house, reflecting back the grass so that they couldn’t be spotted.

Amity had her arms crossed. “What do you want me to do again?” She asked, clearly annoyed with how long it had taken to choose a spot.

“Summon your abomination and have it dig, this is what we’re burying.” Edric tried to remain patient as he held up the item in question.

Amity called for her abomination, and it appeared out of a spell circle. It was a small one, to avoid being seen around the mirror. She directed it to the designated grass. “Abomination, dig.”

The purple creature obeyed, digging up the grass and creating a small hole. Once it was wide enough, Amity had it stop.

“Perfect.” Edric said, leaning over to examine the hole. He held the object in both hands. “Would either of you like to say a few words?” He asked his sisters.

“Pass.” Amity said bluntly.

“It was better than going to school.” Em supplied.

That was true, it had been better than going to school. Edric was not excited to get back to that, but at least he had a couple new tricks up his sleeves.

He looked down at the mask in his hands, the one he’d worn every day for the last month.

What had he learned? Well, a new spell, but what else? Watch out for corrupt authority figures?

New experiences weren’t so bad, or something like that.

“Good riddance.” Edric said, kneeling down to place the mask into the hole. It looked good there, better than it had on his face.

Amity then had the abomination cover it back up with dirt, leaving a slightly elevated patch.

Edric cast a plant spell, the only one he knew, to try and make some of the grass grow back. A couple strands popped out of the ground.

“Good enough.”

#the owl house #the owl house fanfiction #amity blight #luz noceda #emira blight #edric blight #and with that the fic is complete #I hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading!

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super-haikyuu-hotline · 4 years

Text

once upon a work in progress (akaashi/reader) - four

Chapter four has arrived! ヽ(^◇^*)/

I’m on track, and I couldn’t be happier heheh. With addition of this chapter, I have around 7-8k words down for this fic. Usually, this is where I start getting burnt out and/or losing interest, but I’m glad I’m still going strong for this one!

I think I must be an Akaashi stan now heheh.

Like all the previous chapters, this is long, so I’ll be putting it under the cut!

The fic masterlist can be found here!

four.

You toyed with the hem of your sleeves as you waited at the east exit of the train station, more than an hour early for your dinner date with none other than the Akaashi Keiji.

Checking the time on your phone again, you wanted to slap yourself in the face.

You had taken the liberty of telling yourself that this was a real date, and as such, you needed to doll up. Akaashi, however, had made himself clear that this dinner was his treat because he had rude. You would disagree about him being “rude”, but you weren’t about to refuse a free dinner with a beautiful man who wanted to take you. You felt fortunate that he hadn’t behaved any differently at work in the days that followed your chance encounter with him at Zombie Café.

It wouldn’t have been bad if anyone at work found out per se, but it would’ve been uncomfortable. You didn’t need that discomfort.

Since you hadn’t been on a real date in ages and therefore had no will to dress up, you were itching to try the new highlighter you bought that Ali-san recommended to you. You’d walked by a store that had reflective glass panels on your way out of the station, and the highlighter seemed to be working as well as she had advertised. It made your cheekbones look damn good, so you made a mental note to thank her for recommending it to you.

There was still almost 70 minutes to go before the time you had agreed upon with Akaashi, and you were already getting bored from standing around.

You wandered away from the exit and into the mall that was right beside the station. One glance at the directory close to the entrance told you that this mall had a bookstore, so you made your way up several escalators to get there.

What to read?

It’s been a while since you read something by the writer who had inspired you to become one yourself, so you headed for the adult fiction section and scanned the shelves for her pen name. Having found the dedicated shelf just for her – as the woman and the legend herself deserved – you ran your finger along the spines of the books, sorted alphabetically by name. An unfamiliar dark red spine caught your eye, and you slid it off the shelf and took a look at the blurb on the back after it clicked that it was a new release.

“Psychological thriller, huh?”

You were trying to write one, so reading one by your writing idol was a good idea. Judging from the thickness of the book and the font size, you could read the entire thing in one night if you decided not to sleep. It was research, of sorts. Maybe you could send an email to your manager and say that you were working from home, when you were actually using the day to catch up on sleep because of your “research”.

Spotting a row of chairs that was mostly empty at the back of the store, you walked over and made yourself comfortable at the chair at the end of the row. You still had about 50 minutes until the meeting time with Akaashi anyway. You could easily polish off a chapter in half an hour, so you decided to read that much, buy the book and then go back to the east exit where you had agreed to meet him.

So you settled into the backrest, holding the book open across your bag that was sitting on your lap and began digging in.

When your phone rang, you jumped, very nearly throwing the book down in your surprise. Who was calling? You fished your phone out of your bag, because dresses were cursed and therefore didn’t have pockets. One look at the time before you took the call, and you swore.

“Hello, Y/N-san?”

Of course, it was Akaashi.

“Hey, Akaashi. I’m in the bookstore at the mall, actually. Mind heading up here instead? I was just about to buy a book.”

He hung up after telling you that he would meet you where you were, so you stood up and walked over to the cash register to pay for the book you were reading. There were six people in line ahead of you, so Akaashi would definitely get here before you could make payment.

“Y/N-san.”

You turned your head in the direction of that vanilla sugar voice from your dreams, and your own voice died in your throat when you wanted to thank him for showing up.

Did Akaashi Keiji dress up on your account?

Drinking in the sight before you a little too eagerly, you noticed how formally he was dressed, with his long-sleeved dress shirt, his nicely pressed trousers, his– Wait. Was he wearing leather shoes? For this “not a real date” date?

Suddenly, you felt horribly underdressed in your printed dress and sneakers. You’d eyed the pair of heels you had worn at your mother’s wedding last year, but you had decided against it since this wasn’t a real date. You wished that you hadn’t.

“Hey, you look really nice, Akaashi,” you said, when he had walked up to you in the line and stood beside you. The scent of lavender and something else that you hadn’t quite figured out wafted into your nose, and it took all of your strength not to bury your face in his chest just to take it all in.

You yelled at yourself in your head to stop being so damn thirsty. So what if Akaashi Keiji dressed up for a date that wasn’t a real date? So what if Akaashi Keiji had the first button undone– The first.

Undone?!

You wanted to scream when you had noticed. He had the first button undone! He had all his buttons done up when he was at work, so why? Why would he do this to you?! Akaashi looked like an absolute ten-course meal like that, and you were growing increasingly aware that you were beyond ravenous.

“You look beautiful as well, Y/N-san,” he said.

You smiled and gave him your thanks, taking in the fact that he hadn’t accepted the compliment you paid him in the way you expected. Then you remembered the reality of the Michelin-starred meal of a man that was standing next to you and it made sense. Even a blind man would wholeheartedly believe that Akaashi Keiji was beautiful.

In your head, you replayed his words, storing them in the part of your brain that held only good things and happy memories. The only place where that vanilla sugar voice deserved to be.

“What are you buying?”

You lifted the book from its place tucked between your chest and your crossed arms, putting it in his waiting hands.

“Hayashi Raiko?”

You nodded vigorously, smiling before you realised that you were doing it. “Yes! She’s my absolute favourite,” you said, very nearly bouncing on the heels of your feet as you enthused about your writing idol.

It has been a while since anyone, really, had taken an interest in what you liked to read, so you were going to milk this opportunity for everything that you could. Whether Akaashi liked it or not, you were going to do your best to convert him into a Hayashi Raiko fan by the end of this dinner if he wasn’t one already.

Akaashi smiled, but you knew enough of him to know that this was his courtesy smile. Still polite, you supposed, but you would rather see his real smile. The one that lit up his face and never failed to warm whatever was in your chest that functioned like a heart.

So he wasn’t a Hayashi Raiko fan. You took it as a challenge.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a thriller type of person.”

You paused in your mental sales pitch for Hayashi-sama. “Oh, what kind of book person do I look like then?”

Akaashi put his left hand to his chin as he mulled it over, his right hand which normally took that place occupied by the book you were going to buy. If on the off chance you weren’t going to buy it simply because it was Hayashi-sama’s work, you would definitely be buying it because Akaashi had touched that one copy in particular. The cover was a glossy laminate, so you were sure that the print of his hand would still be there when you checked for it at home.

But that was something to look forward to after dinner.

He gave a thoughtful hum before he said with a measure of confidence, “Romantic comedy.” You blinked, let his answer sink in, and then you laughed.

“You’re saying that because I’m a girl, is that right?” You asked, teasing him because you hadn’t put on a dress and done your makeup for no reason. You deserved to have a little fun poking at him because you had suffered to look a little prettier than you normally did.

Your answer seemed to shock him, his eyes blown wide and his mouth was formed into a small circle. Akaashi quickly shook his head, as if what you said had embarrassed him. You laughed again, when you noticed that he had placed the hand that wasn’t holding your book on the back of his neck. He was getting embarrassed, and you revelled in it, despite feeling bad about making him feel that way on purpose.

Again, you would freely feel bad about that later, after dinner.

“Of course not. It’s because you were reading Karashima Hana at work,” he said. “She’s popular with women in your age group, after all.”

You blinked. Karashima Hana? You were only vaguely familiar with that name, since you scarcely read romantic comedies when you could just watch them. When had you read one of her books at work anyway? It had to belong to one of the other people in your department, since you hadn’t a single Karashima Nana book to your name.

“Ah, that! It’s Ootaki-senpai’s. She wanted me to take a peek for research. I had to fill in for one of the writers at another magazine once,” you said. “It was for Dearest.”

“You’ve written for one of the other imprints before?”

You nodded. “Just once though. I think it was Sakata who couldn’t make the deadline. Ootaki-senpai made me do it because she says I need to take a break from writing about dead bodies for once,” you said, laughing when you remembered the look on Ootaki-senpai’s face when you had refused the first twelve times she had asked.

Ootaki-senpai had had her work as assistant manager cut out for her just trying to make you budge on that.

When was the last time you had such a good time talking about work with someone from work? The people you worked with were nice and all, but you were seldom at work anyway, so you never really had the chance to become close to them. The weight of your decision to work from home just because it was an option made itself known once again, and it bore down on your shoulders. You couldn’t help but think that maybe even Akaashi could’ve been your friend if you did show up to work, even if it was only one full day a week.

If Akaashi had been your friend, would you have had this chance to spend time with him too? Just him and just you. Just talking. Just having a little fun, like you were doing now.

If only–

“You wrote the piece titled ‘Before I Go’,” Akaashi said, calling your attention back to where you were, back to him, and you were grateful for the respite from your thoughts. Things were getting ugly up there.

You were about to give him an answer when your turn finally came. You turned away from Akaashi for a bit, and you stepped up to the register, placing the book on the counter and rifling through your bag for your wallet. This was what you got for picking a bag that only had one big compartment with no dividers or pockets whatever, save for the one zippered pocket on the front that was too small for a big thing like a wallet.

You gave your customer servicer smile as a form of apology to the bookstore employee behind the counter, your hand still feeling around your bag for the telltale rectangular object that was your wallet. Where was it?

Wait.

Before you processed the thought right, Akaashi had already stepped a little closer to you, the warmth of his arm seeping into yours. It was distracted you enough that you barely registered it when he handed the cashier his – was that a debit card? Credit? – card, and all you could do was watch like an idiot who had her hand groping about inside her mostly empty bag for a wallet that might not even be there.

Your customer service smile fell into a fake half-smile like the idiot that you knew you were, watching the exchange between Akaashi who was an absolute godsend and the bookstore employee. The employee behind the counter seemed not to sense your discomfort due to your own idiocy, and you were grateful. Your book was put into a plastic bag – and it was one of those nice and stiff ones, so you could be happy about that – and the employee handed it to Akaashi instead of to you.

Somehow, you were ready for the concrete under your nice and clean and new sneakers to mutate a mouth and swallow you whole. And you were confident that you already wanted to go, even before getting any food that you didn’t pay for into your system.

Real date or not, dates were a disaster waiting to happen, and happen it did. You were grimly reminded of why you seldom left your apartment all over again.

Taglist: @sushizombie @knocklast @kittygonyan @this-kitty-got-claws @sinkix @haezen @catharsisbabey

Please feel free to send me an ask to be added to the taglist!

#hq!!#haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi keiji x reader #fic #long fic #fluff #crack #the fourth chapter!#i'm still on schedule heheh #yay!#super happy about that

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detroitbydark · 6 years

Text

It All Starts With A Spark

Author: @detroitbydark

Genre:Star Wars/Descendants

Characters: Poe Dameron, Rose Tico, Evie Grimhilde

Length:

Summary: Evie feels called out and remembers her first experience with the best pilot in the Resistance

A/N: If you don’t know Evie from Descendants you can still enjoy this. If you do know the character know that I’ve aged her up to approximately 25years old. Also, I have a slew of ideas for these two that I’d love to write if there is anyone out there that wants to read.

“Base to Evie. Come in Evie”

Evie let her wandering mind focus back in on the petite engineer who’d unceremoniously plopped down across from her at the, otherwise vacant, mess table. She offered her friend a small smile and a bite of her mostly untouched lunch.

The woman waved the food off. “You were in another galaxy.” Rose noted, “where’d you go?”

Evie finished chewing slowly before swallowing and washing it down with a drink. She didn’t want to admit she’d been thinking of a certain Ace pilot. Unfortunately, Rose seemed to have a sixth sense for these things.

”Black Squadron isn’t back yet. You’re worried” Rose offered before Evie had a chance to respond to her first question.

The blue haired analyst knew better than to lie, so she merely shrugged it off. “I’m just curious what intel they’ll bring back.” It was a half truth. Black Squadron was doing recon work on a First Order installation that was said to hold Resistance POWs. That information was priceless and Evie knew Black Squadron and their leader would take every necessary risk to get the needed information back to base.

“And…?” Rose asked with a sly smirk. The woman was a ball of mischievous energy. The woman had only recently returned to work after nearly losing her life on Crait. Had Evie not known what kind of condition she’d been in, she never would have guessed how close they’d come to losing one of their brightest minds.

”And what?” Evie asked pushing the remains lunch around her plate with her fork. She didn’t want to admit the other half of the reason she’d been so lost in thought. The argument she’d had with Poe a week ago still weighed on her. He’d reassured her they were good before they’d ended their call that night but she still felt a sour feeling in her stomach when she thought about it. Poe Dameron seemed to be stuck in her every waking thought (and more than a few of her dreams).

”You haven’t seen Poe since you got back from the Akiva. Don’t tell me you’re not anxious to get your hands on him.” Rose’s eyebrows rose and fell playfully as she pulled Evie’s half drank mug of caf across the table and took a swallow.

Evie glared.

”Rose Tico, you’re a menace.” She muttered snatching her cup back. “You act like there’s something going on with us.” For someone who spent her day among the Resistance’s spies and intelligence community Evie was disappointed her voice didn’t sound more convincing.

”And, Princess,” Rose said, earning another glare at the title, “you act like I don’t see the way you to look at each other.”

Evie felt her cheeks flame pink, “and how’s that?”

”Like you’re ready to peel him out of that damn flight suit and see if he really is the best the Resistance’s got.”

“Rose!”

The engineer laughed at her friends reprimanding tone. “You’re not arguing though.” Rose noted as Evie took another pull of caf to avoid talking. “Besides, you should see the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention.”

Evie raised an eyebrow specutively.

“That boy wants to give you a ride on his starfighter,” Evie choked on her drink, sputtering slightly as Rose chuckled. “and you’re lying if you say you wouldn’t take him up on the offer.”

”Kriff, Rose!” Evie admonished wiping droplets of caf off her uniform. Rose simply beamed at her.

The engineer waved her friend off. ”Word came through comms earlier, I found you to let you know, they’ll be back later tonight.”

Evie felt tension she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying through her shoulders ease. The two sat in silence for a moment before Evie sighed. “Thank you.” She said finally and than, “is it that obvious?”

”To everybody but him.” Rose offered, “there’s even a betting pool going for when the two of you are going to hook up.”

Evie scoffed, “Let me guess, you’ve got you’re bet placed?”

Rose laughed, a bright merry sound. She slapped the table lightly. “Even the General has in on it!”

Burying her head in her hands Evie groaned.

Evie Grimhilde hadn’t always harbored feelings for the Resistance’s golden boy. The first time they’d met had been anything but love at first sight. Evie remembered it vividly from the blue gown she’d worn to the drizzle that had dampened the festivities at her Mother’s summer estate.

As a dutiful daughter, Evie had made her rounds through the sea of guests. The ballroom had been packed with former Imperials, First Order elite, and those like Queen Grimhilde herself who were more than happy to latch their horse to whatever kept them living the lavish lifestyles they’d become accustomed to. Evie, resplendent in her deep Navy gown with its plunging back wove her way through the mass, tucking away bits of information that could be used later. She’d not heard from her contact in weeks but that wasn’t entirely out of the norm.

She knew she was risking everything passing information to the Resistance but she couldn’t sit back and watch the galaxy fall into the hands of the First Order. Watching her people suffer under their control was bad enough.

The Princess kept her disgust hidden under a placid, vapid smile as a low ranking General, old enough to be her father, placed a kiss on the back of her hand. She’d been sitting with the slightly paunchy, greying man for near on twenty minutes. She played the part of air-headed Princess so convincingly that she nearly startled herself at times.

”I suppose I just don’t understand why the fleet needs to be stationed her” she pouted prettily, “there’s so many ships. I can’t even see my stars from my room at night!” She watched the man’s eyes dart to her painted lips. She wanted to be sick.

”I assure you, your highness, the ships will be off shortly. They’ll be heading to Dantooine in just under a week, the lot of them.”

Finally! Something useful!

”But,” he began with a lascivious grin, “The stars are quite lovely from my quarters. If you’d like to see them?”

Evie coughed into her hand to cover her faltering smile.

”I’m sure you’ve a wonderful view.” She enthused with a tone that said she’d “missed” his innuendo. “I may take you up on it someday.” She added slowly rising from her seat “but I fear for now I’m best off to mingle with my other guests.” She smoothed her dress feeling the older man’s eyes fall to the curves it clung to. When her brown eyes caught his he stuttered an awkward goodbye which she politely accepted before sauntering off.

The sound of the quartet of strings warming up from a recent break had couples rising from their seats to begin dancing. She was thankful she’d gotten away from the officer before he’d volunteered himself as a dance partner.

She could feel eyes from around the room take their turns watching her. The dress her mother had commissioned for the evening was doing it’s job in attracting attention. The sleeveless number clung to her curves, the back having been forgone to expose her from her neck down to the dimples on her lower back. It was a wonder of adhessive that she managed to stay presentable. Evie felt like a prime piece of meat on display. Her mother had made it clear she wanted her daughter married by the end of the year and she was going above and beyond to make it happen.

Evie wanted nothing to do with it.

Slipping a flute of sparkling wine from a passing server’s tray she glanced about, one arm crossed at her rib cage while the wither held the flute aloft. The night was growing late and she found the idea of talking to anymore arrogant officers completely exhausting. She sipped at the beverage, letting the bubbles tickle her tongue. It was a good vintage, if a little sweet for her taste.

A gentle touch on her arm caught her attention. She turned to find herself gazing into dark eyes. The stranger offered a tight smile before running a nervous hand through slicked back hair.

”Your Higness,” he offered with a small, stiff bow. “Would you honor me with a dance?”

Evie watched him curiously. He wore an officers uniform but he was certainly like no officer she’d ever seen. His eyes surveyed the room expectantly. She finished her drink in two gulps as the stranger laughed.

”So much for being a lady.” He muttered under his breath.

Evie huffed, jaw set. “So much for getting a dance.” She bit out. She felt his hand grab her arm as she turned to walk away. His grip was firm as he stepped into her. He radiated warmth at her side and his breath tickled at her ear.

”Don’t be like that, Princess.” The title held disdain this time around. “A little convor sent me.”

Evie froze. Those were the code words. No wonder he looked so awkward. In a room full of First Order thugs he was a Rebel! Her heart skipped a beat. How bold!

How incredibly stupid!

A well practiced smile fell into place on her lips as she turned back to the First Order imposter. “Silly me.” She cooed, “where are my manners. I’d love to dance with you…”

”Poe” he said quietly.

Evie felt her face blanch as the Resistances best pilot led her to the dance floor and into the crowd. Her mind worked overtime trying to make sense of why Poe Dameron was in front of her. It wouldn’t mean anything good, of that she was certain.

The song was slow as he pulled her close, more so than her mother would deem appropriate, but necessary to not be overheard. ”You’re in grave danger, Princess.” He muttered, letting his hands slide low on her back. She felt the toughness of calloused fingers casually stroke the exposed skin. He was playing far too familiar for her liking.

Evie scoffed, “and so are you showing up here like this. Where is Farseid?” The fact she hadn’t heard from her contact in weeks hadn’t worried her until now. Her dance partner must have felt how she’d tensed.

”You need to relax. People are going notice.” He offered her a smile as she forced some of the stiffness from her body, pressing closer.

She brought her mouth to his ear as if whispering a secret. “Where is Farseid?” She asked again, urgently. Her partner twirled her gently, moving her with practiced ease like they’d done this a thousand times before.

”He’s dead.”

Evie bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep from gasping. The coppery tang of blood worked to focus her.

“I’m sorry” Poe continued, looking genuine, “But we don’t know what he may have said to the First Order. I’ve come to bring you in. Your life’s in danger.”

Evie searched his features for any signs of a lie. She found none. Her heart pounded in her ears, a dull roar that drowned the musicians out.

“I think I need some fresh air.” She said pulling from his grip. “The room is getting a bit hot” she whined just loud enough to be overheard.

“I’ll escort you, Your highness.” Poe offered presenting her with his arm and leading her to the nearby balcony. A few heads turned giving approving nods as the gallant Officer escorted the Princess out into the night air.

A wisp of blue hair that refused to be tamed drifted out from under her scarf. She regretted following the trends and dying her hair. She’d heard it was the fashion of the women of Amilyn’ Holdo’s planet. She was desperately in awe of the woman though she couldn’t tell her mother that was why she’d done it. No, the Queen believed her daughter was trying to draw the attention of suitors.

The deep black of her natural color would have made blending into the crowd much easier, and crowded it was. The market after dark became a beacon for those needing to lose themselves in the seedy clubs and cantinas. She pulled her pack closer as she pushed the errant hair back under her scarf, tugging it tighter around her face. She couldn’t risk being recognized.

The news of Farseid’s death shook her to the core. His body had been found by his comrades, one piece at a time. The injuries of torture screamed First Order. She thought back to Poe’s story a few nights before and felt a cold chill work it’s way up her spine. Yes, she’d known what she was doing was dangerous, the older man had repeated it many a time during their meetings, but it had never hit home like it did now. She was doing the right thing. That was all that had mattered.

Until now.

All in a matter of a few days, her world had been flipped on its axis. Her life was in peril. As Poe had explained, no one knew what Farseid has given up under the First Orders torture but if it had been her name, her life was forfeit. She was too valuable to the Resistance (you know too much, she thought) to risk. Whether she wanted to or not, she’d been informed, Poe was bringing her in.

She glanced nervously at the entrance to Two Banthas Cantina. Poe was late and it had her balancing precariously in the edge of panic.

”Princess” a voice shouted behind her. She spun quickly, spotting the pilot leaning against a nearby wall. The uniform from earlier was gone, replaced with dusty brown pants, a worn shirt, and a fairly new looking leather coat.

”Would you stop calling me that” she hissed, moving to his side.

Poe looked around and laughed. “We’ve got a Princess here!” He said loudly gesturing in her direction, “Look a Princess!”. None of the passers by even turned their heads. ”You need to relax. It’s smooth sailing from here.”

Evie glared. It was like he was asking for trouble.

Poe flashed a winning grin. “We just need to get to the port and we can be off this rock. My droids prepping the ship as we speak.”

Evie stared as she readjusted the pack thrown over shoulder, “I used to think General Organa was the smartest woman in the galaxy.”

Poe’s eyes narrowed.

She turned and began walking toward the space port, making him push off the wall and jog a few steps to catch up.

”And you question it now?

“Who sends the most recognized face in the galaxy on a undercover mission? ” His blank look made her come up short gazing around for an example. He nearly ran into her as she stopped.

”What gives?” He asked confused. Evie simply huffed, grabbing his chin and redirecting his gaze to a nearby alley and the poster that hung at its entrance. Poe groaned. He swore one day he was going to get Yolo back for his little piece of art.

The poster had seen better days but, clear as the stars, there was Poe Dameron holding his helmet looking out over the skies while a squadron of X-wings zipped below him.

”Watching over the stars and skies, eh?” Evie asked. Her voice was a mixture of humor and irritation.

Poe gave her a shrug and a smirk. “It was supposed to be a joke you know.” He muttered.

Evie looked skeptical. ”You know how many times and in how many different places I’ve seen this?”

Poe turned back toward the port and began walking again. His jovial attitude from earlier dampened.

Evie hummed to herself, “I always figured you’d be-“

”Ruggedly handsome?” Poe offered glancing at her.

”Taller.” She said suppressing a laugh. If possible Poe’s face grew more sour.

They covered the next block in silence. Evie stayed a half a step behind the pilot. She watched as his feet carried him straight ahead but his head moved almost imperceptibly about. Taking in their surroundings, she supposed. A familiar clatter sounded behind them and Evie peaked over her shoulder. Her heart clenched as a pair of armor clad troopers rounded the corner.

”Poe…” she whispered harshly as he slowed up and they fell into step.

”Yeah, I know.” His hand enveloped hers. Evie stiffened. “I need you to relax, Princess” He said softly. “You think you can trust me?”

Evie readjusted her scarf glancing as the deep brown eyes that turned to question her. The joking tone was gone and in it’s place was something earnest and hopeful.

”Do I have much of a choice?”

”No.” He confirmed.

Exhaling a deep breath, she nodded. “I suppose that’s a ‘yes’ than.” Poe gave her a reassuring smile but she could see it didn’t touch his eyes. They were focused and intense. He guided her to the next alley they passed. As he positioned her back against the wall he was all business. His body blocked her from anyone’s line of sight. He was close and she could smell the spice of cologne and the tang of, what she assumed was, jet fuel.

Poe’s hand cupped her cheek as he leaned further into her personal space. ”People tend to avoid looking at displays of affection.” he explained quietly.

Evie nodded at the explanation and let her arms ease over his shoulders, “like this?” She hummed quietly. A flash of metal caught her attention. A ring hung on a necklace around his neck. The sound of armor came closer. Without a thought Evie wrapped her hand around the ring and gave it a sharp tug. The thin chain broke. Poe’s eyes grew wide as she slipped the ring on her left fourth finger. It fit perfectly. She could hear the Stormtroopers speaking to one another.

Over there.

Let’s check it out.

”I’ll Apologize to your wife later.” Evie murmured. The pilot shook his head opening his mouth to say something but stopping.

“Don’t hit me.” He ordered quietly. Evie didn’t even have a moment to question why she’d need to hit him before his mouth was on hers. His hand cupping her face, tucking loose strands of hair back stopped her from turning her head.

In any other circumstance she would have punched a man square in the jaw for taking such liberties but he had warned her. She tried to think of it it as a game, like the ones she’d played with the First Order officers. It was a game none of them had ever figured out she was playing. It was like acting really. With that thought she turned her head slightly allowing for better access. Her fingers tangled in his unruly curls and she tugged gently, nearly laughing at the choked off sound he made. His tongue slid across her own, stroking gently into her mouth as he pushed her firmly against the cool duracrete wall behind her. She felt her breath catch in her lungs. If he was playing a part she wondered what how he kissed when lives weren’t on the line. She may have laughed at her train of thought too if the helmet filtered voice of a First Order Stormtrooper hadn’t echoed into the alley.

“Hey, you there.”

So much for avoiding attention, Evie thought mildly as Poe pulled back. His lips were swollen and his pupils blown. She wondered if she looked the same. Poe turned slowly to face the trooper as Evie pulled her scarf in, pretending to be embarrassed by being caught.

”What can I do for you?” The Pilot asked casually. Evie eyes followed his hand as it drifted to his waistband at his back. When he moved she saw the hint of black metal. A blaster! If that came out they’d never get to the ship and off world, she just knew it.

Evie took half a step forward. Wrapping her arms around Poe’s waist, she casually nuzzled at his neck. One hand gently pushed his hand away from where the blaster sat.

”I’m sorry troopers.” She murmured imitating a thick outer rim accent. “I don’t mean to cause a problem.” Evie kept her head turned slightly. While odds were the Troopers were from off world she didn’t want to risk them getting to good a view of her face.

”There’s no trouble ma’am.” The second Trooper offered. “We just wanted to make sure you weren’t being accosted.”

Evie fought to keep her eyes from rolling. She highly doubted their motives were so noble. Feigning a girlish giggle, Evie held up her hand for inspection. The ring she’d snatched from Poe sparkled in the full light.

”My Sugar, proposed tonight and we’ll…I’m just having a hard time keepin’ my hands to myself.” She giggled again before she nearly squealed with delight as she looked at her hand. She held it out as if for inspection. “Didn’t he do just the most wonderful job.”

One trooper nodded emphatically while the other elbowed him in the side.

”All it took was to find I was knocked up and he got right down on one knee and asked me.” The Troopers coughed and both focused in on Poe.

”What can I say.” Poe said with a nervous laugh.

“Where are you headed.” The first Trooper asked warily.

Before Poe could speak Evie cut in. ”We’re heading to Tatooine so we can tell my folks.” She pressed her lips to Poe’s cheek, making a wet smacking sound. “It’s just the most romantic things ever!” She gushed.

Poe took one of her hands in his own and placed a gentle kiss to her palm. “For you darling, anything. The Galaxy is your oyster…well that is, if our new friends are done with us?”

Evie turned her big brown eyes on the pair of Stormtroopers.

”Um, yes, right” The Trooper stuttered. “You’re free to go.”

”Thank you!” Evie said brightly. Taking Poe’s hands in her own she began to pull him from the alley. He stumbled only slightly before following along, “and when we get back to the ship I’m going to show you how excited I really am to be your wife.” She said a little louder than necessary. Wrapping an arm around her waist Poe leaned in whispering quietly in her ear. “The folks in Intel are going to love you.”

#Poe Dameron fanfic #evie descendants #poe dameron fanfiction #crackship #all it takes is a spark

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joyfullynervouscreator · 7 years

Text

Song of Nimrodel pt 3

Imagine openly flirting with Haldir and him not being sure what to do because he’s not used to beautiful people speaking to him.

word count: 3047

Chapter [1] [2] [2.5] [3] [4] [5]

“Haldir.” Haldir stiffened, but the Lady never had to repeat a command to her most faithful warrior. He turned, facing the ethereal beauty – not so fair as Curulaeril, in his mind, a small voice whispered, forced away as ruthlessly as he had forced it from his head all the other times it wanted to remind him of some aspect of her that was lovely to him.

“My Lady Galadriel,” he greeted, bowing politely and feeling the reverence he always felt when confronted with her presence.

“There is a sadness in my Realm,” the Lady said. A sadness surrounding you, Haldir of the Marsh Wardens.

“My Lady, I assure you-” Haldir tried, but his protests were no match for her blue-eyed stare that seemed to pierce his soul. Go to her. Galadriel whispered in his head. “I cannot,” he replied, feeling torn. You see much, Haldir, commander of our defences, yet you do not see what precious gift you have been given, the joy you might find if you accept it. “I was given nothing,” he confessed. “What I have was taken through mischief.”

“You will find that you are wrong in this, Haldir,” Galadriel remarked. “And if mischief is the cause of this sorrow, then I lay it upon your head to make right what was wronged.” Haldir bowed, recognizing the order, but Galadriel had vanished when he looked up once more.

Haldir had wracked his brain, but found no answer to tell him how to make amends, and so he found himself stepping onto a long staircase, spiralling around one of the tallest Mallorn trees in the Forest and with several talan’s branching off at lower levels. He heard the whispers begin behind him, the mutterings. What was the Marsh Warden Commander doing here? He had worn his best set of armour, polished and gleaming, his crimson cape taking the place of his grey-green covering used to hide while patrolling and the fine armour replacing his usual soft leather garb.

You stared at the splendid figure standing on the last step before he would have walked onto your talan, and your stubborn heart beat a little faster at the sight. Then you worried; what if he was heading off to war? You hadn’t heard any rumours, but the armour spoke loudly. You giggled inappropriately; perhaps he had come so armed to protect him from your anger. He might have been wise to think of it, you mused, still staring. You were angry, though mostly with Rumil and then with yourself. You even harboured a slight resentment for Galadriel, who had told you to follow your heart in the first place.

“Commander Haldir,” you finally managed, surprise clear in your voice. You had hardly expected to see him again at all, let alone so soon. Belatedly, you realised that you were lounging on a low divan, dressed in nothing but a half-undone robe. That could be the reason he was staring so, you thought, struggling to hide your blush as you righted your clothes. “You seem to catch me at a disadvantage more often than not.” The joke fell to the ground – you weren’t sure he’d even heard your attempt at levity. You sighed, wishing he’d go away before you were tempted to say any further inanities.

“Lady Curulaeril,” he acknowledged, falling silent once more. “I want to apologise for Rumil’s jest the other day. Be assured that he has been punished, and will be no further trouble to you. I also wish to apologise for my own unintentional intrusion; I was not aware of his plans in the slightest.” You stared, mouth agape. Haldir’s face was perfectly blank; perfectly handsome, you thought, wanting to trace those cheekbones with your fingers. The thought made your cheeks feel warm. “I will take my leave, my Lady Curulaeril.” He added, with a bow.

“Haldir!” you called, watching him whirl around so swiftly he nearly lost his footing. Standing, you beckoned him forwards.

“My Lady Curulaeril?” he asked, seemingly shy or hesitant, something at odds with your perception of his personality. He took half a step onto the floor of your talan proper, though he moved no further.

“Look at me,” you whispered, taking a step closer. He was taller than you remembered, looking down at you from a height advantage. For a moment, you thought you saw a flash of longing, something your brain told you looked like desire, but his face resumed its careful blankness. “I-,” your burst of courage failed you, “I’d like us to be friends, Commander,” you sighed at your own cowardice, unprepared for the smile that lit up his blue eyes.

“I hear you had a visitor,” your mother’s voice floated through the air, startling you out of your thoughts. Your brush fell to the floor.

“Naneth,” you greeted, picking it up and returning to the task of brushing your long locks. Her golden curtain of hair filled the corner of your eye as she picked the brush from your fingers, combing gently.

“Want to tell me why Lord Haldir of the Lady’s Marsh Wardens came to see you, looking for all the world like a prospective suitor decked in his finest raiment?” you mother asked calmly, though you heard a note of censure in her tone; she was disappointed not to have been told before the tongues of gossip reached her. You bowed your head.

“I have done a foolish thing, Naneth,” your sighed. Your mother did not interrupt as the story spilled from your lips, frowning lightly at you in the mirror. “And then I asked him to be my friend!” you cried. “So now I will have to be friendly with him while my heart wants far more. I am… foolish,” you repeated. Your mother hummed lightly, finishing the work of making your hair look beautiful for your performance later.

“Not so foolish as you may think, sellig,” she murmured. “If you wish for this Haldir to notice you… what better way than to spend time with him, to show him all that you are?” Pressing her lips to your ear for luck, she turned to pick up the dress you had chosen for tonight, wrinkling her nose at the austere garment. Tossing it onto a chair with a huff, she opened your wardrobe, rattling the hangers as she sought out a pale green gown which you knew made your dark hair and blue eyes shine. “Wear this, my blossom,” she smiled, helping you lace up the gown. “And do introduce me to this Haldir when you have a moment. I am reliably informed that he will be present for the celebrations tonight.”

“Yes, Naneth,” you acquiesced, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your father’s Noldorin blood had given you your dark locks, and his granite eyes combined with your mother’s blue forget-me-nots had transformed in you into a deep dark blue. You showed traits of a Sindar, too, of course, though the hair was a giveaway. Oreliel had inherited pure golden hair – your mother’s was a paler gold – but you knew that your true beauty lay in the power and clarity of your voice, not the way you looked. For a moment, you thought you could see Haldir’s pale blonde hair, a stark difference to your own, in the mirror. When you spun around, however, no one was there. Sliding your feet into your silver-embroidered slippers, you made your way down from your tree-top home.

Haldir had been invited to the feast, of course, as befitted his rank, though he would have declined if not for the fact that Curulaeril would be singing. He wondered if it would sound different when he actually had permission to listen, but dismissed it as a fanciful notion. Staring at all the finely dressed Elves that milled around, waiting for Galadriel and Celeborn to descend from their private talan, he felt distinctly underdressed. He hadn’t wanted to wear his armour – it would have looked wrong to be armed at a celebration of the season, he thought – but he hadn’t known what to wear instead. In the end, he was dressed far too simply, leather breeches and boots, with a tunic over top that his mother had once embroidered with a border of lilies. Feeling slightly adrift and uneasy, thinking that he stuck out like a sore thumb among these people, Haldir found himself a dark corner and a goblet of wine.

“You came!” Her voice interrupted Haldir’s gazing into his goblet, his hopes that somehow being capable of courtly interactions would be found at the bottom of the pool of elderflower wine.

“Lady Curulaeril?” he asked dumbly, staring at the vision before him. Her sparkling blue eyes were just like he remembered from Nimrodel, overriding the gaze he had seen at their last meeting and making him feel a little breathless. She smiled, catching his arm.

“Come, there are people you must meet!” she enthused, dragging him off. Haldir felt compelled to go along, startled to find himself being introduced to a lady he did not need to be told was Curulaeril’s mother, the resemblance clear in their faces. “My parents, Nyelle, and Romdir, my sister Oreliel,” she introduced, “and this is my friend, Commander Haldir of the Marsh Wardens.”

“A pleasure, madam,” Haldir managed, with a bow his mother would have approved of. Nyelle smiled gently.

“Certainly, the pleasure is ours,” she replied. “Tell me how the Wardens fare?”

Somehow, Haldir found himself giving an in-depth report on the state of the borders to Nyelle, while Oreliel dragged her father off to the dancing. Curulaeril’s hand rested lightly on his arm when she finally steered him away from her mother, introducing him to everyone she knew in a blue of names and ‘my friend, Commander Haldir’s.

“Yes, I would think he is strong,” Haldir heard her remark to an elleth whose name he didn’t catch, while some other elf was expounding on the deliciousness of the bite-sized finger-foods on offer. “Certainly, he looks to be.” Was she talking about him? “No, I have not watched Haldir play at swords, Pengeth,” she sighed, and Haldir realised she was, “though I imagine he’d be very good at it.”

“So, how did you meet our little Curu?” the food-praising ellon asked. Haldir had clear forgotten his name.

“Oh, it was most fortuitous,” Curulaeril interrupted, which was probably good, as Haldir had no idea how to explain barging in on a private moment without looking like a complete fool. “I was taking Oreliel to see the falls of Nimrodel a few weeks ago,” she continued, “and Haldir happened upon us, offering me his escort in case danger was lurking. It was very kind.” She bestowed a brilliant smile on him, and Haldir could only nod in relief.

“Lucky I was nearby,” he croaked. Had she been at a different meeting than him??

“You shouldn’t wander alone so,” the ellon rebuked, making Curulaeril frown. “Perhaps next time you feel like a walk outside the Capital, you would permit me to keep you company?”

“But, while you would be adequate protection, I’m sure, the Lady Galadriel was kind enough to offer me permanent leave to ask one of the Wardens here in Caras Galadhon to serve as my guard,” Curulaeril said, and Haldir was shocked to realise that he could read the falsity in her eyes. Silently, he vowed that he would ensure his men knew that she was allowed to ask for their protection… on his command. “After all, a simple hunter is not so experienced at combat as the Marsh Wardens who guard our entire Realm,” Curulaeril continued, “and my Lord Haldir is the best of these brave warriors, after all. I shall be perfectly safe in his care.” Haldir smirked at the hunter – what was his name? – who seemed to be having trouble finding his words.

“As-as you say, Lady Curulaeril,” he stammered. Haldir’s smile widened.

“Perhaps you wish to dance?” she said, startling him when he realised that the hunter had disappeared, and Curulaeril was looking up at him with those eyes. Opening his mouth to accept, he lost the words when her face fell at the tolling of a bell. “That’s the call for the singers,” she explained. “I have to leave you now. You will stay for the concert, won’t you?” she asked, looking so hopeful he had blurted out his acceptance before she even finished the question. Curulaeril gave him one last brilliant smile before running off, disappearing into the crowd. Once more, Haldir found himself lost and out of his depths when he was rescued by a pale hand with a blue sleeve trailing from her middle finger.

“My daughter is a bit of a whirlwind, at times,” Nyelle said lightly, taking his arm and leading him to the seats that were lined up in from of the small stage.

“She is…” Haldir replied, unable to decide which word best described the elleth.

“My husband is with the musicians,” Nyelle said, saving him from himself. Haldir smiled gratefully. “I have saved you a seat with myself and Oreliel.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt nervous before the start of a concert, more nervous than ever before. Walking into the roofless structure that served as the Lady’s Music Hall, you scanned the guests, milling about. You spotted your family, waving distractedly to Oreliel who was probably already cajoling ada into a dance, but you were really looking for…him. He looked good tonight, you thought, his simple outfit delineating his powerful build and ready warrior’s stance.

“You came!” you cried out, realising your voice had startled him when he looked up sharply. He had been staring into his cup with a mighty frown, looking as though it were the Mirror showing him a dismal future. You babbled something, daring to place a light hand on his arm, though you had no illusions that he would be leading you around the room. Instead, you decided to get the most awkward introductions over with first, knowing your mother was watching you intently. Introducing Haldir to your parents went surprisingly well, for which you could probably thank Naneth for ameliorating ada’s taciturn nature. When Oreliel succeeded in her endeavour, you swept Haldir along with a shrewd look from your Naneth, introducing him to those you knew – it was most everyone assembled, really. As one of the most popular performers, you had a distinct advantage when it came to social status, and those who had not heard of Haldir before would certainly have by the end of the night. You wondered for a moment if you should have added a daring rescue to your original meeting, but decided against it at the last second. They lapped up the tale nonetheless, staring at Haldir with far different eyes than when they had first spotted his powerful figure. He might not fit in with this crowd – he was a honed blade among leaves of grass, you thought, chiding yourself for your fanciful imagination, but you noticed that he stood a little straighter when you professed to preferring his company – he did know that’s what you were implying, right? – to that of Raevron.

In the end, you didn’t get to have much time to talk with Haldir, who seemed to find himself quite uncomfortable speaking to anyone during a gathering. You threw a glance at your mother for aid when the bell tolled for you to take your place among the chorus, and you noticed her determinedly taking Haldir under her wing. Closing your eyes with a soft smile in his direction – you would sing for him – you opened your mouth, letting the melody flow through you.

Curulaeril was glorious. Haldir stared, rapt. He had known that she lost herself in her song, had seen it that day at Nimrodel, but tonight she shone. Her voice rose above the musicians, flowing into his ears like golden mallorn honey, he thought, something sweet yet tangy that ensnared his soul as he listened. Her dress was a pale green, like a very early spring morning, when the world had only just begun to sprout anew. Her hair had been done up in an intricate style he had hardly noticed when she first caught him by the arm, too lost in looking at her eyes. Now he did see that ethereal beauty he had first loved at Nimrodel, saw her disappear into the song, watched her become a dancing Tinúviel as some ellon he didn’t know sang the parts of Beren.

“Singing always makes her happy, Commander Haldir,” Nyelle whispered during a small break, “but she is more radiant tonight than I have seen before.”

“I will treasure this moment for centuries to come,” Haldir replied, not even bothering to turn his head to acknowledge Nyelle’s words as Curulaeril had opened her eyes – once more catching him with her dark blue stare and holding him spellbound.

Years passed, as your friendship with Haldir grew. You eventually forgave Rumil, though you did not forget the unkindness he’d showed you. Haldir was always careful not to be more than a friend to you, though you would swear that there were moments he watched you with desire and longing. Those moments made your heart cling to the stubborn love it had borne, even if you would never reveal your true heart for fear of losing the friendship you had so carefully built over long conversations and good food. As you got to know him better, you only fell deeper, still trying to convince yourself you were satisfied with friendship.

You sang for him again, though he still did not appear at celebrations often. When he did, you monopolised his attention, though his friendship with you – and the good things you said about him – slowly began to earn him a few friends among the courtiers. You seethed with jealousy every time some pretty elleth tried to catch his eye, but for some reason, Haldir seemed utterly uninterested in finding a wife. It pleased you greatly, at the same time that it vexed you terribly.

Life continued beneath the golden Mallorns.

#Haldir/reader #Haldir #haldir imagine #reader insert #Song of Nimrodel #imaginexhobbit

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lesbrarians · 7 years

Text

Junkrat/Roadhog:: Voyages Ch 1

Buckle up, guys and gals and nonbinary pals, because I’m finally following up Origins with a sequel. If you haven’t read Origins, I really really recommend that you do -- this first chapter is kind of a prologue with some refresher details, setting us up for the bulk of this story, but there is defs the occasional reference that kind of requires an understanding of the first fic to fully get it. I know it’s a bit of a slow start, but I hope you’ll stick with it, and thank you so much for reading! (This can also be read on AO3 but I guess Tumblr hides posts if you put links in them so??)

Title: Voyages

Characters: Junkrat, Roadhog

Rating: R

Summary: After a rocky start and some ups and downs, Junkrat and Roadhog are officially partners, even if things haven’t progressed quite as far as Junkrat would like. With his treasure at the heart of their grandiose plans, they take their adventures overseas and leave their mark on the world, for better or worse. (Mostly for worse. They’re criminals.) Sequel to “Origins.”

---

Junkrat had been the one to suggest that they go international. After the Hyde Global incident, he was more than happy to bid Australia adieu and travel overseas. His flitting notion of going legit had evaporated entirely at the suit’s betrayal, and he wanted to go back to what he did best: good, honest, straightforward crime.

“Gotta say, I’m a bit disappointed that we didn’t end up scrapping any bots after all,” Junkrat said that night, once they’d fled the city and set up camp in an abandoned warehouse further down the coast. “Drones ain’t the same.” He toyed with his RIP-tire, running his finger around its rim. After learning of Junkrat’s treasure, Roadhog had done his best to dissuade him from storing it inside his tire once more, but he had been unable to provide him with a more secure storage space that Junkrat approved of. Back in the tire it went. “Listen, ‘Hog, I’ve been thinkin’...” He dropped his hand and shifted to sit on the tire instead.

Roadhog snorted and put the cap back on his canteen. “There’s a surprise.”

Junkrat kicked at him, his boot striking empty air. “I’ve been thinkin’,” he repeated, raising his voice in exaggeration, “that maybe it’s time to test out my little treasure I got here.” He patted the tire and raised his brows at Roadhog, as if to say how ‘bout it?

“To unleash the god program,” Roadhog clarified.

“That’s the ticket!” Junkrat grinned at him. “Imagine...” He gazed dreamily up at the ceiling of the warehouse. “Takin’ over the omnics. I could make them walk right into my traps, blow themselves up! How lovely.” He sighed, a noise of utter contentment.

Roadhog chuckled. “I’m in. Where?”

Junkrat craned his neck to look at him. “Where what?”

“Anubis took over Cairo. Probably would have spread through all of Egypt if it weren't for Helix.”

“So, where do I want to be god?” He considered it. “Somewhere with lots of bots, yeah? Maybe not here, you and yer mates thinned us out with the whole omnium explosion thing. 'Course, still too many of the bastards for my liking, but at least it's not like Numbani. Place’s crawlin’ with the tinheads.” He paused. “Say, that wouldn't be a bad spot! Sure, it'd be ambitious, but y’know me, I like to dream big.”

“No job too big…”

“...No score too small!” It had become their mantra as of late, and Junkrat jumped at the opportunity to finish Roadhog's sentence every time. He relished the verbal affirmation of their partnership. “But hey, why stop there? We could hit up Tokyo, London--” He interrupted his current train of thought with a gasp. “Korea! Can you imagine takin’ down that huge fucker in their ocean?”

“We'd be heroes.”

They both burst into raucous laughter at the thought of anyone considering them heroes. Junkrat wiped a tear from his eye. “But seriously, mate. We oughta go international. I'm sick of this place. I wanna travel!”

So they traveled. Matters were complicated by the fact that they couldn't go on holiday like normal people. It wasn't like two highly notorious criminals could just saunter onto a plane, particularly two who looked as distinctive as they did.

They resorted to convoluted schemes in an attempt to evade the law, aided and abetted by their ethically dubious associates. With a raid of a scuba diving facility near Sydney and Rosa’s assistance, they were able to engineer a rebreather for Junkrat and an apparatus for Roadhog’s gas mask that served as a carbon dioxide scrubber. Having a computer scientist on their side proved invaluable, as she helped with the electronic bits of the rebreather.

“You sure this is gonna work?” Ava asked, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

“You’ve done crazier things,” Junkrat pointed out. He climbed into the motorcycle’s sidecar, feet propped up and head lolling back. “Sliced open me head in yer kitchen--”

“--blew up the omnium--” Roadhog added.

“--busted us outta prison. What’re ya worried for?”

Ava dropped her hand and laughed. “Got me there! Yeah, you’ll be fine.” She pulled Junkrat out of the sidecar so she could slap the two of them on the back good-naturedly.

Rosa kissed them both on the cheek. “Be safe, all right?”

Junkrat grinned. “Can’t promise nothin’!”

“We’ll try,” Roadhog assured her. Junkrat snorted. Empty words. Roadhog might have been more sensible than he was (not that it took much), but they were both reckless by nature, and it was rare for Roadhog to object to any of their wilder ventures.

“I suppose that’s as good as I’m going to get,” Rosa said with a laugh.

There was a momentary lull as everyone absorbed the fact that they didn’t know when they would next see each other, or if they ever would again. Although it was empty except for the massive crate containing their motorcycle, the cargo container they were all standing in felt claustrophobic under the weight of saying goodbye.

Rosa broke the silence. “Oh, but before you go, I have a little going away present for you both...”

Junkrat’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?” he said, unable to hide the incredulity in his voice. People never gave him presents. Junkers weren’t keen on handouts, and he had never had someone in his life who liked him enough to give him a gift without expecting something in return.

Rosa handed each of them two soft, knitted bundles. “What’s this?” Junkrat asked, confused. He unfolded it and shook it out to find that it was a jumper made out of thick, black wool, with his trademark bright yellow, x’d out smiley face stitched on the front. A giggle bubbled out of him, and he bounced as he hugged it to his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he wore a shirt, a proper shirt -- there was an army green vest that he had worn over his bare chest as a kid, but he didn’t know if that counted.

“I figured you both might need something warm on your travels -- I hear other countries get a lot colder than Oz in November.” Rosa’s eyes twinkled. “And I knew you would probably have a hard time finding ones that fit.”

Junkrat laughed, elbowing Roadhog. “Yeah, can’t be too easy finding duds in yer size, eh, big guy?” He remembered the way Roadhog’s prison undershirt had constantly ridden up his belly, exposing a slice of his tattoo. There was something to be said for this whole “clothes” thing. Somehow, seeing the way the fabric clung to Roadhog, muscles straining against the too-tight sleeves, felt way more indecent than when he was shirtless.

Roadhog ignored his comment; there was no point in saying anything to the contrary. “Thanks, Rosa,” he said, turning the jumper around so that Junkrat could see it. It was the polar opposite of his, light cream instead of pitch black, a giant pink pig’s head instead of a demented smiley face. It should have been all wrong, given that Roadhog was without a doubt an aggressive, spiked up killer -- or, at the very least, ironic in nature. But it wasn’t. The tooth-rottingly sweet jumper just suited him.

“Yeah!” Junkrat enthused. “Thanks, mate.” He spread out the jumper on a nearby package so that he could admire it. He was itching to pull it on right now, just for the novelty of it, but the humid heat of the cargo container made him reconsider.

He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Junkrat wasn’t used to people being affectionate with him, asides from Roadhog, and even that was still a relatively recent turn of events. It wasn’t for lack of trying -- he’d certainly tried to be chummy with the other Junkers before he’d been forced to go on the lam, but there was something about him that others tended to find off-putting.

So it was nice to have someone else instigate a friendly hug: Rosa’s soft and warm, just like her, Ava’s a tight, one-armed squeeze.

“Thanks heaps for all the help, mate,” he said gratefully as Ava pulled away.

“No worries, you'll just owe me one.” Ava winked at him. “Take it easy, alright? Don't forget about the rest of us down under! And be safe. You lose another limb or get shot, and Dr. Bones ain't around to patch ya up. And I don't really think Dr. Boom is up to the task.”

Junkrat snickered. “Ahh, probably not,” he admitted. He was good at a lot of things, most of which had to do with destroying property or hurting people: healing was not one of these things.

He let Roadhog say his goodbyes in private -- Ava and Rosa were his friends first and foremost, after all -- and crawled back into the sidecar, sloppily folding the jumper and using it as a pillow. If he peeked over the top of the crate, he could see Roadhog’s forehead pressed against Ava’s. Sexual incompatibility aside, there was a certain kind of bond formed between two people who had committed an act of terrorism together. Junkrat had gotten into some serious trouble with Roadhog before, but they had yet to do anything that quite matched the scale of blowing up an omnium.

He hoped to change that. He reached over his shoulder and fondly patted his tire.

There was just enough room for Roadhog to squeeze into the crate before it was sealed.

“Good thing yer not claustrophobic, eh?”

“Speak for yourself,” Roadhog grunted. He handed Junkrat his rebreather.

Outside the crate, they could hear the sounds of Ava and Rosa filling the rest of the cargo container with junk to be mailed. The more large packages to cover up the motorcycle crate, the lower the chances of anyone bothering to pop theirs open for a visual inspection.

The general gist of their plan amounted to the two of them crossing the ocean as stowaways on a cargo ship. Ava and Rosa were their enablers, posing as women ostensibly shipping their belongings overseas for a fresh start. Between bribes, the cost of engineering the rebreathers, and shipping and handling fees, it was turning out to be their most expensive heist yet. Neither of them particularly cared; they needed to burn through their considerable earnings regardless. Australian dollars would be virtually useless to them the minute they set foot in Japan, given that they had no intention of waltzing into a bank -- at least, not with the express purpose of civilly exchanging currency.

The most challenging hurdle would be overcoming the carbon dioxide detectors used to expose stowaways. With any luck, the rebreathers would take care of that, absorbing and recycling the carbon dioxide in every exhale.

It was a long, tense stretch of time as they waited for some signal that they’d escaped undetected. It was only made worse by the fact that they couldn’t speak.

Junkrat wasn’t claustrophobic so much as he was restless. The crate they were in was huge, large enough to accommodate both their bike and sidecar, but with two overgrown men in it, it got cramped very quickly. He could only sit still for so long before he got fidgety.

He didn’t realise he was acting twitchy until Roadhog pinned his hands to his lap. He startled, head jerking up to look at Roadhog. It didn't do him much good, though -- he couldn't read whatever expression Roadhog was giving him beneath his gas mask, and they were currently incapable of using words to communicate.

He sat there, silently staring down at his lap and Roadhog's hand covering the both of his. He had nice hands, Junkrat decided. Strong and sturdy like the rest of him. Nail polish needed a touch-up, though. Still, not as bad as Junkrat's. He had an unfortunate habit of picking at his nails when there was nothing else to keep his hands busy. It was a reflex from back before he'd lost his arm. He might not have had nails on his mechanical hand to properly chip away at the polish, but he could still cause it to flake off with enough persistence.

Maybe it was a good thing Roadhog was restraining his hands, then. A sudden, unbidden image popped in his head of Roadhog’s hands restraining him in other ways. He quickly shook off the thought, as pleasant a vision as it was, by flexing his fingers.

Roadhog squeezed warningly, a silent reprimand to stop moving, there's already not enough space in here. A burst of laughter bubbled up in Junkrat's chest. Holding it in was quite possibly the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life, with the possible exception of learning how to build a peg leg that supported his body and retraining himself to walk.

He really needed to get out of this box.

They both lurched on the spot as the crate pitched forward. Junkrat didn't know what was happening: if they were just being processed, if they were being loaded onto the ship, if someone had found them out and they were being forcibly ejected from the premises. He wormed his hand out from underneath Roadhog's so that he could lace their fingers together. He just hoped that the bribe would be enough to get them through the initial inspection process, and that the rebreather would carry them home.

They'd found the most vulnerable worker to exploit, with Ava as their proxy, and he seemed grateful enough to hold up his end of the bargain. Ten years from now, some child would be going to university courtesy of the country's biggest criminals. It was kind of touching to think about, Junkrat later said, the two of them acting as sponsors to the unwitting less fortunate, even if it was done solely to further their nefarious plans.

After what felt like an eternity, they heard the unmistakable sounds of the ship's engines roaring to life, followed by the gentle rocking of the waves as they pulled away from the port. Junkrat let go of Roadhog's hand and sat up so quickly that he banged his head on the lid of the crate.

Roadhog detached his rebreathing apparatus for the express purpose of laughing at him, or so Junkrat was convinced. He rubbed his head ruefully and struggled to remove his own rebreather while Roadhog shouldered open the lid of the crate.

Junkrat unfolded his body and climbed out of their hiding space onto the metal shipping container that was wedged behind their box. “Next time, I say we just steal the fuckin' boat,” was the first thing Junkrat said after emerging. He cracked every joint in his neck with a satisfying series of pops and stretched out his back. His head was sore -- that was going to leave a bump -- but the relief he felt at pulling off the first leg of their venture surpassed any physical discomfort.

“Good a plan as any.”

“This whole ‘bein’ careful’ thing is a roight pain in the arse, I tell ya,” Junkrat continued. They were no strangers to convoluted plans, but they weren't used to being cautious. It just wasn't their style. They were loud and obnoxious and stuck out like a sore thumb, and if Junkrat was going for an elaborate scheme, it was going to be a bold one. After spending more time in the slammer than either of them would have liked, however, they decided it was time for a change of tack. Actively attempting to evade capture, as opposed to doing whatever they wanted and running when they were inevitably caught in the act, couldn’t hurt. “Tokyo better be worth all this bullshit.”

He glanced around the cargo hold. They were on the far end of the ship, near the loading ramp, surrounded by packages that ranged the gamut of sizes. There was hardly any floor space to navigate. He envisioned crawling around on top of boxes to get from one side of the hold to another.

Entirely out of nowhere, his thoughts from inside the crate popped into his mind. “Yer nails are chipped!” he blurted out and pointed at Roadhog triumphantly, thoroughly pleased that his memory hadn’t failed him for once.

To his credit, Roadhog took the abrupt change of subject in stride. He looked down at his hands and grunted in agreement. “Yeah. So are yours.” He pulled their dwindling supply of nail polish out of his pocket and sat down, Junkrat scrambling to sit next to him.

Junkrat held out his hand expectantly. He hadn't been very good at applying nail polish when he had two arms made out of flesh and bone. Now that one of them was mechanical, he was even worse, thanks to the fact that it was nigh impossible for him to hold the small brush in his right hand. Built out of scrap metal and a prayer, his prosthetic naturally lacked the epidermal ridges that would help secure his grip, so the brush just rolled out from between his metal fingers.

Thankfully, he had Roadhog. Roadhog, who always painted Junkrat’s nails first before painting his own. “A proper gentleman,” Junkrat had once called him before bursting into a fit of giggles, although Roadhog had maintained that it was because he couldn’t paint someone else’s nails while his own were still wet.

It was one of the few times when he was capable of sitting perfectly still, his fingertips poised on Roadhog’s palm. The spell was broken as soon as Roadhog declared the touchup complete, and it was back to fidgeting as he waited for his nails to dry. He’d gotten impatient in the past and started touching things before they had set, and it always led to smudged nails, so he had quickly learned his lesson.

It didn’t mean he had to be happy about it, though. He groaned dramatically, waving his hand in the air, while Roadhog studiously ignored him and concentrated on applying polish to his own nails. The wait was made worse by the fact that he was intensely curious about his surroundings and wanted nothing more than to poke around and see what other people were shipping overseas.

The moment his nails were dry enough for him to handle objects, he bounded to his feet and set off to explore. The cargo hold was filled with countless packages, and it was sensory overload as his eyes darted here and there, trying to figure out what he wanted to pry open first. He climbed over boxes, peeking at shipping labels and attempting guess which of them contained interesting loot.

He drew up short when he saw a large parcel with a logo on the side that identified it as a gourmet gift basket company. It took him a solid five minutes to figure out how to break into the crate, until he found a piece of metal that served as a crowbar. He wrenched it open to discover an enormous, cellophane-wrapped basket stuffed with fancy Australian cheeses, biscuits, macadamia nuts, and--

Junkrat threw his hands up in the air. “Jackpot!” he crowed.

“What did you find?” Roadhog called out.

Junkrat brandished two bottles. “We got wine, mate! And food too,” he added as an afterthought. “But the grog’s the important bit.”

He snatched up a lump of gouda to bring back with the bottles of wine, so that they could pretend to be the snobby fine dining assholes that they so often mocked. Junkrat put on his poshest accent.

“Wine and cheese for the good sir!” He bit into the hunk of cheese and passed it to Roadhog along with one of the bottles of wine. He plopped down beside him, the second bottle in his lap, and unscrewed his index finger to expose one of the screwdrivers that were part of his mechanical arm’s infrastructure.

Junkrat took care of the cork by stabbing it with the small screwdriver. He raised his bottle in Roadhog’s direction. “I propose a toast!” he declared. “To new adventures!”

“To new adventures,” Roadhog echoed. “And old friends.”

Junkrat was touched, but he tried not to let on just how much the sentiment affected him. Still, he couldn’t hold back the smile that stretched across his face. “Cheers, mate!” he said, clinking bottles with Roadhog and taking a hearty swig. He was fairly certain wine wasn’t meant to be chugged, but he’d be damned if he let that stop him.

Unlike hard liquor, which made him rowdier than ever, wine turned Junkrat into a sleepy drunk. A bottle or so later, he yawned and inched closer to Roadhog, seeking out creature comforts.

“S’good shit,” he mumbled. “Only ever got pissed off plonk before, y’know, whenever one of the Junkers got their hands on a wine cask or two.” He didn’t know that the good stuff tasted so much better. Wine would likely never be his drink of choice, but it wasn’t all that bad.

“Good old chateau cardboard,” Roadhog rumbled.

Even in his groggy state, Junkrat found the term inexplicably hilarious. He laughed uproariously and pressed an affectionate kiss to Roadhog’s arm.

For once, he didn’t have much to say; he just wanted to be close to his partner and enjoy a moment of silent, drunken bliss. They didn’t get quiet moments together very often. Roadhog was absorbed in sewing a new patch onto his harness, and Junkrat pulled out his detonator to give his own hands something to do. He rested against Roadhog’s leg, his entire body heavy and lethargic and warm as the waves of drowsiness washed over him.

Roadhog placed a hand on his head and ruffled his hair, and Junkrat barely suppressed a purr of contentment. It was a small gesture, but one that he loved. It was affectionate in a way that he had never experienced before Roadhog came into his life. It spoke of familiarity. It made him feel like he was home. He leaned into Roadhog’s touch and fiddled with his detonator, wrapping tape around it. It was cozy in the cargo hold like this, tucked up against Roadhog’s side, and he gradually drifted off to sleep, detonator falling to the wayside.

#roadrat #junkrat #roadhog #origins #voyages #my fanfiction

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thesteadydietofeverything · 7 years

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Final Fantasy XII: The Zodiac Age is a welcome update to an overlooked series highlight

I played Final Fantasy XII, a bit, when it originally came out in 2006. I wasn’t playing games much in general at the time - as a junior in high school, it was the start of several years that lasted probably up until I graduated college where my experiences playing video games were few and far between. Still, the impact the Final Fantasy series had on me just a few years prior, when I put a thoroughly unhealthy amount of time into playing VII-X, roughly between the ages of 9 and 13, meant that I at least felt the need to check this new game out, as I have with every new single-player entry in the series. At the time, my reaction to it was even less enthused than my more recent reactions to XIII and XV, both of which I played for around 20 hours, essentially enjoying myself for that time, but being put off enough by their flaws to abandon them well before completion of a full playthrough. I probably didn’t even get past the first five hours of this game before giving up on it to retire to my room and listen to Pavement records and read anarchist literature, or whatever it was I was doing at that age.

I don’t remember many specifics as to why I quit so early, but upon returning to it over ten years later with the newly released Final Fantasy XII: The Zodiac Age for PS4, it’s not hard to imagine. This game is a thorough departure from what the series had been so far - battle is no longer a random JRPG-style menu clicking affair, but a more streamlined approach not too unlike MMOs of the time. Not only that, but the main way that battle is done is through the game’s innovative and weird Gambit system, which allows the player to essentially program characters to perform a number of actions in particular situations by assigning them simple if-then statements. When your gambits are set up correctly, the game practically - as a number of critics at the time complained - “plays itself.” Grinding through the overworld or a dungeon can sometimes literally be as simple as pointing your party leader in the right direction and letting your well-trained team take care of the rest. At the time, such a system must have felt like a removal of many of the things that made Final Fantasy what it was to me; looking at it now, I can’t help but admire the daring deviation in a series that, for whatever flaws it undoubtedly has, has proven itself to be consistently unafraid of twisting its formula in unique and bizarre ways.

My newfound appreciation for this overlooked series entry, however, is not just a result of time and distance. The Zodiac Age changes the way the game plays in a number of really quite significant ways. One of these changes is with its License Boards - the means by which the player spends earned experience to learn new abilities, use new weapons and armor, gain significant amounts of HP and helpful skills buffs, etc. Though I never played the original game enough to remember how these Boards originally looked, they’ve now been modified to lock each character into two “jobs” of the player’s choosing - one at the beginning of the game, and another a few hours into it. Again, my lack of experience with the original prevents me from true comparison, but considering how open-ended and overwhelming these job-based Boards can be, I’m happy to not have to deal with the truly open approach of the original.

A much more clear and obvious difference in this new addition is the inclusion of a dedicated fast forward button. Literally. At any point while not engaged in dialogue or the menu, the player can simply tap R1 to make the game play either twice or four times as fast as its normal speed. This seems like a bizarre option at first, one that I wasn’t particularly keen on utilizing in my first couple hours of gameplay: the characters move at a decidedly silly, Benny Hill-esque pace at these speeds, and when just getting acquainted with combat, actions happen at a rate too fast to properly comprehend. But I soon came to realize that for large sections of the game, double time feels like a perfectly natural pace to move in, considering the size of some of the maps in the game and the rather laborious pace of the normal speed. Some of the more labyrinthian sections of the game can take hours to fully explore - the final dungeon, for example, took me nearly five hours to get through at double speed, and while navigating my way through such a massive and rewarding space was possibly my favorite sequence of the game, I imagine that if it had taken me practically twice as long, it would have worn out its welcome long before I had finished it.

The Zodiac Age, of course, also sharpens and clarifies the graphics of the original in a pretty impressive way - it’s not that it doesn’t still essentially look like the PS2 game that it is so much that it accentuates the striking potential still being squeezed out of the aging console at the time of this game’s release, mere months before the launch of the PS3. Additionally, the entire gorgeous score has been re-recorded. Despite my initial misgivings about this game being the first FF I’m aware of to use a composer other than Nobuo Uematsu, Hitoshi Sakimoto wrote truly some of the most lovely and iconic video game music I’ve ever heard with this game, and to hear it expertly performed in high quality audio is something that never failed to propel me through the several dozen hours I spent with it.

Lastly, one of the more subtle, but very important additions of this new version is the inclusion of an autosave feature. Again, sometimes I’d go an hour or two in double time between save crystals, and it wasn’t unusual to occasionally die in that time: the game contains these enemies called “Elementals,” eerie floating orbs that look not unlike something out of the new season of Twin Peaks and can utterly devastate your party in the early hours of the game. With autosave, it was easy enough to simply start a couple minutes before I encountered said Elemental and do everything that I could to avoid it, but if I had been forced to go back an hour or more to the last save crystal, I likely would have set the controller down for good out of utter disgust for a game wasting my time like that in 2017.

All of this puts me in an interesting position, considering that the last review I wrote was for the Crash Bandicoot N. Sane Trilogy, in which I struggled to grasp the point of a remaster/remake deviating from its source in a way that fundamentally changes one’s experience of the game. There are a few obvious differences here. First of all, when it comes down to it, this is still technically the same game. The N. Sane Trilogy was a bizarre exercise in attempting to completely remake a game from the ground up in a new engine, while attempting to give it as much fidelity to the original as possible. In practice, though, lazy or insufficient design meant that the game just didn’t feel like the originals, despite its obvious visual similarities. The Zodiac Age, on the other hand, is a more traditional remaster, but with a whole lot more: the additions and modifications may change the game in significant and meaningful ways, but the core game is exactly as it always has been.

Probably even more importantly, these changes actually improve the game. Granted, my limited experience with the original means that any nostalgia or endearing feelings I have for it are mostly relegated to a general affinity for the series rather than specific memories of my first time playing it. This is as opposed to, say, Crash Bandicoot 2: Cortex Strikes Back, which I unequivocally played the shit out of as a kid. Still, the changes seem to stick to objective improvements: the ability to control the speed of play and the autosave feature make this game immeasurably more accessible to modern players, including those who, like myself, don’t necessarily want to devote the 60-80 hours of gameplay the original demanded in order to experience what the game has to offer. I imagine that even adventurous devotees of the original will be thrilled at an old favorite being given such a graphical and aural overhaul, not to mention the new play styles offered by the modified License Boards.

But all of these tweaks and improvements would mean little if, at the core, there weren’t already a great game worth revisiting here, and as a fan of this series, it’s a uniquely satisfying feeling to discover that this 11-year-old game is, indeed, great. While not exactly exempt of typical JRPG bullshit, it’s the strange, fascinating, and (relatively) mature game one would want out of a collaboration between Hiroyuki Ito (director of my two other favorite games in the series, FFVI and FFIX) and Hiroshi Minagawa (director of two other classics of the genre whose complexity precluded my appreciation at the time they came out: Final Fantasy Tactics and Vagrant Story; maybe it’s about time I revisit those as well).

It’s worth noting at the mention of Minagawa that this game’s setting of Ivalice puts it in the same world as his other games. The story, for as indebted as it is to Star Wars (and, unless I’m projecting, Game of Thrones, which is at the least interesting to note, given the exceptional pop culture phenomena that series has become since the show debuted five years after the release of this game), is engaging in its political intrigue and subtle character dynamics, especially compared to the melodramatic bombast of most of its PS2 JRPG peers, including Final Fantasy X. While all of these games, toward the end, are going to boil down to needing to save the world from some megalomaniacal evil and mystical jargon about crystals, and this game is no different, it at least boasts some of the best characters that have graced the series. Of particular note is the relationship between Balthier - think a demonstrably more suave Han Solo - and his partner Fran, a Viera (yeah, the sexy rabbit ladies) who has a mysterious connection to the magical Mist of the world. It’s hardly an original pairing - this game, as most games of its genre do, utilizes reductive archetypes - but through a combination of solid writing and particularly strong voice acting for the time, it just works.

What also works, and works shockingly well, is the aforementioned Gambit system. Though conventional wisdom might suggest that reducing the actions needed to be taken by the player decreases the player’s engagement in the game, the opposite, as it turns out, seems to be be true in this case. In other Final Fantasy games, typical combat transports you to a different game screen where the player, more often than not, continually taps the action button to attack until all enemies are dead, a marginally fun exercise that can become mind-numbingly tedious upon repetition - and if there’s one thing you can expect in a game like this, it’s repetition. By keeping me on the map and allowing me to assign rote moves to characters to do themselves, the game actually kept me focus on the more fun aspects of these moments - the Diablo-esque satisfaction of filling out a map and collecting loot, the colorful character and enemy animations, and tweaking my Gambits to make sure that I really am doing all of this as efficiently as possible. Very few games make grinding as gratifying of an experience as Final Fantasy XII.

Of course, as abnormally gratifying as that grinding is, there’s still a lot of it, and even with the fast-forward feature, the game still takes quite a while to get through - my final time was right around 45 hours. This was with doing a good amount of the side content the game has to offer, including many of the optional monster hunts scattered throughout the world (while I declined to do several of the late-game hunts, I wholly admired this system, which drove me deeper into dungeons I had already explored, revealing whole levels that I never previously realized existed); still, I’d imagine a more straightforward playthrough would only shave that time off by a handful of hours.

Even I, under different circumstances, would have likely gotten bored with this if I hadn’t played it at the time that I did. This game happened to be released toward the beginning of the summer session at the school that I work at, where I’d typically work twelve-hour days throughout the week. As it turned out, after coming home exhausted and yet oddly wired every night, putting a couple hours into running around this vast JRPG world was exactly the kind of meditative release I needed to relax me before going to bed and doing it all over again. I can pretty definitively say this game helped me survive the most stressful time of my work year, and as a result, I’m all the more happy I never discovered this game’s idiosyncratic charms until now. Now I do have a well of good memories associated with a particular time and place wrapped up in this game, and I have a new top-tier favorite in a series I will never be able to help but love.

8.5/10

#Final Fantasy XII #Final Fantasy XII: The Zodiac Age #Square Enix #JRPG #Video Games #Games #PS2 #PS4 #retro #review #criticism #pop culture

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