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08melancholie · 1 month ago

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Honeysuckle and Whiskey. — Micah Bell/OC

CHAPTER 3 — MR. VAN DER LINDE.

words: 2,960 | AO3 LINK — MASTERLIST

(Chapter 1 "Colter and Gang Rivalry." or Masterlist for tags and summary.)

warnings: torture by burning (theres a cw before the scene)

She was at the camp for three days now; injured, hungry, dehydrated and exhausted. Every night, Melody just watched the stars or the dancing fire at their campfire, unable to calm herself for any shuteye. On the second day, when everyone fell asleep, she let herself quietly sob away some of the worry and fear bottled up inside her, making sure nobody saw or heard it. She wanted to look unbothered and unamused by their intimidation, and she tried very hard to get that.

"It'll get infected, Dutch..." Arthur's voice quietly snapped her out of her thought, and Melody quietly listened in. "You'll have a better chance of her talkin' if she's alive." He adds. "Let me do it if you ain't wanna."

Dutch quietly whispered to him before Arthur walked out and approached, kneeling before the woman. "Lift your leg on my thigh." He commanded, and Melody winced as she moved it up to his thigh, still wary and reluctant about doing any of it; why should she trust them? He took some alcohol and a rag out of his satchel, applying it before slowly tapping around her wound. Melody definitely tried looking unphased, but quiet winces and gasps escaped her lips. He noticed this, starting to work more gently at that. "Relax."

Melody's hands gripped the grass underneath as he gently peeled her bloody jeans off of her wound and up to her knee, to get a better look at it. "Dutch is.." He started, but quickly stopped himself and just continued cleaning up Melody's leg in silence. At the sound of his name, Dutch walked out and leaned on his tent wall with his usual preferred breakfast; a cigar. Bastard.

Finally, the burning stopped as she got used to the feeling, and Dutch watched the rest of the process. Arthur put the rag away soon, wrapping gauze around the wound tightly. Melody let her chest quickly rise and fall as the process was over, before calming it. He leaned around and looked at her bloody wrists. "Jesus.." Arthur got up and walked to the back of the tree, pouring droplets of alcohol over Melody's cuts-a little hidden by the rope—as she winced and cursed under her breath. He got up after trying his best to patch up her wrists while still bound.

"It's your choice, y'know." He turned around as he was walking away, talking to Melody one last time. "How this ends for you, I mean." He nodded at her silence with a sigh, ready to walk off with a 'I tried' expression at Dutch.

"Mm.." Melody hummed reluctantly, getting his attention before opening her mouth. "Thank you.. Arthur." She said almost silently, looking him in the eyes as he turned back around. "You're welcome, sweetheart." He quietly replied and dipped his hat at Melody, walking off and passing by Dutch with a smug grin. Dutch scoffed and turned his gaze back to Melody, glaring harshly as he smoked his cigar.

Another night approached, and the members drank and sang at the fire again, these late-night parties extremely popular now. Melody kept wondering why Dutch wasn't with his gang when they met up like this; he was a strange man, one she couldn't read despite how much she'd known of him from Colm. He just sat in his tent with a light on as his members had fun. Well; fun might even be an understatement for these people, seeing what they do when a little liquor gets into their system.

As it reached around midnight, maybe 1 AM, everyone scattered to their tents. Dutch's light usually goes out by this time—when everyone leaves and it gets quiet in camp—but it stayed on as his silhouette slowly paced around the tent, with what seemed to be a book. An outlaw that busies himself in books instead of sleeping; quite interesting.

It was another one-of-those nights where Melody felt she needed a quiet sob to stay strong throughout the day, but didn't want to risk it with Dutch's light still on, and with him still awake. Her chest quickly rose and dropped, and she could barely hold back breaking out in a quiet sob. She exhaled sharply as she quietly let a few tears roll down. His pacing slows until he's walking, soon after closing the book and putting it away. Melody watches through blurry eyes, somewhat interested.

He walked to the entrance of his tent, and she brushed her face on her shoulders quickly, drying it. He walked out quietly, and his gaze immediately flicked to the woman as she forced her eyes up to the sky. Melody could see him turn his whole body to face her, watching once more. Creep.

Suddenly, he started approaching and Melody felt her chest nervously rise. He stepped into view until his dark figure covered the stars above. "You're blocking my view." She muttered, almost immediately mentally cursing at herself after. Being cocky when he can simply put a bullet between her eyes, a very idiotic tactic, but she let it slip—she's only human.

"Hmm.." He just hummed, watching down at me. "So, the first words you've spoken to me since you entered my camp are complaints, you've really got some nerve, girl." He scolds, a hint of amusement in his voice.

She exhaled sharply, almost like a sigh. "I.. apologise," She muttered even quieter. "But, I can't help wondering why you've not killed me, Mr. Van der Linde." She questions him quickly—surprised by her own formality and sudden urge to talk. Might be the desperation to get out of these bounds quicker, the little hope she had of it actually happening.

He watched her whole frame pressed against the tree, visibly taken aback by how talkative she was being as well. "You're information, girl. And until you talk," He kneels down before her, face inching closer in an intimidating manner—an attempted one, at best. "we'll keep you tied to this tree, starving." He leaned a hand over her head and onto the tree. The fierce look in his eyes which reflected the surroundings was almost hypnotising, and Melody felt just mildly frightened by it.

"And.. what information do you seek, even?" She asked, looking him in the eyes intently.

He hums in amusement. "You'll see, when you comply. I trust it isn't soon; all that will leave those O'Driscoll lips of yours now will be lies." He suddenly gets up, hand leaving the tree and walking off to his tent quietly. And well, she's unable to answer his claim—because she was going to try and lie her way out of here.

It leaves her in anticipation; his words last night did a number on her, like he'd expected them to, unable to sleep again as she watched the night sky turn bright, the morning rising before her. Is she ready to truly rat out her gang to him, a man they and she hold so much pure hatred for? To be fair, they betrayed her first. It's like.. payback? Everything feels weird; being here, tied up and forced to rat out what was partially her only family since she was young.

She watches as a few members get up out of their tents, pouring mugs of coffee. Melody's throat dries up even more than it already has in the past few days, knowing they left her without anything to drink, torturing her by having her watch them with warm, blissful cups in their hands at the unlit campfire.

She could barely handle the sounds her stomach would make whenever someone started eating, either. It was killing her from the inside out. Every time she glanced at Dutch while he was in her point of view, the previous night repeated in her mind like a broken record. She'll just have to endure this until—hopefully—Colm comes to get her. Surely, it'll be soon.

Melody leans her head on the tree behind herself in exhaustion. How much longer? She doesn't even trust they'll let her go after squeezing all the needed information out of her.

She slowly closes her eyes and opens them, as they've started burning from no sleep and the afternoon sun picking at them. Almost every camp member has lost interest—the small exceptions being Dutch and Arthur, both with very different motives. And, as if right on cue, Dutch walks out with that damn cigar, looking. She almost acts on the urge to cockily greet him with a nod as if they were friends, but chose to keep her head for now.

"She's been holding out pretty good, Dutch.." The faint voice of Arthur can be heard, followed by Dutch's low chuckle. He whispers something back, and Arthur nods before leaving Melody's view. "She'll talk soon enough, won't she?" He calls out to her, seemingly amused by this little situation of Melody's.

She glares at him through half-lidded eyes. Soon, another man she doesn't recognize walks by, whistling like at a dog towards Melody which infuriates her to her core. "Too bad you's an O'Driscoll girl, you's a real keeper, eh Dutch?" He cackles, and Dutch quietly nods as the man leaves. She almost lets her eyes roll into the back of her head in annoyance, but her chest does start rising and falling a bit quicker in anger. She knew they were all dogs, anyway.

"Little Sean anger you?" He starts walking up to Melody, who keeps her lips sealed; not in the mood after that. He notices her quietness, looking down at the woman as she's waist level to him from the floor. Those fierce brown eyes keep looking into her own ones, she's carelessly returning the glare in an almost challenging way. That is, until he lands a good, strong kick right to her injured leg, and she can't stop a yelp escaping her lips, the hit he lands on her stinging and pulsing, lasting an excruciatingly long time for her. Melody was sure her exclaim of pain could be heard all around camp.

"That'll happen every time you try to ignore me, smartass. Except next time," He leans down until his face is inches away, noses barely not touching. "it'll be a kick in your ribs, and I'll make sure to break every single one, O'Driscoll scum.." He almost growls in a way, flicking his used cigar while standing up and still looking down at her. She lets a little tear slip from the excruciating pain when he turns with a proud, low hum. Bastard. She can't be too mad, as it was her own fault for acting like this, but still.

Another two days pass after that incident where he ignores Melody, along with everyone except for occasional glances from Arthur. They're neutral; he's not mad, not upset, not happy. Just.. neutral. Which Melody'll take as a good thing. Hopefully.

During those two days, her routine continued; she watched people during the day, and the stars at night. Her luck seems to have not run out just yet, as the situation slowly got more bearable when she stopped feeling hunger after a few days passed. Her body would respond to the smell of the fresh stew as it passed by when someone got themselves a portion, but she didn't feel mentally hungry anymore—which was nice.

It seems as though Dutch missed her silence after being parted with her for two days, because he continued his routine of watching Melody as he smoked his cigars. She just stared back with a monotone expression, seemingly unphased by his sudden, lessened attention to her. Though, his expression was just as neutral. He just stood there, body turned to her, smoking.

She soon lost interest, looking away before he addressed her directly. "No, no. Look at me, girl." Melody cocked her head back at him and away from the campfire conversation which interested her a whole lot more. "How obedient, good..." She definitely saw the little amused smirk he threw her, the asshole. "Good to know you can listen." The bastard loved the control. Anyone could see so.

And so, she watched until he finished his cigar, expecting something out of him since he wanted her attention on him so badly, but no. He finished the cigar, threw it away and walked into his tent. And Melody didn't understand at all why. He was such a strange man.

She was surprising herself with her own endurance; it's now been a full two weeks. Her only help was a quick late night drink of water from the lady on her first day every now and then, whose name she learned is Mary-Beth. She always thanked her lowly, almost wishing she could show Dutch he's the only person Melody has no interest interacting with.

"How is she not dyin' of dehydration?" She heard low whispers to her left, people at the campfire. Instantly, her eyes shot to poor Mary-Beth; who looked so guilty. She nodded slightly to her reassuringly, and Mary-Beth managed a faint smile back. She was a nice girl, Melody was sure of that.

"You tryna' make friends with 'em? They all want to see you decay on this tree, miss." Arthur's voice approached from her right, some sarcasm embedded into his chosen tone. He was smoking a cigarette quietly and probably noticed Melody interacting with someone across the camp. She shrugged at him with no response at first—still very untrustworthy of everyone—until she saw Dutch watching, and got too cocky for her own good.

"I guess so." She beckoned him to lean closer so that she could whisper something to him. "That Mary-Beth y'all got is a real nice girl, protect her." He nodded in agreement to her words, taking a drag of the cigarette nestled between his fingers. Melody threw occasional glances at Dutch; a vein formed on his forehead in anger. He was obviously mad Melody could talk freely to Arthur, but never to him. It amused her more than it should have. Stupid, cocky girl.

"So you can talk, eh?" Arthur chuckled, noticing her gaze turn from him to the space behind him. He turned—finding a very pissed Dutch observing them—and immediately connected the dots. "You still haven't talked to him? Oh you're playin' with fire here. Your funeral." He chuckles before walking away to the campfire, leaving Melody with a Dutch whose gaze burns right through her form.

She could see how much he wanted to walk over and beat her senseless. It wasn't hard to catch. Hell, she'd even say she can see the same look in his eyes as Colm's before he'd land a hit on her. She just watched him with no expression again, waiting for something from him. The back-and-forth wasn't a good idea, for her.

CW: Torture methods. (Burning)

Luckily, he didn't react and left it alone as night approached. Melody did what she usually does, watching the sky or anything that'll keep her sane while tied to this damn tree.

"So you'll talk to Arthur," he walks out of his tent with another cigar. Where is his infinite stash, Melody oh-so-wonders. "but won't give me even an ounce of your attention, you brat?" His voice is stern and gravelly, he has a lantern in his other hand as he smokes until he's reached the woman, one knee falling to the ground with himself. "I'll make you talk. I'll break you one day." Melody just watched, albeit a bit surprised.

And so, she stays as silent as ever. "Someone's gonna have to teach you manners, girl." He takes another long drag before unbuttoning the first two buttons of Melody's shirt, and exposing her neck on her right side. She felt her breathing stop in an instant. "Are you gonna talk? Or are you gonna make me go to lengths I rather wouldn't?" He asked, but Melody stayed quiet—stupidly enough. "Fine."

She'd never smelled the disgusting, foul smell of burning flesh before. It smelled like rotten meat, is how she'd describe it if Melody was asked. As soon as that cigar made contact with the sensitive skin on her neck, Melody turned her head and cried out into her shoulder, biting the shirt and skin there to stay quiet. "No. Look at me." He grabbed her chin roughly, cigarette still pressed into her neck as she sobbed from the pain, tears falling into his hand while he listened to her cries and yelps, voice getting breathy and uneven as she squirmed.

He soon took it away and she coughed up more sobs, gagging from the smell alone. She couldn't even look at him, that was until Melody heard him relighting the cigar, when her gaze flicked to him. "Do we have to try again, girl?" He looked down at Melody. She coughed up one last sob before rubbing her dampened eyes and cheeks on her shoulder, looking up at him with even more foolish determination. It's like she had a death wish, seriously. "Oh, you poor stubborn thing. It won't work on me." He kneels, grabbing her face roughly again as he lowers the cigar just millimetres away from the skin on her neck, this time closer to the collarbone. But she continues watching him, eyes watering ever so slightly as it nears her bare flesh again. The heat of the fire so close to her skin can be felt instantly, and she sucks in a breath to brace herself. But, as it nears, he just stands and backs up as he throws the cigar to the ground, stomping it out. With that, he walks away, leaving Melody a crying mess for the rest of the night, sobbing or gagging from the smell.

Kudos on AO3 very appreciated!! You may have noticed that Micah hasn't yet been mentioned, but I promise he'll be here in a chapter or so!

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jonesypiercedme · 6 days ago

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Resources (Rough Draft) As of November 24 2024

Please inform me if any links lead to the wrong place, any names are misspelled, or your blog is attached to the wrong link! I searched through my asks and reblogs and put this all into a word document.

RESOURCES LIST POST AS OF NOVEMBER 24, 2024

MASTERLIST OF PALESTINIANS WHO HAVE REACHED OUT TO ME AS OF

November 24 2024

@abedhilles Abdul Rahman https://gofund.me/b71f56c3 Please help him and his child, Karam, leave Gaza for medical treatment after their wife and mother, Ola Al-dahdouh, was martyred.

@aboodalqedra5 Aboud Al-Qudra https://gofund.me/969f46f9 He is a business owner protecting his family while they suffer from chronic diseases in their situation, please help them!

@aboyousef1973 Hamdi Ali https://gofund.me/19644da5 He is 51 years old looking to make get his wife and fours children survive in Egypt by gaining permanent residency in order to work! Please help them get back to the baseline of safety and back to being educated! ALT: @abuyasin156

@adamnsers-blog Adam AlBatniji https://gofund.me/5db8b077 He is looking to leave Gaza, continue his education and contribute to rebuilding his homeland. Please help!

@ahmedhells-blog Ahmed Halas http://gofund.me/5dec98bc He and his family are suffering physically and emotionally trying to leave their home, and they need to support Fathi and Mahmoud in their pain!

@aiamaher2 Aya Almajdoub https://gofund.me/7039df71 Please read and spread her story so that she and her family and her three-year-old sone Bassam may escape to safety!

@alamoudi-ghazi Ghazi Al Amoudi https://gofund.me/5525dd28 He is an instructional designer only a year older than I am and is looking to escape bloodshed and terror with his family, please help him!

@ali-manar3 Manar https://gofund.me/08e5f6c9 Please read their story and pray for them and know them – I know exactly how horrifying kidney pain is, and if kidney stones are one of the worst pains, being dehydrated/not being able to absorb filter liquids screws with your entire body and pain, and Yazan is also injured. Please donate even if only to make the pain easier for a day.

@ayaaymanalanqar96 Aya Alanqar https://gofund.me/98f0e28e She is a content creator whose family has lost their home and hearth, please help them find safety so they may one day build their sweet home again. ALT: @ayaaymananqar

@eman-zaqoutt Eman Zaqout https://gofund.me/b141d50f Eman is a medical employee, medical researcher, and pursuing a PhD while trying to escape with her husband and two young children, please help them all achieve their dream!

@hananfamily Hanan Al-Salout https://gofund.me/167c9345 Please help this child psychologist get medical treatment for her mother-in-law and protect herself and her child! ALT: @hanan-alsfamily

@help-mona Mohammed and Mona https://gofund.me/000af1bc Mona, named after her grandmother, and her father are looking to move to Egypt and receive medical attention for their family and survive. Please help them!

@hildanasr1 Hilda Ayyad https://gofund.me/7b9bdde1 Please help her; she is pregnant in a place not meant for infants or mothers with little to no medical support!

@jamela-salem Jameela Al-Dah-douh https://gofund.me/20ced9b0 She is 70 with her husband and is in pain and suffering greatly, and she does not deserve the pain she carries. Help her alleviate it!

@leenmata1 Lynn Matar https://gofund.me/064dd426 She needs to take care of her physical needs and the diseases of her own children at the same time, please help this family!

@loaykolabloay-2 Mahmoud Kullab https://gofund.me/0976e8f2 Please help him support his nephew and niece, Zain and Lana, escape from the horrors of war with their family!

@mahmodjsy Mahmoud Jehad https://gofund.me/70b35a0a He is looking to escape the war with his family and continue his studies in Information Technology, please help him do this!

@mahmoudayyads Mahmoud Ayyad https://gofund.me/b9ca4d4b Please help this family of 43 protect the love and lives most important to them and escape this nightmare.

@majedgerbawi Majed https://gofund.me/5a7e56c9 Please help this family survive and continue their studies in Egypt while the horrors of war continue.

@marahkatoa2000 Marah https://gofund.me/829ffcb4 She is looking to leave with her parents, brother, and cat, to treat medical emergencies, chronic malnutrition and dehydration, and study to become a lawyer. Please help her!

@mohammedyasers Mohammed Yaser https://gofund.me/144c5643 They need 350 more to reach a short term goal, you can help this family of 7 escape torment!

@savebasmalafamily1 Basmala Almadhoun https://gofund.me/9ea11f33 Help her live and thrive with her family and her sister’s family. There are multiple children 18 and younger and multiple only a few years older. Please help them!!

@savezainafamily Zeina https://gofund.me/c165df3f Please help this family protect their youngest child to their oldest adult by escaping a place humanitarian aide is banned.

@shimabassam Shima https://gofund.me/154369ce Please, my own mother knows the horror of waking to a child thrashing and screaming in terror; they don’t deserve this torment anymore.

@youseffamily Youssef Al-Habeel https://gofund.me/6def755e Their son Majd is suffering from a severe respiratory illness at a frighteningly young age. They need to be able to relocate and pay for these treatments during this long-term crisis!!

@zinaanqar Dina Alanqar https://gofund.me/7b67a844 Please help this family with an infant survive these terrible conditions and find their way back home in safety!!

OTHERS WHO HAVE REACHED OUT TO ME

@edvina-brkic on behalf of Krisztián Koller https://gogetfunding.com/help-the-koller-family/ Please help this father of 6 after an intense shoulder injury receive the proper treatment he needs going forward!

OTHER GOFUNDMES

Sahar Shehab https://gofund.me/24c5f5e8 He is only 14 and trying to evacuate with his family and survive displacement, please help him!

@shimabassam Shima https://gofund.me/154369ce Please help this mother save her husband and desperately young children!!

OTHER DONATIONS

https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/ (one click is a donation!)

https://freerice.com/ (loved this as a kid, maybe try it after clicking the link above this one to help those in Palestine first ^^)

BOOKS I AM READING AS I RELEARN TO READ WITHOUT DISSOCIATING (maybe this is good for a suddenly-poetry blog)

Mythology by Edith Hamilton (BIG Recommend even if she suffers the “primitive Greeks vs MIRACULOUSLY INTELLIGENT HUMAN PEOPLE Greeks” in some of her writing like you stand on the backs of titans academically and so do the Greek people and so did they in the past … I love screaming at her in the margins like a parasocial fan)

The Hundred Years’ War on Palestine by Rashid Khalidi (finally just got it!)

How to Read and Why by Hardold Bloom (I dissociated away the ability for over a decade … I need this.)

#gaza #free palestine #fundraising #hope #take action #donate #fundraiser #gofundme #poetry #donations #take accountability #tagged poetry for the books below as I dont wanna ask for help by fully misleading #I may need to sleep or focus on random things now for however long but usually im focused until 8am #not sure but i plan to try to make an original donation post a day like with a poll and queue up/write a bunch of poetry #i hope this is good! I plan to edit it later to make it better

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poll-ventures · 2 years ago

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Perdition 1.4

< >

I hung up. I stared at the phone in my hand, its screen showing an old rotary telephone slamming into its receiver.

Numbly, I watched it repeat several times before it faded away into the black of the dead screen. Why had I done that?

What am I doing?

I broke into a sprint down the road, running as fast as I could to the woods.

*****

The woods of Old Hill were untouched. Serene, tranquil, and still easing itself awake from the dusty silence of early morning. I tore through the trees at a sprint, thin vines and branches tearing at my coat as I sped over the cold packed dirt and gnarled forest roots.

I was following a creek, and I was relatively sure it was the same one that Noel meant. I’d seen the maps of the land in the museums, but those had never held much truth when it came to small details like a small creek in the heavy western woods. Noel's parent's mansion had been built only a few decades ago, so I was guessing at a ghost.

I slowed as I approached a large fallen basswood tree, leaning on it as I caught my breath. I really wasn’t made for running, and my lungs screamed with the icy air pulling and pushing out of them. As I sat on the cool bark, I faced the way I’d come, and recognized it.

I’d been here before, with Noel, when she needed a break from her homework, or life in general. This was near the right spot.

“Noel!” I shouted, turning around on the tree to search for her. The quiet, yet alive chatter of the woods slowed as my voice rung out, then returned as it died.

A woodpecker stabbed a rhythm into a far away tree, and the forest all together went on uncaring. I swore under my breath, and moved my legs to straddle the cold dead tree like a horse.

The felled basswood spanned the creek, and I stared down its length as I caught my breath. Moving my gloved hand down the trunk, I found my glove was sticking to something.

It was a carved heart. The injured wood was green and fresh, sap building up and out at the edges of the cut.

The letters in the heart read N + J, then a date. 2-3-23. Very fresh. I stared at the ‘N’, brushing the older sap aside with my thick gloved digits.

Natalie.

The name still burned painfully in my heart, incorrect and shameful in the memories it wrought. One word from a well meaning stranger, one reminder of the date of the accident, that’s all it took.

February 15th, 2020. The night was alive in my mind again, without my asking. I turned my head up, to face the woods.

The woods, as many dark and cold nights on the road had taught me, could be very dangerous. Refusing to drive or even be driven after the accident, I had backpacked my way down from New York.

I’d thought the trip would be quick; Google Maps said ten days, and I thought I'd be in Old Hill in nine, maybe eight days, easy.

After the money for inns and motels had run out, I had realized that walking worked on the same kind of time that hospitals and classes right before lunch did: Slow time.

Time that stretches on until you're sunburnt and dehydrated, until you want to turn back, but that would make things even worse, and everyone back home doesn’t want you there anyway, so just keep on heading down I-81 counting the mile markers.

Slow time traps you in this until your eyes roll into the back of your skull, and you’re willing to sleep on a pile of rusty nails because at least they don’t fucking honk at you for having the gall to walk on the shoulder instead of in the gluttonous mud trench that sucks your falling-apart-shoes down its shit-coated-throat.

So, after a long day of trudging, the sun would go down, sometimes obligingly slow, sometimes slipping right out of slow time and into blink-and-you’ll-miss-it time, diving below the horizon and leaving you soaking wet, struggling with two damp sticks to make a fire.

This, however, was preferable to the perils of the interstate’s shoulder and its many bored, cloying cops and just-like-me vagrants.

If I had to choose, though, it’d be the vagrants. I’d shared a few kind fires with a number of them, sometimes learning their names and their stories, sometimes sitting in uneasy silence until we wandered off to sleep in private.

As the weeks wore on, I had been moving into a cold front, and not sleeping in front of the fire had become impossible.

More often than not, I’d made camp in a thin layer of trees that lined a highway-side property. Sometimes you’d need to hop a fence, which started out hard, but by the second week was routine.

This was technically and legally trespassing, but a camo sleeping bag and a good spot usually got you through the night without disturbance. Usually.

More than once, I’d been woken by something rummaging through my belongings, sometimes even the coat I’d been sleeping in. Sometimes it’d be curious and annoyed animals, but most times it had been people. The cops had always been the worst.

“What you’re doing is illegal,” they’d say, then look at me confused and finish either with “Sir,” or, more often, “Ma’am.” Always with disapproval in their voice and always using more force than needed.

Sometimes they’d let me move on, or I’d get a ride to their office, where they called my father, confirmed he knew where I was, then bewilderedly let me go, usually with a stern warning.

Most cops, when they understood, had offered food and drink for my trip. Some had even offered rides, which I graciously denied. Some offered neither, and just let me go.

One, the worst, had left me locked up in the little town’s singular cell for three days and three nights. It was just outside of West Virginia, right after I’d crossed the Kentucky border.

Jessup, as the nothing little two-road town was called, apparently had trouble keeping folk around. Or so I was told by Jessup’s top boozer, who said his name was Jesse. He’d already been in the cell when I was thrown in.

The officer who’d found me on the side of the road, a mean mugging ugly woman, had given Jesse her meanest mug as she walked away with a clipboard securely tucked beneath one arm.

Jesse of Jessup played harmonica, and drank like a fish. In the morning he was always set free, but at night, he was brought to the cell, what he lovingly and drunkenly called ‘Jesse’s Little Corner of Jessup’.

On my last night in his town, he’d snuck in a small bottle of Fireball, a deck of cards, and his dirty harmonica, still wet from its play in the bar. After the mean-mugger had left for the night, Jesse showed me how to play Hearts, Bullshit, Garbage, and the 'ca.

He was good, and I told him as much. In his jovial way, he corrected me: “I’m not good,” I remembered him slurring, “I’m mean. ‘Jesse,’ you should say. ‘You play a meaaaaan har-moan-i-cah,’ you should be saying.”

So I did, and he cheered. We shared no campfire, but did huddle and did dance around the rattling radiator, him blowing sharply into the ‘cah and me stomping my boots and clapping my hands.

He’d thanked me for my company, and kissed me gently on the cheek. He’d reeked of alcohol and worse, but I thanked him for his good humor, and let him sleep.

After the mean-mugger had exhausted all of her attempts to find me guilty of various crimes, she’d let me go. She had demanded I shower first, staring me down with a disappointed grandmotherly glare. So, thanks to her, I walked out of Jessup and up the highway on-ramp cleaner than I’d been in weeks.

The memory of the mean-faced officer set a worry ablaze in my stomach as I stared down the creek. Again, the stab of the woodpecker cut through the wood’s idle chatter. Why was I out here?

Why in the world had I ignored direct orders from an officer of the law, when they knew my name and phone number? It gnawed at me. I’d never done anything like this.

I finally crossed the log, and stepped off of it onto the other side of the creek. “Noel!” I shouted out again, this time more of a bark. A quick check of the woods revealed nothing but the quiet apathy that suffused the trees. Wasting my time, when she could be in danger. What the fuck am I do-

“Hands up,” a thin, scared voice said from behind me. I recognized the slight southern accent.

“Noel,” I said, half turning my head. “I-”

“I said hands up!” She was shouting now, and I turned to face her with my hands up.

Noel, almost thirteen and dressed in stained Hello Kitty pijamas, held a rifle aimed at my chest. The lever action rifle was almost comically large in her arms, and I laughed nervously, falling, then stepping backwards as she approached me slowly, gun held level against her shoulder. She was trying not to cry.

“Where is my father,” she asked in a broken voice, screwing up her face in a grimace.

“I-I don’t know, Noel, what are you doing? I came here to help you,” I blurted out, still holding my hands in the air carefully. “Please, put the gun down.”

She shook her head. “Answer me,” she said, waving it in the air. She stood on the basswood I had crossed the creek on, and faced me, searching my face for a clue.

“I don’t know,” I repeated, feeling the cold press of a tree against my back. The creek babbled quietly next to us, and I stared at her. We both stood, unmoving.

Carefully, she stared at me, then raised the gun to point at my head. “Stop fucking lying!” she barked at me. I flinched, closing my eyes.

“I’m not! The cops said you were missing, nothing about your dad! I don’t know what the hell is going on, I just want you to stop pointing that thing at me,” I said, breathing heavily.

“Bullshit,” she spat, the curse sounding foreign in her light voice. “Don’t move,” she said, and braced the rifle against her with one arm as she dug in her pocket for something. Then she threw it at me, and adjusted her grip on the gun.

Her phone landed next to me in the leaves, the screen lighting up to show a picture of Noel and her mother, smiling happily in a selfie. I looked up at her, facing the glare of the rifle’s blackened metal barrel. She stared at me, raw anger in her eyes.

“You know the passcode,” she growled. “Open it. Watch the video.” I blinked, then nodded, crouching slowly and taking my right hand down to put in the numbers. 9-2-1-2. Her birthday.

The phone opened, showing a paused recording of a computer monitor. The woodpecker stabbed his staccato into a nearby tree. I tapped on the screen, then pressed play.

The video was a recording of the security system in the house I’d lived in until yesterday, portrayed in black and white. It was a view from the top of the grand staircase, watching the front door and most of the upstairs balcony, and the time in the bottom left corner read 2:03 A.M..

Noel, holding the camera in the video, was quietly and carefully breathing, the view slowly moving with her breath. The time in security footage flipped to 2:04 A.M.. The real Noel’s breathing suddenly broke out in a gentle shaking wheeze, I wasn’t sure if she was sobbing, or laughing. “Keep watching,” she choked, seeing I was looking up at her.

Car headlights streamed through the front door’s windows, casting shadows on the wall of the balcony floor. The balustrade’s shadows fled quickly across the wall, then slowly melted away as the headlights died. A moment passed, and then the door opened. Noel’s father walked in.

Kyle Montgomery was a tall man, ambiguously young but mature and well kept. Grey was seeping in at the top of his scalp, peppering his blond, jaw length hair. Carefully hanging his keys on a hook near the door, he stared at himself in the full length mirror next to the door, straightening out his thin mustache and checking his jawline.

He mussed up his hair, then turned his head back and forth to check if it was correctly incorrect. Nodding in approval, he shrugged off his heavy business coat, and let it drop to the floor as he walked up the stairs. He shed his suit and loosened his tie, leaving him with just a tailored pinstripe button up tucked into perfect black slacks.

As he rose to the top of the stairs, he stopped and carefully undid the highest button of his shirt, the tie hanging loosely about his chest like an ascot.

Then, he paused, staring down at the mess of his coat on the ground, the stairs, then the hall the opposite way, where his wife and child were asleep. He looked small in the video, and suddenly very tired. Still facing his bedroom, he raised his hand gently to his mouth, and bit down softly on it.

He turned to face my bedroom, biting down on his own flesh hard enough to draw a bead of blood. He walked to my door, then knocked on it, drawing his wounded hand to his side, near his hip. He looked as if he were going to draw a sword, though nothing was there, just his right hand hovering a few inches away from his left hip.

The door opened, and I was standing in the crack. I was dressed in pijamas, and looked at him confused. He said something, the recording silent. In the past, I nodded, widening the door.

My brain felt like it was dropped in a bath of ice water, pure confusion washing over me. “What the fuck?” I said aloud, watching myself open the door further, letting him step in. I walked away, disappearing into the room as he slipped through the doorway, then closed it.

I stared at my door in the video, nauseated. “Noel,” I said, staring up at her from the floor of the forest. “I don’t remember this.” My voice was cracking, confusion and fear seeping into my words from my core.

“Bullshit,” she croaked. She readjusted the grip on the rifle. “I’ve literally seen you do it. I watched you open that door for him! I don’t know what you’re doing in there, but it’s got to be why he’s gone. Where is he?”

“Noel,” I pleaded, “That’s not me. There’s no way, I’m not lying. I wouldn’t do that to you, or your mom,” I said. “Beli-”

“I don’t believe you,” she shouted, almost sobbing now. “You’re a liar. You stole my dad, or killed him, or something, ‘cause you knew it wasn’t right. Almost every night at two A.M., since you got here. Look!” She gestured towards her phone with the rifle.

I looked down carefully, cringing away from the gun as it came back up to point at me. Noel in the video was shaking, watching as her father left my room, five minutes after he had entered it.

He looked the same as when he’d entered, save for the blood and bite mark on his hand. They were gone. He walked calmly down the stairs, grabbed his coat, and left the house. The car’s headlights cast the familliar shadows in reverse.

The camera spun, and the mouse on the desktop shakily moved to a new folder, reading 2/13/23. Two days ago. The mouse maneuvered to the video file labeled 200, the second file in the folder, and opened it.

Almost on the dot at 2:03 A.M., Mr. Montgomery stepped into the foyer, shrugged his coat onto the floor, then climbed the stairs.

This time, he didn’t pause on the way to my door to bite his hand, stopping only to knock, clearly hover his hand over his empty hip, then enter my room.

I hadn’t even looked up at him. I’d just let him in.

“What the fuck,” I whispered hoarsely.

The mouse skimmed the video to five minutes later, when Kyle exited punctually, closing the door after him carefully, then taking the stairs two at a time to leave the mansion.

The video then clicked through random nights at two A.M., watching the same process occur many times over, sped up.

Sometimes he bit his hand, sometimes he just knocked. Always, his hand reached for the empty space at his left hip. I watched, silently, until the video ended suddenly in the middle of a night.

Noel had been staring at me the entire time, burning with silent rage. “Just tell me.”

I took a deep breath, and sat on the cold, packed dirt. “I don’t know, Noel. That’s not me. There’s no way…”

I wasn’t one to repress memories. My worst traumatic memories, I could remember in painful detail, burned into the fabric of my being. It could be an actor, but no, I’d been there at two A.M., almost every weeknight for a year. I could very distinctly remember my nights, they were usually taken up with studying and listening to music.

A coldly horrible idea formed in my head. He could have been drugging me to make me forget. Something in a drink, or something in food. He hadn’t been carrying anything in with him…

But it could’ve been in his pocket. I writhed in disgust, and I drew my knees up to my chest, feeling my breath hitch inside me as I stared emptily at the phone.

“What the fuck was he doing to me,” I said, hollow, not really there, not really meaning to. What had he done to me? Why couldn’t I remember? If he was drugging me inside of my room, how had I let him in? Would I let that man in my room if he knocked? No. Definitely no. “What the fuck,” I whispered, rocking slightly.

“Parker?” Noel asked softly.

“No,” I stated, almost to myself. “It’s a fake, a fake video or a fake set that he made to set me up. It’s just an actor, just…” Noel was staring at me, shaking her head.

“What do you mean?” She asked, lowering the rifle a little, stepping towards me.

“He was never home, he could’ve been, I don’t know, setting this up? There’s no way I’d let him into my room. I don’t even like your father as a person, let alone,” I stopped, feeling bile rise in my chest. “No. This isn’t real.” I stated firmly, and felt like I was coming back to myself, at least a little.

“No, Parker,” she said, stepping back again and raising the rifle. “I watched you do it. After I recorded this, I stayed up to watch you. He knocked, you let him in.”

“No,” I pleaded.

“Please, don’t lie,” Noel whispered.

“Stop calling me a fucking liar! I don’t remember any of this!” I was shouting now, on my knees in front of her.

"Just tell me the truth!" She cried, matching my intensity.

"I am!" I screamed I picked up the phone, throwing it back to her harder than I needed to. She staggered backward, shocked.

"Liar." Noel almost growled the word, dripping with resentment.

She bent to pick up her phone, momentarily hugging the rifle against her chest, hand still on the trigger guard. It was pointed at me. My eyes darted up to Noel's. She wasn’t looking at me.

What do you do?

< >

#Perdition 1.4 #Perdition #tw deadnaming #tw gun mention #tw implied abuse #tw offscreen abuse #tw cops #interactive game #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive writing #choose your own adventure #cyoa #poll #polls #adventure prep #tw alcohol #tw unsanitary #tw gaslighting

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bookstantrash · 10 months ago

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Of course, eventually, Tomas realised she actually enjoyed the time alone, so it stopped. He couldn't have his wife enjoy her punishment after all. Instead, he decided that the physical punishments were better suited since Nesta enjoyed her own company. - you’re really starting this with the angst at 70%, simrah have you no compassion for my poor nerves?

Her current husband had clearly decided that her punishment for misbehaving was to just continue like nothing happened. Her wrongdoings from the ball had not been mentioned, and he seemed to avoid the subject while simultaneously wanting to speak on it. Nesta was fine with the indecision and continued to spend her days in the library. She would do so happily if she could stay there all night, too, but she didn't want to push her luck. Her husband seemed reasonable, but you could never predict what would make a man snap. Still, she knew that in the library, she was safe. - THERE WERE NO WRONGDOINGS THERE IS NO PUNISHMENT NESTA PLEASE *screaming crying*

Robert was too gentle, and Philip was known for wandering eyes, hands and penis, too, if he could help it. It didn't matter if the recipient of his advances were open to them. - Jesus fucking Christ I hope Philip has the most gruesome painful slow death ever and that he regrets having ever laid a single hand on a woman. Also, kudos for Robert for getting the hell out of there and protecting his wife.

Her husband had also gifted her with so much; she knew other men would dislike her being given such freedom and power. She was sure Tomas was turning in his grave, yet the Duke did not care. - Nesta dear if you think Cassian has already given you a lot just you wait till you get more comfortable with each other and realise you’re deeply in love with each other, you won’t know had to expect. Also, I hope Tomashit is burning in hell i don’t give a damn if he’s turning on his grave

But as soon as the horrific thought popped into her head, she shook it away. She couldn't do that. The burden that would put on her sisters and, worse, the Duke was too much. Feyre was so heavily pregnant, and she didn't want to do anything to put the baby at risk. Elain couldn't stop mentioning her children and wanting them to meet their aunt Nesta. And then, of course, the Duke would be the subject of a lot of scandalous talk if she died. No, she couldn't do that to them. She had a responsibility to them all. Her mother had always said it was her burden to shoulder these responsibilities. Even after her mother's death, she had been unable to move past that feeling. - the fact that even at times like this she thinks about everyone first before of herself I— we don’t deserve someone like you Nesta, you’re too loving and caring

He cleared his throat awkwardly before finally speaking. "My Lady," he said and then paused. Then, he did the stiffest, most awkward bow known to man. - I will die for this boy

Now that the boy mentioned it, she could see their similarities. "Of course, it's nice to meet you, Arthur," Nesta said, putting on her best smile. It had been so long since she had smiled that she felt out of practice. "Is there anything I can help you with?" - you HAD to ruin this sweet moment with the mention of how nesta had probably not smiled in years since she married Tomashit. I hate you

Nesta smiled at him. "I'm glad to hear you're so excited to learn. All I ask for is an eager student, so you don't need to work day and night." - SHE SMILED AGAIN AND IS GOING TO TEACH HIM HOW TO READ I AM SCREAMING OF JOY

Claude had been delighted to see the boy with Nesta when he had come to serve lunch. Nesta had been glad that Arthur was a growing boy because he had eaten with such gusto that it had hidden how little she had eaten. The smell of the delicious food had made Nesta feel nauseous, so she had taken two bites and then left the rest while she listened to the energetic back and forth between Arthur and Claude. - I’m begging you to STOP RUINING THE CRUMBS OF HAPPINESS YOU GIVE US WITH MORE ANGST

Claude had such a brilliant way with children, and his personality was infectious. She couldn't help but smile as she watched Arthur and Claude laugh. Nesta usually felt like an outsider left in the cold; being an outsider while Arthur and Claude talked was like being doused in sunlight. The warmth seeped into her bones, and she felt something inside her thaw as their joy hit her. - I love Claude so much and if Maizie had not called dibs on him I’d be knocking on his door offering myself to him as a wife

Claude had cooked a feast fit for kings, but she couldn't taste anything. Everything tasted like ash, so she kept her face passive. She didn't want anyone noticing, especially not her husband, who sat opposite her, talking about one of his tenants. Nesta never understood why her husband needed to tell her the ins and outs of his tenants; she couldn't imagine he wanted her opinion. Perhaps, like all great men, he wanted to talk about all the important things he did. — I cannot stress how sad it’s to have Nesta don’t understand why Cassian is talking about the tenants because he wants to make her feel included in his life, maybe bring a sense of normality and make sure she knows what happens around their state in comparison to how she lived in the dark back in the Mandray Mansion (this is of course what I gathered from this passage feel free to correct me if I’m wrong)

"Claude told me that Arthur was helping you today," the Duke said. His tone was even; there were no accusations of anything, but she couldn't tell how her husband felt about Arthur spending time with her. Right now, he was just a boy, so there was no danger of him thinking Nesta could stray, but she wondered if that would come eventually as Arthur got older. - I’m two seconds away from getting on a plane to smack you in the face for this

"Well, I offered to teach him," Nesta said quickly, looking down at her hands. She interlocked her hands to try and stop them from trembling so much. She knew she had done something wrong, and now she would have to pay whatever price her husband felt necessary. She just hoped that Arthur wouldn't suffer because of her. - Nesta is close to having a panic attack and all she can think of his Arthur and not about herself and also thinking Cassian will punish her oh dear god I AM GOING TO JUMP OFF A BRIDGE

"If you're happy to allow it, my lord," Nesta admitted. It was risky to say she wanted to do something, especially since she had already gone behind his back. He could see that she wanted to do this and take it away as a punishment. — Fuck you.

Nesta didn't reply; it felt like a trap to say she thought of something he didn't. Even suggesting such a thing would've gotten her the beating of a lifetime from Tomas. Despite knowing this act of the Duke was too good to be true, she wouldn't look the gift horse in the mouth. – SIMRAG THIS HURTS STOP

Nesta had heard whispers that her husband treated the issues of the tenants and people under his general management in such a way, too. He was unaware of all their problems, but if he was made aware of it, he would always try to help. He had apparently once helped a tenant whose ewe was birthing. The Duke had only been passing by, but the man had called out, needing some help, and the Duke had not faltered in rolling his sleeves up. The man had recounted the tale laughing one night, saying he had done little more than take instruction from the actual farmer, but Nesta couldn't help but think that he downplayed things a little. – He’s truly the people’s Prince, we stan

Nesta straightened her back, hoping her posture would help her look better. She didn't want to admit she wasn't feeling well. Any sign of weakness could be used against her; she had learnt that the hard way. Men didn't want to hear that their wives were not well. They didn't care, and it was disgusting to have to hear about anything like sickness. Women were meant to suffer in silence. - istg if the entirety of the male Mandray population (Robert exempt) doesn’t die a horrible death with their horrible manor being burned down I will commit murder

"You look pale, and you've eaten less- I mean, you've not eaten very much," the Duke fumbled over his words. Nesta didn't have the energy to figure out what he really wanted to say; she was too tired, and her head felt full of cotton wool. She wondered how the Duke noticed she wasn't feeling well and why he would pay so much attention to her when he had better things to do. - BECAUSE HE CARES ABOUT YOU *sobs*

Nesta had been to the kitchen only a handful of times since she had married the Duke. She knew she was not well-liked in the household, which was fine. They were very protective of their master, and everyone else kept their distance apart from Claude, who seemed like he could be friendly with a bear. That was fine; the distance meant fewer chances of anyone spying on her to report back to her husband. - NO ONE SPIES ON YOU NESTA PLEASE

"Well, I'm asking you to call me by my name. I would like to think we're friends," Nesta said softly. It was true. Claude was the closest thing she'd had to a friend for a long time. The last friend she'd had was long gone now. - YES YOU HAVE A FRIEND NESTA YOU TRULY HAVE ONE AND SOON YOU WILL HAVE MORE

She took a deep breath, Claude studying her as she opened her mouth to finally voice the truth. "In the Mandray household, the wives were not to eat first. Tomas and his brothers would eat first at the table. Their mother and sister did not sit with them often; they ate in his mother's rooms. The men ate without any abandon and were not the tidiest of eaters. Once they had done and left the room, the wives could eat what was left," Nesta said quietly. She had never admitted it before. She had never had the bravery to say anything, unlike others. - THEY HAD TO MAKE DO WITH SCRAPS AND CRUMBS AND GOD KNOWS WHAT LITTLE TO NOTHING THOSE SCUMBAGS LEFT THEM OH I AM SO FUCKING MAD

Nesta looked up at Claude, only to notice how horrified he looked. Nesta had never seen horror etched so clearly onto someone else's face, but with Claude, it was hard to mistake it for anything else. "Nesta," Claude rasped out, his eyes filled with tears. "Did they starve you?" - I’m so glad Nesta is opening up to someone, she’s taking baby steps that are in fact so huge for her and Claude is the perfect person given that she doesn’t trust Cassian yet

"No, not me, but my friend. She was married to Philip, Tomas' older brother. Her name was Clare, and she was the only person who understood what it was like in that house," Nesta said, her voice breaking as she spoke about her friend. She felt terrible for using Clare's pregnancy to avoid talking about her own, but then again, it was safer that way. She had no idea how the Duke would react if he knew she had been pregnant before, even if she didn't last very long. - if her being starved wasn’t already sad you managed to a) mention Clare b) Nesta having had miscarriage and c) HER THINKING CASSIAN WOULD PUNISH/BE MAD AT HER

Nesta shrugged. "I did what I had to do. It was better when Clare was around; she understood how it was. I got used to things; I got into a routine. I knew how to avoid things." She knew getting used to things wasn't okay, but that was the truth. She didn't want to say that she had wanted to die. Claude seemed concerned enough as it was. – I want to hug her so bad and give her so much love and care and attention I— *cries*

"He can't know Claude. He didn't want to marry me; he just agreed for my sister's sake. I'm grateful to him, but I know he's burdened by my strange behaviour. I'll get better, though; I'll become the wife he wants if he just gives me some time. I just need to learn more about his likes and dislikes. Once I figure him out, I'll be the wife he wants, and then he won't have any problems," Nesta said without even thinking. Her brain felt full of cotton wool; she had no idea what she was saying. She felt like she was speaking too fast and too slow simultaneously. - Nesta you can be true with Cassian you can learn to be yourself again and just live you don’t have to walk on eggshells or mould yourself after what he wants because he just wants you to heal and be happy 😭😭

"Nesta, you know that's not what Cassian wants, right? I agree; I think you do need to get to know him, though, because when you do, I know you'll realise what he wants." Claude said. - Claude is the real mvp, he’s nessian’s first stan and supporter

She wouldn't usually be so glad he was so close to her, but she felt so unsteady that she gripped his hand like it was her lifeline. His hands felt so cool compared to her burning skin, and she fought the temptation to put his hand on her brow. Thankfully, her senses hadn't entirely left her, and she refrained. - if Cassian, who’s a walking furnace, is cold to nesta then something is very very wrong

"I'm not sure, I just feel-" Before she could downplay how ill she felt, she felt the bile rise in her throat as her stomach churned. To her horror, Nesta turned to throw up the contents of her stomach on her husband's shoes. - I just know that when she gets better she’ll have a panic attack over this thinking Cassian will punish her and I already hate you for it

"Nesta? Fuck, are you okay?" the Duke sounded discomposed now, but his voice was starting to sound far away. She felt a hand touch her forehead, and some unsavoury curse words left the Duke's mouth. "Nesta, you're on fire; why didn't you say?" - HE IS SO WORRIED OVER HER PLEASE

Nesta tried to say something, but her head was swimming, and even thinking of words took energy she didn't have. She just wanted to sleep, and she could feel it calling her like a siren calls a sailor. Everything was too much for her, so Nesta simply embraced the darkness. She had just enough time to register strong arms grabbing her as she fell into the darkness lingering in her mind. - oh you devil you played it so well. Gave me anger and anxiety and murderous feelings to then giving me Nesta passing out in Cassian’s arms, with him probably bride carrying her to their room to take care of her while she’s sick. Genius, an evil mastermind because now your death has been postponed

Excellent, absolutely incredible chapter, and I’m so so happy you updated it and I’m so anxious for what you have in store for the next one. But beware that my peace offer will last just for the sick fluff chapter, I shall go back to raging murderous reviewer on the others ✨

Chapter 9 - Nesta

A/N: Hello everyone! Long time no see. I'm gonna keep this short and sweet. Shout out to my beta for encouraging me to work on this!

Trigger warnings for the following in this chapter: mentions of suicidal thoughts, death during childbirth, miscarriage, starvation and physical abuse. As per usual, if there's anything you think I've missed that could be a trigger, please let me know!

Word count: 6119

LMBYH Masterlist | My Masterlist | My Ask Box | Read on AO3

Nesta was at the point where she had reached a steady routine, which rarely deviated. The routine gave her structure, predictability and peace she had never had the comfort of knowing in her previous marriage unless Tomas locked her in their rooms. At first, when he would lock her in their rooms for days, he would beg him to let her out, which only made him angrier. Then, he would deny her food during her punishment. Once she got used to living in that house, she saw him locking her away for what it truly was: a blessing in disguise. She was safely locked away in the rooms, with nobody watching her or worse.

Her husband seemed nervous when he entered the library and rarely seemed to do so. Nesta assumed the years of neglect his family's legacy had seen made him feel uncomfortable, or perhaps it was something else entirely. Still, either way, Nesta did not mind that he rarely entered.

She had thought she understood men very well up until her second marriage. There were men like Tomas, who wanted to show everyone how powerful they were, puffing their chests out like peacocks, just because he wanted to show the world something other than what he was. He seemed unable to move out of his brother's shadow and turned to anger.

Then, there were men like Philip, who would crush anything they could not control. They were as slippery as an eel and sly as a fox and rarely had anyone tell them no. Those types of men were worse because they were much more confident in themselves compared to the kind of man Tomas was. At least with Tomas, Nesta knew she could play to his ego, which would appease him.

Then there was the kind of man Robert Mandray was. He was so gentle he was almost like a woman. His brothers had no respect for him because of it, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make himself more like his brothers. His wife had once disrespected his brother at the dinner table, so he slapped her across the face. Philip had looked proud, but Robert had looked horrified. He had left the house the following day, taking his wife with him. Nesta understood why; it was unsafe for either of them in a house like that. Robert was too gentle, and Philip was known for wandering eyes, hands and penis, too, if he could help it. It didn't matter if the recipient of his advances were open to them.

Perhaps the Duke was more like Robert, but then she wasn't sure if she believed that. He could command a room, and nobody could say he wasn't powerful. Nesta didn't understand much about the running of estates, but she knew the Duke of Illyria was good at it and had many profitable estates up and down the country. That kind of money came to someone other than someone who would run like Robert. Her husband had also gifted her with so much; she knew other men would dislike her being given such freedom and power. She was sure Tomas was turning in his grave, yet the Duke did not care.

Perhaps this was the freedom someone with his status and power could expect. The Duke did not care that Nesta could run wild with all the freedoms he gave her. He was too rich and powerful to care. Even the talk of society didn't bother the Duke; it seemed not to reach his ears. Important people clearly didn't have the time for such things. The issue was that Nesta had never been around someone with such importance, so she had yet to learn how she should act.

As Nesta steadied herself at the top of a ladder to clean the top of yet another shelf, she thought about how easy it would be for her to fall from this height. She could injure herself pretty badly if she landed on her head in the right way. She could die, and nobody would realise until lunchtime. But as soon as the horrific thought popped into her head, she shook it away. She couldn't do that. The burden that would put on her sisters and, worse, the Duke was too much. Feyre was so heavily pregnant, and she didn't want to do anything to put the baby at risk. Elain couldn't stop mentioning her children and wanting them to meet their aunt Nesta. And then, of course, the Duke would be the subject of a lot of scandalous talk if she died. No, she couldn't do that to them. She had a responsibility to them all. Her mother had always said it was her burden to shoulder these responsibilities. Even after her mother's death, she had been unable to move past that feeling.

There was a knock at the door, one that startled Nesta out of her thoughts. Only Claude and the Duke came here, but neither knocked so timidly as this person did. There was another knock, this time a little louder at the lack of response. Nesta called for them to enter and started climbing down the ladder.

To her surprise, it was a little boy who entered. The awe was evident on his face as he walked in, scanning the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The boy was so entranced by all the books he tripped over his own two feet but managed to catch himself before he hit the ground. He quickly straightened himself out, but his face started to colour when he looked over and saw that Nesta had been watching him.

He cleared his throat awkwardly before finally speaking. "My Lady," he said and then paused. Then, he did the stiffest, most awkward bow known to man.

Nesta stifled a laugh at that but decided to put the clearly nervous boy out of his misery. "How can I help you this fine morning, good sir?" She said, matching the boy's formality and curtsying back to him.

The boy's eyes widened in horror. "Please, My Lady, you don't need to bow to me. My name's Arthur and I'm Eleanor's son; my mother said she's your maid?" The boy was clearly unsure if Nesta would even know who his mother was.

"Oh, well, I was wondering if you needed any help, My Lady?" he said awkwardly while shifting around, avoiding eye contact.

Nesta tried to control her facial expression at that. Why would this boy want to help her? Well, her first thought instantly went to her husband. He must've wanted the boy to spy on her. But then, another part of her questioned this logic. Why would the Duke wish to spy on her when nothing else entered the library? It would only make sense if he was worried about Claude, which also didn't make any sense. Claude loved the Duke far too much to risk doing anything that would anger him.

"Why do you want to help me?" Nesta said, trying to keep her suspicions out of it. She didn't want the boy to feel like he was being backed into a corner. "This isn't where a young boy like yourself would want to spend his day. Surely, you'd rather go outside and play instead?" Nesta said, smiling so the boy didn't feel attacked by her words.

"Well, ma'am, I know I'm young, but I want to work to help my mother. We- well, we don't live with our father anymore, so my mother works really hard. I'm the eldest, so I want to help her. Maybe, if I help you, the Duke will see and give me other tasks to do, too," the boy was nervous about telling her his motivations, but Nesta couldn't help but smile at how sweet he was.

She had no idea Eleanor didn't have her husband with her, but her son was clearly nervous about mentioning him, so Nesta didn't delve into that anymore. "Well, as you can see, there's a lot to do around here, so I certainly wouldn't mind the help," Nesta said, gesturing around them.

That put a smile on the boy's face. He rolled his sleeves up, readying himself for some action. "What do you want me to do first, ma'am? Just so you know, I know I look small, but I'm very strong, so if you need me to carry things, I can do that too!"

Nesta wanted to avoid lumbering the poor boy by carrying books around for her, not when they were so heavy. The boy was skinny-looking, and although very eager to prove himself, she didn't know if his little body could take so much manual labour. Instead, Nesta looked for a kinder task that would allow him to help her without injuring him. She didn't know Eleanor very well, and while the woman was taciturn, she knew that there was a possibility that Eleanor could get angry if her son came back exhausted from a day in the library.

"Well, actually, there's a task I've been putting off because I've been finding it too daunting," Nesta said conspiratorially. The boy nodded eagerly, waiting for her to carry on. "You see those piles of books over there?" Nesta said, pointing at the piles of books practically covering the lone table in the room. "Well, I need to figure out an order for them; the shelves I took them off were a mess. If someone could put them alphabetically, we could put them back onto the shelves much tidier. What do you think?" Nesta asked.

The boy bit his lip anxiously before eventually replying to Nesta. "Well, ma'am, I think you could do that, and I could carry on cleaning. Wouldn't that be better?" Nesta was confused; clearly, the boy could see she wouldn't accept that without questioning him. "Ma'am, I can't read, so I can't organise your books. But I can clean for you," the boy said with a smile.

Nesta blushed at that, cursing herself for being so thoughtless. Of course, someone like Arthur couldn't read. Although schools were around, they weren't open to accepting people from a lower class. Some factory owners in the north were known to build schools for the children who worked with them, but this was rare. Nesta wondered how many children on the Duke's estate couldn't read while she spent her day in a library.

"Would you like to learn?" Nesta asked impulsively. It was too late to take the offer back, though, and now it lingered between the woman and child.

"Would you really teach me?" Arthur asked cautiously.

"If you want to learn, then yes. I've never taught anyone how to read before, but if that's alright with you, then-"

Before Nesta could continue, Arthur cut her off. "Yes! Please, I would love to learn how to read. I could get so many other jobs if I learned how to work. Please, ma'am, I'll work day and night if you teach me."

Nesta smiled at him. "I'm glad to hear you're so excited to learn. All I ask for is an eager student, so you don't need to work day and night."

As they both walked towards the table, Nesta finally felt that, for once in her life, she was doing something good.

***

Her day with Arthur had been one of her best days in a long time. Nesta had spent two hours writing out upper- and lower-case versions of the alphabet and saying the phonetic sounds for them. Then she let Arthur try to copy her letters to the best of his ability while he said the sounds. While Arthur repeated the process, Nesta cleaned, staying close in case he needed her help.

When Claude had left, much later than he usually would, Nesta felt like she had been given a new burst of energy. She cleaned with renewed vigour, and Arthur decided to help her, which made the time go faster. Nesta also felt like she had gotten more done today, probably because there were two of them rather than her tackling things independently. Plus, when she was on her own, she tended to get distracted by the books she found, and before she knew it, the sun would be setting, and she had read a chunk of the most bizarre book ever. She wasn't sure which of the Duke's ancestors had been so obsessed with crocodiles, but she had found five copies of the same book.

Nesta assumed that her lack of distraction today was why her body ached so much. Arthur had thrown himself into cleaning the lower shelves, so Nesta had felt like she needed to match that energy, but now she was paying the price since the boy was over ten years younger than her. Sitting at the dinner table across from her husband, struggling to lift her spoon to her mouth, certainly put her in her place. She wasn't feeling hungry. That queasy feeling from earlier hadn't dissipated as she had hoped.

Still, it was better than when he decided to be polite and ask her about her day, which was inevitable.

"I had never met him before today, my Lord. He walked in and asked me for work," Nesta explained, not wanting her husband to think she spent her days talking to strangers.

The Duke just laughed, startling Nesta. "Arthur is ambitious and most likely getting underfoot wherever he had been spending his day before. I think it will do him some good. The boy is responsible; he just needs some guidance. He's a smart boy, and I'm sure he'll do well for himself in the future."

Nesta paused. The talk of Arthur's future made Nesta hesitate. Clearly, the Duke wanted the boy to succeed, but Nesta wasn't sure how he would feel about her teaching the boy how to read. While she had been helping the boy, it had occurred to her that she should've asked her husband for permission before taking something like this on, and of course, she should've asked permission from Eleanor, too. Some people could be peculiar about who their children spend their time with.

"My Lord," Nesta said nervously. She could feel herself getting warm, the sweat gathering on her brow as she took a deep breath to calm her nerves before Nesta told her husband what she had offered without his permission. "Today, while in the library, Arthur mentioned that he could not read."

"Ah, well, I suppose that is to be expected," the Duke said with a sad smile.

"Is that something you want to do with your free time?" the Duke asked Nesta as though her opinion mattered to him.

"Of course, I'm happy for you to teach the boy. He's ambitious, and I didn't know what to do with him. It seems like you've found the perfect solution for him. I'm sorry that I didn't think of something like that sooner," the Duke contemplated.

"There is no school for the lower class in this area. Rhys's mother once campaigned for it, but as far as I'm aware, she was told that unless there was evidence of some interest within the community, the government wouldn't be willing to throw that kind of money at the lower classes. They believed they could build a school, and the lower classes wouldn't send their children because it was easier for them to send them to work. I'm not sure how much truth there is in that, but it's a shame these children can't learn to read and write."

The Duke sounded thoughtful as he spoke, which Nesta had not expected to hear. Nor had she expected to listen to thoughts about supporting the lower classes. The Duke's family was an ancient one which could be traced back to the founding of Prythian. Meanwhile, the Mandray family had only recently been given their current rank. Yet, despite being so new to the money and social standing they currently had, neither Philip nor Tomas had ever looked at the lower classes with anything other than contempt or disgust.

It was strange. Nesta had not expected her current husband to be so progressive. Then again, how he spoke of the issue made her feel like he had not thought about it in much detail before she had mentioned Arthur. But now that he knew it, he took the issue very seriously.

Nesta took a sip of her water as the silence started to linger. Where she'd usually water down her wine, she had bypassed it all together today. Nesta knew it wouldn't sit well in her already queasy stomach. She had hoped the water would help settle her stomach or, at the very least, end the pounding in her head, but it had not helped.

"Are you alright, Nesta?" the Duke asked her, frowning.

"No, no, I'm fine, my Lord," Nesta said, shaking her head and plastering on a fake smile. The Duke didn't seem convinced, but he didn't comment. He still eyed her plate, so Nesta knew he wouldn't stay quiet for long. "The food isn't quite sitting well with me; it's quite strong flavours and stodgy. I'll go to the kitchen to speak to Claude and get something to settle my stomach; it's nothing to worry about."

Nesta was loathed to explain herself further, but she knew the Duke enough to realise she needed to give him some sort of explanation. She didn't wait for him to reply, as she quickly got up and rushed to the kitchen before he could stop her. Perhaps there was something Claude could give her that would help- or at least something she could eat without being sick.

There was chatter in the kitchen, but Nesta was past the point of processing it. The heat hit her as she rounded the corner and was met with various smells and sounds. She couldn't take it in; so much was going on, and her brain couldn't process it all in its overwhelming glory.

"My Lady, are you alright?" a younger man asked her. She didn't even notice when he came over to her. Claude had yet to notice her, but Nesta hadn't announced herself as she walked in. Her head felt so fuzzy that she had just ended up staring off into the distance at nothing.

"I apologise; I know you all must be busy," Nesta said, trying to wade through the treacle in her brain to remember what she had wanted to say.

"It's no problem, ma'am. We're not busy; it's just Claude's chaos," the man smiled. Nesta had been introduced to him but couldn't remember his name for the life of her.

At the sound of his name, Claude whipped around and beamed brightly as he saw Nesta. "Matthew, get back over there. You're not paid to chat with Lady Nesta," he said jovially.

"Of course, Claude," Matthew replied, a grin adorning his face, and mischief sparkling in his eyes. That's you who's paid to talk to the Duchess."

Matthew ran off before Claude could say anything, but Nesta could see the humour dancing on his face. "Now that Matthew is doing his real job, how can I help you, my lady. Is there something wrong with the food?" Claude said, looking anxious.

"No, Claude, definitely not. I just am not feeling too well. Is there anything you have that I can eat that will help?" Nesta said, blushing at her admission.

"Oh, of course. I make some wonderful soups, but some tea might be quicker. What seems to be the issue, my lady? Perhaps Cassian needs to call the doctor instead," Claude said kindly, leading Nesta to a nearby stool.

Nesta shook her head. "It's fine; I just feel a bit queasy," she lied.

Claude didn't look like he believed her but, thankfully, didn't say anything. To keep him from pressing the topic, she quickly spoke up, changing the subject. "Why do you call the Duke Cassian, but you're so formal with me?"

Claude smiled at that. "That idiot doesn't know how to treat a lady. He's the stupidest Duke I've ever seen," he laughed. "I jest. I've known him for a long time, and we've always been friends first, so it was natural to call him by his name. With you, well, I don't know you as well, so I wasn't sure if you would like me to be so forward and familiar with you. I wouldn't want to insult you."

"I'm honoured, Nesta," Claude said, testing out saying her name. Here, let me make you some tea. What about having some pastry with it? Really, you should eat something if you don't feel well; it might help to settle your stomach."

"Thank you, Claude, but the tea will be more than fine. If I can manage something else, I will let you know," Nesta said kindly but firmly. She knew her stomach wouldn't be able to handle all that liquid and then food on top of that.

Claude hesitated for a moment, weighing something up, before speaking. "Nesta, if we are friends, then I just want to say something as a friend. I hope you don't take offence, and I'm sorry if you do; it's just that I need you to know something. If you don't like something about my cooking or something specific you would like to eat, it would bring me great joy if you told me. I know you've said that you like my cooking in the past, but I can't help noticing you don't eat very much." Claude looked guilty like he had said something he shouldn't have.

Nesta was frozen. She didn't know what to do or say. She knew her eating habits hadn't gone unnoticed, but she hoped people would just leave her to it. She should've known that Claude would never leave a food-related matter alone. Food was too important to him, and she knew he had perceived it as an insult because she didn't eat much of it.

She could see no way around it. She had to tell him the truth. If she didn't, he would think she was rude, and in a house where he was one of the only people Nesta enjoyed the company of, she couldn't do that. She knew it was dangerous, becoming so attached to the man, but he was so soft and full of love and joy. Nesta couldn't help but be drawn into the man's orbit. She didn't think she had seen anyone so kind and willing to help others. She didn't even know people like Claude could exist.

Nesta hesitated. She had never really thought about it like that. At first, she thought it was so strange and questioned her husband about it a lot. Tomas had told her it was a long-standing tradition in their family when it came to married women, but it had always been about controlling them.

"I never thought about it, but yes, they did, I suppose. There were times when we got nothing if we angered them. And then there were rules for if one of us was pregnant," Nesta explained, although she had no idea why she was explaining it. As the words came out of her mouth, she knew it all sounded horrific.

"Were you- did you ever become?" Claude asked, clearly unsure how to proceed in that conversation.

"What happened to her?" Claude whispered

"She died in childbirth. The baby didn't survive either," Nesta said, wiping a tear which had escaped. Claude put a cup of tea down in front of her; she hadn't even noticed that he had done anything; she had been so consumed with her thoughts.

"I can't believe how much you've been through, Nesta; how did you bear it?" Claude asked, clutching his own cup of tea.

"That must've been hard, especially after your friend was gone," Claude said quietly.

"She was the only one who understood it, but I knew I had to carry on for her," Nesta said, taking a sip of her tea to give her some time to gather her thoughts. "Claude, I didn't tell you these things because I wanted you to pity me. I just needed you to understand that I'm trying my best. It probably doesn't seem like much, but it's all I can give now."

"No, of course!" Claude exclaimed. "And I'm honoured you felt like you could tell me."

Nesta didn't want to rain on his parade and tell him it was because she felt guilty for not eating his food, but then again, she would be lying to herself if she didn't admit that she felt some comfort around him. There was something about Claude which made her feel safe. She knew he wouldn't use the information against her like the staff in the Mandray household did. It was a strange sensation for her to actually trust someone. It had been so long she had forgotten how it felt.

"Will you tell Cassian?" Claude asked.

Nesta's eyes widened in horror. "No, absolutely not!"

Claude felt guilty for alarming her, so he held his hands out in surrender. "Sorry, I was just wondering if it would help understand the things you've been through," he said, trying to soothe her.

"Nesta, you know that's not what Cassian wants, right? I agree; I think you do need to get to know him, though, because when you do, I know you'll realise what he wants." Claude said.

Nesta didn't know how to react. Her brain was slowing down, so she raised her mug to take another sip of the tea. She didn't realise how much her hands shook until she spilt her tea down her front. Thankfully, the tea wasn't warm enough to scald her, but the shock of feeling the liquid on her startled her enough to make her drop her mug.

She shot to her feet as Claude got up and grabbed a cloth. The room was spinning, and Nesta eventually concluded that she had not managed to fight the horrific feeling she'd been having all day. Her stomach churned worse than ever.

Of course, her husband walked in on this chaos. "I heard some noise. What's going on?" the Duke asked, looking concerned.

Claude said something, but Nesta didn't register it at all. The Duke clearly understood whatever it was that Claude had said, and took Nesta's hand to guide her away from the broken mug.

"Nesta, you look pale and unsteady. Please, tell me what's wrong?" the Duke said in a frightfully close tone to begging her.

It was over as quickly and suddenly as it had started, and Nesta felt the tiny bit of energy she'd managed to conserve throughout the day had left her body and lay at her husband's feet.

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eunoiaastralwings · 2 years ago

Note

Your writing is so incredibly talented and you just have such a way with words, putting out ideas into beautiful stories! So for that thank you so much! Can I please request a Turgon x Female Reader in Gondolin where she’s a human his guards found outside the boarders and he’s crazy protective of the hidden kingdom and requests her to be brought in. But reader is actually a medic who lost her group. Kinda a slow burn love story and he falls in love and asks her to stay with him? Answer is yes!

Elen Lantanwanya (My Fallen Star)

Part 1 (reading), Part 2, Part 3

featuring turgon x reader

fandom tolkien — the silmarillion

a/n awe thnx hun! - am so happy to hear that! I turned this into a 2 part two— here's the 1st part let me know what you think and if i should continue — thank you!

warnings blood, injury, medics, trust issues

A heavy breath left as Turgon looked at you - bruised and frail, like a fallen star found on his borders by his guards. He was almost afraid to touch - you looked so delicate and fragile.

When he asked his guards to bring you in – he never expected you to look so beautiful.

Yes – your hair was matted, fixed with dirt and blood and mud covered your arms and clothes – but there was something Turgon almost found beautiful in the fallen and hurt.

You had fallen unconscious by the time his guards brought you in – drained and dehydrated.

His medics worked around the clock to bring you back to consciousness at least – Turgon didn’t understand why he desperately wanted you to regain consciousness.

The logical part of him thought it was he needed to interrogate you – make sure you weren’t a spy or servant of Morgoth.

For a few hours – Turgon watched you with cautious eyes as tried to fight for your consciousness.

How long were you out there to suffer badly?

You were injured and bruised too.

Turgon’s eyes were twitching at the ongoing unanswered question – he remembered it was something his dearest big brother Finno always teased him for.

Turgon wanted to know anything and everything – if it meant keeping his family safe and when he didn’t it annoyed him and his hano would advise him ‘You can’t always know everything, brother, wait and see. . .’

It was in the middle of dinner with his daughter – when a guard came rushing forward.

“My king – forgive me! But the human woke up and is causing havoc! – The human not listening to us!”

Turgon raised an eyebrow – his guards couldn’t handle one little human.

Even his daughter seemed surprised at the statement – nevertheless Turgon left his dinner to witness the wreck you were making.

When he entered he was quite surprised to see the room covered in broken pots and clays – those were easily replaceable – however it was the herbal medicine Turgon was worried about.

He rushed in – surprised to see herbs were left unharmed.

You were there to – your shaking body trying to hold you upright when you were carefully analysing a herb.

“Arugula. . .”

He heard you concluding.

“How do you know that?”

Turgon asked.

If you didn’t notice him before – you did not.

You gasped and tried to grab the first thing you could use as a weapon, – a piece of broken clay.

But your shaking feet gave you out.

You landed on the broken shards – hissing and crying in pain.

But you quickly scrambled up when the alarmed elf tried to reach you.

“No!”

You shouted – scared and frightened.

You hid yourself underneath a table – trying to make yourself as small as possible.

There were many nasty elves out there – he could be one of them.

One could never be too careful.

True – it wasn't the elves' fault you lost your group – but because of the orcs – Eru only knows how you survived.

But you still couldn’t trust just anyone easily.

Turgon recognized the fear in your eyes – a search for safety – willing to do almost anything to keep away from harm.

It was something he hoped never to see in the eyes of his own people.

Turgon sighed and bent your height – kneeing quietly on the ground.

He looked at you with a warm smile – it reminded you of moonlight over the still sea.

Slowly for you to see – he held out a hand.

“It’s alright – I will not harm you, elen lantanwanya” (My fallen star).

Still you shook your head – more afraid now because he used a language you didn’t understand.

You felt imprisoned in a world that was nothing like yours – you felt lost and scared.

Turgon sighed again and nodded – thinking it was best to leave you be.

You would come out in your own time.

He had advised his medics to give you anything you required and leave it at a safe distance – anything to keep from being more scared.

A week passed – while you had accepted the food and water they offered you after 2 days – you still refused to come out from under the table and greet them – especially Turgon.

He visited you everybody – you were almost getting used to his daily visits.

He asked you for your name – but you chose not to answer.

Then he asked for where you come from – you were reluctant in answering that, but you did.

Explaining you were from a village from the east – which had been destroyed. You meekly explained you were out with your group when orcs attacked and lost them.

You didn’t say anything more – he didn’t need to know anything, you decided.

So you kept yourself hidden.

Well – that was until one day – guards came in badly injured from outside the hidden city.

Your eyes widened at the number of wounded soldiers – even with all the medics present it still wasn’t enough.

You overheard it was an ambush by orcs.

You held down your pride and stood to help – after all there was a vow medics made to themselves – they would never let life die without trying to save them first.

You raced through the room trying to get whatever you required – the elvish medics were surprised with the knowledge you had – and the skills you performed with fast and careful hands.

You easily helped him – moving from one patient to the next.

You were almost sweating and exhausted by the end of it – there was a large number of them after all.

You sighed out in relief when a medic assisted you – you were too exhausted and scared you were going to mess up.

Your limbs feel heavy and you thought you would collapse any minute.

You tried to walk away from them – but suddenly your back collided with someone.

You turned to apologize – your eyes widened seeing it was that elf.

Turgon looked at you in shock and surprise – you were a medic?

You gulped – when you watched you carefully.

“You’re a medic, elen lantanwanya?”

There was it again – what did it mean?

You remembered you called you that again and again – probably because you never gave him your name.

You took a deep breath and nodded.

The both of you carefully looked at each other.

You still didn’t know if you could trust him – and you figured maybe he thought the same.

But his eyes were kind and wise – someone who held courage, goodness and bravery.

Over the years – as a medic you were learning to read people.

But those were humans – your own.

Are elves the same?

should I continue?

silm taglist: @doodle-pops

tara's taglist: @aeonianarchives @spidergirla5 @mslizziesblog @wandererindreams

form for taglist

#turgon x reader #turgon #the silmarillion #the silm x reader #the silmarillion x reader #gondolin #noldor #turukano #turgon the wise #answered #tarawrites #silmarillion #tolkien elves

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dem-obscure-imagines · 3 years ago

Text

The Tribute’s Escape

Peeta Mellark x Reader

Fandom: The Hunger Games

Summary: On an unsuspecting night, you get a visitor from another reality. Namely, Peeta Mellark. You have no idea how he got to you, and additionally, no way to get him home…

Note: I have not seen/read the Hunger Games in a while so forgive me for any mistakes lmao. MANY of you wanted me to continue the New Years Eve Drabble, so here you go! I hope you like it! I edited it so it’s no longer New Year’s Eve and I will probably also write at least one more part to this.

Warnings: Mentions of an injury, but it’s very mild. Other than that, none?

Word Count: 1.9k

Another night alone with your books. You couldn’t complain, though. It was quiet. It was nice. It was you, the TV, your cat, and the Hunger Games books. Specifically, you were reading the first book, starting the series over again for what felt like the thirtieth time. Your books were very worn, the spines cracked beyond repair. You loved them and everything they stood for.

So, you opened the cover and pulled the bookmark out. You were nearing the end of the games. Peeta was hiding from the careers somewhere while Katniss took care of Rue. And when she died, as she always did, you cried. A few of your tears landed on the page of the book, and when the third tear landed on the paper, you heard a loud thud in your kitchen.

Looking up, you searched the room for your cat, but you spotted him on the chair across from you, notably, not making a mess in the other room. So, slowly, you walked through your apartment until you reached the doorway of the kitchen. You thought maybe one of your barstools had fallen over or something. But no, sitting in the middle of the floor, a shocked look on his face and a large gash on his leg, was none other than Peeta Mellark, right down to the District 12 jacket and the Josh Hutcherson face.

“What the fuck.”

“Is this…Where…where am I?”

“In my kitchen. In my apartment. Are you…You’re Peeta Mellark.”

“How did I get here?”

“I don’t know.” You shook your head. You looked at his leg, the shock of a fictional character sitting in your kitchen wearing off when you realized he was injured and bleeding pretty badly. “Shit, you’re bleeding! Um, I’ll get a first aid kit. Stay right here.”

You ran to your bathroom and back, carrying your first aid kit. He was lucky you knew your shit. He was also lucky he’d landed there before it got too badly infected.

“What district is this?” He asked, looking around your apartment, still sitting on your tile floor. “Where am I?”

“Peeta, I don’t know how to tell you this.” You sat down and opened your first aid kit, pulling out some ointment and bandages. “This isn’t one of the districts. This is another…world? Reality? I don’t know the terminology, but…”

“What do you mean?”

“Once I patch you up I will try to explain everything, okay?” You applied some hydrogen peroxide to his cut and then put ointment on it, wrapping it up in bandages. “Is that too tight?”

“No, it’s fine. Thank you.” His eyes were grateful, but you could tell he was still shaken up.

You helped him to his feet and he limped to the living room with his arm over your shoulder for support. Once you got him settled in a chair, you walked back out to the kitchen and got him a glass of water and the leftover half of a Subway sandwich that was in your fridge. You were planning on eating it for lunch the next day, but he needed it more than you did.

“You must be starving. Here.”

“Thank you so much.” He said, taking an eager few gups of water. You knew he was definitely dehydrated. “I’m pretty sure this is just some amazing dream.”

“It might be.” You shook your head, chuckling to yourself. “I don’t know how to explain this to you, so here…” You handed him all three of the Hunger Games books and watched his face as he looked them over, curious but sullen.

“This…this is a joke, right? I’m not…this is…how…?”

“I don’t know either. But, um, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Or as long as you want to. I can’t imagine going back to a place like that. To the games…”

“You’ve read these a lot, huh?” He noticed how beat-up they were and looked up at you. “Why?”

“They give me hope. Things are pretty bad in my country right now, and it gives me hope that even though things are bleak, they can get better.”

“So they do get better?”

“They will, Peeta. It’ll get worse first, but they will get better.”

He smiled a soft but painfilled smile. “It doesn’t always feel that way.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t.” You nodded, thinking. “It doesn’t here, either, honestly.”

Peeta was quiet for a long moment, unsure how to respond, and also the hungriest he’d ever been in his life. So, curiously, he took a few bites of the sandwich you had given him, which quickly snowballed into him scarfing down the whole thing.

You chuckled softly and he looked up at you, sheepish.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. There’s more food where that came from if you’re still hungry.”

“I think I’m okay.” He said quietly, groaning. “I probably shouldn’t have eaten that fast.”

“It happens.” You shrugged. “So, um…what else can I do for you? Maybe some fresh clothes? I’m sure you’ve been wearing those for a while. And, uh, you can use my shower. And if your cut gets worse, I can take you to the hospital.”

As you listed the things, you watched his expression soften, his eyes sad and sparkling. These things you took for granted every day were more than a luxury to him by this point.

“Okay, now I know I’m dreaming.”

“I’ll be right back, alright? Sit tight.” You went upstairs into your room and grabbed some clothes you thought would fit him. He wasn’t all that tall, so you thought some of your sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt would probably do the trick.

You grabbed those along with a clean towel and headed back downstairs to find him holding the Hunger Games, skimming through the last few pages. You wondered how much he’d read, but the grim expression on his face told you enough. He knew how Katniss really felt.

“Here. These should fit. If not, I can try to find something else.”

“I’m sure they’re fine. Thank you.”

“I’ll, uh, show you how to use the shower.” You stopped yourself. “Wait, do you think you’re strong enough to stand in there on your own?”

He chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” To demonstrate, he stood up and took a few steps forward. He was wobbly, sure, but he was doing it without, seemingly, too much pain.

You led him to the bathroom and taught him how to adjust everything. They had showers in Panem, sure, but given that he was from District 12 and not the Capital, you weren’t sure how advanced his were. Then, once you were confident he’d be fine on his own, you left him in there, heading up the stairs again.

Luckily enough, due to a falling out with one of your roommates, they had moved out, and as a result, you guys had a spare room. So, you grabbed your second pair of sheets and made up the spare bed, making sure it looked nice and neat. He’d been sleeping on the ground for a week, so you were sure he would have been fine crashing on the couch, let alone the queen-sized bed.

When that was taken care of, you went back downstairs, put away the books before he could read any more than he already had, and by the time you were done with that, the water in the bathroom turned off and you heard the shower curtain being pulled aside.

He emerged a few minutes later in your clothes, which fit him just fine, holding the wet towel and his dirty clothes.

“I didn’t know what you wanted me to do with these…”

“I have a hamper in there. You can just put them in there if you want.”

“Okay.” He nodded, went back into the steamy bathroom, put the clothes in the hamper, and then returned to the living room, his hair still damp. “You have no idea how good that felt.”

“I bet.” You smiled softly. “Feel better?”

“Tremendously.” He collapsed onto the couch. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” You nodded, thinking for a moment before saying, “I’m sure you have questions.”

“A few. What year is it?”

“2021.”

Peeta inhaled sharply, letting the news sink in for a moment before saying, “Wow.”

“Yeah…”

“What’s your name?”

“It’s (Y/N).”

He nodded, smiling softly. “(Y/N)…” He repeated. “Okay. And…well, I don’t suppose you know how to send me back?”

“I don’t even know how you got here.”

“Right. I figured.” He looked out the window. It was dark outside. He was pretty sure it had been daytime when he’d fallen asleep, but he supposed that didn’t really matter when he had fallen centuries into the past. “What time is it?”

You checked your watch. “Little past midnight. Are you tired?”

“I haven’t really slept in weeks.” He admitted. It was then that you noticed just how tired he looked. Just how dark the bags were under his eyes.

“Understandably so.” You frowned and tilted your head slightly. “I, uh, made up the spare room for you. Figured it would be nicer to sleep on than the couch.”

“You have a bed for me?”

“One of my roommates decided to turn evil and move out. It does have its perks, though.”

He laughed at that. “Well, thank them for me when you get the chance.”

“If she hadn’t blocked me on everything, I would.” You grinned and stood up. “Follow me.”

You led him up the stairs and into the spare room, which, aside from the bedding on the bed and the furniture the room had come with, was entirely empty.

Peeta stood in the doorway for a long moment, looking at the bed all made up with the baby blue sheets and the Doctor Who blanket. It was bigger than he’d been expecting.

“If it gets too cold in here, I put another blanket in the top drawer of the dresser. There’s another bathroom right there and my bedroom is next door to this one if you need anything.”

“Hey, uh, (Y/N)?”

“Yeah?”

Peeta turned around and looked at you, his eyes soft and sad. He took your hand in one of his. “If this does turn out to be a dream and I wake up in the arena again tomorrow, I want you to know that this means the world to me and…you made a difference in my life, even if it seems small to you, it’s huge to me. Thank you. So much.”

“If I wake up and this was all a dream, I want you to know, I’d do all of this and more for you every time without hesitation. And if we wake up tomorrow and you’re still here…how do you want your eggs in the morning?”

He thought for a second, smiling and chuckling before responding, “Scrambled.”

“Done.” You looked up at him, thinking before deciding to go for it. You hugged him.

He hesitated for a moment, and then you felt his arms wrap around you and his head collapse against yours as he exhaled a long breath. He whispered, “Thank you.”

“Of course. Goodnight, Peeta. Get some sleep.”

#peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark imagine #peeta mellark #peeta #peeta x reader #peeta imagine #the hunger games #hunger games

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schmergo · 3 years ago

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As you might have gathered from some of the statuses I've posted this past week, I'd been re-watching the 2006 BBC Jane Eyre miniseries in honor of Valentine's Day (no, I will not accept criticisms), and although this is still probably my favorite adaptation of the book, can I just say, CAN WE PLEASE EVER GET A VERSION OF JANE EYRE WHERE BOTH OF THE TWO LEADS ARE NOT CONVENTIONALLY ATTRACTIVE???

The book keeps going on and on about, "Oh, Mr. Rochester is not handsome, he kinda looks like a Sasquatch, but I'm into that, IDK" and "No rich gentleman would ever want to marry me because I'm so plain and unattractive, not even one who looks like a Sasquatch." There are some pretty intense digs at both characters' looks in the book and they kept them in the miniseries without changing them, and it almost felt like I was in an alternate dimension with the same beauty standards as that one Twilight Zone episode. You know the one.

True, Ruth Wilson is a little bit of an unconventional beauty (and, I must say, fantastic in the role), but she's still played Hedda Gabler. Nobody who has EVER played Hedda Gabler can be expected to say lines with a straight face like, "Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless?" In the scene where she draws contrasting portraits of herself and the hot lady she thinks Rochester wants to marry, it's almost confusing because it's just, like, two lovely portraits of pretty women. It feels like that SNL skit where the hosts are like, "Who wore it better? THEY BOTH LOOK NICE!!!!" Like, yeah, Jane wears ugly gray dresses and severe hairstyles and she doesn't have 'Hollywood' teeth, but she also has a SNAAAATCHED waist, beautiful eyes, and a flawless complexion. She pulls off the no-makeup makeup look in a way that instagram skincare influencers could only dream of. If 2006 Ruth Wilson went back in time to the 1830's, men would have fits of apoplexy falling over each other proposing to her.

So yeah, I would say they made Ruth Wilson, like, "Hollywood homely" for the movie, but Toby Stephens as Mr. Rochester was just... laughable. I don't say that to insult him! It's not his fault he's not ugly! He did a great job! I very much enjoyed his performance and I actually think they styled him perfectly for the role-- which is quite a feat, given that he's got ginger hair and blue eyes in real life, not what you'd expect out of a guy who's the stereotypical dark, brooding type. But OH MY GOSH. Dude has the slightly rugged but still classically symmetrical look of a male model who has a bit of sun damage from spending too much time picking up babes on the beach. If Toby Stephens' version of Rochester is supposed to be ugly, the rest of us are doomed. The rest of us are basically crusty limpets on a dehydrated desolate rock if he's ugly.

When Jane's having a conversation with him early in the miniseries, she's kinda staring at him, trying to figure him out because he's kind of weird and unpredictable, and he says sarcastically, "Oh, do you think me handsome?" and she blurts out, "No sir." And he's like, "What if I told you I have 20,000 pounds a year? Would I then become handsome?" and she savagely says something along the lines of, "I don't think anything in science would allow that, sir."

My favorite line in the whole darn book is after he's badly injured in a horrible accident near the end (won't spoil what happens for those of you who don't know the ending; I didn't know the ending the first time I read the book and it GOT ME GOOD) and he says, "Am I hideous, Jane?" And she says, "Very, sir. You always were, you know." It's HILARIOUS because it's not at all what you'd expect from someone who's frankly having a very emotional reunion with the person she loves who has experienced a life-altering tragedy. But in the miniseries, it was hilarious in a very different way because... dude looks great. Dashing, even.

My friend joked that his appearance after getting injured was basically the treatment they gave to Gerard Butler in Phantom of the Opera, but honestly, it was even more pathetic. He had some very faint scarring around one cheek bone/eye socket that I didn't even notice at first and a contact lens that made one pupil look sort of oversized and oblong-shaped, giving him kinda a David Bowie vibe, and he had a bandage wrapped around his hand. If you saw your boyfriend looking like that, you might think he got in a moderate car accident and had a sprained wrist and a bit of a concussion. I'd think that if you already had a very handsome Rochester cast, you wouldn't be afraid he'd be too ugly for the screen if he actually looked seriously injured, but nooooooo.

Again, not to spoil what injured him, but he was lucky to have escaped with his life. In the book, he had one eye knocked out and was temporarily blinded in the other, and one of his hands was amputated entirely, as well as having some minor burns on his forehead and eyebrows. They could at least have given him an eyepatch instead of just having him squint a little. Oh, and supposedly, his hair was supposed to be really overgrown and unkempt and tangled because nobody was looking after it, and they kept the part in the miniseries where Jane is like, "Oh my gosh, let me comb your hair, it's a mess," but... his hair looked great? Certainly better than mine ever has.

On a less goofy note, I think Jane Eyre has a bit of a special significance for most of us who grew up feeling like we were too ugly to see ourselves in Disney princess movies or rom-coms or, heck, Jane Austen novels. As messed-up as that book is (I love it, though), it felt like the first time I ever saw a woman who wasn't conventionally attractive actually experience romantic feelings and have them returned. Before I read Jane Eyre, I was only capable of seeing myself in comic relief characters and villains and ugly dude characters whose storylines aren't defined by romance. The first time I read the book, I didn't really 'get it'-- I think I wasn't mature enough yet in 8th grade-- but I remember when I had my first real, serious crush a year or so later, I thought, "I think I'm ready to read Jane Eyre again," and wow, did it pack a punch.

The book totally nails how it feels to develop feelings for another person for the first time when you never really saw yourself as the type of person who gets into relationships. It also captures how it feels to be drawn to another person and become so fond of and appreciative of their features because they're theirs, even if they don't initially seem to be society's ideal of beauty. (Most young teens are still in an awkward phase and growing into ourselves. Our first romantic interests don't usually look like Hollywood stars, and nor do we.) It felt like there was something real in Jane Eyre that I hadn't yet seen in other books with romance plot lines, even though there are so many wildly improbable and bizarre and awful elements of that story that would and should NEVER happen today.

It would be great to see an adaptation of Jane Eyre that keeps that vibe in mind. We've had a few where Rochester isn't your typical leading man, but it seems like in those cases, they cast an even more than usually beautiful Jane to compensate. It might be a bit of a tough sell to hold a casting call: "ARE YA UGLY BUT STILL HAVE THAT CERTAIN SOMETHING THAT MAKES PEOPLE GO, 'HOOO, THEY'RE NOT MY USUAL TYPE BUT I'M KINDA INTO IT????' Step right up!" But let me tell ya, it sure feels weird to watch a screen adaptation of the only 'ugly people in love' story I'd ever experienced other than DANG SHREK as a young person, at a much more self-confident and mature place with regards to your appearance than you were back then, and be like, "Wow, I'd never even be considered for this role because I'm still too homely to play the homely romantic lead!"

#jane eyre #literature #charlotte bronte

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pan-fangirl-345 · 4 years ago

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He Would Tear the World Apart

Summary: During a raid, you're taken hostage. Shouto doesn't take the news well, and will do anything to get you back.

TW: kidnapping, abuse, alcoholism mentioned, Enji Todoroki's bad parenting, mental torture, dissociating, injuries, blood, angst, mentioned character death (no one actually dies), a lot of swearing, chains, starvation, dehydration, that sort of thing. If there's anything I missed, please let me know! Also, there is a happy ending, so it's angst to fluff!

A/N: First and foremost, I have no medical degree, I have no idea what it's like to dissociate, so anything medically incorrect is because I am not a doctor, though I am currently working on getting my psychology degree. I'm sorry if this offends anyone, that was not the intention. I have no idea what went through my head to make me write all of this in an hour, but here you go. Also, please read the trigger warnings, and if you don't like it, don't read it. Anyway, I might make a part two to this if anyone is interested. Feel free to spam my ask box, or slide into my DM's if you want. Please interact with me, I adore you all.

Aizawa sighed as he stepped into the conference room. He sat down heavily in his usual seat, and Nezu climbed onto his shoulder, as was custom after so many years, despite the situation they were in.

Again.

"As you have all heard, one of the second year students, (Y/N), has been taken. She was last seen on a raid with the hero she was studying under, and we haven't heard anything from her since this transmission."

Nezu pressed play on a recording and her voice floated through the air.

She was panting, and she was whispering, but Aizawa knew that it was her.

"To anyone receiving this transmission, this is hero-in-training Tempest, I'm pursuing the criminals associated with the gang 'The Numerals'. I've been separated from the others and my comms have been compromised by one of the members. Please, send back-up."

There was a pause where all they could hear was her breathing, and suddenly she yelled, "Hey! You, stop!"

There was static, and then there was nothing.

"We have received information from one of our recon teams that they have taken her to their base of operations, though we don't know exactly where that is yet. We have also, as a school, received a ransom demand. Her parents have yet to be contacted about this."

Copies of the notes were handed out to the teachers, and they all frowned, clearly thinking the same thing Aizawa had thought.

They were a school, what kind of school had this kind of money sitting around?

"What is the girl's quirk?"

"She can create different types of storms in her hands," Aizawa supplied. "As of the end of last year, she could make a hurricane for a few minutes at a time, sometimes a dust storm, and I know for a fact that she was undergoing training over the summer, so it might be more than that now. Under extreme duress, she can make a full scale electrical storm in a building or outside, but only if her life is threatened."

"So, not helpful for getting out of this kind of situation?" one of the other teachers chirped and Aizawa nodded.

"No," he agreed. "Though we should be checking for any strange storms and freak electrical spikes."

"Do any of the other students know about this?" Hizashi asked.

"No, and we need to keep it that way," Aizawa told his husband.

"Why?" Vlad King asked.

"(Y/N) is Todoroki Shouto's girlfriend," Aizawa replied, then waited for that to sink in before he continued. "If he finds out that she's gone, or that's she's been kidnapped and harmed . . . ." He shook his head a few times before he added, "He would tear the world apart to get her back."

"Fuck," someone mumbled, and Aizawa nodded.

Pretty much everyone that was at U.A. knew what that girl meant to Shouto, not to mention the people at Endeavor's agency, and the one that (Y/L/N) was working with.

"Alright, so what's the plan?" Midnight asked.

"We plan a rescue mission," Nezu said. "We're working with nearly every police force in the country to try and figure out where they're keeping her. We have a rough area," he clicked onto a photo of a map, one area to the far north highlighted in bright red. "But there's nothing we can do until then, we need a warrant and evidence."

"The life of a child isn't enough?" Midnight asked. "Especially such a beautiful girl?"

Everyone went quiet, the mood somber and heavy.

"Aizawa, you spent more time with this girl than anybody," one of the third year teachers said, "how likely is it that she'll find a way out on her own?"

"It's a possibility," Aizawa admitted. "She's a very capable student, on par with Midoriya, Todoroki, and Bakugou, but they know what she can do. Not to mention that sources tell us she was injured, though we aren't sure to what extent. And the longer she spends with them is more time Shouto has to figure out what's happening. Not to mention the other students. We need to get her out as soon as possible."

"Agreed," Hizashi added.

It was no secret that Present Mic and Eraserhead had both taken a liking to you when you were in Class 1-A, all of the teachers liked you, and you were a solid foundation for your classmates.

You were a calm presence, and everyone, Bakugou included, had gone to you for advice at some point, though it was all for different reasons.

You tend to be a level-headed person, but when you felt strongly about something, nothing was going to stop you.

People, Shouto mainly, would start to sense the lack of your presence, and Aizawa wasn't ashamed to admit that he wanted you back where you belonged.

"We can't keep him, Shouto I mean, in the dark about this," Hizashi murmured. "He's one of the best up and coming heroes."

"Not to mention," Aizawa added, "that we plan on flooding the streets with her photo. We've already sent it to all of the major hero agencies involved with the search, Endeavor's being one of them. If we don't tell him, his father will, and we all know how volatile that relationship is."

Everyone in the room shuddered at the mention of the father and son duo and nodded.

"Aizawa, All Might, it might be better if you both told him," Nezu said. "You both have the best relationship with him in this room, and you might be the only two that could hold him back if he reacts violently."

"And he will," Aizawa mumbled, already standing from his chair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shouto knew something was wrong.

He hadn't seen or heard from you in two days, almost three, and the teachers were acting suspicious. There were fewer of them in the halls, and Aizawa was even more tired than usual, with dark worry bags under his eyes that the students hadn't seen since the Bakugou Debacle in their first year.

The last he had heard, you were going on a raid for some gang members that were selling some sort of hallucinogenic drug based off of a mirage quirk.

You hadn't contacted him or come back since.

"Young Shouto, can we speak to you for a moment?" All Might asked, making everyone look up from what they were doing.

Despite the dorms no longer being completely necessary, (the League had backed off a little bit in recent days, and there hadn't been very many Nomu attacks lately), most of Class 1-A, now 2-A, had moved into the dorms for their second year, you and Shouto included.

"Does this have to do with (Y/F/N)?" he asked, standing quickly.

"Unfortunately, yes," Aizawa said, voice somber.

"Todoroki, do you want us to come with you?" Midoriya asked, getting that look on his face.

"If it's about (Y/F/N) then they all deserve to know too," Shouto said. "And I would feel better knowing they were here."

"Of-Of course," All Might replied, glancing at Aizawa nervously.

"(Y/L/N) has been kidnapped and is being held hostage as we speak," he told them, as blunt as ever.

Aizawa ripped his goggles off right before Shouto blew.

One half of his body erupted into blue tinted flames, and the other exploded in a rain of ice, but they evaporated quickly under Aizawa's gaze, and before any damage could be done to the dorms.

Everything went dark in his head, and his feet were moving before he even had a chance to fully process what his former teachers had been saying to him.

"And where do you think you're going?" Aizawa asked, raising an eyebrow as he moved to intercept him.

"To find her," Shouto snarled, and he didn't even recognize his own voice. It was several octaves lower than normal, and there was a rasp to it that had never been there before. "To get my girlfriend back."

"You don't even know where she is," Aizawa said. "We don't even know where she is. Besides, you're too emotionally involved."

"Too emotionally involved?" Shouto said, his voice too calm, his eyes too dead.

Everyone in the room took a step away from him. Everyone except Midoriya and Bakugou.

"Too emotionally involved?" he repeated.

"Oh shit," someone whispered, though Shouto didn't know who it was.

"That is my girlfriend. That is the love of my life and you're telling me that I can't get her back because . . . I'm too emotionally involved? What about when Midoriya went to get Eri? Was he too 'emotionally involved'?"

No one dared to point out that it was nowhere near the same thing, but there was a collective thought about it in the room.

"That is my fucking girlfriend out there," he snapped. "I will work harder than anyone to get her back. I will be the one person wholly invested in making sure that she stays safe."

"And that is why you can't be one of the people in on this," Aizawa told him. "The others are her friends, but you? You are way more than that, and that means that when it comes down to it, you can't make a clear-headed decision on whether it's worth it to try and grab her or not. Because she'll always be worth it to you."

"Damn right she will," Shouto said, staring Aizawa down.

No one had heard Shouto swear this much at once, if ever, depending on the person. He was starting to sound like Bakugou, and the others knew immediately that if you weren't back soon, he was going to blow.

"Look kid, I understand," Aizawa muttered. "I really do. I understand how you feel, I would do that same thing for Hizashi, but I also know what I would do, and we can't have that in the investigation. What would (Y/F/N) want?"

"She would want to be here!" Shouto shouted. "She would want to be teasing Bakugou in the kitchen, making sure that everyone had a blanket for movie night. She would want to be curled up with me on the couch watching bad romance movies that the girls cheated their way into picking out and making sure that I-!"

Shouto stopped as the emotions got lodged in his throat. Tears threatened to spill over as his vision got blurry, and the others were there to catch him as his knees gave out on him.

"We'll get her back kid," Aizawa assured him, crouching down, touching the top of his head softly. "We will get her back."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your head was buzzing as you came back to consciousness and you suppressed a groan of pain.

Consciousness hurt.

You did a short mental tally of your injuries.

Your ribs were definitely a little bruised, if not cracked or broken. Your lips were split in at least four different places each. One shoulder was definitely dislocated, and the other was hurt in some way. Your left ankle was bruised and swollen, broken probably. Your head probably had a huge gash if the blood running down the side of your face was anything to go by, and you were definitely concussed on some level.

Apparently getting your head slammed into solid concrete by someone who had launched themselves off a ledge would do that to you.

You were in what looked like a basement of some sort. The walls were solid concrete, there were pipes running overhead and dripping on you randomly, which wasn't appreciated, and there was insulation and plaster showing through here and there.

"Finally awake sleeping beauty?"

Your head whipped around to see your kidnapper, but your head protested and so did your stomach, despite the fact that there was nothing in it.

You suppressed a groan, trying to keep your stomach where it belonged.

"Ready to tell us who the informant is?"

"Go straight to hell," you muttered, when you were certain you wouldn't throw up on yourself, glaring at them.

"I still can't believe you were fucking stupid enough to kidnap a child! She doesn't know shit," the other man snapped at the first.

"She has to know something!" the first guy snapped. "She was in on the raid!"

His quirk allowed him to change his voice, so he wasn't using the real one, he sounded like a guy that smoked twenty packs of cigarettes a day.

The other guy you had started calling Sandy in your head. His quirk was similar to yours, he was able to turn anything he touched into sand, and then use it. He mostly made sand storms, and that's how they had gotten the jump on you in the tunnels.

One had blinded you while the other had carried you away, much to chagrin of the Sandy.

"I'm in training," you rasped. "I'm hero-in-training Tempest, from Class 2-A at the school U.A."

They hadn't given you anything to drink in the last two days, from what you could even remember of it, and you knew that you weren't going to last much longer, having been dehydrated when they had taken you.

They had kidnapped you from the raid site, and then spent six hours driving around like morons trying to cover their tracks, before driving for an unknown amount of time before they had dumped you in here. You had been unconscious for the secondary part of the drive, and you knew that with everything going on, there was the possibility you were experiencing retrograde amnesia.

"They don't tell me the important stuff like that. I get told when we're going on raids, and what my part in them is, and that's on the very rare occasion that they happen during my shifts. Most of the time, I'm on patrols around the city," you told them, taking a break in your little speech to spit blood onto the floor by your leg. "You need directions, I'm your girl, but you need to know who's a rat, sorry, I can't help."

You would've shrugged, but your arms were chained to the wall behind you, and every time you moved your right arm it made an awful clicking noise that you knew wasn't natural. Your left shoulder was dislocated as well, meaning your arms were pretty much useless.

One leg was operational, but barely. You were so far out of commission you wouldn't be surprised if U.A. kicked you out to recuperate.

U.A. wouldn't, and couldn't, pay the ransom. You knew that. The best hope you had was that you could act your way out of this, or that they planned a raid to get you out.

They had done it for Bakugou, why not you, right?

Shouto passed through your thoughts, thoughts about what he might do to get you back, but you shut them down as soon as they entered your head.

You were trying to keep him in a safe place.

You hoped that Shouto never learned about this. About where they were keeping you, what they had already done to try and get you to talk.

He was your safe place now, safe and away from this building, wherever you were. You thought maybe if you could keep him out of your head here, it was a way of protecting him from the reality of your situation, even if he already knew.

"She's a kid," Sandy snarled, pointing at you viciously. "She's a kid. You know the Boss' rules about kids and you broke almost every one of them!"

"Yeah, well-"

"Guys, hey, I hate to interrupt," you interjected, "but I really have to go to the bathroom."

They both stared at you for a moment before Sandy asked, "Do you promise to not try and escape?"

"Buddy, I don't know if you've looked recently, but I doubt I'm doing anywhere," you quipped. "My ankle is obviously demolished, my head was cracked open like an egg, thanks to your buddy Darth Vader over there. Not to mention, I'm dehydrated and starving, and don't even get me started on how much my ribs are killing me right now, probably literally. Do I look like I'm in any shape to try and escape?"

Sandy frowned, glancing at you like this was the first time he was seeing the extent of what had been done to you.

"Alright, I'm going to undo the chains, but you can't try to escape, you'll only make things worse for yourself."

"Death seems preferable at this point," you grunted, trying to hide the pain you were in.

"Don't you have healing supplies?"

"How am I supposed to use them when I can't move my fucking arms?" you asked, wiggling your fingers in emphasis. "And you morons confiscated my belt, which had them all in it! You know what my quirk is! What did you think was in it? Explosives? No, I leave that to Dynamight."

"Fuck," Sandy muttered.

"Why do you care so much anyway?" the voice dude asked.

"Because if she dies then that means no money and no chance of surviving prison again. Do you know what happens to people who mess with kids in prison? Nothing good."

You logged that little piece of information away, trying to focus on their features, but with your concussion, your eyes weren't the hottest.

"Can you move?" Sandy asked you as he worked on unlocking your chains.

You couldn't help the cry of pain when your arms dropped to your sides, tearing stinging your eyes as you bit into your already roughed up lip.

"Shit. Can we get a medic in here?" Sandy shouted.

A door opened and someone stuck their head in. Sandy repeated his demand, and the door shut again.

"Why are you doing this?" you whimpered, trying to keep your voice even.

If they were sadists, any fear or pain you showed only gave them what they wanted.

"Because we don't have a choice," Sandy said. "The Boss gave us somewhere to belong, he gave us a place off the streets. We owe him. We would've died."

"Shut up," Smoker snapped, and you glanced at him.

"I have a headache, and it comes and goes as you talk. Please, for the love of all things holy, shut up," you hissed to Darth Vader, wanting to touch your head, but not being able to for multiple reasons.

Sandy touched your shoulder lightly and you cried out again, moving automatically to hit him, but your other arm twinged, bringing more tears to your eyes.

"Sorry," Sandy murmured, pulling his hands away.

You took a shaky breath, waiting for the pain to dull before you said, "There's no way I'm moving from this spot without being in pain, and I'm definitely going to need help."

"Holy fuck, you two morons were two lucky blows away from killing her."

You glanced over to see someone with a med kit strolling leisurely down the stairs.

"Hello Tempest," they said, giving you a bright smile.

"Hello Med Kit," you replied, giving them a grimace.

"You can call me Himo for now," Med Kit said. "Do you mind if I take a look?"

"You're going to whether I want you or not, but sure, go ahead," you muttered. "It's not really like you can make this any worse."

"I could break almost every bone in your body and keep you alive while doing it, so I could do so much worse, but that's not the goal here," Himo told you, setting to work.

"So what is the goal? Since I'm assuming that I'm never going to get out of here," you said, glancing around.

"Why do you think that?" Himo asked, ignoring your first question.

"Because I've seen your faces, I know your quirks, I know a general area of where I'm being kept, unless someone used a teleportation quirk of some sort. I know the school won't pay the ransom, my parents don't have that kind of money, and my boyfriend's father would never pay to see me safe and sound. He would probably twist his son's grief to get him to be compliant," you grumbled. "Besides, I'm a hero, hero-in-training, whatever, it's all semantics. I'm basically your arch-nemesis. Isn't that what every villain wants? To kill the person in their way?"

"We aren't villains," Sandy muttered.

"You break laws put in place to protect people, you attacked a minor, then kidnapped her after assaulting her, and you are trying to get a ransom for me," you pointed out. "That doesn't really scream 'hero' or 'civilian' to me."

"Have you ever though about who writes the rules? About how money can manipulate everything? The system is flawed, and we are going to make sure people know it," Darth Vader snarled. "Do you understand how unfair the world is?"

"Don't talk to me about the world being unfair," you whispered, your voice dropping, every muscle in your body tensing. "My boyfriend loves his mother more than pretty much anyone in the world. Her parents, his grandparents, arranged a quirk marriage, and she had four children she didn't necessarily want. Her husband drove her to near insanity, enough so that she poured a kettle of boiling water over my boyfriend's face because he looks like his father. His father has already managed to get one of his children killed, and he considers the other rejects because they don't have the quirk he wanted them to have. He's a different kind of monster, and he's not in jail.

"My own father verbally and mentally abused me for as long as I can remember. My mother and I were zombies until recently, when I decided I had had enough and my mother finally found the courage and will to leave his sorry ass in the gutters where it belongs. My father always had enough alcohol in his system to make him a human molotov cocktail. I had little to no self esteem until recently, and I still struggle to understand and comprehend that I am worth love. I am still learning to respect myself. So you don't get to preach to me about how unfair the world is buddy, we all know," you snarled.

"The hundreds, thousands of kids out on the street know. The women and men that get raped, and continue to see their own personal monster roam free know. The kids that get hit every day for not being what their parents want know. That's why people like me exist, to put away the monsters wearing human skin. That's why my friends and I try so hard to be heroes. It's not about the glory, or the money. It's about bring people to justice, it's about making sure that people feel safe. It's about giving other people something that we never had."

Silence echoed through the room as what you said sank in.

You hadn't meant to burst like that, but you were sick and tired of these guys using their shitty lives to make other people's lives shitty too.

"Why are you a hero, Tempest?" Himo asked.

"Because I want to save people," you replied. "I just told you that. I want to make sure that every child like me knows that they don't have to be their parents, that there is another option. I don't want the abused becoming the abuser. I want to make sure that the people doing the bad things get put where they belong. I want to help the kids that have nothing to lose, I want to help them realize that they have everything to gain. I want to give people like you hope."

There was no use in lying to them, they were probably going to kill you anyway. Besides, it might help you build rapport, and they might let you go when they realized that they made a mistake.

"People like us?"

"People who think that there isn't another option. People who have been shown nothing but the horrid parts of the world, the horrible parts of humanity. People who don't know what it's like to be loved completely by somebody, both good and bad. People who think that they owe someone who isn't worth one minute of their time. Good people who strayed too far from the path."

There was silence for a few minutes before you said, "I've seen a lot of real villains, people who aren't capable of basic human emotions, I've seen people who have no humanity in their eyes. They are the villains, they are the monster under our beds personified. People like you, you just simply wandered. You aren't lost, you're just further to the side than some other people. It would be easy for you to walk the path again."

You paused, thinking over what you said, then added, "Well, it wouldn't be easy necessarily, but it would be worth it."

"You still have the naivety of a child," Vader snarled.

"Call me what you want, naive, innocent, optimistic, I've heard it all, but in the end, I'm right," you told him.

"And how do you know that?"

"Because, at the end of the day, I know that every life I save isn't just one life," you replied. "That young woman I saved, she might have kids some day, or foster a child that needs a loving mother. That child I shoved out of the way might help the suicidal child in his class. Every life I save touches other people's lives. As hard as it is to believe, no one is ever truly alone in the world. Every smile I give to a stranger might make their day, might help them live long enough to find the thing that makes them happy. That's why I'm a hero."

More silence.

Your face heated, but there was something in their faces that told you they had never thought about it that way before.

"So, is there anything you can do to heal me?" you asked, breaking the silence.

"Like I said, these guys were two lucky blows away from killing you, I'm surprised that you're still alive, actually, everything considered. Your head will heal on it's own, but there might be a little scar left. However, your ribs might take longer. Three are cracked, and four are bruised. Your ankle might need surgery to get it back to the way it was. It's definitely broken, and there might be small bone particles floating around in there, I'm not entirely sure, my quirk isn't that detailed I'm afraid. Not to mention that, from what I can see, your shoulders just need to be popped back into place. One was dislocated more than the other, but it will hurt."

"Can't hurt worse than the state I'm in now. So what can you do? I'm assuming that taking me to a hospital is out of the question."

"Well, I can treat the cut on your head, relocate your shoulders, and I can see if someone else can take a look at your ankle, but everything else will have to heal on it's own."

"So there isn't much?"

"Nope, we don't have the equipment needed for your ankle here, and, like you said, no hospitals."

"Fucking gre- wait a minute, to you guys still have my belt?" you asked, perking up a little.

"Yeah, it's over here," Sandy said, walking over into the back corner, pulling your med belt out.

"Hand it over. I promise there's nothing too harmful in there. There are some painkillers, but it's just Midol. It's all medical stuff," you said, wincing as Sandy dropped it into your lap.

You opened it, taking out a small device.

"What does that thing even do?" Himo asked, looking at it warily.

"It's not a communicator or anything," you hurried to explain. "I made some friends in the support courses, so I asked if they could make me a device that works like an X-ray would. Himo, take it."

He took from you gently, which you appreciated, and turned it all around, trying to figure out how it worked.

"Alright, see that little button on the top left, yeah, right there. Click that button twice, like hitting the home button of a phone."

Himo did as he was told, and the screen blinked to life.

"Alright, hold the over my hurt ankle, and it should be able to show what's going on. Or," you added, "it'll blow up. Hatsume is kind of unpredictable like that."

Himo's hands tightened on it, but he did what you asked, and was clearly surprised when a detailed X-ray appeared on the screen.

"Holy shit, it worked!" you cheered, grinning.

"You have some very talented friends," Himo told you.

"I know right? She's a little quirky, but she's great at what she does!"

"How are you able to smile right now?" Sandy asked, looking at you with something akin to wonder.

"Don't get me wrong," you started. "I'm fucking terrified, but there's not much I can do in this situation. Besides, from what I can tell, other than the initial assault, you people don't want to hurt me. You want something from me. In this scenario, what I'm guessing, is that you want something from me, so you're going to be nice, and make me want to help you out, or make me feel like I owe you one, and then, when I don't comply, you'll either torture me to try and get what you want until I die, or you'll just kill me right off the bat."

Himo winced, and Sandy twitched.

"You guys really hate the thought of me dying, don't you?" you asked, cocking your head to the side, despite the protect of your brain. "Is this one of those scenarios where kids should be off limits?"

"We may be bad guys, but we have certain priorities," Sandy admitted. "Kids are a sore spot for most of us."

You nodded slightly. "I can see why. You guys said something about being on the streets? I know that sometimes kids band together, that's how they survive. I'm assuming you've lost friends."

"Smart kid," Himo murmured, eyes darting over the X-ray.

"Sometimes they give us profile training," you admitted. "Besides, I've been working on my psychology degree."

"Wicked smart kid," Sandy quipped.

"Alright, so I can set your ankle, there isn't anything wrong with it other than the obvious fact that it's broken," Himo said, handing the device back to you. "Riko, I'm gonna need your help."

"With what?" Sandy asked, looking skeptical.

"Can you hold her legs down? I need to relocate her shoulders before I do anything with her ankle, just because I have a feeling she attacks when she's hurt."

"Good instincts," you muttered.

"I'm a doctor," he confessed, grinning. "You learn a thing or two."

"Sorry about this," Sandy said.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," you told him. "As long as that's all you do I'll considerate your way of trying to make up from everything else."

Sandy snorted, holding your legs just below your knees.

"This is going to hurt," Himo warned.

"I would be surprised if it-"

You clenched your teeth to try and keep your scream in as Himo popped your right arm back into place.

The rest of your body bucked, trying to roll away, but Sandy, Riko, had a firm hold on you.

You panted as the pain started to fade a little in your arm.

"Sorry, I've found it works better when people aren't expecting it," he said.

"Son of a bitch," you gritted out, spitting blood off to the side. "I bit my tongue."

Riko chuckled, shaking his head.

"Alright, now for the other one," Himo murmured. "I really don't understand how you managed to take this much damage."

"At least I only broke my ankle. My friend Deku has broken both arms, both legs, and both hands before. I think he's broken almost every bone in his body sa-"

Himo popped your other arm back into place and you couldn't stop the tears that flowed down your cheeks at that one, your jaw almost cracking with how hard you clenched it to try and keep the noises in.

"Fucking fuck," you muttered when the pain pulsed into something a little bit more bearable.

"Better?" Himo asked, prodding your shoulders.

"Yeah," you admitted, moving them slowly. You dug around in your med belt, pulling out two pieces of metal and a small bottle.

"What is that for?" Himo asked.

You pushed a button on the metal, and they extended to the required length.

"It's for a splint, or a cast," you told him. "Once you set my ankle, you put the metal on either side, and I can spray this one. It's a special kind of plaster, don't ask me how it works, I have no idea what's in it, but it'll hold until my ankle is fully healed, then it'll fall off on it's own."

"Amazing!"

"Heroes, when the respond to disasters, often have to set up triages until other emergency responders can arrive, so we have to know a little bit about basic medical treatments in emergencies like that. So a lot of us have belts and such to keep medical stuff in. I also keep duct tape and glue in here. You never know when you're gonna need it."

You pulled out some painkillers, popping two in your mouth, taking them dry.

"How?" Vader asked, sounding horrified.

"Hate to break it to you, but when you're a teenage girl, especially one learning to be a hero, when you don't always have time for water, you learn to take pills dry."

"TMI," Vader muttered.

"Hey, jackass, you asked," you told him.

Riko and Himo chuckled.

"Alright. Riko, see if you can get a hold on her, this is gonna hurt like a bitch," Himo warned. "Li, hold her other leg down."

"Don't use my fucking name!" Vader shouted.

"You know, I wouldn't have known that was your real name if you hadn't reacted that way," you told him. "Heroes are also trained to pick up on certain behaviors like that."

Li grumbled, but did as he was asked.

Himo situated himself, then said, "Get ready."

The pain had you blacking out before you knew what happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I knew something was wrong," Shouto muttered for the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes. "I should have gone with her!"

"Dude, it wasn't even your mission," Kaminari told him. "There was nothing you could've done for her."

"Yeah you half-and-half bastard," Bakugou chimed in. "Besides, we're gonna get her back, so shut up and try and think of something useful."

Everyone had leapt into action when it had sunk in that you were in serious danger. It didn't take long, and no one wanted to acknowledge that it was worrisome.

They had split up into teams.

Midoriya, Bakugou, Shouto, Kaminari, and Kirishima were working on the maps that had been given to the students.

Momo, Jirou, Uraraka, Mina, and Tsuyu were going over the interviews with raid members, trying to gather up information on what had happened, trying to see if there was a traitor among them, other than the undercover agent that they had been told about.

Tokoyami, Ojiro, Shoji, Sero, and Koda were helping the other heroes do recon missions and patrols in the area where they suspected you were being held.

Sato, Shinso, Hagaruke, and Iida were working on the case files of all the known members of the gang that you had been going after. Surprisingly, those four were the only ones able to hear about the things that some of the gang members had done.

Hagakure was crying softly to herself as she read, but no one could pull her away from the files.

"I have to know," she kept saying. "I need to know about what they did so I can help when we get her back."

Sato didn't know you as well as the others did, so he was a little less effected. He were itching to get you back, but the others had spent far more time with you personally.

Shinso, on the other hand, was powering through them, wanting to know what he had to avenge when they got to that building. He wanted to know what they might be doing to you so that he could have far more reason to get them arrested.

Iida just wanted something useful to do.

"They just cleared building seven in section 3-C!" Aoyama called from his spot the progress computer that they had set up in the common room.

Aoyama was in charge of letting them know what had been cleared, what was under suspicion, and what they had ruled out completely.

"Fuck, that pretty much clears that grid section," Bakugou muttered, forcefully crossing an abandoned apartment building off his map.

"They might need to expand their net," Midoriya added. "No one knows where she is. There's the possibility that they aren't even in that area."

"I hate this!" Shouto burst out. "I feel useless just sitting here!"

"It's either this or you get stuck back on the sidelines," Bakugou reminded him and he clenched his fists.

He just wanted you back safe and sound by his side, preferably with his arm around your shoulders.

He'd been trying to remember the last thing he said to you before you had gone on that raid, but he couldn't remember.

He hoped that it was 'I love you' or something similar, but not knowing was killing him.

"Todoroki-kun," Midoriya said, laying a hand on his arm. "We will get her back."

"Yeah, we aren't giving up on her, no way in hell," Kaminari added, eyes flashing gold in the lights of the common room.

"She never gave up on us, it's not manly for us to give up on her," Kirishima chimed in.

"I know," Shouto said. "I trust you all."

It went unsaid, but understood, that when it came time to get her back, Shouto was going to be the one leading the rescue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A week later, Himo came into the basement and said, "Do you think you can walk?"

"On one leg maybe. Why?" you asked.

Your ankle was wrapped in the cast that you had taken out, but your ankle was feeling a little better than it had been. It still throbbed every once in a while, but it could've been worse.

"The boss wants to see you."

"Oh, the big boss," you griped, rolling your eyes. "He wants to see me he can come down here himself."

Himo hesitated, but he nodded, heading back upstairs.

You had known that there was an undercover agent in the gang, but you had yet to figure out who it was.

Every member of the gang seemed to know that you were there, that, or they were much bigger than you had anticipated.

So far, Himo and Riko were your top two suspicions, given that they were the only two that were actually kind to you, but you had a small part of you that wasn't sure.

The door opening a few minutes later announced the arrival of the leader, and you steeled yourself.

"You fucking morons," the man muttered, rubbing his eyes like he had a headache. "What did I say about kids?"

"Sorry Boss, but we didn't have a choice," Li said, stepping out of the shadows.

He had been stay with you for the entire week, and it was clear that you didn't have the kind of rapport with him that you did with Riko and Himo.

You had been trying to make a storm, something, to let the someone know where you were, but you had idea of knowing whether it was working or not. You were in the experimental stages of the large storm capabilities of your quirk, and you were completely drained at the moment.

"What's your name kid?" the man asked.

His hands were covered in rings, and scars littered the little bit of skin his tailored suit showed off.

You had seen Shouto in high class clothes for gatherings that he was required by social convention to attend, so this guy was either rich, or so far into debt that he was on the run from the banks.

"You can call me Tempest," you said.

"(Y/N). Second year at U.A. Class 2-A student, and one of the new public favorites," Li said.

"Aw, you looked me up, how sweet," you taunted. "But like I said, I prefer Tempest, it sounds cooler."

"Far enough," the boss said.

He was wearing a mask that covered the top half of his face, and a fedora type hat, so there wasn't much to catalog, but you did anyway.

"Are you here to kill me?" you asked, crossing your arms over your chest, despite the way it made the chains rattle.

"No, not if you give me what I want," the man said. His voice was deep, and he looked like he was in his early thirties, but you weren't entirely sure.

"I don't know who your rat is," you stated.

"How do you know that's what I wanted?"

"When I woke up on day two, your Sandy man and Darth Vader over there were talking about it. Vader actually asked me about it." You paused, then said, "You guys do realize that I'm right under an intern right? I'm not high enough to know about UC's. Think of me like the intern's intern. I'm lucky I even got to go on the raid."

The man watched your for a moment before he said, "I hate it when people tell me the truth. It means I don't get to have any fun."

"Sucks to be you then," you replied. "So what happens now?"

"You get broken," the man said, reaching out to touch your forehead.

"Good luck with that," you muttered when he pulled away.

Then the visions started.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Everybody get up!" Aoyama shouted. "Up, up, up! Someone called in a noise complaint late last night!"

Class 2-A poured into the common room.

Shouto, Midoriya, Bakugou, Kirishima, Kaminari and Sero ran in with no shirts on, and Kaminari fell trying to pull his shorts up over his Pikachu boxers. Shinso was already in there sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee clad in a t-shirt with a cat meme and dark jeans.

The girls poured in in a mix of pajamas and hoodies that they had stolen from the boys over the last week, their hair a mess and dark bags under their eyes.

"What's going on?" Shouto asked. He knew that his bags were darker than anyone's, and no one had seen him sleep in almost three days.

"Late last night someone called the tip line anonymously to complain about screaming from a condemned building smack dab in the middle of section 1-A. Someone checked into it and there has been a lot of activity in that area lately," Aoyama explained.

He had given up trying to keep up the sparkly attitude, though some of the French had stayed.

"Is there anything else?"

"Guess which gang has been operating in the middle of that area?" Shinso said, having stayed up with the sparkly blond.

"The Numerals," Shouto said.

"Tres bein!" Aoyama replied.

"Have the heroes been notified?"

"They started a conference at three this morning," Shinso said.

"And no one told us?" Shouto asked.

"They wanted to let us sleep. They know how hard we've been working," Shinso replied.

"I'll sleep when we get her back," Shouto snapped, heading for the conference room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aizawa shouldn't have been surprised when his former students streamed into the meeting that was being held to rescue (Y/L/N), but he was.

Though that might have been because most of the boys were shirtless and the girls were clad in their pajamas, and hoodies that were clearly not theirs.

"Catch us up," Shouto demanded.

"Shouto, what are you-"

"Shouto, you are aware that this is merely to scope out the building, correct?" Aizawa interrupted, glancing at his former class.

"We don't fucking care," Bakugou snarled. "You're going to catch us up, and you're going to let us join, because she's our friend, and we're the strongest team that you could ask for."

"We can't, in good conscience, let kids into-"

"Do we need to mention all the times that the League has attacked us in the last year? Not to mention Gentle Criminal, Stain, the whole Chisaki ordeal, should we go on?" Midoriya asked, frowning.

Endeavor went to talk again but more students started to talk.

"We can help," Kirishima chimed in. "We want to help."

"Besides," Kaminari added before any of the adults could chime in, "the more hands you have the better it'll be. We can capture more members and get her back. It's a win-win scenario. Gangs are known to be disorganized. If you can get word to your informant about a stealth mission, you might be able to get both them and (Y/L/N) out with minimal risk to them both."

"And we have useful quirks," Jirou supplied. "Kaminari can kill any power they have, Bakugou and Midoriya are good for taking stuff down, so are Kirishima and Sato. Todoroki is more than capable of restraining anyone that he comes across, and I can tell you where people are, how many and so on."

"Not to mention I can make communicators that are much harder to disconnect," Momo piped up.

"People don't really know about me yet," Shinso said, hands in his jeans pockets. "They don't know my quirk, so they're much more likely to fall for me, which is more than helpful for you, since it makes fighting back much less likely."

"We want to get her back, me more than anyone," Shouto said, arms crossed over his chest. "We can useful. Besides, I don't think I need to mention all the times that we've stepped in without your permission and gotten the objective completed while keeping everything legal."

Aizawa sighed.

"We really should just let them help," he said. "They're going to keep pushing, and I don't want any of them expelled and arrested. They are some of the best up and coming heroes. Besides, they all make good points."

"I feel the need to point out," Midoriya chimed in, "that the more of us you take, the more heroes you can have causing a distraction, or the more you can release to recharge and work on other things that are starting to take precedent, like the drug that the gang is manufacturing and selling."

There were more whispers, and finally the heroes sighed.

"Alright, but you're working with Eraserhead and Endeavor, since they're going to be leading the mission with Fatgum."

"We can work with that," Bakugou said. "But we want permission to engage if necessary."

"You would have that anyway," Fatgum said.

"We also want credit if we find her," Sero added. "We aren't going to let possible attackers think that we're defenseless. They take on one of us, they take on all of us."

"That can be discussed," Present Mic assured them.

"This should go without saying," Shouto began, "that I get to ride with her in the ambulance when we find her."

"Everyone assumed that anyway," Midnight told him. "Don't worry Todoroki, no one is going to keep you away from her."

Endeavor opened his mouth, but sharp looks from everyone had him shutting it again.

The students nodded.

"Now catch us up," Bakugou demanded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You couldn't remember when you had stopped processing things the proper way.

You couldn't remember a time before the nightmares.

They talked to you, they wanted you to know about an informant. Sometimes Shouto appeared, smiling and reaching his hands out to you. Sometimes your father walked in, drunk as always, shouting at you to do better.

You retreated in on yourself.

You turned to that small part of your brain that you had made to wait out the fighting, the yelling, the hurt. You retreated into the part of yourself that you knew no one could ever enter but you.

Shouto was there like he always was. He wasn't entirely your Shouto, but he wasn't the nightmare either.

He was a figment of your imagination, but he made things a little bit better.

"I'll come," he assured you. "I'll find you."

You were lying in a meadow, a small clearing surrounded by trees that were bent over you to create a small dome of shade.

"I know you will," you told him, reaching your hand out to him.

He touched his fingers to yours, but you couldn't feel it.

You remembered someone in the past calling it dissociating, but you weren't a professional yet.

You had never done it at U.A. since you had never felt the need, but this wasn't something that you would ever be able to forget how to do.

You could still see the nightmares, but it was like it was far away, background noise.

"Do you think that you'll ever go back?" Shouto asked. "Do you think that you'll ever go back to me?"

"Maybe, if the nightmares ever stop. If I think that it's actually you that I'm going back to," you said, watching him carefully.

"Do you remember the last thing you said to me?" Shouto inquired.

"Yeah. I said, 'I'll always come back to you'. Why are you asking me that?"

"Do you remember what I said to you?"

"You said, 'Promise me you'll be safe?' I was about to go on the raid, and you were upset about not being able to go with me."

"Do you promise to remember that?" Shouto asked.

"Yeah, I promise," you told him, smiling a little.

"(Y/F/N)! Oh, darling, what did they do to you? (Y/F/N), can you hear me?"

The nightmare was getting better at looking like the real Shouto, and this one had the same voice.

"Go to him," the dream Shouto said, sitting up.

"Why?"

"(Y/F/N), blink if you can hear me," Shouto demanded.

You forced yourself to blink.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shouto couldn't describe to absolute relief it was to see you blink.

He had seen the discarded cast off to the side of you, and he wasn't sure whether you would be able to hear him in that state.

"Hey darling, come on, we're gonna get you out of here, I promise," he murmured, touching your face lightly.

"Sh-Shouto," you rasped. "Shouto, wh-what was the last thing that you said to me?"

"Darling, don't try to speak," he told you, trying to figure out how to cut through the chains without hurting you.

"Shouto, what was the last thing that you said to me?" you asked again, reaching up to grab his hand.

"'Do you promise me that you'll be safe?'" he said, eyes roving over you to try and see any wounds. "That's what I said to you."

Your eyes widened in surprise before tears slipped out of your eyes.

"Sho, it really is you!"

"Darling, hey," he murmured, touching your face softly.

You were sobbing now, fully body sobs, and Shouto wanted so badly to take a moment to just relish in the fact that you were safe, but he had to get you out of there as soon as possilbe.

"Tsukuyomi," Shouto called. "Can Dark Shadow cut through chains?"

"Yes."

"I'm on the basement level of the building. I have Tempest, can you meet us down here?"

"On our way," Tokoyami assured him.

"Guys, I have her, she's in the basement with me, we're getting her out as we speak," Shouto declared over the coms, and he was met with cheers and relief that you were okay.

"How many of you are here?" you asked, wiping at your face.

"The whole class is here," Shouto told you. "Most of the hero agencies sent representatives that are here too."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, people were really upset that you were taken, especially with the role you played in apprehending Numeral gang members on the last raid, and the part you played in bringing the drug to light."

"Wow," you murmured, making Shouto laugh.

"Hold on just a little bit longer darling," he coaxed. "Our friends are on the way."

"I can't believe that it's really you," you whispered, touching his face softly, rubbing your thumb over his scar the way you did.

"Oh darling, what did they do to you?" he asked.

"For the past couple of days they've been trying to break me, they want to know who the undercover agent is. I don't know who it is though, so the leader of the Numerals used his quirk on me. He makes the drugs. His quirk makes you see things, makes you feel things. It's like he can burrow into your head and take the images out of your head."

You shuddered in his arms and he frowned as Tokoyami appeared in the doorway.

"Hello (Y/L/N)," he said, smiling at you.

"Hey little bird," you replied, your smile watery with emotions.

"Can Dark Shadow get through those chains?"

"Of course," Tokoyami told Shouto.

"Hello starlight," Dark Shadow said.

"Hi Dark Shadow," you murmured, stroking the sentinent creature before he tore through the chains like paper mache.

You rubbed at your wrists for a moment before you threw your arms around Shouto, burying your face in his neck.

"Sho," you sobbed, tears back full force.

"I've got you darling," he murmured. "I've got you. You're free, you're free."

You nodded, arms tight around him.

Shouto scooped you up, cradling you against his chest, letting you sob as much as you needed to.

The paramedics that had been called to the scene hadn't managed to get Shouto to let go of you, and you showed no signs of letting go of him, so they had managed to do everything they needed to with you clinging to him.

"She'll need physical therapy, not to mention professional trauma therapy. She's malnourished and dehydrated, not to mention suffering from exhaustion and a very severe concussion. Her ankle needs to be further inspected, and there's some internal damage, some cracked ribs that might need to be taken care of, but we can do some more thorough work at the hospital. I assume that you're coming with her?" the paramedic asked when he was finished.

"Yes, I'm her boyfriend," Shouto said.

"Alright, well, you have to let go of her so that we can get her hooked up to an IV and make sure that we don't make her concussion any worse. You really shouldn't have moved her, but there's only so much we can do about that now," the other paramedic told him.

"I-It's okay Shouto," you murmured, pulling away from him enough to wipe your face off.

Your breathing was ragged, and you looked like you wanted to go back to being unconscious, but you allowed the paramedics to get you onto an IV and a bed with a neck supporter.

"Shouto, will you stay with me?" you asked.

"Always darling," Shouto said, gripping your hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Forthree weeks afterwards, you were stuck in the hospital. Your ankle hadn't been as bad as it had been feared, you back on your feet in a week, and you were undergoing physical therapy.

You were back to a normal diet, and you were going to therapy three times a week. Well, the shrink came to you, but semantics.

Your class visited every day, bringing you your homework and recorded lessons, most of them crying, and more than elated that you were back, safe.

Shouto, after being given permission by your parents, was being counted as a family member, and he had been practically living in the hospital with you.

For the first week, he had refused to leave your hospital room. He had slept curled around you, despite the machines that you had been hooked up to, he had missed class, staying with you and keeping you company.

There was also the reason of him being the only one to be able to calm you down after a nightmare.

There were nightmares where you woke up sweaty and nervous, asking the nurse on the night shift to light the candles that were all around your room.

But there were some that had you hurtling to the small bathroom in your room, hurling the contents of your stomach up. Then there were the ones that got so bad that you locked yourself in the bathroom, hiding yourself away in a corner until someone noticed and got a hold of Shouto.

They were getting better, and you were getting better about people coming up behind you, the touching.

For a few days after being admitted to the hospital, the only person who could touch you was Shouto.

Your mother had been heart broken every time you flinched away from her touches.

Your father had only come once, and he had been carried out by hospital staff after Shouto had tossed him out of your room.

You had retreated into yourself after that, and had come clean to Shouto about some of what had happened while you were being held hostage.

The therapy was helping, and so was the massive support that you were getting from the public and other heroes that had been in similar situations.

Your friends were very understanding of you not touching them as much anymore, and you and Bakugou were closer than ever, since he had experienced something similar.

Today was your first day back in the dorms, and you weren't going to lie to yourself, you were nervous.

The class had slowly starting moving all the gifts that you were receiving into your room, so you were only carrying a small bag.

"Shouto," you began. "You know that you can walk away if I get to be too much right?"

It had been bothering you for a while, that he had stayed with you for so long. It had bothered you that he had given up so much of his time for you, while getting very little from you in return.

"Why would I do that?" Shouto asked cocking his head to the side in confusion.

"I just mean that . . . well, I know that I haven't been the easiest girlfriend to have recently, and I . . . I have more issues than when we first started dating, and things have changed. I'm way more high maintenance than I was. I wouldn't blame you if you wanted a different girl-"

"Stop it right there," he demanded, turning to you.

His eyes were hard, despite his soft tone of voice.

"(Y/F/N), I don't want anyone other than you," he said. "I don't care if you wake me up at three in the morning screaming. I don't care if you sometimes have days where you feel like you can't say anything to me. I don't care if you have days where you can't get out of bed. I love you. I love you more than anything, and those things are not going to stop me from loving you.

"You are one of the strongest women in my life, and I am not letting you go because you have some issues. We've all got issues, hell, I have issues we haven't even touched on. Those things are just another part of you that I get to love. Alright?"

You nodded, blinking back tears.

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" you asked softly, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He waited for a moment before he wrapped his arms around your waist.

You weren't entirely sure why touch was such a problem for you now. Other than the injuries you had received during the fight, nothing had happened to you that would explain it, nothing you could remember anyway.

There had been some retrograde amnesia that went along with your kidnapping, though the doctors had assured you that those memories would come back with enough time.

And they had. There were still a few blank spots, but there weren't nearly as many as there had been.

"All the right things," he murmured, kissing your forehead hesitantly.

"I love you too Shouto," you told him.

He smiled softly at you, then turned towards the doors.

They opened, revealing your friends and a huge banner with your characterized face on it.

"Surprise!" they all said, though they didn't yell it like you had thought they would.

"Welcome home (Y/F/N)," Shouto said, sliding his arm around your shoulders as you both walked out.

Yeah, this was home.

#shouto fluff #shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroko shouto x reader #todoroki fluff #shouto angst #angst to fluff #todoroki angst #i have no idea where this came from #honestly #what went on inside my head to make this thing?

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beskar-candy · 3 years ago

Text

soft around you (x 2)

i keep seeing plus-sized reader fics that dive into body image issues, internalised fatphobia, etc, and i completely respect the significance of those for other people but it’s just not for me. i wanted to offer something more body neutral, or at least try to. i am a beginner writer so pls be gentle! no beta, we die like death watch mandalorians.

relationship: din djarin x gender neutral reader x twi'lek female OC

rating: E, yes this gets spicy so 18+ only or ELSE.

words: 6.6k. oops

contains: plus-sized gender neutral reader described as little as possible other than having more surface area to love and also joint pain and hands smaller than din’s (man’s got big ass hands), polyamory but make it beginners' edition, accidental acquaintances to lovers, bisexual besties only half joking about wanting to date each other, developing big feelings very fast, minimal foreplay and saliva as makeshift lube, protected penetrative intercourse in vague and hopefully gender neutral terms, strong violence and wounding, some angst, din gets harmed by a culturally significant weapon but it’s discussed in detail, warning for discussion of the Great Purge of Mandalore which was essentially colonialism and genocide so please do not read if that doesn’t support your mental health journey

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you first laid eyes on Din, the first thing that struck you was how strong he is. Not chiselled and lean in the way dehydrated holo-vid stars are, but actually strong – beneath his well-fed belly is the strength of a warrior. You hadn’t meant to look, of course. You’ve met Mandalorians before – unavoidable, really, in your line of work. You would never actively try to get a peek under the beskar without consent, as some had definitely seemed to care more than others about remaining covered at all times. Plenty of cultures in the galaxy have similar customs. But it was your responsibility as a weapons smith and shop co-owner to tend to injured customers, wasn’t it? Especially if the injury was inflicted with one of your weapons, and the injured customer got beaten halfway to Mustafar before deciding to simply hurl his assailant’s entire body into your merchandise and earn his reward in under a minute. Such misunderstandings are common on Nevarro, affectionately known across the system as the bounty hunter's haven. Yes, you were only being a decent and sensible person. It had nothing at all to do with how that mirror-like helmet had held your gaze for several seconds longer than socially necessary. How the visor seemed to sweep every hill and valley of your generously shaped body. Or how his gloved hands seem to completely engulf yours. Or... well. You were just being a good person.

One hour before

You huff out a breath of exhaustion and wipe your sweat-dampened face with the backs of your hands. The dim light of the workshop isn’t helping your tired eyes, and there seems to always be smudges of blaster oil on every surface despite your constant cleaning. You stretch towards the ceiling slowly, having made your peace with the ache in your back and neck a long time ago. “Nyx?” you croak. The Twi’lek bookkeeper and co-owner pops her head around the doorway with eyebrows raised. “I’m going to snap at the next customer who asks me to repair thirteen pre-Imperial blaster pistols in a standard day. I might just snap at the next customer, period,” you groan pitifully, pressing your forehead flat against your workbench. Nyx gives you a sympathetic smile, and you turn to watch her tilt her head in amusement, her long blue lekku swaying gracefully with her movement. “Drinks at the Guild cantina?” she asks knowingly, more of a statement than a question. You shoot up rapidly to meet her gaze, light having returned to your eyes. Her laughter rings out through the stagnant air as she wraps her arms around your strong neck from behind. “Thought so,” she murmurs into your ear, pressing a soft kiss against your oil-smudged cheek.

“Nyx?”

“Yes, my love?”

You plop your ample chin into your hands, elbows propped against the workbench for support. “Date me,” you suggest half-earnestly. She grins, all pearly teeth and twinkling eyes as she steps backwards as if to check you out for the first time. You ignore your heart as it flip-flops under her mirthful gaze.

“I’m a hot commodity. You’ll have to make an appointment first.”

She wiggles her eyebrows as you gasp in faux offence, but can’t quite keep yourself from matching her grin. It is at that moment that blaster fire echoes outside, ricochets pinging off your front windows.

Nyx grabs your hand reflexively and you both scurry towards the source of the noise. Excitement seems to vibrate in the air – an overconfident quarry about to have their shit rocked no doubt – when a towering, broad man covered in head to toe beskar stumbles through your doorway. It has to be the most of the metal you’ve ever seen on one person. His breastplate heaves from exertion as he presses his back to the wall by the door, withdrawing a well-loved but otherwise pristine blaster from its holster. “Armorer, I need you to stay there,” he rumbles through his helmet’s vocoder, eyes never leaving the doorway. His deep rasp strikes your nerves like lightning, wavering somewhere between anxiety and arousal. Ordinarily you would say something snarky about being able to defend yourself, but somehow it didn’t come across as patronising – more that he just didn’t want to be interrupted. Besides, that much pure beskar only means your day is about to get more interesting. And nobody had ever addressed you as an ‘armorer’ before. Certainly not in such a... pleasing voice. Nyx side-eyes you curiously, but you just shrug and squeeze her hand reassuringly as you both remain in place by the credits register.

As if on cue, a young humanoid man in tattered and bloodstained clothes runs in, noticeably favouring his left leg. You muster a polite customer service smile and nod in his direction as the hulking shadow of the armoured man silently approaches him from behind.

“Pardon me, esteemed weapons smith, did you happen to see a certain bounty hunter that-”

The Mandalorian strikes him sharply in the back of the head before the man can finish his sentence. The young man crumples halfway to the floor onto his injured knee. His wince echoes through the room. A small smile grows on your face as the Mandalorian silently retreats a step, an apex predator winding back in preparation to pounce. Surprisingly, the bedraggled man manages to block the beskar vambrace as it comes crashing down on him. He staggers to his feet and lands a well-aimed jab at the Mandalorian’s unprotected side, before landing several other shots to the gaps in the beskar. Nyx’s grip on your hand tightens almost painfully. The Mandalorian takes a few steps backwards, seemingly surprised but relatively unaffected by the blows, before lunging and landing several of his own. The two go back and forth until the young man draws a nasty-looking dagger from his boot, and they struggle for a moment until he manages to sink it into the larger man’s thigh. The Mandalorian lets out a grunt and clasps his injured leg for a moment. The quarry takes the opportunity to slide across the floor beneath him and smash his captor’s helmet against the ground hard, the deafening clang making you jolt in shock. It’s messy and inelegant, but the smaller man continues to land blow after blow, managing to inflict a couple more cuts to areas unprotected by beskar.

A chill flows down your spine as you recognise the blade in his unrelenting grip. Just two standard weeks ago, a slightly dodgy local antique dealer had sold you a small chunk of unrefined beskar alloy. Having assessed it to be genuine with your magnifying lens, you’d bought it at a bargain, gleeful at his ignorance of its true value. You had relished being able to practice the highly technical smithing techniques you’d learned over the years from a kind, older Mandalorian lady who had frequented your shop before she'd moved away. You had relished the opportunity to make something for the sheer enjoyment of it instead of credits. You’d then gifted it to a Mandalorian customer passing through from off-world and promptly gotten on with your day. It clearly had not remained with them.

You freeze in place, horror and regret boiling inside you as the Mandalorian’s blood begins to seep through his armorweave onto the concrete floor. You have sometimes had the misfortune of seeing people wounded or killed by weapons you made or handled, but this was different. This was much worse, knowing what beskar meant to his people. Adrenaline thrums through your veins as you watch the beskar-clad man stoically attempt to block the onslaught of blows, the young man clearly invigorated by what he thinks is an imminent victory over his hunter. Just when you are starting to think it’s over for the Mandalorian, he rolls clear of the quarry and rises from the ground to throw his attacker’s body clear across the room. The young man unceremoniously crashes into your ammunition display and knocks over several catalogue stands. He rolls halfway onto his back and groans, but before he can regain his composure, the hunter elbows him in the nose hard enough that the crack of his head against the floor echoes off the walls. The man on the floor goes motionless. Seemingly unsatisfied, the Mandalorian slowly and carefully pulls a beskar spear from where it was tied to his back, before shoving it clean through the man’s leg for good measure. The hunter, holding one gloved hand to the worst of the wounds in his side, manages to clasp the binders shut with the other. Once the quarry is restrained, he removes the spear in one practiced movement, then bends down to collect the beskar dagger that had spilled so much of his blood.

You instantly tug your hand free and run to him on pure instinct. “I’ve got a med kit here for situations like this. Stay still,” you order him. Panting, the beskar mountain of a man collapses heavily to the floor as you flip the door sign to ‘closed’. Nyx quickly hands you the kit and medical scanner, with which you immediately run a helmet-to-toe scan to assess his injuries. Once you establish that the wounds are from the abdomen down, you find your eyes glued to the movement of a small strip of visible belly with each breath. His armorweave tunic must have ridden up in the struggle, revealing light golden skin dusted with brown hair. Shaking yourself out of your distraction, you move to lift his shirt further and he snatches your wrist before you can, but doesn’t push you away. He then apparently thinks better of it and loosens his grip on you a little. “I’m not going to touch your helmet,” you promise, bringing your gaze to meet his as sincerely as possible, “I just need to stop you from dying on my floor.” That seems to appease him and he gently releases your wrist, giving a small nod of consent. You go into a kind of trance, gesturing at each piece of armour before you pull it off, only removing the necessary parts for you to treat his wounds. As if on autopilot, you start cleaning and stitching them shut, ignoring the heat rising in your chest as deep grunts slip out through his helmet occasionally. Before long you’re soaking gauze in bacta and meticulously dressing each laceration. You finish in a matter of minutes. He wasn’t the first customer to get injured in or near your shop, and he would hardly be the last.

Only when you are done do you allow yourself to really look at him. How stupidly broad his shoulders are. How his soft belly rises and falls under your hand, now laid still against his pleasantly warm skin. How his pants cling a little tight to the thickness of his thighs and... other areas. After putting his armour back on, he clears his throat and slowly gets to his feet, offering you a hand up as well. “Name’s Din,” he murmurs quietly, as if it were for your ears only.

“Huh? Oh. Okay,” you acknowledge dimly, all thoughts having vacated your brain. Your voice sounds far away in your ears as you introduce yourself in return.

“Thanks,” he adds, then immediately turns on his heel, cape swishing behind him, and begins moving for the door.

“Wait!” you call after him. He halts mid-stride, then turns to face you.

“You – I should take a look at your spear. Free of charge, of course. Least I can do after... all that,” you babble nervously, wiping your palms on your coveralls.

After a contemplative pause, he nods his gratitude and reaches out to politely present you with the spear. Your heart beats hard in your chest as his large, weather-roughened gloves completely wrap around your hands. You look up and inhale sharply as his helmet slowly moves down and then back up your body, seemingly taking in every centimetre of you for the first time. Your widened eyes remain glued to where you’re pretty sure his are behind the dark T of the helmet, not even noticing as blood continues to drip off the point of the spear onto the floor.

“Yuck. Spotchka anyone?” Nyx interjects cheerfully from behind the register, already scuttling towards the break room before anyone can reply. “Uh... yeah,” you call out absent-mindedly, eyes still locked onto Din’s.

You both immediately look away as she returns, placing cups on the little caf table in the waiting area and filling them with a gratuitous amount of the bright blue liquid. “So, Mando,” Nyx begins warmly, “do you always get your behind handed to you?” You choke a little on your drink and shoot her an amused look. Din sinks into his chair with relaxed posture and gloved hands clasped between his spread thighs, seemingly taking the comment in good humour. “Only when my quarry is carrying a Mandalorian weapon,” he responds after a beat. Your nose wrinkles in discomfort.

“It’s not actually – I would never claim to... I made it,” you manage finally. His helmet snaps to face you. “It’s nowhere near the quality of the things my mentor would make, I was just so excited to have the opportunity to work with beskar and use the techniques she taught me. I know I’ll never have the depth of knowledge a Mandalorian armorer has-“

“Could’ve fooled me,” he interrupts, surprisingly good-natured. You can’t help but smile bashfully. A glowing compliment indeed from someone who seems to be a very reserved man. He goes completely still for a moment, a thought crossing his mind. “Was it made with Imperial-forged beskar?”

You shake your head vehemently. “We work hard to keep the lights on around here, but I would never knowingly accept something stolen by Imperials,” you tell him seriously. “It was unrefined beskar alloy, not totally pure, not an ingot. No engravings or anything.” He visibly relaxes again and your little smile returns.

Nyx observes the two of you with a raised brow as you drain the last of the spotchka in your cup and get to cleaning and repairing tiny dents in the spear.

“You know, we’ll have owned this place for three years next week,” Nyx tells him with no small amount of pride. Din turns his helmet to face her with interest. “She does the calculations and handles the business side of things, I work with the weapons,” you explain further, continuing to meticulously manipulate the barely noticeable dips and ridges in the metal.

“And... how long have you been together?” he asks in a semblance of small talk, taking great pains to sound casual.

“Oh well, we’re not exactly-“ you begin as Nyx also replies, “We’re just really close. People being pals you might say.”

“I see.” The Mandalorian shifts almost imperceptibly in his seat. “And what about you?” he continues, that dark T of his helmet locked onto her face. Nyx’s eyes widen. “Oh, well, you know. Not really looking, but not ruling anything out either.” You steal a side glance at her, wondering if that means what you think it means. You suddenly find yourself concentrating very hard on polishing the spear like your life depends on it. Minutes pass between the three of you in silence. “Here you are, sir,” you fluster, thrusting the cleaned and repaired spear away from you like it burned you. Din rises to his full height sinfully slow, stride no longer affected thanks to the bacta and care you gave him, and his hands completely cover yours once again as he takes it from you. You try to stop yourself from hyperventilating as he steps even closer to you while testing the spear’s balance in his hands. “Looks good,” he comments finally, sweeping his gaze down and back up your body again. You are too overcome by his attention to see Nyx bristle slightly beside you. His cape flows around him again as he turns and leaves your establishment.

You and Nyx both burst into incredulous laughter at what had just happened once his footsteps fade from earshot. “He probably thought he was being subtle,” she giggles, kicking her feet up onto the caf table. “Oh Armorer, how long have you been dating this radiant bookkeeper? ‘Cause if you aren't I would just love to press you against this wall,” she imitates in a humorously deep voice. You snort at her impression of him. “Me? ‘And what about you?’ Like you wouldn’t also climb him like a tree,” you shoot back playfully. Nyx hums, twirling a lekku in mock contemplation.

“I don’t know, that cute girl at the nuna roll stand seems like she’s about to ask me out-“

“Just admit it!”

“Okay, so he’s got the whole big warrior man thing going for him. It’s not... not attractive,” she replies with a grin. Nyx then pulls her feet off the table and sits up straight. “Are you thinking of making a move the next time he visits?”

You chew your lip in thought. “Maybe? Could be worth a shot,” you consider. “Do you think he’d treat you right?” the Twi’lek asks, suddenly serious. “Like I would treat you?” Something clicks in the back of your mind, but you brush it off. Nyx has always been a flirty person.

“He seemed....” you trail off thoughtfully. “I don’t know. He seemed gentle, I guess. Considering how he absolutely obliterated that poor bounty.”

She nods in acknowledgement, eyes fixed on the floor. “Anyway,” you add as casually as possible, “who knows if he’ll be back?”

A week later

Minutes before closing time, the Mandalorian enters your workplace carrying no fewer than five duffel bags stuffed with weapons. “I told my – I told a covert on Glavis about you,” he begins somewhat hesitantly. “They had a lot to say about the knife. And my spear.” You do a little jog of excitement to the door and flip the sign to ‘closed’, as you had a week ago. “And?” you reply expectantly, practically bouncing on your toes with anticipation of the contents of the bags. It was a shame Nyx had already called it a day – you find yourself wanting her to see all of it. To be sharing this moment with you. Din sighs under his helmet, a frustrated, almost embarrassed sound. “I think we should sit down,” he suggests, sounding unsure in a way you weren’t expecting. Both of you take the same seats in the waiting area as you had the week previously, a frown burrowing into your forehead. You begin nervously playing with the waistband of your pants which have become tighter since sitting down.

“Is something wrong? Did I damage something?” you ask anxiously. He shakes his head. “I’ve learned something about Mandalorian culture I didn’t know before. Something I thought you would want to know too,” he tells you through what sounds like gritted teeth. He has already spoken more words to you since entering than in his entire last visit. “The spear, the dagger, they believed they shouldn’t exist.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “Shouldn’t exist?” you repeat, shocked. He sighs again, his discomfort with talking so much and so vulnerably apparent. His voice sounds tight when he explains further. “There are some of us who believe beskar should not be forged into weapons, only armour. The Armorer of the covert told me of a young Mandalorian girl who once thought to build a weapon capable of bypassing beskar. The Empire stole her design and used it to murder hundreds of us.” You instinctively cover your mouth with a hand to suppress a sound that never comes.

Din has gone completely still, shoulders tense as a boulder. “The Armorer believed my spear, the dagger, that their very existence threatened us. Beskar pierces beskar.”

You shrink further into your chair, thighs pooling beneath you as your press yourself into it. You want to sink into the lava flats of this Maker-forsaken planet and quietly pass away from shame. “I didn’t know,” you confess in a small voice. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have-“

“It doesn’t matter. The alloy you were given was not pure enough to pierce my armour. But she did melt them down and forge them into armour for foundlings – for young ones who need their help in the future,” he informs you with surprising softness. You can only close your eyes and nod in solemn agreement.

“Maker, I’m so sorry. My mentor, she never spoke of this. Only of how much she loved that the art of forging beskar had been cultivated and kept over centuries. She was so excited to share it with me.”

He nods slowly, deep in thought. “It was drawn to my attention some time ago that the Way I was raised with is not the only way to be a Mandalorian,” he tells you, gloved hands clasped tightly between his thigh guards. “There are many who craft blades from beskar. Your mentor probably one of them. I was raised in a specific sect, with its own beliefs and customs about how things should be. Children of the Watch must never remove their helmets in front of others. Yet I have met warriors who remove them constantly. But I... am not welcome in that covert any longer.” Pain enters his voice in the last sentence like a stone sitting in his throat. Your heart breaks for him. This stoic, gentle warrior who had been cast aside by his own people like so much waste, however justified they felt in their reasoning. Tentatively, you reach out and take his hand into yours. His stiff posture seems to instantly melt under your touch. “Din – can I call you Din?” you begin gently, running your thumb over the back of his glove. After a moment of consideration, he nods. “I’m really sorry they turned you away. I don’t know much about the nuances of Mandalorian culture, but I do know you must have had a good reason to remove your helmet. And it doesn’t make you a bad person, Din. It just means you’re different now.” His inhale shudders in response to your words. The hunter before you tilts his helmet to the floor. You wonder if he has ever been told he is enough before. If he knows that every being in the galaxy makes choices that others don’t understand, and are still worthy of being loved. If he knows that includes him.

When he raises his head again to meet your gaze, something clicks into place inside him and he tightens his grip on your hand, lifting it to press the back of your hand against the forehead of his helmet. It feels so tender that you’re not sure how to respond other than simply savouring the gesture. “So these weapons aren’t from them, for you to fix. They’re mine,” Din admits, gently placing your hand back in your lap. “I brought them because I want to ask you something.” A hopeful feeling shoots up your spine. “If you say no, I will simply pay you for your time, collect all of this and be on my way. But I was wondering... if you might come with me when I leave in a month.” Your eyes go wide as a loth cat’s.

“Come with you? Where?”

“Where I'm needed. You’re skilled with weapons and first aid.”

Oh. Din was inviting you to join him because it made practical sense. A booked and busy bounty hunter like him could obviously use in-house weapons maintenance and the occasional patch-up. You try to squash down the excitement you had felt at the prospect of him having any other intentions. A breath whooshes out of your lungs, and all of your good sense with it. “Okay,” you blurt after barely a moment. The bounty hunter nods and reclines in his chair, legs spread, his posture radiating an energy of quiet confidence that makes your pelvis grow warm. “But... what about Nyx? She’s better at piloting than me,” you add. Din considers this for a moment. “She didn’t seem interested.”

You don’t think that’s strictly true, but then she also hadn’t expressed any intention to get to know him better. “You should come back tomorrow,” you suggest, “and leave your weapons. I’ll service them for you and when you pick them up at the end of the day we can... talk more.” He stands up from his seat and gives you another nod of acknowledgement before heading for the door. The poor man had probably overshot his conversation quota for the day. “And Din?” you call out to his back. He turns a little so the side of his helmet faces you. “Thank you for sharing all of that with me. You didn’t have to,” you tell him, trying to squeeze every gram of tenderness you feel into your voice. The Mandalorian gives you another small nod, before facing forwards again and leaving your shop.

The next day, you put a makeshift sign out the front claiming something or other about being closed for fumigation. You had already made enough from the thirteen blaster pistols client to justify the peace and quiet. Nyx had decided to take the day off, leaving you to work your way through the cleaning and maintenance of Din’s weapons with your favourite holonet podcasts playing softly from the workshop speakers. You find yourself missing the light bell of her voice ringing through the air. The smell of her perfume clinging to your clothes. Something inside you aches without her here. The vibrant enthusiasm of a host’s voice fades into the background as your thoughts then drift to the man in beskar. Despite having only met Din days ago, you feel like maybe he is a small part of you now, after he let himself be so vulnerable with you. You feel like maybe you are a small part of him, and now you carry each other around because of the moment you shared. You recall the way the he had pressed his helmet gently into the back of your hand like a kiss, and a smile breaks across your face. Despite dispensing with his bounty with the incredible violence of a storm, he had been so open with you. You had agreed to leave with him impulsively, but you don’t regret it. Something about the way he had chased a quarry into your doorway, out of every little shopfront on Nevarro, feels cosmic. The glances you shared, his hands overwhelming yours, the electricity crackling between you every moment you were together, it all feels like something much bigger than mere coincidence. It feels like the loving design of some long-forgotten god, waiting centuries just to bring people together.

Your mind turns to Nyx again. In your mind’s eye you see the curve of her smile when she says something cheeky, remember the plush softness of her lips against your cheek. The woman who had been by your side for years, unknowingly being all you ever wanted simply by existing. A moon blessing you with her orbit. Years of late nights walking the tightrope between companionship and something more, chaste kisses in the workshop followed by laughter and more kisses, all swirled together like milk and caf in your mind. You think of her lipstick in your bathroom, and then of Din’s bags on your floor, and then more of her. You wonder how your heart can hold so much love. You wonder if what you feel is love or just infatuation with the concept of both of them. You think... maybe it doesn’t really matter. As you finish up the final piece, you make a decision to ask her something before you leave.

The door swings open and Din’s broad silhouette appears. You grin and run up to meet him, deciding on a whim to wrap your arms around him. He goes still for a moment in surprise, but slowly wraps his arms around you in return and squeezes you against him. One of his gloved hands finds its way into your hair, where he begins to stroke it gently. You look up at him with a beaming smile, unable to contain your affection for this man. You inhale sharply as his hands find your waist and ever so slightly squeeze. The air suddenly grows warm between you as you hold his gaze through the helmet. You blink up at him, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands. You settle for placing your palms on his breastplate and drawing little circles with your fingertips, waiting for his next move. Din sighs, but this time it’s a sound of relief, like taking off your shoes when you get home. You fill so his arms so perfectly, you think you could stay there forever. You’re savouring the warmth of his enormous hands around your waist when he presses his helmet to your forehead, another echo of a kiss. Your breath quickens as he slowly reaches up to stroke your cheek with his thumb, separated from your skin only by the time-smoothed material of his glove. No words are spoken between you but you can feel what he’s trying to say – it’s in the way he holds you close, squeezing at the softness of your curves and dips with the hand that’s not cradling your face. The connection between you is so tangible you think you could reach out and touch it. You keep touching him instead, your hands slipping ever so slowly down to the belt of his pants. “Tell me what you want, Din,” you whisper to him encouragingly. He presses his helmet to your forehead again. “Whatever you’ll give me,” the man behind the armour replies. “Anything. Everything.”

Another smile breaks like the dawn across your lips as you untuck the hem of his tunic and run your hands up the little swell of his glorious abdomen to his chest, rising and falling rapidly under your touch. You squeal unintentionally as he lifts you with ease, gently placing you back down on the edge of your workbench. You hear him inhale sharply as he presses his helmet into the little junction between your neck and shoulder, flings aside his gloves and runs his burning hands over every roll and stretchmark of you greedily. “You’ll be my undoing,” he confesses as he slips the straps of your coveralls down your arms. You tear yourself away from him to shed the remaining layers of fabric between you. “I want to do you first,” you laugh breathlessly, pulling him into the space between your thighs. His hand slips beneath his helmet and into his mouth, coming away slick with spit. You cry out involuntarily as he plunges a finger inside you, filling you the way you’d been craving since he first entered your store. “Maker,” you whimper as he pushes and withdraws, pushes and withdraws like the tides on Naboo. Your eyes roll back as the world narrows to where he adds another finger, then another, your whole sensory universe made up of the pleasure he’s giving you. “Din, I’m gonna-“ He pulls back his hand just as something swells deep in your belly, leaving you to whimper at the empty feeling where he had just been. “Shh, I’m gonna take care of you,” he whispers soothingly, stroking little circles right over your most sensitive area with his thumb. You just know he’s smirking under that helmet as you squirm in overwhelming ecstasy under his heated touch.

The warrior in front of you pulls out his stiff cock with a hiss, hurriedly patting down the pockets now bunched up by his ankles before retrieving a condom. He presses his helmet back into your neck and inhales heavily as he rolls it down with impressive efficiency. “Tell me what you want,” he repeats your earlier words. “Fuck me,” you plead breathily. Your hand claps over your mouth as he pushes the tip of himself inside you, the stretch almost unbearably delicious. It feels like a lot, as prepared as you are for him. He grabs your wrist again, just as tightly as the day you met him, only this time to drag it away from your face. “I want to hear you,” he growls into your ear. “I want to hear everything.” You cry out loudly as he suddenly fills you fully the way you had been waiting for. “Din, more,” you demand, your voice sounding strangely far away beneath the ringing of your blood in your ears. He grunts with effort as he begins thrusting into you harder, deeper, further, hitting a spot that makes your thighs tremble. His low moans spark a fire inside you that rages and feeds off of the roughness of his thrusts. The pressure inside you keeps building as he hits that heavenly spot over and over, with what sounds like curses tumbling from under his helmet in languages you haven’t heard before. “Come for me,” you ask him huskily, and barely seconds later you feel the warmth of him burst into the condom buried within you. He groans loudly and shudders, thrusting weakly and slowly until he’s given you all he has. “Kriff,” Din curses under his breath. You can only nod breathlessly in agreement. The two of you take your time redressing, stealing glances and smiles between each article of clothing. He stills for a moment, hesitating before allowing you help him slot his armour back into place. “I’ll be back once I get this bounty,” the hunter promises, briefly illuminating the hologram on the puck in his pocket. A baby-faced Nikto with a hint of the devil in his eyes flashes up. “Go be good at your job,” you encourage him with a little smile. He presses his helmet into your forehead briefly before slinging his bags onto a stick pressed horizontally against the top of his shoulders, and hauls his belongings out the door.

The following evening

“So, how was yesterday?” Nyx calls out to you from her bedroom with great amusement, kicking her feet and twirling a lekku with her finger. “I’m assuming you sealed the deal?” You can’t stop the smile spreading across your face as you emerge from her shower. “It was... exactly how I thought it would be. Passionate, rough, but somehow still really sweet,” you tell her. Her eyes flash in a challenge as you collapse down next to her in the bed. Something about the thought of you with him lit a fire in her. It had felt like jealousy at first, but now...

“You wanna make out?” she asks you mischievously. "Always," you reply with a grin. Then the clouds of her lips collide with yours, and a rush of desire fills your body. You lean into her as your tongue searches for entry. She opens her mouth and moans quietly as your hand comes up to the back of her neck to pull her closer. You roll on top of her in bed, pressing her hands into the pillow. You tear your mouth away from hers breathlessly. “Good?” you ask, unable to suppress a cocky smirk. Nyx laughs and throws a pillow at you before leaning back in to suck love bites into your neck. Your eyes flutter closed as you try to remember what you were going to say to her. “Wait, wait,” you begin, and she immediately ceases her affections. “What’s wrong?” she asks with concern. “Well, I was wondering...” you trail off, unsure how one is meant to ask their current (sort of) flame about a new one. “What do you think of Din?”

Nyx sits back on her elbows, lekku swishing as she tilts her head in contemplation. “I’ve actually been thinking about it a bit the past few days. I think I like him too,” she admits eventually, wringing her hands in her lap. “I think... I like you with him. You seem happy. And it makes me happy.” Your heart feels like it could flutter right out of you like a porg on its way to a warm fire. You snuggle your face into the silky softness of her chest. “How would that even work?” you wonder aloud. “I don’t know, honeycake,” she replies with a little sigh. “But maybe we could find out. The three of us. Together.” You meet her eyes and nod before settling back down into her arms. “Besides,” she muses, “we would hardly be the first group of beings to feel this way.” The bookkeeper was, of course, correct. Your neighbours growing up had lived together in wedded bliss, the four of them filling your corner of the block with laughter and playful banter. It just hadn’t occured to you that maybe that was an option for you, too. You’d had relationships before, just always one at a time. Not necessarily on purpose, things had just turned out that way. Now, you wonder if things could be different. The two of you would just have to ask Din.

Then you remember what you’d agreed to with him. Specifically, what you’d agreed to without her. “He invited me to go with him,” you blurt suddenly, eyes locking onto hers anxiously. Nyx pulls back from you in surprise. “Well, I think he wanted to invite you too, but then when he blatantly asked you if you’re single you kind of didn’t really respond as enthusiastically as maybe he thought you would, and then you didn’t say anything about liking him after-” She takes your hand tightly in hers. “I would go anywhere with you. Including hitchhiking across the galaxy with a tall beefcake Mandalorian man,” she laughs, pressing a kiss to your intertwined fingers. “Besides, we’ll always have the shop if things don’t work out.” You nod, overwhelmed by the prospect of a new adventure with the two of them.

When he enters your store the next day, he skids to a halt as you both greet him holding hands. “Uh, congratulations,” the hunter tells you awkwardly. You chuckle, and Nyx fails to hide her smile. “We have something to talk to you about,” the Twi’lek woman addresses him firmly, taking his hand in her other one. Din goes very still, but doesn’t let go of her hand. You notice as his breastplate begins to quicken in its rising and falling, just as it had when he first entered your store. His helmet remains angled towards her face, as if glued to examine her stunning features. “I...” his voice cracks a little, and he clears it before continuing. “I was hoping I might talk to you both as well. But you go first.” Din gestures towards the two of you with his and Nyx’s hands clasped tightly. “If you’ll have me,” she begins furtively, eyes darting back and forth across his helmet as if it might give her the right words, “I want to come with you. We both want to come with you. If you’ll have us.” You hear him inhale sharply. He still hasn’t let go of her hand. A moment passes as he thinks it over. “I’d like that,” he replies, voice so soft you almost didn’t catch it through his helmet vocoder. You take his other hand with the one not holding onto Nyx. The three of you are linked together like worshippers at an altar, basking in the light of something new. “Where to first?” you ask him in a whisper, afraid to break the reverie of the moment. He tilts his helmet in a way that makes you wonder if he’s smiling under there, and squeezes both of your hands.

“I gotta pay a visit to a little friend.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #plus sized reader x din djarin #spicy

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goddessofmischief · 3 years ago

Note

I love your writing so much do you think you could write for Rick flag and reader with the prompt

Which of us do you think realized their feelings first?” “I did. When you were injured, I chose to spare you.” “No, I did. I was pretending to be injured in order to lure you in, but I couldn’t bring myself to attack you.” “Wait, what?”

A/N: Thank you so much, I love this! I changed it a little bit, I hope that's okay! I set this in my Rick Flag series, which you can read here. All my fics in the series are one-shots, but feel free to read the whole series for maximum enjoyment.

Our Story - Rick Flag x Reader

...

"You know, I miss you and Flag."

"'Me and Flag?'" You quoted incredulously, picking up a container of dehydrated vegetables and sitting beside Harley at the Belle Reve commissary. "Harley, there is no 'me and Flag.'"

"You sure? Kinda seemed like it... you two were always around each other. Now, he's so busy. Hardly got any time for you."

You squirmed in your seat, knowing that Harley was (for once) right.

"Harley, I have more pressing things in my life than to worry about Rick Flag, thank you very much-"

"Someone say my name?" Rick asked, sitting down beside you with his own dinner. Harley grinned.

"Yeah, Y/N here was just sayin' how worried she was about you-"

You gulped. Rick's eyes softened.

"Well, that's nice," he managed. "Certainly an adjustment from when we first met, huh?"

"I forget," said Harley, tossing a coy glance to you. "How did you two meet, again?"

You rolled your eyes, but Rick just grinned. Luckily for you, he had a high tolerance for Harley, and never regarded any of her impulses as strange or suspicious.

"Well, come on, honey," he said, acting as if the two of you were an old married couple, "We may as well tell it-"

"Gah, fine," you agreed, giving in. "Well, it was when I did... y'know. The thing that got me in here."

"Right, right, killin' all those civilians," Harley added helpfully. "Only not on purpose, of course, 'cause you were trying to kill Mister J, 'cause he kidnapped and tortured you and tried to make you like me..."

"Easy, Harley," Rick warned. "She doesn't like to talk about it. We shouldn't make her."

You waved him off, though you were grateful for his support.

"It's fine," you said, softly. "Well, um - after that happened... Gotham police were after me, and, y'know... he was after me-"

"Batsy, Batsy," singsonged Harley, and it sent a chill down your spine. Rick put his hand on your back, steadying you.

"I thought I was going to die. Honestly, I did. I was cornered, and... I couldn't see a way out. The Batman was there, and..."

"So, which one of you decided to be friends first?" asked Harley.

Rick chuckled.

"Well, Harls, it's not like we made bracelets right then and there-"

"Yeah, of course not, but which one of you gave up first, I mean? Decided not to kill the other one?"

"I did," said Rick, with a small shrug. "When she was injured, I chose to spare her."

"No, I did," you contested. "I was pretending to be injured in order to lure you in, but I... couldn’t bring myself to attack you.”

“Wait, what?”

"It's true! I was cornered, Batman was swooping down like some vulture, Gotham police had me surrounded... and then, out of the darkness, you. You held your hand out to me and said not to be afraid, because you wouldn't let anything happen. And then, you... carried me out."

"Because of your bad leg!" Rick insisted.

"Yes, because of a bad leg that I did not have. My leg was fine, Flag. You got played."

Harley cackled, and you high-fived her.

“What am I gonna do with you two?” Rick wondered aloud, and you rested your head on his shoulder, not caring about the implications, just needing to feel close to him.

...

Rick Flag Taglist (Open)

@giggles75th @woodlandmouth @xoxabs88xox

#rick flag x reader #rick flag #rick flag imagine #joel kinnaman #the suicide squad #suicide squad

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braincoins · 3 years ago

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About Me: Adrenal Insufficiency Edition

“Cancer Edition” wasn’t enough, you might be wondering? NOPE! Because I’m getting pissy about the unvaxxed again, and my Adrenal Insufficiency is a big reason why!

I’m going to put this before the cut ‘cause y’all need to read it: Adrenal Insufficiency is a real thing. Adrenal Fatigue is not. Adrenal Fatigue is junk science woo nonsense. But lemme explain Adrenal Insufficiency...

I developed adrenal insufficiency through the first part of my immunotherapy treatment. Fun times, fun times. (Note: the times were not fun.)

Think of your adrenal glands as factories. For our purposes, we’re just gonna talk about them making cortisol. Cortisol is the so-called “stress hormone” because when you’re stressed, your body makes more of it. But you do need cortisol just to... well, live.

When my body wasn’t making cortisol - which is what adrenal insufficiency is - I slept all day. ALL DAY. If I was awake, I wasn’t hungry or thirsty at all. I knew I needed to eat something but I had no appetite whatsoever, and I was dehydrated as hell. I had no energy to do anything. It was... bad. As in the doctor said, “I wish I’d seen you sooner,” which is not something you want to hear a doc say.

Your body also needs more cortisol when you’re sick or injured, because those count as being under “stress.” So you need a certain X amount of cortisol just to function as a human being and then you need 2X or 3X if, say, you’re having major surgery or you’re in a car accident or ... oh, just to pull something out of my hat, you catch SARS-CoV-2 (okay so I’m being pedantic there).

The adrenal glands are just factories. It’s your pituitary gland that puts in the orders for the adrenal glands to produce cortisol and how much. So there’s actually two different kinds of adrenal insufficiency.

There’s primary adrenal insufficiency which is when your adrenal glands are borked. No matter what the pituitary tells them, they’re just not producing. The factories are fucked up.

Then there’s secondary adrenal insufficiency where the factories work fine, but it’s the pituitary gland that’s not putting in the orders for the factories to fill. If the adrenal glands don’t know there’s a need for more cortisol, they won’t make it.

I have the secondary kind. Messed up pituitary, slacking on the job, not telling my adrenal glands to make more cortisol.

YOU READY FOR THE FUN PART?

Because my body won’t make enough cortisol even for me to live on, I have to take a corticosteroid to provide my body with its daily allowance of cortisol. If I’m sick or injured, I have to take more because my body needs more cortisol to deal with the problem. BUT! Corticosteroids also suppress the immune system. So it’s sort of a balancing act: am I taking enough of my prednisone to help things out but not so much that I’m making things worse?

Let’s come back to COVID-19/SARS-CoV-2. I’m taking an immunosuppressant drug which already means my vaccination may not have been as effective for me as it was for most people. (Looking forward to that booster shot, for sure...) So I’m more likely to catch COVID. And then, once I have it, my immune system is going to need cortisol to deal with it, but taking too much prednisone will suppress my immune system further and make me more susceptible to the ravages of the disease.

I once had some sort of infection - we never did figure out what it was - and I was hospitalized for a month with whatever it was. I had a fever in the 104 F range and terrible pain.

I can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to have COVID-19 with my adrenal insufficiency. It would absolutely be life-threatening, and I’m not sure if I could pull through, vaccinated or no.

So, please, if you haven’t already gotten vaxxed, FUCKING DO IT. For me and others like me who are immunosuppressed or have nasty underlying conditions. And I will continue to wear my sparkly mask whenever I go out. Because you never know.

#health #adrenal insufficiency #COVID-19 #immunosuppressants #GET VACCINATED #my mom's immunosuppressed too #I'ma come for you if you kill my mom #and I will haunt your ass if you kill me

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themorphine · 3 years ago

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Don't Leave Me (But you're already gone) Chap 4

ANOTHER UPDATE??? WHO AM I???

Fandom: Red White and Royal Blue

Ship: Alex and Henry:

Type: Angst, Fluff (coming soon)

TW: Eating Issues, Fainting, Angst

Chapter 4: Obtuse Fucking Asshole

One Year and 4 Days Ago:

"Can you believe it? How could that- that- that obtuse fucking asshole do that?" He has no other way to describe Henry right now, and memories of that night when he stood in the fucking rain screaming at Henry to open the door, about how that fight killed him, but he won. They made history. Nora and June were looking at him with a mix of sympathy and sorrow like they wanted to help but had no idea how.

Two days ago, Alex was the happiest man in the world. Now, he was fucking alone, left by someone who he promised forever with, with a fucking note. Alex chuckled, the irony that it was happening again. But this time, Alex wouldn't chase after him. He knew better now.

"He always leaves with a note. Every fucking time."

"Alex-"June tried-

"No, bug. I know I should move on, try to get better. But how can I? Henry meant so fucking much to me, he-"

"ALEX! I wasn't talking about your break-up. I know it will hurt. It will always hurt. But I was talking about something else. Where is the key around your neck?" June asked, her eyes alight with hurt and confusion.

What?

*~*

Present:

HRH PRINCE HENRY INJURED AND IN UK HOSPITAL FOR TIME BEING

A million emotions coursed through Alex's body when he first read the headline. First shock, disbelief, anger, sadness, and then numbness. Numbness spread through his body, and somehow it was worse than anger or sadness. It crushed him, hell-bent on destroying him. His breaths came in sobs, and he finally realized that he had never gotten over Henry. No matter how much he tried to, the endless therapy sessions, putting himself head-first into Law School, he had never gotten over Henry. And he hated himself for it.

How could he still care, still cry over a man that had hurt him? Henry didn't deserve his tears. And yet tears spilled over his cheeks, like an endless waterfall. He was so tired, so tired of everything. He had been running on a meagre 3 hours of sleep this week, and his body was so close to shutting down. As he started to fall asleep, he wondered if Henry missed him too.

*~*

HENRY POV Henry woke up to white fluorescent lights blaring against his eyelids and groaned as he opened his eyes. Bea and Phillip both looked up from their phones when they saw that Henry was awake, a mix of relief and tears in their eyes. Bea sprung up to engulf Henry in a bone-crushing hug. Phillip stood there awkwardly, but it was evident that he had been worried. What had even happened? "What happened?" Henry asked, his voice thick with unuse.

"That's the thing, we don't really know. The doctors said you fainted from exhaustion, but you were really dehydrated, Hen. Are you not eating? What happened?" Bea asked, her voice mixed with concern and a tinge of anger.

The memories came flooding back; running with Adam, Adams taunts to do more than his body could handle. Henry's face hardened. He was mad at Adam. Adam had taunted him, made comments on his weight, things that no good boyfriend would do. He hated to admit it to himself, but he would have never questioned Adam's behaviour if it weren't for Alex.

It was Alex that showed him that he deserved more, that he deserved better than what he was given. But he had left Alex in the end, because he would never deserve Alex. He might deserve better, but Alex was never on the table. He was too good.

"Where is Adam? I need to speak to him. In private." He said in a clear voice. Henry knew what he had to do.

Bea and Phillip nodded, but Bea knew what was about to go down. She cracked a smile. She had never liked Adam.

A few minutes later, Adam came in. He expected to see worry on his face, but instead, he saw annoyance.

This absolute wanker, the audac-

"Why didn't you just tell me to stop? Now the press all think I'm a bad guy.” Adam said his voice prickling with annoyance.

Henry looked at him with the most “are you ok?” expression he could muster. What is going through this man's bloody head, he thought.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Why am I looking at you like that? I am looking at you like that because you overworked me, made comments on my weight, and got angry at me when I did not want to do something you did. You constantly do things that make me feel bad about myself, that put me down. And I am bloody sick of it. We’re done, Adam. It's over. I’m choosing me for a change.” Henry said, breath short and shallow. He got up from the hospital bed and picked up his things, rubbing the key around his neck—Alex’s key.

As he moved to the door, Adam grabbed his hand.

“You aren’t going anywhere.” He said, voice dark.

Henry shook yanked his hand out of his grasp. “You bet I fucking am.”

*~*

Taglist:

@thenightgodess-feyrearcheron

@that-sociopathic-hufflepuff

@emikadreams

@highladysith

@cardansfae

@aelin-bitch-queen

@live-the-fangirl-life

@story-scribbler

@themoonthestarsthesuriel

@burdened-by-eternity

@stay-because-now-you-have-a-home

@xunxunny

@braveprincesslucinda

#rwrb fanfic #rwrb #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #angst #fluff #break up #getting back together

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larphacks · 3 years ago

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Process Hack: Welfare

Hi all! After a long hiatus, ya boy is back with more unsolicited advice!

What are we talking about this week? It’s LARP welfare!

Common at medium and large games, the role of welfare officer, sometimes called “site parent”, and sometimes divided into crew welfare and player welfare, is very important. It’s also something which can go really smoothly if you do some decent prep before the event. I’ve been discussing the role with some LARPer friends recently, and I’ve put together some advice for good ways to tackle this role.

Some of the below advice falls into the category of sensible prep that everyone can do before a game too, so feel free to read even if you don’t hold (or want to hold) a position like this!

Some of the jobs I outline below might not fall into every welfare officer’s purview - mix and match as you choose. (If you’ve been asked to look after player or crew welfare and don’t know which of the below are your responsibilities, that means you need to have a chat with the chief organisers and find out!)

1. Positive Energy

This can be a surprisingly high-energy role. Particularly in the crew room, one of the most important things a welfare officer can do is be positive and energetic when everyone is feeling a bit tired and down. This is hard! But a bit of jollying-along goes a huge way to changing the dynamic. This is even harder when YOU'RE the one feeling tired and cold and sad. But if you are visibly struggling, nobody will approach you when they need help! A "brave face" is your best weapon.

2. Shut Up!

Sometimes you need to be the "voice of reason" - getting people to concentrate, or quiet down, when it's important that something needs to be done quickly. One good way to do this is to be cheerful enough most of the time that people LISTEN on the rare occasions that you raise your voice and ask them to please shut up for a minute.

3. Early Start, Late Finish

The two above points are ESPECIALLY important during set-up and take-down. You need to be "on the ball"/on duty during periods where other people are transiting into and out of the game. During set-up, your keen crew and players will all be busy frothing and sniffing each other's butts because they haven't seen each other for a year, they want to show off their new kit, and their adrenaline is through the roof. But - it's 30 minutes to time-in and nobody's in kit and the IC areas aren't set-dressed. You need to get them moving!

During take-down, everyone is exhausted, a bit overwhelmed, and wants to sleep (including the refs). But the site needs to be taken down, cleaned and tidied up, lost property needs to be organised, and there are always last-minute disasters involved in the logistics of getting people off site. You can't collapse now - your job isn't done. You might not be in charge of take-down, but you ARE the right person to gently corral and rally tired people towards the plan.

4. Who does what?

If you're the first point of call for someone who's having an issue, being able to confidently signpost to other crew is really important. So firstly, you should know exactly what the other other staff members do and where they're likely to be (in both time and space). If a player comes to you and says "I'm really struggling with the Sorcery rules and I feel very stupid", then sure, you can (and should!) offer them some immediate comfort and consolation. But in order to help them with the root of the problem, you need to know several bits of information:

a) What are the different staff members' responsibilities/expertises? Who does what? (Mike is the person who handles Sorcery rules.) b) Where in space are the other staff located? (Mike is currently refereeing the Clawed Fiend encounter on top of the hill.) c) When in time are the other staff available? (The Clawed Fiend encounter can't be interrupted. It is scheduled to end at 2100hrs. Mike should come back to the crew room after that.)

I'd also recommend you have a good "ticket-tracking" system to make sure your incoming queries are handled and nobody falls through the cracks. You could devolve this onto players ("Come back at 2110hrs and ask to speak to Mike") but it will help things flow smoothly if you are also logging things yourself. I'd recommend carrying a small notebook and pen so you can note things down and tick things off. You can also help things along by being an active communicator and setting the emotional context for solutions. If Mike comes back at 2100 and immediately gets jumped by an emotional player, he might be tired and confused and not give the best answer. But if he comes back and you tell him "There's a player who is having a bad time with the Sorcery rules, they seem quite distressed, I think you can help, they'll be around in 10 minutes" then he won't be surprised and will have the right bit of his brain switched on.

5. It’s all in the Filofax

There is admin information about players/crew which will really help you if something goes wrong too. I'd suggest having the following on-hand, glued into your notebook, on a tablet, or otherwise kept secure on your person (since some of it's sensitive personal data):

a) A list of everyone's allergies and medical conditions. b) A list of qualified first-aiders, and the locations of first-aid kits. c) A list of every vehicle on site, registration number against player/crew name, in case you need a car moved in a hurry. d) A rough understanding of who arrived from where, with whom. It doesn't need to be exhaustive, but if the vehicle which brought 6 people from London breaks down irrecoverably, then being able to help sketch out solutions to get those people and their kit home will be massively easier if you know roughly where people came from.

6. The Outside World

You are likely to also need to be able to signpost to help *outside* the game. If a player comes to you with a problem that can't be fixed with on-site resources, what are you going to do about it? You can't predict every scenario, but at a minimum I'd suggest having the following prepared:

a) A breakdown service for the vehicle that won't start (in the UK the most common is the AA). b) A mental health or emotional support helpline, like the Samaritans (116123). c) The emergency number for injured wildlife - in the UK, the RSPCA (0300 1234 999). d) The emergency and non-emergency medical numbers (in the UK: 999 emergency, 111 non-emergency) and police numbers (UK: 999 emergency, 101 non-emergency). e) A clear understanding of where on site you can get mobile phone signal. f) A plan for how you would get an ambulance onto site if you needed one: run through the whole thing (where on site can I get enough signal to call the ambulance? What is the postcode of the site, and do I have a set of clear directions to give the dispatcher in my notebook? Who am I sending to the site entrance to walk the ambulance on? Is their most likely route of approach clear for a large vehicle?). If you've never called an ambulance in this country, then ask someone who *has* to practice with you, so you understand what questions they'll ask and in what order.

7. Kit & kaboodle

The following are things which LARPers reliably fail to provide for themselves, and which you will benefit greatly if you have on hand. Find out from the organisers what your budget is, and buy accordingly:

a) Salty snacks (crisps/nuts) and quick energy (sweets/fruit). Keep a small separate store aside from the usual 'crew food' to help someone who is struggling. b) The ability to make a hot sweet drink in a hurry. c) Hydration solution (Dioralyte, Powerade, or the cheap alternative, which is six teaspoons of sugar and half a teaspoon of salt per litre of clean water). d) Paper and pens. e) High-powered torch (for searching for lost objects). f) Your own phone on an in-country network, plus at least one charged mobile phone powerbank with multiple charger ends. g) Ice packs - ideally the "squeeze to activate" sort so you aren't relying on the site freezer. (Most common item left out of first aid kids - and immediate relief/comfort for the most common LARP injuries.) h) Warm blankets. i) An idea of how you'd provide a simple hot meal in a hurry. (This could be a packet of rice you can chuck in the microwave, a cup-soup and kettle, a ration pack and a Jetboil, or a good understanding of what the caterers' plan is for an emergency meal.)

If someone is in a lot of distress, going through the process of dealing with their physical needs (food/water/temperature/etc.) can often help them become better able to communicate their psychological/emotional needs. Often a LARPer who is dehydrated or low on blood sugar doesn't KNOW that's the problem, they just know they feel awful and are crashing hard.

8. Know the Ground

KNOW YOUR SITE - I can't stress this enough. If someone has a costume disaster and needs somewhere private to change, where can they do that? If someone is overwhelmed and needs a quiet, safe, cool (or warm) room or tent to lie down in for an hour, where can they do that? If a shy new player shows up and asks "Where do I put my kit?", then being able to answer them quickly and competently with a smile on your face will immediately endear you (and mean that they WILL come to you later, when they're suffering, instead of sitting alone on their bed being sad about it).

9. Late Bloomers

What is the late arrivals plan? If you went IC at 1900 and the traffic means some of your players don't arrive till 2200, then most of your key refs/crew will be busy running the game. You're the most likely person to escort the late arrivals onto site, get them set up, and get them integrated into the game. You'll need to reassure, but you'll also need to understand a lot of admin details to make sure they don't feel any more overwhelmed and embarrassed than they already do. This might involve giving a second safety briefing, pointing out any last-minute changes that weren't included in the game pack, and pointing them to the right ref to get their characters timed in. You can be as nice and friendly as you like - but some people will be even more reassured by practical, reliable and clear directions when they’re feeling rushed and panicky.

10. Herd those Cats

What is the crew plan? Depending on role, you may or may not be involved in "crew wrangling" - this is often a separate role, and deserves its own post. But even if you aren't "crew boss", you need to understand and be able to help balance crew energy and engagement. If there are long periods where crew are likely to be sitting around bored, where are the "pick-up-and-play" roles they can briefly read, digest, and go out to engage in? If crew are doing three hours of back-to-back combat roles, where is the plan for ensuring that they're all fed, watered, rested and properly kitted before their next high-energy role? The best refs will have considered this and have a clear plan for managing crew in small teams to maintain their energy levels - but as a welfare officer you are likely to be the advocate/interface if it doesn't seem to be working well, so make sure you understand where the weak spots and frictions in the plan might be so you can deal with them in advance.

What happens if a crew member comes to you and says they're really struggling with their NPC role and aren't enjoying it? (If you're the approachable face, they'll likely come to you first before a busier ref!) Do you understand the crew matrix well enough to think about solutions, alternative roles they could do, or how the timetable could be re-worked to end their role early? Wherever possible, you should strive to go to the refs with a solution rather than a problem: "Harry is struggling and I think if we brought the poisoning forward an hour, then let him play a gremlin for the rest of the night, that would fix it" is better than "Harry is struggling". They may not accept your solution, but the conversation is already moving onto alternative ways to fix the problem.

11. Easy In, Easy Out

How do players enter/leave the game if they're fatigued or unwell? Your game may not have a clear system for this, and it may be players' own responsibility to manage their fatigue. However, some will struggle to cross the IC/OC divide here: if the character is fighting for their life, how do they resolve that with the player needing to have a lie-down for an hour so they're safe to drive the next day? One of the best games I've run had a clear, signposted system where players who needed a break could "vanish" IC (with a clear IC logic for their disappearance) and take as much time as they wanted. When they were rested, they could go see a ref for a special briefing which told them what had happened while they were away (and explained how they reappeared). You won't find this in every game, but think about ways to make taking an OC break feel like a positive and productive experience, which leaves the character with plenty to talk about when they return, rather than a potentially embarrassing one which leaves the player out-of-the-loop and feeling like they've missed out on the fun.

12. Look After Number One!

Practice active self-care, both to facilitate all of the above and as a good example to others. Going back to the first point, most people can't project positive energy if they're sad, wet, cold, tired and hungry. Have a routine worked out to look after yourself. Understand what you can and can't do and work to your limitations. If you have lots of physical energy but are struggling to deal with six emotional crises in a row, get up and walk around site. If moving exhausts you, pick a central location to base yourself and make sure all the things you need to do your job are in easy reach.

Feel free to reblog with your own additions, checklist items or hacks for looking after your fellow LARPers’ welfare. Suggestions gratefully accepted!

#process hack #LARP #accessibility #larp accessibility #larphacks

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