#((it would be JUST like the paces to see this strange; injured creature and try to help her!))

[theheadlessgroom]

https://www.tumblr.com/beatingheart-bride/707682277821497344

@beatingheart-bride

“I-I hated the rain too, when I was a boy,” Randall said as he sat down with his own hot mug to peer out the window, recalling the many, many squalls he had to sit out in with a certain lack of fondness. “The cold, the wet, I-I just hated it all...and the thunder and lightning didn’t help; it used to frighten me, and I couldn’t wait for it to be over.” He used to cower in the corner of his cage, hoping and praying it’d end soon.

“But, y-y’know, once I came here to the opera house? I-I didn’t mind them so much anymore,” he smiled shyly. “Sleeping up here in the attic, y-you’d think it’d just frighten me even more, but y’know, i-it actually...didn’t. Being up here, my own little home, dry, a-a roof over my head...i-it wasn’t so bad, I-I found. I-I find the rain...comforting, i-in a way, listening to it come down...”

One would think that being much higher up and therefore closer to the storm would have the opposite affect, but to Randall, somehow, it became almost soothing to hear at night: The tapping of the rain on the roof and the glass of the window, the rumble of thunder overhead, the occasional illumination of lightning...it was like a performance, like an opera of nature-the rain became the chorus, the thunder the orchestra...and the lightning the dancers. And that, to Randall, was soothing.

“I’ve spent many a sleepless night up with a storm...i-it sort of keeps me company, in a way, while I work on my libretto. It’s...nice, actually.”

[teddymoon06]

Hybrid: Between Two Worlds

Intro: It captures the essence of Jungkook’s dual nature as both a bunny and a human, as well as the growing connection between him and Y/N, who come from very different worlds. Does that title work for you, or would you like to tweak it?

Hybrid: Chapter 1 — Lost in the Woods

POV: Y/N

Your footsteps echo softly against the forest floor, the gentle rustle of leaves in the early evening air giving the woods a quiet, peaceful ambiance. You hadn’t intended to wander so far off the beaten path, but your usual hiking trail had called to you in a way it hadn’t before, as if something—no, someone—was pulling you deeper into the forest.

You check the time on your phone, the faint light flickering against the dimming sky. It's late, and the sun is beginning to set, painting the sky in streaks of fiery pink and soft purple. Still, you continue, feeling an inexplicable pull. The chill of autumn whispers against your skin, but it's more than the cool air that sends shivers down your spine.

As you walk further into the woods, a strange feeling sets in—a mixture of curiosity and unease. There's something… someone close. You can feel it.

Your heartbeat picks up, matching the pace of your steps as the trees seem to close in around you, branches twisting overhead, blocking out the last bits of sunlight. You halt in your tracks, suddenly aware of how quiet the forest has become. No birds, no wind. Just silence. And then, you hear it—a soft whimper, barely audible, coming from somewhere ahead.

Your eyes scan the darkening underbrush, trying to locate the sound. Was it an animal? Injured maybe?

Without thinking twice, you move toward the sound, the foliage crunching beneath your feet as you push aside the bushes. That’s when you see him—a small, trembling creature curled up near a tree trunk, its fur a striking mix of black and silver, gleaming in the faint twilight. It’s a bunny. But not just any bunny—there’s something ethereal about it, something almost human in the way its wide, dark eyes lock with yours.

You crouch down slowly, careful not to scare it, your heart melting at the sight of its fragile form.

"Hey there, little one," you whisper softly, holding out your hand. "Are you hurt?"

The bunny’s eyes blink slowly at you, and you notice its body trembling slightly, almost as if it’s been lost for days, scared, and vulnerable.

You inch closer, cautiously, when suddenly the bunny lets out a soft whimper. Before you can react, a gust of wind sweeps through the clearing, and you instinctively close your eyes, bracing against the sudden chill.

When you open them, the bunny is gone. In its place… is a boy.

A boy.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stumble back, your mind struggling to make sense of what you’re seeing. He’s sitting there, where the bunny had been, dressed in nothing but a pair of loose-fitting pants, his body slightly curled up as if he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. His hair is jet-black, tousled and wild, framing a face that is devastatingly beautiful—almost too perfect to be real. His lips are parted, and his wide, doe-like eyes stare up at you with the same intensity the bunny had.

"W-who are you?" you stammer, your voice shaky as you try to process what just happened. Your eyes dart to the spot where the bunny had been, but it’s impossible—the bunny and the boy… they can’t be the same.

The boy blinks slowly, his dark eyes filled with a strange, unreadable emotion. He looks scared, just as the bunny had.

“I… I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice soft and shaky, like he hasn’t spoken in days.

“Sorry?” you repeat, your heart still racing. “For what?”

"For scaring you," he mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. He looks down at his hands, his fingers curling into the earth as if he’s trying to ground himself. "I didn’t mean to… I just… I got lost."

Your mind is spinning, trying to make sense of this impossible situation. "You… you were a bunny," you say, the words sounding ridiculous even as they leave your mouth.

He nods slowly, as if that should explain everything.

You blink at him, still unsure if you’re dreaming or if you’ve lost your mind. "What… who are you?"

His eyes meet yours again, and for a moment, there’s a flash of something vulnerable, something raw in his gaze. "I’m Jungkook," he says quietly, his voice so soft you almost miss it. "I’m… different."

POV: Jungkook

The girl in front of me stares at me like I’m something out of a nightmare. I don’t blame her. I’ve spent my entire life hiding, avoiding humans, avoiding her kind. But I couldn’t stay hidden forever. Not when I was so close to giving up.

I didn’t mean to show myself—I didn’t mean to let her see me. But the second our eyes met, something in me shifted. Something inside me told me she wouldn’t hurt me. She wouldn’t be like the others.

Her scent is calming, soft and warm, like the forest after the rain. It’s been so long since I’ve been this close to a human without fear. She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t run. Instead, she kneels down in front of me, her expression still shocked, but her eyes filled with something else—curiosity? Compassion?

"How long have you been out here?" she asks, her voice quieter now, more gentle.

I hesitate, unsure of how to answer. Days? Weeks? Time doesn’t mean much when you’re always running.

"A while," I mutter. "I don’t… I don’t belong anywhere."

Her face softens, and she shifts a little closer, though still cautious. "Are you… alone?"

I nod, my heart sinking. The truth is, I’ve always been alone. Ever since I was abandoned. No pack, no family, just me—lost in a world that wasn’t made for people like me.

She’s quiet for a long moment, her gaze searching my face, as if she’s trying to decide what to do with me. I wouldn’t blame her if she left. It would be safer that way.

"Why don’t you come with me?" she says suddenly, and my heart skips a beat.

I stare at her, my mind racing. She’s offering me a way out—a chance to stop running. A chance to… belong. But I know it can’t be that simple. Humans don’t accept hybrids, and they certainly don’t accept someone like me.

"I can’t," I whisper, shaking my head. "It’s not safe."

"Safe for who?" she asks, her voice gentle, but there’s a sharpness to her gaze. "You? Or me?"

I can’t answer her. I don’t know.

She sighs softly, standing up and offering her hand to me. "I’m Y/N," she says. "And if you’re lost, then… I’ll help you find your way. Whatever that means."

Her hand hovers in the air between us, and for a moment, I hesitate. Can I trust her? Can I trust anyone?

But then, without really thinking about it, I reach out and take her hand.

And in that moment, something shifts—something that feels bigger than both of us. Something that will change everything.

Next

[deardarkmoon]

i—steer.

verb. to control the course of.

rating T

characters: eilonwy lunéciel (WoL), guerrique de montrohain, zephirin de valhourdin (for like 2 seconds)

word count: 577

desc: eilonwy finds a new pet.

“I require your aid, ser.” 

Guerrique blinked at Eilonwy from where he sat on his chocobo, blinked again when she pulled in closer to him on her own. Surveying her, he couldn't deduce any injuries. “Aid? For what, you don't look injured.”

“No—not for that,” she said in a hushed tone, despite them being on their lonesome for patrol. Yet still, she looked over her shoulder and again into the distance. When she decided the coast was clear she lifted the coat she had draped over her lap.

And he yelped a sound that could've come from a maiden finding a rat beneath her bed, his bird staggered under his sudden movement, swaying momentarily.

“Fury's tits—put that thing back!” He shrieked, tightening the grip on his reins.

She pouted, cradling the creature like a babe. Holding it closer to her chest when the wind picked up. “Oh, stop,” she huffed, “It's not a thing, it's a deepeye and look how cute she is—”

“SHE?” He cried out incredulously. “That's a voidsent not a she.”

“That’s not important,” Eilonwy explained, “I found this little one cornered by some wolves, poor thing has been shivering ever since.”

“So you killed the wolves and spared that...creature?” Guerrique asked, receiving a hum and a nod in return. He dared to steer an ilm closer, and indeed the round creature was shivering. Though he flinched when it blinked at him, balked when it seemed to smile at him with its eye. 

“She likes you,” Eilonwy cooed and he scowled.

“Please stop that, ‘Lonwy.” He was used to her strange interest in the creatures by now—she had a gaelicat and a strange, shadowy pocket-sized unicolt; and a thousand notes on all the rest. Used to it, and disturbed all the same. And he wasn’t so uneducated that he didn't know what deepeye were capable of (there was that one officer who came stumbling back to Falcon's Nest with no sense of his own, only the Fury knows where he was now).

“Do you want to hold her—” 

He turned his bird away when she tried to hold the deepeye out to him. “I really don't.”

“Very well, but I need you to help me bring her back—”

A scoff and he was already a pace away. “No.”

“I'll buy you a drink,” she tried, catching up to him.

“It's going to take more than twenty drinks for me to go anywhere near that,” he spat (though he had to admit, in its docile state it could be described as cute). But still, he scowled. “It's still shivering.”

“I know,” she pouted, trying to hold it closer. He hated the way it curled into her chest.

“I'm not agreeing to help… but what would you have me do?”

He pursed his lips at the way a smile melted into her expression.

“Well—as you can see she's such a small creature…” Eilonwy started, “and you're much larger—larger than me, at least.”

He dared to let out an “...and?”

“If you could hide her in your armor—”

“You're out of your fucking mind if you think that thing is going down my shirt—”

“Just from the stables to the congregation, I can slip her into my bag once we get there.”

“Pray tell me how you think I'm going to explain a deepeye-sized lump in my chainmail.”

“You're you,” Eilonwy said in a bland tone, “People have seen worse, I'd bet you a million gil the commander would just shake his head and walk away.” 

***

And indeed, Zephirin didn't question the lump to his mid-section, even when it squirmed. His page, Kristien, did a double take, but he simply turned her forward.

[maggicktouched]

She eyed the gleaming blade as it slipped back into its sheathe. It did not soothe her anxious thoughts, but at least if he wanted to slice her in two, she had a couple of seconds to try and bolt. A heavy sigh of relief and exhaustion left her, and the hackles on her neck slowly smoothed back down. With her injured foot held to her chest, she hobbled to the cracked door and pressed her nose through. The bent hinge on the door whined in protest, but opened enough to let her limp out of her prison. As unpleasant as being surrounded by strange humans and the scent of blood and decay, it was no small relief to see the world devoid of iron bars.

"I---Yes, Lord Stark." The hovering soldier stammered, looking from her liberator, to her, to the enormous wolf. He wasn't just a huntsman with a tender heart, he was a lord, and she could smell the blood of at least two dozen men clinging to that blade of his---so perhaps he was not so soft hearted. With a small bow, Sir Bryant turned and began to jog in the opposite direction.

Beck weighed her options for the thousandth time in the last hour.

Running seemed to be the worst of her options, even if it was what she wanted the most. There were two paths out of the camp, one involved trying to swim across a creek with three legs, and the other meant bolting straight through the camp. She didn't have the strength needed to run that hard, and even if she did, there was a chance that the direwolf would come after her. Even she sometimes warred with the instincts of a predator's mind in beast forms---the deep, irresistible urge to give chase when anything ran. Her magic might have kept a normal wolf's instincts at bay, but she couldn't chance it with the beast before her. Not in her current state.

And where would she go? She could not shift until she was healed, she could not heal without food and rest, and she could not hunt or even steal in her current condition.

No. Running was not an option. So the real question was whether or not to reveal herself to the human. He didn't seem too worried at the mention of curses, and he---at least for the moment---tolerated a magical beast at his side.

'Do you know what I am?' The witch asked the direwolf. She limped a few paces away from the man, but kept her eyes locked on him. Her ears swiveled wildly atop her head as she listened to the dull roar of the war party around her. Her thoughts, however, stayed with the wolf. 'Can this man be trusted?'

She jumped, a threatening shriek piercing the air, as the soldier returned with an armful of surprise. He moved too quickly for her liking, and she grinned again with an open mouth and all of her teeth---a threat of violence if he came too close. The soldier gripped the supplies tightly.

"Lord Stark, please. If you insist on mending this creature---allow me." His words were brave, but his tone lacked conviction. He cleared his throat, "If what the men say is true, better the curse fall on me, my lord."

Robb pushed his sword back into the hilt upon his belt. He had used the damn thing enough that day.

As a boy, he had enjoyed the training he did side by side with his father, enjoyed learning to duel with his brothers, to work with the arms master day in and day out. He had been proud of his skill, glad that one day he would be able to protect his family and his people. Now, his sword had tasted real war, and it brought a bitter taste to his mouth. He did not regret what he'd done, what he had had to do to free his father, but he had had enough violence for one day.

He turned as a voice called out to him.

"It's a fox, Sir Bryant." Robb's mouth twisted slightly to one side, clearly amused but trying to hide it. It was not lordly--not something his father would have done--to taunt his own men. "Grey Wind passes in and out of this camp at all hours of the day and night, and you do not fear him." This, however, was not quite true. Many of Robb's men did fear Grey Wind--and in any other circumstance, they'd have reason to--but they did not tell their lord this. They pretended to be at ease when the beast passed, but they whispered behind his back, scared the creature would eat them in their sleep. They were also very aware--and frightened--of the inhuman connection that passed between man and wolf. They respected their lord, but they feared what he and his wolf were capable of together.

"If what you say is true, it is no wonder the creature's ire was turned on this camp. If you were locked in a box and drowned, Sir Bryant, would you not be angry?" Robb ran his hand through the fur at the back of Grey Wind's neck. Every day, the direwolf grew. Though he had been just a pup when Robb found him, able to fit into the palm of one hand, he now stood up to Robb's thigh. The maesters back at Winterfell had said he would grow larger still, that the dire wolves of old had stood to a man's chest and could cross whole battlefields in a single leap. "We do not kill what we do not understand. You want to kill a beast, you'll save it for the lions." Not literal lions, of course, which had not been seen in Westeros in living memory, but the house of Lions with whom Robb waged this war, the lion on every flag and battle shield.

He crouched down in front of the fox. "You're hurt," he repeated. He did not reach for her arm, aware, at least, that such a move might send her running off into the woods. "This will need mending." It was clear the men who had captured her had not treated her wound well. Days locked in close quarters and the drowning would surely made things worse, not better.

"Bring me supplies from the med tent," he ordered the man. "Quickly." He did not know how long it would take before the fox attempted to run off.

[15-dogs]

hugger |n.s.|

pairing: newt scamander x reader

summary: you begin to develop feelings for newt, your employer, and accidentally do the one thing he hates: hugs (super super fluffy! pining, friends to lovers, takes place in between fbawtft and fb:tcog)

warnings: extremely minimal swearing, getting injured (nothing serious!), a niffler giving birth (?)

guide: (Y/N) = your name, italics = flashback

word count: 2.1K

a/n: this was supposed to be a blurb LMAO i rewatched fantastic beasts and unearthed my 8th grade crush on him which gave me this as a product! i hope you like it!!

“Denied again?” you asked Newt. He gave you a curt nod as he paced towards the Kelpie pool. 

You frowned; he always seemed to get quieter after he returned from the Ministry. It had been his third attempt to regain his international passport and, of course, his third run in with his brother, Theseus. And you knew how complicated their relationship was. Newt never really talked about Theseus, except for the offhand comments he would make about him.

So far, all you had gathered about the mysterious Scamander was that he was tall, an Auror, and quite the hugger. You nearly burst out laughing when Newt had mentioned that last little fact about his brother as if it were reason enough to dislike him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Scamander, but that just doesn’t seem like something to hate a person over.”

Newt exhaled in quiet laughter as he pet a Mooncalf, grabbing some treats from the bucket he held. He flashed a kind smile at the Mooncalf before turning off and dropping the bucket to the ground, staring you down from across his basement.

“You haven’t met Theseus, then.”

Newt refused to meet your eyes as he joined you in caring for the Leucrotta. You chewed your lip— perhaps you were making a mistake, talking to him so plainly. He was your employer, after all. You weren’t there to help him make nice with his older brother.

Yet, you continued to speak as if you were a personal acquaintance of his. “What I’m trying to say is you’re an incredibly kind, sweet person, Mr. Scamander.” 

That got his attention. His head slowly raised to meet yours, and when he saw you were already looking at him, he looked away. But that did not deter you. 

“You refer to yourself as these creatures’ mother!” you announced with playful exasperation. That got to him, a soft, harmonic chuckle escaping his lips. “You have such a big heart. I suppose I’m just a little shocked that hugging is the disqualifier.”

Newt’s smile faded as he processed your words. You saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, thick with emotion. He then shook his head as if it would drive the feelings away, pointing you off towards another creature in need of care.

“Well, what are you going to do?” you prodded, making your way beside him. “Try again?”

“Yes,” he stated with a nonchalant shrug, “that’s exactly what I plan on doing. And I’ll keep at it until I get that ban lifted.”

You snorted. “I can see why you were a Hufflepuff— dedication like no other, Mr. Scamander.” 

Newt glanced up at you with a lopsided grin that had your stomach flipping for a moment. The tips of your ears began to heat up and you prayed to Merlin that your hair covered them.

You had known for a while that you had feelings for Newt. It started cultivating inside you with every adoring smile, every impassioned statement, every quiet appraisal. It had soon grown too big to go unnoticed and you knew you were in far too deep.

“Quiet now, quiet now,��� Newt whispered to the little Bowtruckle, “mum’s here.”

You were padding down the steps from his apartment, reading the instructions on the back of a potion vile. He had advised you to get it from his medicine cabinet for your headache but you weren’t entirely sure that you picked up the right one.

“Mr. Scamander…” your voice trailed off at the sight of his maternal tendencies.

“I know, I know,” he cooed, “but change can be a good thing. On you hop.” He continued to pet the small and pouty thing before placing it into the makeshift nest he had created, where it was welcomed by the rest of its friends.

That small moment, seemingly insignificant, had caused you to completely fall for Newt. His soft, green eyes fell upon you with a gentle, questioning look at the potion you held. You nodded, answering his silent question without actually telling the truth because, if Newt could be as seemingly perfect as he was day in and day out, you could suffer with a headache for one day.

“Prepare the ointment, please.”

You raised the large container of ointment that you had mixed together in preparation for Newt’s return. “Don’t have to ask me twice, Mr. Scamander.”

He nodded his head towards a desk where you placed the container down. 

Newt began to take off his trademark royal blue coat, flinging it onto a desk as he conversed with you about your work. “How has Molly been?”

You eyed the pregnant Niffler which was milling about in its cage. “Quite well, actually. She’s due any day now.”

“And the other Nifflers?”

“Niffler-y, as always,” you joked, earning a smile from the sandy haired man before you.

“Lovely.” Newt finally turned around, examining your state. “You’ll join me, won’t you? Kelpie’s are easier with two people.”

“Right, yes, of course.”

“Brilliant.”

You undid the buttons on your blouse with haste so that you stood in your pants and camisole, pulling your hair from your eyes as you prepared to hop into the pool. It wasn’t like it was the first time you’d done this, but each time had your nerves thrumming with anxieties that something would go wrong.

You spun around as you took a step towards the edge of the pool, standing shoulder to shoulder with Newt. He extended his hand without looking down, taking yours in his perfectly rough ones, your mouth instantly going dry. Newt looked over at you, so incredibly close that your noses nearly brushed against one another. He nodded and so did you, both hopping backwards into the pool.

Your camisole popped up from the sudden force and Newt quickly looked away as you tucked it back in to the best of your ability. As soon as you were done, you splashed some water his way, striking him in the chest. His eyes went wide with amusement as he did the same to you, hitting you square in the face.

A small wave knocked the two of you back under, the Kelpie swimming its way towards you. You and Newt managed to grab a hold of it, barely staying on as it bucked you two up and down. 

After about the third time the Kelpie lept from the water, you cemented your grip. You let out a loud whoop as the cold air kissed your wet skin, Newt also cheering beside you. The Kelpie dove deep under the water, preparing to rocket you two up. As it breached the water, Newt sent you a disarming smile that had your hands subconsciously loosening. As the Kelpie snapped back under the water, you were thrown off, your body just narrowly missing the stone columns of the pool and splashing with a loud crack in the water.

“(Y/N)!” Newt cried out. His voice was drowned out by the water and by the fact that the pain from the fall had you slipping in and out of consciousness. It was the last thing you heard before you passed out, deep under the water.

You awoke to smell of a savory broth soup flooding in from the room over. You looked around the familiar space, soon realizing that you were sat on Newt’s couch, a blanket tucked firmly up to your chin. Your cheeks grew warm as you inhaled the scent that was distinctly him, scolding yourself for the childish crush you had developed.

You adjusted yourself, sitting up to see a tray of tinctures on the table beside you with a note that read, “Please take these when you wake! Newt.” You followed his orders, slugging them back with a wince at each unpleasant taste.

But then you heard a strange noise from the basement. It was a mix between a squeak and a whine, concerning enough to pull you from your cozy spot on Newt’s couch. You stood up and peered around the corner, hearing a soft, offkey hum ringing from the kitchen where Newt most likely was cooking his dinner. The sound of his voice warmed your heart and you almost, almost, got up to speak with him but you figured you had caused him enough trouble for the day. So instead, you headed into the basement by yourself.

You gripped the railings on the stairs with immense force, hoping not to fall over. Your body felt sore which you could only attribute to your accident earlier. You stopped at the bottom of the steps, peering around when you were met with a pained cry from the Niffler cage. You ran up to it to see Molly the pregnant Niffler whimpering in pain as another Niffler nudged at her stomach.

“Oh, Merlin,” you muttered, “you’re about to give birth, aren’t you, Molls?”

As if Molly could understand you, she let out a loud squeal.

“Oh, Merlin. Time to put that Hogwarts education to the test, I suppose,” you mumbled to yourself to give yourself the confidence you needed to deliver the little Niffler babies.

You snatched the pair of gloves from beside the cage and tugged them on tight, casting a spell so they’d perfectly fit your hands. You unlocked the cage to take Molly out, moving her into a small tray with bedding in it.

“Okay, Molls, you got this. Mum’s here.” 

You rubbed her stomach in small circles, feeling the baby— no, babies— squirm around. One thing was for certain: you needed Newt.

“Mr. Scamander!” you called upstairs. No response. “Mr. Scamander, please!” Still no response. “Merlin’s beard, Newt! Get down here!”

No later did you hear heavy steps growing louder behind you. “(Y/N)! You’re awake! Are you okay-”

You didn’t have time for his rambling. You sent a panicked look over your shoulder, meeting his wide eyes. “Molly is giving birth. Triplets.”

“Merlin’s beard.” He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it in contemplation. “How’s she doing?”

“She’s a fighter, I’ll tell you that.”

“What can I do to help you?”

You whipped around. Apparently you’d be delivering the babies. You took in a sobering breath, steadying your shaking hands.

“Something shiny, some snacks, and a towel.”

Newt scrambled around the workspace as fast as he could, dropping the items in front of you. You laid out the towel and snacks beside Molly, massaging her stomach as you felt the babies start to move more than before. It was time. You pulled the shiny object out from behind your back, dangling it above Molly’s head as she delivered three adorable Niffler babies, so distracted by the object that she didn’t realize that she’d given birth. You escorted the babies onto the towel, allowing them to nibble on the snacks as you stripped the gloves off.

“Merlin,” you murmured to yourself in astonishment, “Merlin! I just…”

Newt’s smile was so big it nearly split his face. He nodded, sharing in your excitement. “You did,” he assured.

Completely forgetting about professionalism, you hopped onto him, engulfing him in a tight hug while you laughed melodically. Newt’s thin frame stiffened in your grasp. You gasped, jumping off of him with your hands up.

“I am so sorry, Mr. Scamander. No hugs, I forgot.”

Newt simply stared at you, searching your eyes. You gulped as he took a step closer to you.

“Theseus tends to believe that a hug is just as useful as an apology, so I don’t quite like hugs for that reason.”

“Oh.” You didn’t know what else to say.

The corner of Newt’s lips twitched upwards, looking around before meeting your gaze. He took another step forward before taking you in his arms. You began to wonder if he could feel your heart pounding in your chest, whether he assumed it was from adrenaline or knew that it was him that drove you mad.

“You should be proud of yourself!” He pulled away to look in your eyes, his arms slinking downwards to rest around your waist. “And, please, (Y/N), no more with the Mr. Scamander business. I’d like to think that we’re well acquainted enough for you to call me Newt.”

If professionalism was damned before, it was most certainly damned now.

Merlin, he was so close, you couldn’t help yourself. With your arms wrapped behind his neck, you pulled him into a long overdue kiss. Your heart thundered in your chest but you were too focused on the way his lips melted perfectly into yours, the way he kissed you back with such hunger and vigor that you had to hold onto him tighter, the way you began to smile as he attempted to figure out where to place his hands. 

You pulled away a moment later, Newt following your lips with unpleasant surprise. All you could do was let out a soft chuckle as your cheeks turned pink.

A teasing grin grew on his lips that had your stomach flipping. “I’m positive now that we’re well acquainted enough for you to call me Newt.”

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

general taglist:  @pandaxnienke @lunalovecroft

[jinx-jade]

When A mother’s & A father’s world’s collide Chapter 3: From Thief to new Sister

“Hey! That’s mine! Give it back!” Dick called out to the small thief, before giving chase.

Next thing Marinette knows, the thief and Dick are free running on the village roofs. She chuckles at the childrens’ antics before fading into the shadows.

After crossing dozens of rooftops, Dick and the thief seemed to have slowed their pace. Both of them are getting too tired to continue the chase.

“Hey! Stop!” Dick calls out when the thief looks behind themself, most likely to check how far behind he was.

The thief seemed surprised when they saw Dick hot on their heel, crossing the roofs with trained ease.

They stumbled at the edge when they looked forward. The next roof wasn’t a possible jump without any gear, but their feet had already left the building, the stumble making it so there was no chance of making it without receiving some form of serious injuries.

Dick reached out to grab them only to trip from exhaustion. Both children dreading the inevitable injuries they would receive from the fall.

Once they were a foot or two from the ground, a black moving shadow snatched them from the air. The children and shadow being rolled out of a shadow, appearing somewhere else. The worst injuries they sustained were a few scrapes, maybe some bruises.

Dick was immediately on guard, tensing his body in case of a fight.

When he looked around her saw that the thief’s hood had fallen off revealing a small girl with black hair and blue eyes.

Looking towards the shadow creature, Dick was met with Marinette’s kind eyes, worry written clearly on her features.

“Are both of you ok?” Marinette asked, moving towards them to check on them.

“m, fine mom,” Dick answered, still a little dazed.

Marinette gave him a soft smile at the name, before checking for injuries.

“Nothing too bad, just some scrapes,” Marinette informed him before slowly approaching the small girl who had been trying to sneak off.

“You, on the other hand, seem to have a sprained wrist,” Marinette informs the child.

The words seem to only cause them confusion.

“Don’t speak English?” She guessed.

Marinette then began running through languages until she got a reaction out of the child. Or at least that’s what Dick thinks she’s doing. For all he knows, this could be a magic spell or something.

There was a look of recognition in the young girl’s eye when Marinette spoke one of the languages.

The girl didn’t seem to fully understand, but being able to communicate a little was better than not at all.

Marinette guided them to the temple’s medical wing.

Well.

Marinette guided the girl to the medical wing, Dick just followed because he had nothing else to do and can’t go home because the girl has his necklace.

Marinette spoke calmly in the language the girl seemed to recognize while wrapping her injured wrist.

Dick recognized the language as well, he just couldn’t place where he'd heard it before.

Marinette seems to be asking her questions, but receiving no answer till the last one.

“Cassandra.” That was all the girl said.

Her voice was quiet and soft, which surprised everyone present, almost like she wasn’t used to how her voice sounded.

Gesturing to herself, the only adult present introduced herself, “Marinette,” she claimed.

Marinette told Cassandra something with a caring smile before she left the room.

Dick was about to follow her out when Cassandra pulled on his sleeve. Dick turned his attention to her but wasn’t too hopeful that he would understand her.

Reaching into her pocket using her uninjured hand, Cassandra pulled out the stolen necklace. She handed it back with a guilty look on her feature.

Dick immediately took the bluebird necklace, securing it around his neck. He let out a sigh of relief.

“I know you can’t understand me, but thanks for giving this back,” Dick says with a grateful and relieved face.

“I’ll see you next time I come visit mom,” Dick claimed before running after Marinette so he could say goodbye till next time.

Cassandra watched the strange boy leave.

She looked around the room before deciding that the lady wouldn’t have wasted the healing stuff on her if she just planned to kill her. This place being safe was most likely the case, but it still took Cassandra a while to fall asleep.

Well…

Half asleep.

She didn’t trust the strangers completely and didn’t want her death to be because she slipped up and trusted too fast. However, Cassandra was fully asleep when Marinette went to check on her. She must have been exhausted before coming here if she fell asleep that fast.

Smiling at the small girl, Marinette couldn’t help but wonder why fate was bringing her all these children. Not that she minds taking care of them, Kwami knows they need someone to love, care for, and support them, both physically and emotionally. 

Marinette was curious as to why fate had decided to send not one, not two, but three children into her care. Why did the children need specifically her care, love, and support?

In Dick’s case, it seemed as though his guardian wasn’t the best with emotions.

In the infant’s case, well, it was the League of Assassins, he wasn’t going to get much of anything other than training and scars.

In Cassandra’s case, Marinette wasn’t quite sure what her situation was, but a few things were clear. The girl didn’t know how to understand words, she didn’t seem to talk, she was covered in scars, and she most likely hadn’t had a decent meal in a long time.

Seeing as Marinette can’t just ask fate, she opted to just follow its lead. Meaning she now has to teach her children how to understand or fully understand Arabic.

Dick had asked to be taught the language so he could communicate with his new sister.

Marinette shook her head in amusement, only Dick would claim someone as their new sibling who had just tried to steal his only way home.

Although if Cassandra didn’t give the necklace back, Marinette could have just shadow walked Dick home. It would most likely get her caught by his guardian and that would be a strange conversation, but Dick would have needed to go home at some point.

Marinette couldn’t help but wonder if the same would happen when she brought the infant over to the temple.

Now that she thought of it, the infant would most likely know Arabic due to where he is growing up.

Looks like Marinette is going to need to teach all of her children Arabic and English, which was ironic due to none of them being one of her first ten languages.

tag list: @animegirlweeb @alyssadeliv @mizzy-pop @jayjayspixiepop @eggadoodle @rosalineandrosemary

[floating-mid-air]

The Princess of all Saiyans

 -

 Masterlist

-

Hey Everyone! It's been a while. My life's been kind of hectic the past couple of months. Long story short: I Graduated from Highschool this year, so I was busy with everything having to do with that. Then my summer job sadly prevented me from writing as well. And then I started College, which was a big change for me. For now, there are no more chapters in my life opening or closing. Now I'm finally in a place where I feel comfortable continuing this book again. I could've honestly been writing during all of this chaos. But I wouldn't have been pleased with the quality of my writing. I'm really excited to get back into the swing of things. I don't think this chapter panned out the way I originally planned, but I'm still happy with it. As always, I hope you enjoy it. And if you have any comments or concerns, feel free to let me know. My inbox is always open!

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Chapter 11

-

You've been walking for quite some time now, and the experience has been excruciating. You haven't been in this much pain since you and Raditz were on planet Telia, ten-something years ago. Those damn underlings were able to get a good sneak attack on you. Though you can't say, you let them get away scot-free. You made sure to make their entire dreadful race pay for that injury. You and Raditz had covered up that incident, much like you're doing with your current injury.

"So---" You can hear Goku talking to Krillin from just slightly left of you. "Did you guys find the senzu beans?" Wow, Kakarot may be the least subtle creature you've ever encountered.

"Ya." Krillin chuckles. "All four of us were in pretty rough shape." Goku glances at you with a worried look on his face. You glare at him as Raditz eyes the two of you skeptically. He knows something's off between the two of you. Maybe something serious did happen while you and his brother were trapped together. 

A bit more time has passed, and you've been trying your best to keep up with the others. But it isn't as easy as you thought. You're now trailing behind the rest of them, with Raditz turning back to look at you every so often. The largest Saiyan slows down to catch up with your slower pace, now walking beside you.

He turns to you, whispering in a low tone. "Something's off." Raditz can no longer stay silent about his concerns. First, it was the strange vibes between you and Kakarot. And now it's your out-of-character demeanor making him uneasy.

"About what?"

"You. Typically you walk beside your brother, and when he doesn't let you, you make sure you're always only a few paces behind. But right now, you couldn't be more content to trail everyone. Plus, you're far too confident to not be in the very front." Raditz has been around far too long for your liking. Damn him. He knows you far too well, and you hate him for it.

You roll your eyes at him. "So this conclusion of yours is based on the way I'm walking? I'm tired. When I fought, Burter, that physically drained me. And then I got trapped in a ditch with your moronic brother, that mentally drained me. I'm exhausted, Raditz." 

"It's not just the way you're walking. It's your mannerisms as well." He points at your side. "Your hand hasn't moved from your side from the moment I first saw you."

"God, Raditz." You scoff. "Stop overanalyzing everything."

"Getting defensive now? That's your M.O whenever you're hiding something." He looks back and forth between your face and your hand that has remained glued to your side. The gears in the older Saiyan's head slowly but surely turning. " Y/N, are you hurt?" 

"No." You snap your eyes shut, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood in an attempt to suppress a wince of pain. "I'm fine."

He tilts his head at you. "Y/N, I know you claim otherwise, but I'm not stupid. I know you're in pain."

You chuckle softly in a self-pitying way. "Am I that easy to read?"

Raditz shakes his head, smiling to himself. "No, I've just known you for a long time now." He returns to his serious demeanor, his gaze returning to the area of your wound. "How bad is it?"

"I barely feel it at all. Though, climbing out of that ditch must have reopened the cut."

Raditz snickers. "You're a bad liar."

"That's strange. I've been told in the past that I'm quite good at lying."

A smirk spreads across Raditz's lips. "Well, you apparently aren't when I'm involved."

The larger Saiyan glances at the back of your brother's head. You respond with a glare, firmly pulling on a large chunk of his hair. You know what Raditz wants to do, and it's not happening. "Don't even think about it."

"I-I think we should tell him Y/N."

"No." You let go of his hair, tapping his chest with extreme force. "You're going to keep your big mouth shut. Vegeta will freak out. You know how irrational he gets."

Raditz decides to let you have your way--- for now. The man can't help but wonder why you're so stubborn, but then again, his nature isn't much different from yours.

With every minute that passes, your condition only seems to worsen. Your eyes even start to droop. "Y/N?" Raditz turns to you, his features beginning to fill with worry. He places one of his large hands on your forehead. You're burning up. "You have a fever. Your wound must be infected."

"No." You shake your head in disagreement, almost like a child. As your mental state becomes more and more delirious. 

"Vegeta!" Raditz shouts, gaining your brother's attention.

"Fuck you, Raditz! You're such a blabbermouth!" You shout at the larger Saiyan in front of you.

"What's wrong this time? Is my sister trying to pull you into another one of her elaborate schemes?"

"Y/N's hurt--- bad." Vegeta's eyes widen, and not even a millisecond later, he rushes to your side. "She has a fever. I think her cut is infected."

"Where is it?" He crosses his arms at you, noticing your hand placed firmly on your side. He moves your hand out of the way with ease, lifting your armor. "How did this happen?"

"Burter nicked me during our fight. It's no big deal."

"No big deal? It's infected, you stupid woman!" He turns his attention to Kakarot. "Did you know about this?"

You snicker. "Oh ya, Vegeta. I get hurt, and the first person I run to tell is Kakarot." Vegeta's fists clench at your sarcastic remark, turning his fit of rage back at you.

"You know, in certain situations, you're more prone to infections. And a planet like Namek checks all of the boxes! You know you need to be more careful. Damn our mother and her faulty genetics!" Sadly that's a trait you had inherited from your mother. On most planets, you'd be fine, and injuring yourself would be no big deal. But Namek has specific conditions that result in you being more vulnerable. 

"Raditz, pick her up." Raditz picks you up, giving you a piggyback ride. You wrap your arms around his neck, giving yourself better balance. Vegeta glances up at you. He looks even madder than usual. "With the condition, you're in, you will not be fighting. You will stay away from Jeice, and you won't even enter the same proximity as Ginyu. Do you understand me?"

"But--"

"No!" His voice booms, gaining the attention of every creature for miles. "I'm not kidding around. Do you understand me?"

You bite your lip, tilting your head downwards, avoiding your brother's gaze like the plague. "Yes, Vegeta." Vegeta returns to the front of the group, his mood sourer than ever.

As Raditz begins to walk, he starts talking to you again. "Are you mad at me?" You don't verbally respond. Instead, you claw into his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh. "Fuck. I'll take that as a yes."

"You're a tattletale."

Raditz chuckles. "No wonder why Vegeta babies you. You'll thank me for this later, you stubborn woman. And I've kept your secrets before, handfuls of them, actually. Like what happened on planet Telia----" Raditz realized the grave mistake he had just made, mentioning that incident in the presence of the very being you worked so hard to hide it from.

You slap the older Saiyan upside the head as Vegeta turns backward, a scowl plastered on his face. "What happened on plant Telia?" It was a rhetorical question, mocking both you and Raditz. "Oh, the three of us will be discussing this in length later. Because it sounds to me like you both lied to me on that initial report." You and Raditz gulp, you've heard that tone from your brother millions of times now, and it has never once become any less terrifying. 

"Oh, lighten up, Geta." You groan. "That was like, what? Around thirteen years ago?"

"The amount of time that has passed matters very little to me. As I said before, this is a discussion for later."

A few more hours have passed, which honestly feels like days at this point. And considering Namek's strange day cycle, it very well could've been. "How much farther?" Your question was clearly directed at Vegeta. And at this point, you're not even sure he has any idea where you're headed either.

"I don't know why you're the one complaining." Raditz huffs.  "You're not the one doing all of the walking! And if you ask him that one more time, I'm going to drop you." Ok so maybe, that wasn't the first time you've asked that question today. Or the second, or third, you're very bored. 

"Man Raditz." You roll your eyes, which are barely open at this point. "You sure complain--- a lot."

"You were just complaining." The long-haired Saiyan grumbles. 

"No, I simply asked Vegeta a question. There's a difference Raditz. I know it's hard for your feeble mind to understand." When you're sick, you tend to act, oh what's the word? Bitcher than normal. And that's saying a lot.

Raditz clenches his jaw. "Vegeta. I need a break from your sister."

"That's how I felt ninety percent of the time I was stuck in a room with you, Nappa, and Cado. And you didn't see me running to wine to Frieza about it."

Before Raditz can retort, your brother interjects. "That's enough! From both of you!"

Krillin, Gohan, and Goku have identical bewildered expressions on their faces. Krillin turns to Vegeta, lowering his voice to a whisper. He doesn't want to be the next victim of your wrath. "Do they always fight like this?" The human finds this perplexing. Back on Earth, the pair seemed inseparable. They appeared to be the Saiyan equivalent of what on Earth would be considered best friends.

Vegeta lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Yes, but typically it's more playful in nature. When my sister is sick, she becomes even brattier than usual."

Vegeta's warning to both of you seems to have fallen on dead ears. Because your quarrel has not ceased, in fact, it has only elevated. "I will drop you, you royal brat!"

"I dare you to you second-class runt. I could still kick your ass even in my delirious state. I wouldn't even have to try very hard."

"I'm considering----"

Before Raditz can even get three words out, your bickering is once again interrupted, and not by the person you may think. "Enough!" Gohan shouts. You honestly forgot the others were here for a moment."If you two keep fighting like this, you're going to get all of us killed!" You and Raditz stare at the boy in shock. It's been a long time since the two of you have been yelled at by a child. The last time being when you were children yourselves. Vegeta hasn't changed much since childhood. He's been bossing you around and shouting at you since you were children, but I'm sure that's not very surprising. 

"Ya, and I can take Y/N---- if you need a break." Goku rubs the back of his neck, chuckling sheepishly. "Not that I want to hold Y/N or anything."

"No." You rapidly shake your head. "Raditz, I'm sorry. I'll be good now--- I promise."

A wicked grin spreads across Raditz's lips right before he grabs your hands with his larger ones. He loosens your grip around his neck, moving your body with ease, scooping you up into his arms. Every step Raditz takes toward Goku seems even more antagonizing slower than the last. Until he's standing directly in front of his younger brother. He elevates his arms slightly, dropping you right in front of an unsuspecting Goku.

Lucky for you, Goku has sharp reflexes. That allows the Saiyan to catch you easily. Raditz look's his brother dead in the eyes, his typical arrogant grin still on his lips. "She's your problem now, Kakarot." Raditz gazes downward to look at you. "Stop pouting. Maybe next time, you'll be nicer to good old Raditz."

A low growl echoes in the back of your throat as you glare daggers at the Saiyan standing before you. "Ya, or maybe next time, I'll rip out your tail and strangle you with it!" The only thing that's stopping you from lunging at Raditz is Goku's firm grip holding you in place.

Rather than arguing that the entire group has become accustomed to, the whole area has become dead silent. You're no longer pouting. Instead, you are glaring at the man who continues to carry you bridal style. You've never liked being held like this. It makes you feel weak like you have no control over your own body.

What makes you even more irritated, Is how Goku reacts to your death stare. He just grins at you. Does he just never get angry? What kind of Saiyan is he? It fills you with so much anger that someone as dopey as Kakarot has Saiyan blood flowing through his veins. 

You clench your fists. You just wanna punch Kakarot so badly. He just has such a punchable face. If you could take away his cheery personality, he'd actually be quite attractive. Wait--- what the hell are you thinking? Kakarot is stupid and way too friendly for you to ever think of him in that way.

��You move your fist up, finally giving in to your urges, attempting to punch the man holding you. Probably not your wisest moment, but your brain isn't functioning normally right now. Goku catches your hand with ease. His reflexes are unreal, or maybe this fever has you more sluggish than you believed. You'd prefer to think that it's the second option. He chuckles to himself. He's still not upset. What the hell is wrong with him? "Come on, Y/N. You gotta be quicker than that." He's challenging you. How Saiyan like of him. You seem to always be able to find specks of Saiyan nature in the cheerful man. And those are the aspects you actually like about him. 

Your eyes begin to once again feel heavy as your eyes droop shut, just before you fall asleep in the arms of your enemy. 

Twenty-Something Years Ago:

You're sitting on your bed, sitting crisscrossed, a book laying open on your lap. Since your father is currently off-planet, you can read all you want. You're enamored with your newest book. It's all about a topic referred to as diplomacy. It's fascinating and has many concepts that are entirely foreign to you, yet at the same time, some of these ideas are also familiar. 

As you read, your door slams open, but you pay the interruption almost no attention, not even bothering to look up from your book. Honestly, the unwelcome intrusion has you more angered than anything else. "God, Vegeta." You roll your eyes. "Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" Something's not right. When Vegeta usually bursts into your room, he's automatically shouting at you.

Out of pure curiosity, you look up from your book. However, standing at your door, you don't find Vegeta. A boy with a very similar appearance but with a much smaller stature stands in your door frame. He's out of breath, desperately huffing for air. "Tarble?" You furrow your brows at your brother, launching off your bed to get closer to him. "What's wrong?" You have this sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your twin has never behaved in such a manner before. 

"Captain--- Captain Ginyu is here." Tarble is shaking, his eyes watering slightly.

You scowl ever so slightly. "But Ginyu's not scheduled to be on planet Vegeta any time soon." 

"It's--- It's a surprise visit. What do we do, Y/N?"

You contemplate for a moment before your features fill with alarm. "Tarble? Where's Vegeta?"

His lip quivers as he looks down at the floor. "He's with Captain Ginyu."

"Damn it." You mutter under your breath. Diplomacy is a skill you need right now. And Vegeta doesn't have a single quality that a diplomat possesses. Your elder brother is more likely to unnecessarily provoke the Captain, putting your entire race in hot water with the Frieza Force. 

You rush over to your bedside table, rummaging through the drawer. Once you have your scouter in your hand, you run back over to your brother. "Stay in here, and use this to channel our father. Let him know what's going on." You push past your twin, about to leave, before Tarble's voice calls out to you.

"Wait, Y/N!" You turn back to look at him. "Where are you going?"

"I have to go stop our older brother from doing something stupid. Everything will be fine, I promise. Just calm down and do as I said." And with that, you take off, praying that Vegeta hasn't already done something rash.

As you sprint down the halls of the palace, you run face-first into the torso of a large body. "Princess?"

You look up at the bald Saiyan, the one who's supposed to be at your brother's side at all times. Since the future king of planet Vegeta needs to be protected. "Nappa, Where is my brother?"

The imbecile scratches the back of his neck, contemplating much longer for your liking. "I'm not sure. I haven't seen the runt in quite some time. You should probably ask Vegeta." 

You scowl at the Saiyan. "Not Tarble, you fool! I'm asking you where Vegeta is!"

"Oh, Why didn't you just say so?" It's taking every ounce of restraint you have in your body to not viciously attack Nappa. "He's just outside of the palace." 

You run through Nappa, intentionally knocking the large Saiayn onto the floor. His stupidity lost you precious time. It was quite an amusing sight, though. A mere child, being able to take down one of your father's best warriors. 

You arrive outside of the palace, your eyes landing on your target. This is the first time you've ever seen Captain Ginyu. Sure, you've heard stories of the purple man. And much like your people, Ginyu is just as bloodthirsty and just as ruthless. Much to your surprise, the Captain doesn't have an army behind him. This was just before the Ginyu Force had formed. All Ginyu was at this point in time was a captain of one of Frieza's many armies. 

You walk over to them, now standing at your brother's side. "Captain Ginyu." You speak with your hands, an exaggerated smile appearing on your lips. "To what do we owe the honor?"

The man looks down at you, clearly analyzing you with his scouter. "Well, if this isn't a surprise. I think this is the first time I've had the pleasure of meeting you, Y/N." Ginyu extends his large hand out to you, causing Vegeta to feel a great deal of alarm. Your brother's body has gone tense with an apprehensive look on his face. But when your older brother looks over to you, there isn't even a glint of fear in your eyes. You're calm, almost as if one of Lord Frieza's deadliest warriors was not standing before you. You accept the Captain's hand, presenting him with a short but polite handshake. "Your father doesn't like showing you off much, does he?" 

You chuckle softly. "My father likes to hold his cards close to his chest. I'm sure a man like yourself is quite similar." Sucking up to Ginyu is not your favorite pastime, but it needs to be done. And every Saiyan on this planet knows your big brother is far too prideful to do it himself.

Ginyu looks between you and Vegeta carefully. For someone so highly regarded by Frieza, he sure isn't subtle. He's trying to read your facial expressions. Unfortunately for him, your father has raised you both much better than that. A poker face to you feels more natural than a genuine expression. "Speaking of your father, where is he right now?"

"He's of---"

You quickly cut Vegeta off. "He's in a meeting. That's why our father sent me out. He wanted you to know he sends his regards, but his hands are tied at the moment. He will be here at soon as possible. I hope my brother and I can suffice your needs in the meantime."

Captain Ginyu eyes you skeptically, tilting his head at you ever so slightly. "That sounds serious. I hope it's nothing too pressing."

"Of course not. It's nothing my father can't handle."

You're about to continue your schmoozing, but you're stopped by Vegeta aggressively yanking on your arm. "We need to talk-- in private."

You grimace at your brother's words. He just always has to make everything that much more difficult for you. You turn back to Ginyu, offering the man a cheerful smile. "Will you excuse us for a moment? We'll be right back."

Vegeta drags you around a corner, concealing you both from Ginyu's prying eyes. "What do you think you're doing?" He huffs at you in a whisper. "I had everything under control."

You snicker, crossing your arms. "You were just about to tell Ginyu that our father was off-planet. It sounds to me like I got here just in time to prevent you from making a grave mistake."

"I don't see why that matters."

"And that's the issue, Vegeta. Now we don't have time for this. Let's go." You turn back around, walking back over to Ginyu, Vegeta trailing not far behind. "I'd like to apologize for my brother's rudeness, Captain Ginyu." You shake your head but with a slight smirk across your lips. "All Saiyan men are the same, and my brother is no exception. They're incredibly thickheaded and quite savage. I'm convinced they don't even realize what brutes they are." You watch your brother ball his hands up into fists from beside you. It fills you with an immense feeling of joy knowing you're getting under Vegeta's skin for once. You turn back to Ginyu, plastering that disingenuous grin on your face. "Now, how about we give you a tour of our wonderful planet?"  

You and Vegeta have shown Ginyu around almost the entirety of your planet, and you must admit you're beginning to grow worried. Luckily you've managed to hold off any more questions about your father's whereabouts by charming him with various facts about planet Vegeta. But to be honest, you're not sure how much longer you can hold up this charade for. You've exhausted pretty much every idea that you've been able to come up with.

"Captain Ginyu!" Your father's brash voice invades your ears as you turn around to finally see the man you've been anxiously waiting for. You've never seen your father walk in such an urgent manner, and it's pretty funny watching your twin struggling to keep up with your father's pace. 

Your father places himself between you and Vegeta, ruffling your hair affectionately. You look up at him. "How'd your meeting go?"

Your father meets your gaze, catching onto your deception almost immediately. "It went very well. Thank you both for keeping Captain Ginyu company in my absence, but I think I can handle it from here." He directs his attention back onto Captain Ginyu. "Now, how about we discuss you're abrupt arrival somewhere more private."

The two men exit your field of view, leaving the three of you alone. Tarble, in his typical fashion, glues himself to your side. "What the hell was that?" Vegeta spits out with venom. "Where was your pride? You were basically groveling at his feet."

You furrow your brows at him. "I was doing what needed to be done. And if you think our father isn't currently doing the same thing, you're a bigger fool than I thought."

"I know our father is being more agreeable with him, but not at the cost of his pride."

"It's always about pride with you." You step closer to Vegeta, closing the distance between you. "Your pride today would have cost the loss of countless lives today, Vegeta."

"Then so be it. If there are Saiayn's that inadequate on our planet, we should probably just exterminate them now. It'll save us the hassle later on."

You snicker, shaking your head at Vegeta. "Some King you'll be." You turn to your twin. "Let's go, Tarble. I have no desire to be near our foolish brother right now."

The conversation between Captain Ginyu and your father was brief. It was a very anticlimactic ending to the naked eye. The briefness of this encounter only set off more alarm bells in King Vegeta's head. It was clear to the man that Ginyu's excuse for being on his planet was bullshit. He's just not quite sure what the captain's intentions were, but he sure as hell is going to find out.

As soon as Ginyu left planet Vegeta, he promptly set course for his next destination. He's headed straight to Lord Frieza to report his findings, and he's eager to do so.

 Ginyu arrives on the planet in record time, heading straight for the throne room. Ginyu kneels before Frieza, waiting for his boss to speak. "Captain Ginyu. You're sure back early. I trust you were able to gather enough information on the young prince."

Captain Ginyu nods enthusiastically. "Of course, Lord Frieza. The Price was exactly the same as the previous data we collected on him. He's powerful and quite intelligent for a Saiyan. Though, he did inherit that nasty temper from his father."

Frieza sighs. "How disappointing."

"But I did discover something that you may find interesting, Lord Frieza."

Frieza tilts his head at the man. He can't help but feel intrigued. "Go on." It's not that easy for him to find an advantage over those monkeys, so he'll take any information Ginyu can give him, no matter how minuscule. 

"Y/N--- King Vegeta's daughter piqued my interest greatly. She's not even close to as strong as her brother, but she's remarkably clever. She's very good with words, she knows how to manipulate people. I'd say she might even be better than King Vegeta himself."

"Now, that is fascinating. Good work, Ginyu. I'll look into the Princess's abilities more in-depth later. You're excused."

-

This is just something I felt the need to clarify: So in this chapter's flashback, Vegeta is around three, and Y/N and Tarble are about two. In my head, I picture children on planet Vegeta behaving like miniature adults. My idea is once they leave their chambers (the tanks they are raised in to get their basic Saiyan instincts under control), their minds are fully grown, but their physical growth is quite delayed. That's why they curse and stuff. I have a minuscule window of time to squash in all of my plot ideas. So this was the best way to do so.

[spvce-cowboy]

a strange beauty

chapter 1 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

next-ch.2: “gentle things”

rating: Explicit

5.8k words

summary: The Mandalorian crashes on an unknown planet. Severely injured, he follows the sound of singing until he, literally, lands in your lap. A trained medic, you begrudgingly decide to help the bounty hunter in order to continue evading a dark past.

warnings: Violence, descriptions of gore, masturbation (m), brief panic attack description, hurt/comfort, angst/fluff, suggested sexual assault, canon divergent (post-season 1), slow burn, eventual smut

a/n: i wrote this after reading the Rough Day series by @no-droids​  as well as @cptnbvcks​ ‘s fics. i continue to be inspired by their work so i must give credit where it is due ! my first reader insert/mando thing so let's see how this goes !! thank you for reading <3

**

What he hears first is song.

It’s nearly night on the unfamiliar planet. At first he thinks the sound is some kind of bizarre hum of wind. He’s crash landed and between the hole in his chest and the blood in his eyes, he can barely stagger forward, let alone think things through, as he stumbles out of the smoldering Crest.

It stuns him, for a moment. On the verge of it all ending, the pain vibrating through his body, and he literally falls into some kind of melody so haunting he can’t help but think he’s already in some cruel kind of afterlife. Underworld would be equally fitting, he deserves that more.

He tries to pull in a breath. The sound that leaves him could only be described as a gurgle. It’s followed by a cough. Something hot and metallic tasting comes up with it, coating the inside of his mouth and dribbling over his chin.

Maker, he’s screwed.

He hadn’t realized how much worse it was going to get until he was finally safe in the Crest. In a daze, he opened the med-kit only to find the last Bacta treatment in a shattered mess. In the fresher, he tried to stuff some remaining gauze into the gaping hole on his right pectoral. He really tried not to pass out. He wasn’t successful. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the knife wound, but every breath exited in a fluttering wheeze he was barely able to push through. It must have punctured a lung. Fucker was able to get right up under the armor.

Delirious with blood loss, he could barely register the one-handed climb into the cockpit and typing in whatever coordinates first come to mind before he blacked out again. It was in and out from there. He thought he entered Naboo, somewhere safe and familiar and not teaming with others who’d like to do much more and worse than he had already weathered, but a glance at the red-orange slicked control panel told him he was quickly approaching an uncharted planet. His hands were uncontrollably shaking, covered in his own blood and who knows who else’s. He had no idea if the Crest has the ability to dampen the landing but it was too late to start asking favors of some higher power now. 

“Sorry, kid.” It’s all Mando could think to say, voice barely registering over the modulator.

The child was fast asleep already. He had to mend Mando’s spine in order for Mando to drag himself back to the Crest once the smoke of the battlefield had settled. 

Mando’s entire body was still vibrating from the energy of it, probably the only thing keeping his heart beating. He was barely conscious long enough to slide the shields shut on the child’s cradle before impact.

It had been a long day.

He woke, miraculously still breathing—if the futile gasps trying to be made around a collapsed lung could be called something like that. He swung his heavy head around, blindly grasping the child’s cradle and pulling it behind him. The child was still asleep—unharmed save for a dent on the side of his crib that sputtered with an occasional spark. It took Mando a moment to register the alarms blaring, the flashing lights and acrid smell of scorched plastic and metal.

He doesn’t remember staggering out of the Crest. Just that now he is in a field of some sort, staggering forward with the kid’s cradle following close behind.

It is only then that he hears the song.

An idyllic hillside stretches before him, tall grass dotted with small, yellow wildflowers reach to meet a light fog. In the distance there’s the shadowed suggestion of mountains. If he didn’t know any better, he would really think this was Naboo. Mando can’t even begin to comprehend how his brain is able to process any of it. Really? You’re about to take your last handful of breaths and you’re taking in the flowers of all things? Though maybe he isn’t, if he is able to. His head begins to fill with a kind of static where nothing makes any sense.

He can hear, at least. Very well. Well enough to recognize that there is some kind of singing, some kind of song, reverberating through the sensors of his helmet loud enough to bring him back to reality.

 A song isn’t necessarily the right word for it—there are no words, or, at least, no words Mando could distinguish. Sound, more like. Melodious sound. Long, whooping notes of crisp sound. A siren’s call. So he follows the singing.

Mando doesn’t know how long it takes to reach its origin—between his quickly blackening vision or the equally disorienting fog, it is hard to navigate the expanse of green before him, let alone determine the time it takes to see the slight silhouette in the distance. Once he does, it’s a stumbling, panting race to reach it before his legs give out. Mando falls once, then pushes himself up. He doesn’t have the ability to call out around the useless, deflated bag of tissue leaning against the right side of his ribcage, so he keeps pushing forward. And it’s like he’s running in a dream, the pace as which he lurches forward, trailing blood and gore behind him. And he’s trying to move but he keeps almost falling and the figure is getting closer but it isn’t moving and he’s half certain he’s hallucinated it all and this is it. It’s over. All this for almost nothing and what about the kid. What about this kid if it’s over and. It’s over and. And.

And it’s you. Standing there. A long dress lifting slightly with the breeze. Your back is to him, hair swept over and through itself in an intricate braid. When you turn, your face is already contorted in shock.

And still, you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

The Mandalorian falls to his knees, colliding with the ground before he can even process losing feeling in the lower half of his body.

**

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

In it, he is Din again. For the first time in a long time. He knows this in the way one just knows things, in dreams.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

He is kneeling before it, in defeat or prayer he does not know. It is one in the same, either way.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure.

It touches his face gently. When it does, he vomits ticks or leeches, depends on the day. They spill into his hands and he is left there. Staring at them. Writhing, they slip through the fingers of his cupped palms. He always wakes before they reach the ground.

**

On waking, the first thing he notices is that the grass is trying to reclaim the house.

He knows that he is in a house because of the soft mattress beneath him, pressing up and into his body as if in some kind of forgiveness. It’s a single room cabin, a dirt floor, a single bed, a kitchen to the far wall. Incredibly bright with three windows of varied size above the sink. As he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees are sparse but tall green stalks brushing the leg of a sturdy looking olbio-wood table, a messy collection of bloodied bandages, glass bottles, and bowls resting atop its surface. A flower dots the top of only one of the stalks, its petals no bigger than the nail of his thumb. He hears two soft voices, speaking from somewhere above him. Darkness clouds his vision as soon as he realizes he is awake.

When his eyes open again he is already in the process of sitting up, holding his shoulder with a grunt. He fully gains consciousness in the middle of the action, in time to barely recognize a cry of surprise as something clatters to the floor. He swings his head around, right hand automatically going to his holster despite the burning pain the motion conjures. Empty.

He turns sharply and it’s you. It’s you, again, looking all the more surprised at his sudden waking than you had when he was dragging his half-dead body towards you.

Your hands are pressed against your stomach, the wooden bowl of some sludge-like salve at your booted feet. Your eyes are wide, frozen as if he had a weapon to draw. The skin beneath them is puffy and discolored with exhaustion. Your dress is now smeared with what he can only assume is his own rust-brown blood. The dress presses tightly against your chest with your heavy breathing. Mando’s gaze catches there, for a moment, in spite of himself, before traveling again to your face. Wide eyes, plush lips slightly parted--your hair is in a loose bun that has barely managed to contain itself, escaped pieces gently framing your face. You’re one of the most beautiful creatures he has ever seen. His resolve hardens immediately because of it.

You press your lips together firmly in annoyance, almost in tandem with Mando clenching his own jaw. You stoop low to snatch the bowl and pestle from where they lay at your feet, irritation radiating off of you in waves.

“You’re taking my bed, Mandalorian.” Your voice is steady for the most part, but falters slightly with his name. It betrays the fear in your eyes, nearly masked by the tightness in your tone. Regardless, you persist. Straitening with the bowl pressed between your hip and forearm, you  gesture with your free hand towards where he is still reaching for a non-existent weapon. “It is unbecoming to start our acquaintance with threats.”

“I was here with a… a companion,” his voice sounds absolutely ragged over the vocoder. Mando whips his head back around to scan the room, heart pounding. His shoulder feels like it is on fire. He begins to struggle to his feet. He fails.

“The little one is fine, resting.” You blow an offending strand of hair off your forehead with a frustrated, upward huff. “You’ve been out for days. We’ve been up every night trying to keep you breathing. Frankly, I could care less if you choked on your own tongue.” Your voice gets less biting when you’re facing him directly, as if the courage for your snark is dependent on not being able to see him. You continue, “Am’ile, however, is an old friend of an acquaintance of yours. You’d care to show her a little more respect.”

With another huff, you’re turning away and pushing through the piece of fabric that functions as a door. He watches you as you reappear through the wide window stationed just above the kitchen sink. Mando sags against the bed’s simple headrest.

There are little pieces of stained glass that have been strung from the tops of the windows, dripping down like raindrops. He watches them for a moment, clattering into one another. Mando swallows, shaking his head. He tries to take a few deep breaths before attempting to stand once again. He isn’t successful.

“I wouldn’t test that one, Mandalorian.” This voice is much older, slightly raspy in a way that automatically demands a lowered head or a knee pressed into the earth. A long-fingered hand pushes past the fabric still swaying from your exit. An elderly Bardottan woman enters, regarding him a moment. The child coos in the arm she cradles him with, his hands reaching out towards Mando. The Bardottan smiles, wobbling over to the bed and laying the child at his side. “She doesn’t like it when kindness is taken for granted.”

She turns, pulling out a chair from the table and sitting down with a sigh. He can tell her age by the halting way she walks, one four-fingered hand resting against her lower back, her leathered yellow-green skin’s pale stripes dulled by time. “Am’ile Dovalien of Naboo. I am an old friend of Caraynthia Dune, from her Republic days,” she takes her time with her words, and then even more to regard him. “You’re looking rough for wear, Mandalorian. I’d ease up on that shoulder before you put all the girl’s work to waste.”

An old friend of Cara’s. He doesn’t know why it’s surprising by any means. Cara’s discussed her time before the war enough, and it is not like she is… inhibited, he guesses, is the right word…by the Way. So of course she would have “old friends.” Good friends. Maybe it’s surprising because he feels like there are similarities between the two of them that he has not shared with anyone else, odd to think she is able to having something that he does not.

“Who is she? The girl?” The words leave his mouth abruptly, before he can think them through. They hang there for a moment before Am’ile answers.

The Bardottan says your full name, he’s noticed she has a habit of doing so. Between that and her syrupy accent, it lends anyone she mentions in the conversation a kind of regal stature that he can’t help but admire. “She is my student. I hope she didn’t… frighten you too much. It’s rare we get visitors from outside the local village. You’re the first of her kind she’s encountered in almost six years now.”

The child chirps, clambering onto Mando’s chest. The pain is sharp and immediate. The man makes a sound he can’t control, using his good arm to pull the kid off and tuck him into his side. “Thank you, for all of this.” He’s ashamed he didn’t manage to get it out sooner, his lips pressed together firmly under the beskar. “I… I had to retreat before I could complete the job. I don’t have many credits on me but—"

“Do not, Mandalorian,” Am’ile shakes her head. “I would be insulted if you do.” She stands with a struggle, using the edge of the table to help herself up and waddling to his bedside, extending both boney arms for the child. Mando does what he can to help prop him back into the crook of Am’ile’s elbow. “Keep resting, if today’s treatments take well, you can start repairing your ship by tomorrow morning. The locals are a secluded people, they do not like strangers staying for very long.”

“Thank you,” he says. She hums something low in her throat in affirmation, flicking her hand in Mando’s direction with her back already turned. The fabric of the door only stills after a few minutes of swaying.

**

After your first—well, technically second—encounter, you don’t really make conversation when you come in to check on Mando’s healing and clean up the medical station Am’ile and you had established on the kitchen table. It’s all matter-of-fact, from the tilt of your shoulders to the set of your jaw. When you do directly address him, he notices that you stare at the space just above his helmet, never into the t-shaped visor. Never right at him.

He deserves it, he supposes. Never one for talking unless necessary, he’s fine with the complete silence interspersed with: “Okay breathe in, breathe out,” as you check if his stitches can hold, or “try and stand up, walk around the table” hovering a few inches away in case he falls. It seems like Am’ile is the one who takes over the more internal matters, coming in to check on his lung capacity, if his ribs were healing in the proper place.

Apparently the child had to mend the worst of it, now all that was left over was a grinding, bone-deep soreness that comes with being put together from the inside out, as well as some particularly nasty scrapes, the surface remnants of the near-fatal stab wounds. The child had tried to heal those, too, later that morning, but Mando pushed his tiny hand aside, just as he had done the first time.

“No need to waste your energy, womp rat. Save that up for someone else,” he pats the kid’s head as he say this, placing him on the ground with a wince to toddle around the room in search of trouble.

You have your back to the both of them, washing a bowl once filled with Mando’s dirty bandages. You pause as he says this, head tilted slightly over your left shoulder as if contemplating turning around. After a beat, you seem to reevaluate and continue washing the blood out of the bowl, scrubbing at it with a brush heavy with soap. You’re wearing a different dress now, looser, cinched at the waist with a green-brown apron. You dry the bowl with the corner of your apron and start on the next object, a gleaming pair of surgical scissors.

It seems as if you’ve just come from a bath, hair wet and tucked behind your ears as you work. When you first entered, he thinks he heard you mention something about it, now that his condition had stabled. It was mumbled so quietly he almost believes he’s imagined it.

He wants to ask you where the glass hanging from the window is from, how you managed to string it up so perfectly that when the suns get to a certain place, as they were in that moment, it sent a kaleidoscope of colors onto the floor. A kaleidoscope of colors that dapple your face in such a beautiful pattern he half expects he’s in the middle of some torturous spice-dream.

When you turn to leave again, Mando turns his head to stare forward, feigning sleep.

**

When Am’ile confirms that the treatments have taken well, pointing out all the signs to you as you stand back with your arms crossed and nod intermittently, a diligent student. A part of him is okay with being a living anatomy model as long as it means you actually looking at him.

Once given the clear, he spends the next two days working on the Crest. It was, thankfully, in much better shape than he thought. A bit difficult to go about making the repairs the first day with one of his arms in a sling, but breathing is easier and the deep pain has been replaced with a dull ache that is less difficult to push aside for the time being.

You bring him meals and check his stitches at the crash site—you seem to continuously clarify that you’re only doing this because Am’ile’s hips cannot take the inclines of the hills anymore. Every time you hike up the grassy slope towards him you seem to get a little bit braver, looking him evenly in the eyes for short periods each time.

He’s grateful to see you each time. It’s been a long time since he’s eaten anything that wasn’t from a cantina or a freeze-dried bar. Even though he eats quickly, pushing his helm just below the tip of his nose to do so, he savors it all the same. You turn your back to him as he eats for privacy, playing with the child.

His third morning working on the ship, he gets up at dawn. He’s restless and wants to finish the build as soon as possible, get out of here before Greef Karga starts getting antsy with his absence. A very small, very weak part of himself also knows the longer he stays, the more he becomes a threat to a place like this. It’s too warm. Too gentle. He doesn’t belong here. Something about his presence is disruptive. He just knows this.

Mando still can’t bear the weight of the beskar against his bad shoulder. He pulls on the button-down tunic Am’ile had asked him to wear in order to get better access to his stitches with a wince. It’s a dark green kind of fabric, loose enough to fit both him and the bulk of his bandages comfortably. He’s still a bit light headed on his way to the Crest, but once settled beneath the hull he’s fine.

You come up with breakfast at around the same time as the previous day, setting it on the ground a few feet away from him as if he were some kind of cornered animal you were trying to lull into some sense of false security.

The child babbles something unintelligible from your arms as you turn your back and sit down in the grass. The child had been spending nights with you and Am’ile in the neighboring cabin, since Mando had taken the cabin you’d been sleeping in previously. Am’ile told Mando it was so he could get the rest he needs, without having to worry about the little one. One glance at the way you act around the kid makes it plainly clear that you’re absolutely smitten. It’s hard not to be.

Mando eats quickly, lowering his helmet and turning to give you the clear. You don’t respond, too consumed with attempting to thwart the child’s attempts to catch a hopping bug the size of your palm. You’re wearing a tank top and long, brown cargo pants, seated with your legs crossed and leaning forward every so often to plop the kid back into your lap every time he toddles too far.

There’s a moment where he allows his eyes to trace the elegant curve of your shoulders. Something in his throat tightens. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he pushes himself to his feet and resumes the task at hand. Leaning down to pick up a replacement panel, he straightens with a grunt.

“What are you doing?” Your voice surprises him enough to drop the paneling. It barely misses his booted foot. Small hands wrap around both his biceps, pulling him back. “Stars, stop that you’re gonna—”

And suddenly you’re in front of him, a whole head shorter yet already fussing over him like some family pet. You keep talking to yourself as you do so, maneuvering him to sit with his back leaning against the Crest, kneeling beside him as you pop the buttons of his shirt open. It’s like you started in a moment of complete vindication, and how have to keep up the act despite a deflating confidence. “I feel like the best bounty hunter in the galaxy could maybe use some common sense after getting fresh stitches, just a thought but you obviously could care less…”

You keep talking, he knows that because he sees your mouth moving, but after that last word your hands are against his chest, unwrapping the bandages to check the punctured skin underneath. Your bare hands, on his bare chest. Any possible thought he could have formed after the fact left his head instantly.

He couldn’t even remember the last time someone had touched him, especially like this. Before, when you and Am’ile started patching him up, he was out cold. When you checked on his healing wounds the day before, you had politely asked him to remove his shirt and bandages with an undeniable warble in your voice, standing with your hands clasped behind your back and only glancing at his chest before instructing him to refresh his gauze.

They are soft and a bit colder than he’d expected. So soft. One hand is wrapped around his right trapezius, thumb resting in the dip of his collarbone, and the other cupping his left ribs as if he was trying to get away somehow. Something in him instantly stills. You keep your hands like that as you observe the wound. You give another huff,

“Don’t move.” You turn away, scooping up the kid and walking back down the hill.

He’s not sure if it’s in obedience to you or pure shock, but by the time you return, mumbling something about Am’ile taking over babysitting, he hasn’t moved a muscle. You dab on another layer of ointment, rewrapping his bandages. Satisfied with your work, you sniff, placing your hands on your hips to look back up at him. “What do you need lifted?”

Mando blinks, pausing long enough that you narrow your eyes, chin raised. “Well?”

After a beat, he gestures to the panel he dropped earlier. You both work together, in complete silence, for the rest of the day. 

When both suns sit low and heavy in the horizon, you raise your hand to your to your forehead and squint at the place where they are held by the two ragged lines of distant mountains. “It’s a strange kind of beauty, isn’t it.”

He looks at you, looking at the suns. When he doesn’t say anything, you wipe at the sweat and grease smeared across your forehead with the back of your forearm. Wordlessly, you brush your hands off on your pants twice before turning back down the hill.

Mando continues soldering wires. He only pauses an hour or so later, when he hears the song again. He puts down his tools and sits in the grass with his back to the Crest, staring out and into the mountain range before him, the two rocky faces cupping two entangled suns, one indistinguishable from the other. The song is as sweeping and ethereal as when he first heard it, heard you. He takes off his gloves, closes his eyes, and runs his fingers through the grass. He curls them into fists.

**

Later that night, he has to stumble out of the house and into one of the fields in order to keep the thoughts silent. He has the dream again, it is always impossible to keep sleeping after. He’d been up for hours at that point, trying to breathe through bursts of absolute, vision-blurring panic.

Usually he rests in hour-long bursts, whenever the time allows. He’s gone days without it, to the point that it’s more comfortable to refuse it than give in. It always gets worse when he allows himself to sleep at night. Whatever it is, it always gets worse.

But there’s nothing to fucking do here but think.

It’s the bed. There’s something maddening about your mattress. He hadn’t been touched by another, skin to skin, in so long--the trails of fire your gentle hands left made something in his lower abdomen squirm, restlessly. Hopelessly. Without thinking, he lifts his cock from the waistband of his pants.

Nothing in him can keep the images out. The curve of your knuckles brushing his collarbone. His hand rises in a hard stroke. The low hum you gave once you pushed aside his tunic, unraveling the bandages. Eyes searching for damage. Another stroke, this one even more forceful than the last. The light from the glass against your skin, against the elegant curve of your throat. His thumb comes up to catch the head, already seeping with pre-come. Your gentle palm, dwarfed by the bicep it was pressed against yet steady and determined all the same. He’s so hard it’s excruciating and—

That first morning. The way your chest pressed and swelled against the tight fabric of your bodice, your breasts nearly pushing themselves up and over the gentle ivory neckline with each inhale.  

“F-fuck. Fucking sick,” he chokes out in horror as he finishes, his cock pulsing in his hand, his releases onto the damp ground before him. Shame settles itself in place of the writhing desire in his stomach. It is a much deeper feeling, he realizes, as he lowers himself with barely enough energy to tuck himself back into his pants, wiping his hand on the grass already wet with dew.

The girl is just trying to piece you back together and this is all you can think? But he really can’t remember the last time he was touched. With such kindness. Your hands were the softest thing to grace his body for as long as he could possibly remember. He already knows that this, whatever it is, will be devastating. Absolutely devastating. For this reason, something in him will cling to it for as long as he can.

The cold ground welcomes him, it’s the only measure he is given to realize his skin has quickly grown feverish. He almost falls asleep, right there on the ground. But there’s a gentle cry, from the neighboring house, just across the field from his—er, your—cabin. A gentle cry that quickly turns into an all too familiar hiccuping wail. From where he is curled on the ground, he can see right through one of the house’s windows as a lantern flicks on.

It’s just your silhouette, backlit by a warm orange light. You pace in small circles, bouncing the child on your hip, occasionally leaning your head down in what he could only think is to whisper something, just for you and the child. To press a kiss to the dip of his wrinkled forehead. He calms quickly afterwards, but you keep walking anyway. It’s a strange beauty, being able to watch your two forms, the way they bend and lean into the other, rendered indistinguishable by the lantern’s low light. Mando stays there for a long time.

**

“What is that sound?”

It’s almost nightfall again, the next day. Both Am’ile and Mando are seated at the table in your cabin. The Bardottan woman is playing a card game across from him that he’s been silently observing as they wait for one of his final treatments to sink back in. No bacta, here. Am’ile informed him on his first day. Too isolated of a planet. Her remedies are equally good if not better treatment, just needing some patience.

The singing has started again. It’s the only hint of your presence he’s gotten since the morning, when you unceremoniously plopped a plate of food at the food of his bed and told him you had informed everyone to steer clear of the cabin so he could take his time eating without “that thing on your head.” It was the best meal he’d had in a long while, sugared bread with a fruit jam and a piece of meat that tasted like some kind of mutton.

You start singing right as the healing muscles in his right shoulder have started to go warm and tingly with the salve Am’ile applied. When she doesn’t remove her gaze from her cards, he asks her again.

“What is that sound?”

Am’ile glances up, regarding him for a moment. She says your name, softly, turning her horse-like head towards the window to stare out into the gently moving grass, the empty orange of sunset turning the cut faces of the mountains a dull purple. “It’s a traditional song, from her home planet. It’s how they would call in the seasons, pray for the weather they needed to survive—the people here ask her to sing at nightfall. They say she summons a calm night. When she first arrived it… took some negotiating to allow her to stay.” Am’ile has the gentle, warbling voice of an old grandmother. There is another note from outside, long and slow and beautiful, ending in a sharp, high whoop that reverberates against the sides of the hills. “We look after their children when they go for hunts, it’s how we pay for our place here. This planet has been untouched for centuries, but the beasts are fierce. Would put any Endorian boar-wolf to shame.”

“And why is she here, with you?”

Am’ile is quiet for a moment. Her gaze remains fixed out the window. “She is escaping from a new kind of debt, Mandalorian.” The phrasing hangs in the air, static with its own weight. “The, ah… ex-Imperial officials who turned into warlords after the Civil War...” She looks like she does not want to continue any further. Mando waits in silence. She caves, they always tend to.

“The girl was a nursemaid, by label. They have drugs now, that tell your body you are with child. Lactation, pain of the body so deep it keeps you complacent. It’s a fetish for them, functional for their wives with babies they want nothing to do with. Miserable existence. Caraynthia Dune and I did much work trying to free as many girls as possible years ago, when she was still a soldier. I’d given up the fight, started this farm—began working as a healer for the locals, a peaceful people. The girl found me herself. I still have no idea how. She’s a fighter. Stronger than most any I’ve come across.”

Am’ile’s eyes grow sharp in a way Mando never expected they could. He’s taken aback momentarily, she can’t see his hands flex from under the table. “I have trained her to the best of my abilities, she’d be accepted as a distinguished medic at any Republic facility without a bat of the eye.” She doesn’t have to see Mando’s face to know that he’s in the process of rolling his eyes. “The girl is in danger staying here—they don’t care about what they’d consider to be former cattle as long as they don’t mock the warlords by staying sedentary. She may not be an engineer, but she’s professional--one of the best medics I’ve trained. Kindest, too. You’ll need someone to look after that lung,” Am’ile leans forward, resting a boney elbow against the table and extending a long forefinger to circle the space in front of Mando’s chest. She continues, “Amazing with children. Can hold her own well enough in a fight. Please don’t ever tell her I’ve told you this, but she has asked me to ah… propose this to you. Since the first night of your arrival she has asked to help on board. I know you’ve been looking for a… a… caretaker. The girl is it, Mandalorian. I know you’re an honorable man. I know you would treat her fairly, with kindness. It’s what she deserves. She’s all you could possibly ask for.”

The words hang in the air for a long time. Mando leans both forearms against the table, looking down at his loosely clasped hands. He takes five breaths, then looks back up at Am’ile. “One of the best medics you’ve trained?”

“The best,” Am’ile smiles to herself. It appears as if she already knows his answer. “Without hesitation, the best.”

“With that bedside manner?”

There is a beat of complete silence. Then Bardottan woman bursts into gleeful laughter, nodding her head as she does. The joy of it is enough to fill the entire room.

Mando looks down at his hands and allows himself a small, private smile. It was the closest thing to: yes. Absolutely, yes, that he’s brave enough to voice.

**

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. In it, he is Din, again. For the first time in a long time.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. He is kneeling in prayer.

He can’t stop having dreams about a skinless figure. She touches his face gently. He reaches out to her.

[emixion]

Creatures and Cryptids - Day 10 - Maribat March 2021

oh man, i really love this one. Here’s a HTTYD Au for today. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do. @maribatmarch-2k21 ao3 link

Marinette was worried about Damian.

She’d hardly seen him lately. The boy had increasingly become absent over the past few weeks, skipping out on meals, classes and even training.

It was so unlike Damian to skip training.

He was a dedicated warrior, more so than any other kid in their village, and the fact tat he even refused to show up for training was very troubling to her. And very suspicious.

Not only was he absent, but he was acting strange as well. He seemed very distracted. Never in the present on the rare occasion she did see him, which was incredibly unlike the ever vigilant boy.

Not to mention sneaking fish from the mess hall. What was that all about?

She’d tried asking his family about it, but they were just as clueless as she was. His older siblings had noticed his absence as well, but chalked it up to him going through his rebellious teenage years. She wasn’t so convinced.

Marinette had enough of all the mystery, so she decided to go investigate herself. She’d seen Damian scurry away during dinner, stuffing some food in his vest before taking off into the woods.

Marinette’s brows knit in confusion. What could he be doing in the woods?

Quietly, she began to follow him, grower more and more confused as they ventured further into the woods. It seemed as though he knew his way around this area. Like he’d been down this path many times.

Marinette had no idea what was so secretive that he couldn’t tell her or even his family about it.

Her mind flashed with hurt the more she thought about it. Wasn’t she his friend? Didn’t friends tell each other secrets?

She was pulled from her thoughts when they reached a clearing with a small pond. Marinette quickly hid behind a nearby tree and watched Damian intently as he took the fish from out of his vest and began calling into the empty clearing.

Wait, was that a..growl?

Dragon! her brain quickly alarmed her.

Marinette watched in shock and horror as a blood red Monstrous Nightmare flew into the clearing from nearby and parked itself in front of Damian.

Pushing herself away from the tree, she quickly ran into the clearing, pulling out her slingshot.

“Damian!” She yelled, making the boy whip around.

“Marinette?!” He yelled back in surprise.

“Run!” She exclaimed, loading up her slingshot. “Get away from it!” She was in a clear panic.

The Monstrous Nightmare immediately went into a defensive position and growled dangerously at her. Marinette gulped as she approached it, she knew Monstrous Nightmares were one of the most dangerous dragons around (besides Night Furies, of course.) They could light their skin on fire, for Odin’s sake! Still, Damian was her friend and she would be damned if she let a winged devil hurt him because she was afraid.

With a battle cry, she pulled back her slingshot-

-Only to be tackled to the side by Damian.

Marinette let out an “oof” as Damian pulled her down with his body. He then quickly stood up and faced the Nightmare, making Marinette panic more. She scrambled to her knees and looked around for her slingshot, only to groan in dismay as she saw it on the other side of the clearing.

She was about to attempt to sneak around the Nightmare to fetch it, but stopped dead in her tracks.

Damian had his arms out, and was…speaking to the dragon? Like he was trying to soothe it? What on Earth?!

“Damian..?” Marinette called, bewildered by the sight before her. Her jaw was practically on the floor.

“It’s alright, Goliath.” He murmured to the Nightmare. The dragon surprisingly stood down, but still eyed Marinette warily. Damian then turned to her.

“It’s okay.” He offered her his hand. She took it, letting him help her up. “You just scared him.”

“I scared him?!” She cried, looking at Damian like he’d grown a second head.

“Listen,” Damian began, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I can explain this.”

“Explain what?” Marinette asked. “That the reason you haven’t been around lately is because you have a secret dragon pet? That you’ve skipped out on training so you can hang out with a Monstrous Nightmare?!” She grew more and more panicked as she ranted, pacing in a line.

“Angel, please, you’re hyperventilating-“ Damian attempted to calm her down. All the while the Monstrous Nightmare munched at the fish Damian had left for it.

“Of course I’m hyperventilating! This is- this is crazy! You’re crazy!”

“Marinette, please, do you trust me?”

She stopped her pacing to face him.

“Of course I trust you. But this-“

“If you trust me, you trust him.”

“Trust him?! He was about to attack me! Who is “him’ anyway?”

“His name is Goliath and the only reason he got like that was because he thought you were going to attack first. He acted in self defense.”

Marinette faltered. She had run in armed and tried to shoot him. She couldn’t deny that.

“Listen to me.” Damian continued, gently taking her hands in his. “I know this sounds crazy, but just let me show you.” He walked her over to Goliath slowly. Marinette shook slightly as they grew closer and closer to the massive dragon.

“Watch.” He said, and before Marinette could protest, her hand was being held out to the dragon, Damian’s hand on top of hers. She tried to shrink away but Damian held her steady, whispering reassurance in her ear.

Goliath perked up and slowly sniffed the two humans’ hands. He paused for a moment before gently leaning into Marinette’s palm, Damian’s hand still placed over hers.

Marinette looked on in awe. She couldn’t believe her eyes, she was actually touching a dragon!

“He-he’s not going to attack me?” She stuttered in disbelief. Damian shook his head with a small laugh.

“No.” he said. “He won’t attack you.”

Marinette’s eyes were still glued to the dragon who she was now tentatively petting.  “I don’t understand…how did this happen?”

Damian stroked Goliath’s horn. “I found him here injured one day and nursed him back to health.” he explained. “I don’t know why, but I just..couldn’t kill him, Marinette. I looked at him and saw another living creature that didn’t want to die.”

“That’s…that’s amazing Damian.” She whispered, tearing her gaze away from Goliath back to him.

Damian looked almost bashful for a second, but quickly shook himself off. Typical Damian.

“I want to show you something else.” he said.

“Oh no, is there another one?” Marinette asked, panic starting to fill her voice again.

“No, no.” Damian laughed. “Come here.” He waved Marinette over to Goliath’s side.

“What are we doing?” She asked before yelping as Damian picked her up and boosted her onto the dragon.

“You’ll see.” He said as he hopped on in front of her. “Goliath, let’s go, pal.”

The Monstrous Nightmare stretched its wings and stood up.

“Damian..” Marinette began, her arms winding around his waist to secure herself. “Are we..?”

“Yep.” Damian replied just as Goliath took off into the sky.

Marinette screeched as they left the ground, watching the grass get further and further away. She buried her face against Damian’s shoulder, afraid to look.

He looked back at her fondly as they gained more altitude soaring into the clouds.

“Angel,” he called once they gained enough height. “You can look now.”

Marinette shook as she hesitantly pulled her head back and looked around. She gasped.

“Wow!” She exclaimed breathlessly, making Damian smile. The view was absolutely breathtaking. She could see the clouds within reaching distance, the pinks and oranges of the setting sun, the horizon as it sat dividing sky and sea. She’s never seen anything like it.

Goliath flew down closer to the ocean and let her graze the water’s surface with her fingertips while Damian kept a secure hold of her waist.

“This is…amazing.” She sighed, sitting back up and placing her chin on Damian’s shoulder. “He’s amazing.”

“He is.” Damian agreed, giving Goliath’s head a pat. The dragon cooed in response.

“I’m sorry.” Marinette said meekly. “I shouldn’t have tried to attack him. I was just-“

“Scared.” Damian finished for her. “It’s okay, Angel. I understand.” he reassured her.

“I’m glad I listened though. I’ve never thought about dragons like this, but…” she trailed off, hugging  Damian tighter. “You’re an odd kid, Damian.”

Damian laughed, lightly nuzzling his head against hers. “That’s fine with me, Angel. Just as long as you’re on my side. -

After the night grew dark and Goliath grew tired, he flew back to the clearing and returned to the ground. Marinette and Damian hopped off his back.

“I can’t believe we did that!” Marinette chattered excitedly. “We actually rode a dragon! How many people get to say they’ve done that?”

Damian listened on fondly as she expressed her excitement.

“Did you see how high we were?” She continued. “And when the stars started to come out, oh my Odin, it was incredible!”

In her giddiness, she moved in close to Damian and pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Thank you, Damian. I had a lot of fun.” her voice went soft and almost a bit shy.

Damian thanked the moonlight for concealing his red cheeks. “You’re welcome, Angel. Would you-“ his voice faltered for a moment. “Would you want to do this again sometime?”

Marinette beamed at him and Goliath.

“I’d love to.” -

The two bid farewell to Goliath and walked back to the village hand in hand.

“My parents are going to kill me.” Marinette groaned. Damian chuckled.

“I don’t think Father will be too happy with me either.”

“Does anyone else know about Goliath?”

“You’re the first one I’ve told.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

Soon Marinette’s house came into view and she turned to say goodbye.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” She reassured .

“I can only hope.” Damian replied.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.” she said, hesitating for a moment before swooping in to kiss his cheek. “Goodnight.” She whispered against his skin. And with that she scurried to her front door, pausing to wave at him before slipping into her house.

Damian waved back, face burning, before heading in the direction of his own house. His grin lasted the entire way home.

He would have to thank Goliath the next time he saw him.

[valdomarx]

Winterverse: a fic about Geralt and Jaskier sharing beds and catching feelings Previous parts [1] [2] [3] [4]

Jaskier is no coward.

Certainly, Geralt knows he is wont to be overly dramatic about minor inconveniences and rather too concerned with the state of his fine clothes. But when Geralt gets a contract on a dangerous beast, when any normal human would shrink back in fear and hide in their homes, then Jaskier insists on accompanying him.

He rather wishes Jaskier would be a little less brave on occasion. His apparent disregard for his own well being is more of a worry that Geralt would like to admit.

Still, he could never really deny Jaskier anything. So when he begs and wheedles to be brought along on a contract for a fiend, Geralt relents, even knowing the danger the beast presents.

The hunt begins as is typical: finding a victim’s remains, following a scent trail, locating the dark area of forest where the creature is hiding during the daylight hours. Geralt prepares his blade oil and his potions, and Jaskier even helps, handing him ingredients as he needs them. Geralt wonders when Jaskier learned so much about alchemy.

The trek through the forest is damp and dim, but nothing his senses can’t handle. Jaskier trails behind him, jumpy and uncertain.

Most people run away when they see a monstrous, inhuman witcher approaching them. But not Jaskier. When he’s scared, when something unexpected happens, or when immediate danger threatens, Jaskier runs towards Geralt. As if he feels safer beside him.

Geralt is usually too distracted by whatever danger Jaskier has just awoken to dwell on his actions. But when he thinks back on these moments, it makes something tug deep inside his chest to recall how Jaskier’s eyes soften and his body relaxes once he gets near him.

On this particular occasion, Geralt smells the beast before it comes into sight. He’s ready with a Devil’s Puffball bomb the moment the creature’s enormous antlers and scabby, shaggy fur come into view. 

There’s little that surprises Geralt at his age, so he’s not taken aback either by the fiend’s hideous appearance or by its stench. Jaskier, however, is a little less hardened to the realities of monster hunting, and gags as the fiend scuttles towards them on four legs, like a twisted, nightmarish version of a deer.

Geralt throws the bomb high and the creature staggers back, quelled for a moment by the staggering boom the bomb causes in the quiet forest. He doesn’t have much time though, so he knows has to move in fast and hard. He rolls in and slashes in quick, ugly strokes with his silver blade before the beast has time to attack. There is no space for compassion here, and he works efficiently, whittling down its strength in a relentless dance of attacks and dodges.

Jaskier has hidden behind a tree stump, mercifully intimidated enough by the sheer scale of the fiend to stay down. But the moment Geralt looks around to check on Jaskier he knows he has made a mistake in switching his attention.

The fiend rears back and lets out a ear-splitting cry, and Geralt can only watch as its third eye, located in the middle of its forehead, flies opens to reveal a burning red ember, coal-like and smoking.

The forest is plunged instantly into a night as black as pitch. Even with his heightened senses, all Geralt can see is that terrible red eye and all he can hear is the ringing in his ears. He staggers back, vertigo throbbing through his head and the pull of the fiend’s magic churning in his very bones. But this is nothing he hasn’t experienced before, so he steadies himself as Vesemir taught him, regains his balance, and rolls away from the beast to crouch concealed in the darkness.

Jaskier, however, has neither his training nor his experience. Geralt smells Jaskier’s fear more than he sees him, the acrid scent filling his nose as he hears the beast roar and tense, preparing to charge.

He knows Jaskier is in front of him, right in the fiend’s path. He can sense the disorientation and confusion coming off Jaskier; he knows how magnetic the pull of that demonic red eye is to humans, compelled to step closer even as they finally comprehend they are approaching their own oblivion.

Geralt moves fast. He charges forward into the darkness, body checking Jaskier out of the beast’s path and hearing him land with a confused oof in the dirt a few meters away. He doesn’t stop to check on him, instead rolling low and coming up within mere inches of the fiend, close enough that he can feel its stenching breath on his face.

He holds his blade low and thrusts upwards in sharp, vicious bursts, puncturing the beast’s lower jaw. He feels bone and skull shattering beneath his onslaught, and the creature lets out a terrible scream of agony. He has to dodge the wild swinging of its taloned limbs but he doesn’t stop, returning to redouble his efforts . With one final thrust he pushes his sword into its bottom jaw, through its mouth and then its brain and out the top of its skull.

The fiend screams once more, a hideous sound of pain and anger that shakes him down to the marrow, and then it falls. As its red eye dims and finally winks out, the dappled light of the afternoon bleeds back into the forest and Geralt feels like he can breathe again.

As the light returns, he goes straight to Jaskier’s side and picks him up out of the dirt, quickly checking him over. No blood, no obvious injuries, no lasting damage save the woozy, confused expression on his face which indicates a human shaking off an enchantment. He’s fine.

He sets Jaskier on his feet and goes about the messy but necessary business of collecting a trophy from the fiend. It takes him a few minutes of concentration before he notices that Jaskier is uncharacteristically quiet, and that the acrid stench of fear is still hanging around him in clouds.

“Geralt,” Jaskier eventually breaks the silence. “What in the hell was that?”

“Fiend,” Geralt says, factually. “They have ancient forest magic. They can hypnotise humans with their third eye."

Jaskier swallows. “That was the most horrific thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Strangely, Jaskier isn’t waving his arms around or being melodramatic. His voice is small and quiet, and his arms are wrapped around his body. Geralt has never seen him this subdued.

A lingering effect of the magic, he assumes. It’s just a bit of trickery. Jaskier will shake it off soon enough.

“It’ll make for a good song, hmm?” he says, lightening the mood, trying to cheer Jaskier as he’d assume he wants. But Jaskier only pales further and says nothing.

.

Geralt doesn’t understand humans. He realises this more and more as he spends time with Jaskier. From his point of view, today went as well as could have been hoped: the job is complete, no one had been injured, and he’d been paid in full for once. There’s an inn where they can eat and rest. The alderman even thanked him for slaying the fiend. It’s as close to a good day as he gets.

But Jaskier won’t settle. He won’t sit down for more than a minute and he’s been fidgety all night. He hasn’t so much as made a joke, or hummed an annoying tune, or strummed at his lute all evening. Instead, he paces.

Geralt rarely experiences fear these days, but he does remember how it felt as a child. The crushing weight on your chest, the way your feet seem to be glued to the floor, when the air is pulled from your lungs with such force you can’t even scream. He remembers it as a sharp and pointed thing, something acute and of the moment, something to be deflected and overcome. Something temporary.

He doesn’t remember this lingering feeling of distress that’s radiating off Jaskier, long after the danger has passed. The fiend is dead. Why would Jaskier still be afraid? It makes no sense.

Geralt tries to provides comfort the ways he knows how to: he makes sure Jaskier has the larger portion of food, and he moves so he is not blocking the door and Jaskier can always see the exit.

It doesn’t seem to help, and Jaskier remains quiet and withdrawn. Geralt never thought he’d miss Jaskier’s incessant chattering, but he finds himself uncomfortable with the silence that stretches out without Jaskier’s words to fill it.

He determines he will tell Jaskier the legends about fiends, where they come from, what their weaknesses are, which organs can be cut out and sold or used for potions. For him, having this knowledge of a creature makes it less intimidating: here are the facts, and with those you are forearmed should you ever need to face one.

It doesn’t seem to work with Jaskier. He barely gets out a few words about the differences between fiends and chorts before Jaskier cuts him off, with a terse, “I’ve had quite enough of fiends for one day.”

It’s odd, because Jaskier usually loves to hear about monster classifications. It’s one of the things Geralt likes most about him, the way he pays attention to the things that Geralt says and the way he appreciates the finer details that others overlook. But Geralt is out of ideas and Jaskier is still on edge, so they retire to bed.

.

Their room is spacious and even has two beds, making it practically luxurious by their usual standards. Yet Jaskier is still downcast.

“It’s okay,” Geralt tries one last time, stumbling only slightly over his words. “The fiend is dead. It can’t hurt you now.”

Jaskier looks at him, and myriad emotions parade across his face in a matter of seconds, racing by too fast for Geralt to comprehend. “I know,” Jaskier says eventually, bottom lip wobbling. Tears are welling in his eyes. “It’s just -”

He trails off, and then he’s bounding across the room and clutching Geralt, fisting his shirt tightly in his hands. “I really thought I was going to die.”

“Oh.” Geralt stills for a moment, uncertain how to react to this flagrant display of emotion. But he puts his arms around Jaskier, and it’s easier that he would have thought to hold him and to stoke gentle circles into his back, the same way he’d calm Roach if she were scared. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Jaskier sniffles and tucks his face into Geralt’s neck. “It was horrible,” he says, voice wobbling. “It was like every dark, awful feeling I’ve ever had was magnified and I knew the fiend was going to rip me apart and even then I was drawn to it. Like I wanted it to kill me. I couldn’t stop it.”

“It’s okay,” Geralt says again, unsure what he could possibly say that would help. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

Jaskier pulls back and gives him a watery, lopsided smile. “You wouldn’t,” he agrees. His eyes flick to the bed Geralt has taken under the window, and then to his own bed on the far side of the room. “Could I...” he trails off. “Could I sleep in your bed tonight? I’m sorry, I know it’s silly, but I really feel -”

“Of course,” Geralt interrupts him. That’s easily done, and if it makes Jaskier feel better, then it’s no imposition on him. “Of course you can.”

Jaskier manages a smile, a real smile, at that and Geralt is already glad he can be useful. If he’d known that something as simple as physical contact would have helped Jaskier, he’d have offered it sooner.

They shed their clothes and lie together on the uneven straw mattress, each on their back and staring at the ceiling. Jaskier flops to face away and curls up in on himself, bringing his knees up to his chest and holding his arms around his legs.

That doesn’t look like a happy situation, but Geralt is hesitant to impose himself. What comfort could he offer? Still, Jaskier had asked to sleep here, so he’s clearly not averse to Geralt's touch.

Geralt carefully, gently, rolls over and puts an arm around Jaskier’s waist. He‘s ready to back off in an instant should Jaskier show signs of being uncomfortable but... instead, Jaskier sighs softly and relaxes into him.

Good. That’s progress. Geralt shuffles a little closer so that Jaskier can feel his warmth all along his body, and Jaskier uncurls against him with a low hum, bringing his hand up to lace their fingers together.

“You’re safe with me,” Geralt murmurs, voice quiet and, he hopes, reassuring. “I’d never let anything hurt you.”

Jaskier lets out the tiniest sob and Geralt holds him closer, determined to show Jaskier that he’s safe even if he doesn’t know how to put it into words. Without thinking about it, he drops a chaste kiss onto the crown of Jaskier’s head, the wavy hair soft beneath his lips.

The tension leeches out of Jaskier’s body bit by bit, and with each breath in and out that pungent smell of distress lessens and Jaskier’s natural scent of lavender and linseed and home returns. Soon enough, Jaskier slips into sleep as Geralt holds him close.

It’s incredible, really. Every other human Geralt has met has wanted to run from him. They’ve seen his monstrous visage and sensed the aura of death that surrounds him and they’ve felt discomfort and horror and fear. And yet, here is Jaskier, who runs towards him, who follows him around through the mud and the muck just to watch him do his job and sing his praises. And more than that, in his darkest moments, Jaskier feels better for having Geralt around. He feels safer in his presence.

It is an extraordinary gift, to be blessed with such trust, and one which Geralt can only hope in time to live up to.

[korissideblog]

ohh it's time for a sillie little sports festival fic <3

Tsumi belongs to the lovely @glitchviper , who also helped me a ton while writing this <3

[tw: fighting; derogatory language; like... Aito gets nasty with it]

Tsumi was preparing for the fight, her usual redgement of slow stretches. She wasn’t sure how this tournament would end, and she honestly didn’t want to think about it. She just had to get past the first round, then she could worry about the next one after.

Time slowed as she stretched her arms over her head, breathing calmly to soothe her nerves. Just do it. Aito would probably hate her for winning, but some things were just more important than other people’s opinions. Winning this sports festival meant more than just a metal and a ‘good job’ from her teachers. It meant proving herself to her peers- and earning her place in the ranks of Pro Heros.

But she shouldn’t think about that. She shouldn’t even be thinking about the fight right now. All she should be thinking about is her muscles relaxing as she stretched her legs. She would do her best. If her best lets her win, that’s good. If her best still ends in loss.

Then at least she’ll know what to work on.

___________

Aito’s forehead was an interesting sight.

Not that it was fairly fascinating in any way. Honestly, other than the twin horns poking out of the top, it was the model of an average teenager’s forehead. The only thing that was interesting about it was…

Was that you could see it.

Usually her forehead could only be seen in small slivers, seconds before you were charmed by the boy’s eyes. But for the sports festival, Aito seems to have an agenda in mind. You see, Aito is a strangely cruel creature, the kind to drink blood just to taste it, but there were just certain sympathies that were impossible for even her to ignore.

But with her bangs held back with a bandana and her poisonous yellow eyes on full display, she seemed more than willing to ignore them today.

___________

The girls stood across from each other on the floor of the stadium, Aito facing the crowds and waving as the announcer warned them to not look directly at the boy, especially not his eyes. Tsumi focused on her breathing, preparing for the fight ahead. She didn’t plan on much, Aito seemed an easy enough opponent. He was hubristic, and would probably lose interest in the fight in favor of the crowds. All Tsumi had to do w-

And then Aito looked at her. His eyes shattering into millions upon billions of fractals, all moving and shivering and growing and shrinking and rattling and screaming and-

And suddenly Tsumi found herself kneeling, the sides of her vision cloudy and dark as she continued to stare directly at Aito’s eyes. The next thing she knew, she was laying on the ground, the taste of concrete only shadowed by the pain in her head. She felt like she had been trampled by marshmallows- a fairly pleasant sort of pressure all over her body as she looked up to see Aito waving to the cheering crowds, and looked at a nearby television screen as a replay showed Tsumi kneeling before Aito, and the boy slowly approaching before landing a kick into the side of Tsumi’s head. She had charmed her. Tsumi knew vaguely of Aito’s quirk- and tried to figure out how to fight without looking the student in the eyes when-

Tsumi felt hands on her horns, and was immediately greeted by the sickeningly yellow eyes that she only wanted to avoid, the fractals returning and only growing worse with proximity, seeming to somehow engulf everything that wasn’t the darkened sides of her view.

“Breathe, Tsumi.” Aito commanded, helping Tsumi rest on her knees. “You’re going to have to breathe. You’re stressed. Just breathe.” Aito watched as Tsumi inhaled and exhaled, nodding as her breath returned to its regular pace. Aito had noticed Tsumi start to hyperventilate a bit when she hit the concrete, and wanted to make sure she was still alright.

He wanted everyone to see what a spectacular fighter he was, and he couldn’t do that if his opponent was in a suboptimal state.

“Tell me, are you tired, Tsumi?” Aito asked, trying to get a quick rundown on Tsumi’s state of mind.

“No- not tired. My head hurts.” Tsumi admitted, clearly under Aito’s control as she seemingly tried to look away, but just couldn’t. Aito also felt the need to look away, honestly, she’s never looked directly at one of her classmates for this long. Even when her eyes were covered, Aito had a habit of not looking directly at anyone he was interacting with, just as a second layer of protection. But this required focus, so even through her discomfort, Aito would press on.

“On your feet now, you need to stand up.” Aito advised, helping Tsumi up to the crowd's confusion. “Now, tell me Tsumi…” Aito whispered, slowly starting to spin them in a circle to further disorient her opponent. “Are you going to make this fight easy for me?”

“Never.” Tsumi responded honestly, with little expression in her face or voice, and Aito knew it was true. Both because of how amazingly dedicated Tsumi was and also because… you know- you can’t lie when charmed.

If Tsumi wasn’t going to make it easy on Aito, Aito wouldn't play nice either.

“Can’t you hear them Tsumi?” Aito asked, tightening her grip on the demon’s horns to keep eye contact. “They’re booing you. They’ve finally realized it. Realized that you’re scum. You’re nothing. You’re less than nothing!” Aito barked, watching Tsumi’s eye try to dart around, to look at the crowds as they jeered and heckled her in her mind, but she couldn’t. All she could do was hold Aito’s shoulders, weakly trying to push him away. “Do you have friends here, Tsumi?”

“I-I-“ she stuttered. Aito’s never gotten anyone to stutter while answering a question! Aito’s control only grew crueler as she grew more exhilarated- electrified as she imagined her next fight going just as easily- and the one after that, and the one after that, and so on and so forth till!! Victory!

“Yes… of course you do.” Aito hummed, keeping Tsumi’s hallucination laden mind focused on her voice. “They hate you. They know what you are and they hate you for tricking them.” She continued, her grip on Tsumi’s horns growing tighter and tighter as he felt victory at the tip of his forked tongue. “They’re gonna watch me put you down like the dog you are. And they’re gonna cheer! And they’re gonna thank me! Thank me for destroying you. Thank me for finally showing them what worthless vermin you really really are.”

Aito’s voice grew stronger, till Tsumi couldn’t even hear it anymore- only feel the shivers of sorrow and the wish to just keel over and die. Die right there and never have to face anyone ever again. Because she was disgusting. And she was weak. And she was worthless. And she was… she was getting so tired. So very very tired and… and she wanted to lie down… she should just… just lie down. And… and…

And the next thing Tsumi knew, she was laying down on the floor of the stadium again, again looking up at Aito- the bandana now over her eyes- as she laughed, almost seeming to shake with all the excitement. The crowds cheered hesitantly, not sure exactly how Aito got her opponent to submit, but… a winner is a winner?

Except… Tsumi could stand. She wasn’t immobilized, she wasn’t out of bounds… and she definitely never surrendered.

So… she could stand up- and she did- and she could sneak up on Aito- and she did- and she could- and did- snatch the little demon by the tail.

Aito yelped in surprise, barely even thinking to turn around before Tsumi had pulled him back into the fight. Tsumi pulled Aito to the ground and- if not with a bit of irony- kicked the creature in the head. Aito’s head made a bit of a louder noise when it made contact with the floor, but little harm was done as Aito rolled back onto her feet and shook it off, immediately charging back into the fight. He reached up to remove the bandana, but was stopped as Tsumi smacked her hand away, landing a punch within just the next second.

“Ah!! Tsumi! Ah you got my eye!” Aito whined, reaching up again to apply a soothing pressure on the injured eye and turning away from her opponent as if to shield himself. “Owowowowow!” Tsumi’s Big Sister Mode immediately kicked in as she was about to call the match off just to check on Aito’s eye-

And she suddenly realized that she should have seen this coming when Aito’s elbow crashed into her nose.

“Ah!!! You-” Tsumi barked, touching her upper lip and scowling at the blood leaking from her nose. “You brat!”

“Well hey now!” Aito huffed, putting her hands on her hips. “We don’t have to be rude!” Aito grew to regret the bandana as, while trying again to remove it, he caught a right hook to the jaw. Aito went stiff from the force, spinning around on his heel and falling flat on his stomach like a cartoon.

The crowd’s cheering came to a climax as Tsumi realized she shouldn’t underestimate anything about her opponent, and needed to finish this while she could. She reached down and grabbed Aito by the back of her collar and her wiry little tail, lifting her up just enough to throw her over the white lines and right out of bounds.

Aito huffed a bit, trying to catch her breath before finally standing to face an equally exhausted Tsumi.

“Great match señora Sumi!” Aito chirped, shaking hands with Tsumi and immediately getting back to her usual chipper attitude, as if nothing had ever happened. “I’m not too happy that I’m out of the tournament, but I’m glad I was beaten by someone as tough as you!” Tsumi stared blankly at Aito, unsure if this was some sort of trap or joke or- then suddenly Aito removed his bandana and pulled Tsumi close, clacking their horns together, as everything went into a familiar sort of tunnel vision. “Believe me Tsumi, I won’t be beaten by just anyone. If you value your sanity, you will win this tournament.” Aito spat, her grip on Tsumi’s hand tightening for just a second, before she was released again and Aito closed her eyes. “Good luck on your next fight, Señora!” Aito giggled, giving Tsumi a tight hug before slipping the bandana over her eyes and skipping back into the side door of the arena.

“Aito wait!” Tsumi called to the girl as he started to walk away. She might have been angry at the little gremlin but that didn’t mean she had nothing to say. “I hope you know the outcome of this match could have been far worse for you,” she paused, smiling a bit at Aito’s pout, “even so- I owe you my thanks. You actually managed to teach me something… and as for the tournament, I don’t plan on losing.” Despite her quirk not being activated a dark aura seemed to surround her, her voice a whisper of a sinister tone.

Aito pout turned to an equally evil smile, his tail wagging with enthusiasm as his ears flapped in excitement- as if he would burst at the seams with delight from just the promise alone. “Give ‘em hell, ‘Sumi!” she hollered, raising his hands to his head and making his fingers look like Tsumi’s horns as he cheered for his once-opponent.

Tsmui laughed wholeheartedly at the boy, turning back to her side of the arena. “I plan on it!”

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “What You Missed.”

Hope you all are having a good day, and hope you enjoy!

The rumbling continued deep within the planet’s lower crust. Projections on the seismic map estimated the eventual collapse of the bran mining operation on the other side of the planet. Though they didn’t plan to go long enough for the tunnels to completely collapse, they planned to used the abandoned mining ground as the stage for their own setup.

Mining precious metals in the GA territories were highly regulated, and the products made and sold from those precious metals were also highly monitored, however, the GA could hardly monitor what they didn’t know about.

The biotin sniffed at the dusty air hating the way the dirt clung to her skin like a glove of fuzzy filth. The air here tasted sour and fake like most terraformed planets, and all she wanted to do was go back to her home world and relax where it didn’t smell so bad, but she knew she had to get this job done.

She glanced down at the paper she held, and idly walked her way over to where the staging operation had been set up, made out of several interlocking grey tents that were designed to look like the rocky surface of the planet if anyone was looking, as well as bloc their transmission signals so they couldn’t be spotted if anyone where to have an eye keen enough to spot them.

She stopped just inside the Tent to where the…. Human was sitting staring at the screens and tapping his long bony fingers together.

She hated this human, he was annoying and self centered, and likely thought he was enigmatic with the strange clothing he wore, and the mirrored glasses that covered his eyes, but she just found him wildly pretentious.

“How goes it, sir.”

He nodded, “The mining companies have left with the help of the Omen..” he sneered as the word passed through his lips, “The property is benign abandoned, and we should have a couple of months until they send someone to take a look and see what happened, at least until they send a force large enough for us to have to worry.”

She nodded but didn’t bother to agree or contradict him. It wouldn’t matter either way.

Besides, she didn’t care what happened as long as she got what she wanted. 

The GA was too large and too involved in everything in the galaxy, The leaders of her planet were too lax with their tariffs and trade deals, and because of their poor economic management, the Iotin planet had fallen into relative anonymity and been ignored by the rest of the galaxy. She believed they could be doing so much more, but it's not like they could really compete with humans and Tesraki. 

She was sick and tired of the GA thinking they could control everything.

And so was this human.

As much as she despised humans on principle, at least this human and her had similar goals. 

She could work with the enemy for a little while longer while they hashed out a true plan.

The human turned to look at her through his mirrored shades. The man was an older human who she was sure dyed his hair to cover the grey, and she did her best to conceal her disgust as she moved forward and handed him the drawn schematic.

He glanced down at it.

“Where is the rest?”

“He said he would deliver the rest upon payment. This was just a show of good will.”

“A show of goodwill.” he snarled, but then slowly sat back in his seat, “Can he guarantee that it works.” 

She bristled at his tone, but didn’t rise to challenge him, “He assures me it has already been tested on a human and achieved the desirable results.

“That's hardly comforting if I haven’t seen it.”

“Then take it up with him yourself. You should have worried about all this BEFORE agreeing to hijack an entire mining operation to build the damn things!”

He bristled right back at her but she didn’t care. She was coming to learn that not all humans were so like the ones the GA had met first hand. IN fact most humans weren’t loyal and honorable. Most of them were greedy, cowardly predators, who wanted nothing more than to push for their own personal gain while leaving others to rot in the dust.

This human was no different.

But soon it would all be over.

Very very soon.

She glanced down at the half schematic and the Kree seal stamped on the back.

***

“The seismic activity has escalated since evacuation. So far my scientists have been unable to pinpoint the source, as far as we knew, the planet wasn’t supposed to have plates, but something seems to be disturbing its stability. We were wondering if perhaps the extensive cave systems could do it, but, as far as we could tell the systems weren’t nearly large enough to disturb the lower crust of the planet.”

“And the evacuation?”

“The larger mining companies shipped off most of their employees on their waiting station ships, and I took some of what remained. We will be bringing most of them back to the Bran homeworld for recovery.”

“And you admiral, how do your people fare?”

“The rescue teams managed to make it out alive. I was almost crushed, but some quick thinking by Lord Celex’s son saved my life, but other than that no one was injured too badly, but I would take some scientists to keep an eye on the strange underground activity. We have never seen anything like it, and are worried that the planet might be destabilizing. It isn’t o dire considering that the planet was originally uninhabited, but I am told this mining station carries the highest percentage of  Terbium to minerals in the galaxy, so it would be a loss.”

A few feet away, Ket lay curled on a ball on  a pillow with a warm  up of glowmoss in one hand. A few other miners sat around the room idly listening to the Admiral who was talking over communication to the GA council, a council that had grown a lot bigger since Ket had known of it five years ago.

In fact a lot of things had changed since the humans had arrived, and not for the worse as he had once suspected.

He munched on some of the moss and turned to watch the human as he paced across the floor. How strange it was to see the creature from his nightmares in such a…. non -nightmarish circumstance. He could still remember the chase all those years ago and felt the horror and concern that had almost driven him to madness down in the mining tunnels, but, there the human was talking like a civilised creature, apparently head of the GA’s coalition fleet, and some sort of bigshot ambassador.

Not to mention all the strange alien creatures that he had come across since stepping on the towering four-armed warriors and the fuzzy fluff balls of anger. The one that had come to rescue him was still sitting on the human’s shoulder, interjecting the occasional point to the council when the human missed something.

It was all so surreal.

For years he had been hiding in that tunnel, what he originally only saw as maybe half a year turned out to be around five years, and the galaxy had grown in scope and involvement. What had once been a coalition of uneasy allies held together by economics, the GA was now a thriving galactic metropolis based on mutual backing and delicate diplomatic involvement.

Or at least that’s what he had seen so far.

“Thank you.” The human said before shutting off the hologram and walking back across the room full of evacuees 

His single green eye fell on Ket skin still dusted with the grime of rocks and dirt, and stepped over to kneel next to him and where he sat on his cushion. It had been a very long time since he had been aboard a spaceship and even longer since he had talked to anyone. He was still getting used to that.

And the human still managed to unnerve him.

“How are you feeling.” “Overwhelmed.”

The human’s rubbery, mobile face deformed a bit so one corner of its mouth stretched upwards for a moment, “I can hardly blame you for that. You’ve been away a long time.” The human paused, and Ket watched him curiously as he reached up to rub the back of his head, “Look I, know i've already apologized for what happened five years ago, but it was sort of a half assed apology considering that we were being crushed at the time.” He shifted his weight so he was now resting on his other knee, “I want to explain myself. Before I saw you, my entire planet thought that we were the only living things in the galaxy. No one believes in extraterrestrial life, and upon seeing you, I was just excited, and wanted to make sure it was all real.”

Ket waited.

“I know that doesn’t excuse years of psychological trauma, but I promise, when I was…. Chasing you, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was excited, and I should have been more diplomatic about it. I can see that now, but back then we didn’t really know anything about politicking with aliens. I am not trying to excuse my behavior, but I just want you to understand that I made a mistake and I am willing to apologize for it.”

It seemed so strange, and unusual coming from the mouth of a predator, but he found that he…. Believed it?

How odd.

“I understand…… I admit I am a bit surprised as to how things turned out.”

The human showed its teeth, which he was coming to realize was supposed to be a good thing, “Yes, a lot of things have changed in the last five years, come and I'll show you.” ket let the empty cup of moss fall to the side by his cushion and stood to walk at the feet of the human who was at least four feet taller than him since ket stood on six legs and the human stood on two, they might have been around the same height if the human had decided to walk on al fours, but at this point ket had to crane his neck up to look at the human.

“We began peace talks with the GA shortly after you were relocated to your new post. We signed the treaty in a little over a year and I offered to help in the Drev war, which I believe you might have heard of since it started before we showed up.”

Ket nodded his head.

“We won the Drev war for the GA and the Drev began peace talks after the war ended.  I Was promoted to captain shortly after and given command of the ship under loan from the UNSC to the GA in order to support diplomatic relationships between our people. Since then the Gnarlak nation has fallen, and those remaining have been confined to a plot of land on their planet where they can no longer hurt the FInnari, a subjugated species which was farmed by the Gnarlak. Other notable discovered species have been the Tvek, Lumin, Mikes, Iotins, Celzex, dort of, Starborn Tricar, and hopefully I am not forgetting anyone. We have fought in two burg wars and won them both releasing the burg population from total supremacy under an unfeeling tyrant. Interspecies relationships are legal now, though the discrimination they face is still something we are working on. Planetary GDP has risen for petty much everyone and our job market is only getting better. The tourist industry is becoming a gib thing. My Tesraki market analysts say that humans, the Tesraki and and Rundi are currently galactic superpowers in regards to power and economic influence, but as far as we can tell this hasn’t caused to man problems between the other less influential groups. The Bran for instance.” he glanced down at ket, “are selling precious metals used in electronics at ten thousand percent higher output rate than you were a few years ago and selling at a fifty percent markup. As far as I know, no one is hurting.”

He tapped his fingers against his arm, “I think that is most everything important you need to know, oh I forgot the Kree war and discovering that, somewhere out in the universe, there is another sentient, and likely multi species galactic coalition, though we haven't had the pleasure of meeting or interacting with them just yet.” he frowned, “Well, I have, but I hardly consider it interacting because they kept me in a cage most of the time.”

Ket stared at the human, and the human shrugged, “that should catch you up to speed.”

It most certainly did not, but he supposed it was as good of an opening as he was going to get.

Honestly he had no idea what he was supposed to do or think. It was all so new to him, and all so strange. How was he going to actually catch up?

How was he going to integrate back into society after all this?

After months of being nearly incoherent?

He could still feel that part of him lurking somewhere in the background and knew that it was not gone.

He was going to have to figure out something eventually….

[jadoue1999]

The X-Men and the member they lost - Chapter 2

Summary: Erik finds out he has a son. But life doesn't like seeing him happy, so it made sure he was already missing when he learned about his existence.

Previous parts: chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, 

Chapter 2: Erik and his rotten luck with family

It had been a week since the 70s episode had aired and no new episodes had shown up since. That left plenty of time for thinking and pondering on what was this WandaVision show. After many theories, they had conceded to Hank’s idea. It definitely seemed like a glimpse into a parallel universe. The mystery of Peter’s implication still lingered in the air. Charles wasn’t sure if he really wanted the answer. This all-powerful woman with the same surname as the speedster could have decided to do anything with him. He had yet to show up anywhere; they had combed the background for signs of him, but they had found nothing. The team went as far as to call it a misleading clue, but he didn’t let himself believe that. It was too strange to simply be a coincidence. The telepath was in his office one night when Raven entered.

“Is this a good time?” Wondered the shapeshifter. The professor nodded his head yes and she closed the door behind her before taking a seat. While he didn’t look into her head, he could sense her determination and hesitation about what she was about to tell him. Finally, she took a breath, “we need to tell Erik. About Peter.”

Erik. How could he have forgotten?

He was the boy’s father after all, even if he didn’t know it yet. Raven had told him as she filled him in with what had happened when they were fighting Apocalypse. She had mentioned Peter’s confession and how close he came to tell his father the truth. He had kept silent since, deciding that no one was in the right to inform the metal bender other than his own son. But now Peter was missing, they had to get him back. Erik needed to know.

Charles agreed with her and they were off to Erik’s room. The man was reading a book in front of the fireplace, seemingly enjoying a moment of peace and quiet. He turned to them as they opened the door.

“Charles. Raven.” He greeted them as he closed his reading. “What’s going on?”

The professor wheeled himself forward to his friend, he knew he had to break it to him gently. “It’s Peter,” he started. The man looked at him, his thoughts echoing his confusion as to why he was bringing up the speedster. “He’s missing. Has been for about two weeks, but I wanted to make sure before telling you.”

“Okay,” Erik replied after a few seconds of silence, “have you found anything?”

He could feel Raven’s frustration growing as the metal bender barely showed any concern. Charles didn’t blame him; the man had only seen Peter for an hour at most in the last ten years. He felt the same level of concern to the boy as he would with any other students at the school.

“We have found something, we’re not sure what it is, but it’s definitely linked to his disappearance.” He paused, trying to see if Erik was starting to understand. He continued when he found no reason to believe so. “Do you remember when he broke you out of prison?” The man nodded. “And when he came back to help fight Apocalypse and was injured in the process?” Another nod, more hesitant this time. Erik clearly didn’t get where he was going with this. “What I’m trying to say is that he’s a very special person, I hadn’t seen his type of power before meeting him and Hank found him fascinating as well. Can you believe he agreed to break you out just for the challenge? Quite extraordinary if I say so myself. But my point is, Peter’s-“

“He’s your son, you moron!” Snapped Raven, earning herself an offended glance from Charles. “What? You clearly weren’t going to tell him with all that rambling.”

The pair looked at Erik, awaiting a reaction. Had they not been aware of the situation, they easily could have believed that he was doing an aneurism. The man didn’t speak, but the metal in the room started shaking. Raven called out to Erik to try to calm him down, but her voice fell on deaf ears. Only when Charles shouted at him to stop that the man gradually calmed down.

“I... I have a son?” He seemed beyond shocked as he finally acknowledged the truth. Charles nodded yes and met Erik’s gaze as the man spoke once again. “What did you gather about his disappearance?”

“Don’t you need a moment to collect yourself and take in the situation?” Wondered the telepath. The man’s thoughts were all over the place, filled with shock and worry. It was obvious he needed some time alone. “Erik, please take some time, join us when you’ll be ready.”

The man didn’t protest as Charles and Raven exited the room. They closed the door and met up with the team, informing them about the situation.

...

Erik, in all his life, had never considered himself lucky. He had lost his family in Auschwitz and was then used as a lab rat by Shaw. Once the evil man had been taken care of, many years later, he had then accidentally paralyzed Charles, one of his few friends. Then he was wrongly accused of killing the president and imprisoned for nearly a decade until he was freed. By his son. But of course, he didn’t know, because life was just like that with him, and he had gone on a quest to show the world the true power of mutant kind. That, of course, ended horribly; so, he went into hiding. He had built a family, a happy one even. He truly had hope for a better future, but life loved to prove him wrong. Madga and Nina had died, and he had been chosen to be a horseman for a god. He had, in his grief, accepted and it led to Peter having his leg broken. He felt sick to his stomach as he recalled the panicked look on the young man’s face, his eyes pleading him to do something. He didn’t know, why hadn’t he known? The boy had almost died, and he did absolutely nothing.

How could he even consider himself his father when he had already failed him so much?

Still, he might not even get a real chance to properly know him now that his son had gone missing. Erik definitely wasn’t a lucky person.

He looked at the fireplace that had previously given him comfort and suddenly felt like the heat was choking him. He paced quickly through the mansion; the corridors were empty due to the late hour. After getting outside, he decided to walk around the lake. The little waves created by the soft breeze always helped grounding him. His Nina always loved the water. They had installed a bird bath because she had requested that the surrounding animals should always have something to drink when they came to visit her. He wore a small smile on his lips as he sat on the grass in front of the lake and sighed.

“Hello, my darling,” he told the water. “It’s already been a year since you and your mother left. I hope you’re happy wherever you are.” A curious bird landed next to him, looking at the man with puzzlement. Erik smiled, perhaps Nina lived on in all the creatures she loved so much. He held out a hand to the small animal, not really expecting anything. Surprisingly, it flew towards him and landed on his finger. Erik felt his heart grow warm as the bird let him pet his back. The soft feathers felt so similar to his daughter’s hair. “You might not believe it, but I just discovered that you have a half brother. He’s older than you, but I’m sure you would have gotten along well.” The bird chirped at his words. He stopped stroking it, “but I’m afraid he’s gone for now. What do you think we should do?” The bird looked at him with its small eyes and stretched its wings, taking off in the sky to regions unknown. Erik dared a hopeful smile as he watched it fly away. He looked at the sky, contemplating the stars before getting up. “Don’t worry Peter,” he told the wind, “we’ll find you.”

...

The moment he had gone back in the mansion, he was intercepted by Charles who called him to his office. The wheelchair bound man had a few files open on his desk. He motioned Erik forward as he spotted his friend.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, I take it you want to know what we’ve gathered so far?”

Erik nodded, of course he did. Charles took the files with him and led them out. They entered the room containing Cerebro, he was about to ask him their reason for being there, but he was interrupted by his friend.

“Before we start, I want you to keep an open mind. We don’t know what exactly is going on.”

Erik frowned but agreed to the conditions, nonetheless. The bald man pressed a few commands on the board and the screens lit up.

Whatever he was expecting to see, it wasn’t this. He had expected government videos showing his son dragged out of a car, him being taken or even tortured. He certainly hadn’t expected to see a sitcom that somehow changed decades every episode. It seemed completely irrelevant, but the few cuts and creepy details kept him from dismissing the whole thing as a joke. The third episode was particularly strange. Fear creeped into his veins as the woman menacingly approached her friend. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the cut that showed nothing or the possibilities of what could’ve have happened to the poor woman.

When everything was done, he turned to the telepath. “What does this mean Charles?”

The man sighed, putting a finger to his head for a second before looking at him again. “I’ve called the others; they’ll be here soon.” He turned to the screen that showed the rolling credits. “From what we’ve gathered, this is a parallel universe. The woman, Wanda, seems to either control this world or is trapped there as well.”

“But what does this have to do with my son? As far as I’m aware, he’s never met this woman.” Their discussion was interrupted by Jean, Scott, Kurt, Ororo, Hank and Raven coming in. They had probably been woken up by the telepath’s call, judging by their yawns and sleepy eyes. After a few seconds of questioning from the tired young adults, Charles motioned them forward and opened one of the files he had with him.

“This is Peter’s file, I hadn’t really thought about reading it, since he’s past high school age, but Wanda’s comment made me curious.” He pointed to his personal information, it contained his name, address, and schools he had previously attended. Nothing seemed amiss. “I did some digging and it turns out that ‘Peter’ isn’t his real name. It was changed when he was very young.” He flipped the page, showing a government document authorizing the name change. The team looked at themselves in shock as they read ‘Pietro Maximoff’.

“So, what does it mean?” Chimed in Hank. “Sure, he has the same name as the woman’s dead brother, but there’s no way they’ve ever met.”

Charles scoffed in amusement, “yes, you’re right. But I searched through various archives to find more about him, and I came across this.” He pulled out an old newspaper clipping. It read: mysterious death of a teen leaves the police baffled.

The article had one picture, it showed a teenage girl smiling, like any other child her age. Erik looked at Charles, demanding confirmation about his suspicions. The telepath nodded, “this is a picture of Wendy Maximoff, Peter’s twin.”

The group was silent for awhile when Jean suddenly gasped. “Oh my god,” she covered her mouth in horror. “I once asked Peter why he didn’t like celebrating birthdays and he told me how he used to have two cakes but only had one now.” She looked towards Scott and Kurt. “I- I assumed he was being greedy, but the loss of his twin could explain it!”

Erik didn’t listen to the group’s reaction; he was too busy processing the information he had just learned. How could he miss so much of his son’s life? He should have been there to help him and make sure that he would be alright. Instead, he was too focused on getting revenge and he had missed nearly thirty years of Peter’s life. And with his disappearance, it unfortunately was very possible that he’d miss more. Everyone’s rambling was interrupted by Cerebro lighting up again. Erik watched nervously as the front of a house appeared. The woman and her husband were trying to get their babies to sleep, something they were apparently not keen on. They continued trying, Wanda even tried to use her magic on them, but, surprisingly, it didn’t work. Their neighbor came in, saying how she had heard them and could help. Then it became strange as Vision suddenly suggested that she shouldn’t help. Agnes looked at Wanda for instructions, asking if she wanted to restart the scene. Erik didn’t have to look around to know that everyone here was confused. Wanda brushed it off, to the confusion of her husband. All of a sudden, the crying stopped; the twins were asleep. Except they weren’t in their cribs. A slight panic settled in Erik’s stomach; the loss of a child seemed too dark for a show like this... right? Strangely enough, the twins weren’t missing, they had aged up to five. The screen cut to the theme song.

“Are the children mutants?” Asked Raven, uncertain about the change of event.

Charles has a pensive look to his face, “I’m afraid I cannot say, for now.”

The episode continued, with the twins adopting a dog. Curiously, Wanda seemed tired of hiding her powers, going as far as using it in front of their neighbor. The most peculiar thing happened when the two parents settled that the twins were too young to keep their dog. They suddenly aged up again, now ten years old. Erik had to give it to Charles, this show definitely wasn’t just a coincidence. Were they looking at a new concept for a mutant prison? It certainly seemed like it.

The scene changed to show the husband’s workplace, they were installing computers and people around him were trying to figure out how to make it work. After some corny jokes, an email showed up and the whole room read it together. The X-Men watched Vision wake up his co-worker who seemed to panic about contacting his father.

“That’s mind control,” gasped Jean, “I know that panic, it’s horrible.”

The man screamed about a woman in his head, probably Wanda, and became more and more agitated. Vision zapped him again and, like a switch, he was back to Norm, the friendly co-worker. The group watched in stunned silence as it cut to Wanda and her children. Billy was training the dog and seemed pretty good at it. The twins excitedly got up, wanting to show their father but Wanda told them he was at work. The conversation then turned into a classic “family is forever” speech; telling them how they’ll always have each other, no matter what.

“Do you have a brother, mom?” Asked of the boys.

She looked off in the distance, obviously wondering how to explain her brother’s situation. “I do,” she said, “he’s far away from here and that makes me... sad sometimes.”

Erik didn’t have time to dwell on the possible meanings of her words as the dog suddenly ran out of the door. The twins and Wanda ran out, chasing it. They lost sight of it. Suddenly, the redhead looked up at the sky in anger and told the boys to continue look for Sparky without her. The scene continued with the boys walking alone.

“What do you think she meant by far away?” Asked the boy in green, Tommy, if he remembered well.

His brother shook his head, “I don’t know, but how cool would it be to meet our uncle?”

The boys giggled and continued calling for their dog. Seeing how the episode was significantly darker than the other ones, Erik didn’t have much hope for the poor animal. Turns out he was right; it had eaten a poisonous plant and the boys were heartbroken. After some strange comments about bringing back the dead, they were back at the house. There was tension between Wanda and Vision. He told her about what happened at his work, accusing her of being the cause.

“You can’t control me the way you do them.”

The woman tilted her head to the side, clearly challenged by her husband’s words. “Can’t I?”

There were scoffs of surprise in the room as the credits suddenly rolled. The android didn’t let that stop him as he pointed out the problems with the world, they lived in. He went on to say that he had no memories of his life before the show. That was puzzling, did this place erase people’s memories to guarantee their good behavior? Vision then pointed out the lack of children, something Erik hadn’t noticed but was unmistakable once you realized it. Wanda sat on the couch, trying to explain why she wasn’t controlling anyone. Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

“I swear, if Agnes comes in at that moment, I’m going to lose it,” whined Scott.

“I don’t know,” replied Ororo, “usually she just lets herself in.”

The doorbell rang a second time and Vision watched Wanda with accusations in his eyes as she walked to the door. She opened it and was immediately shocked at whoever was at the door. The android asked his wife for the identity of the guest with suspicion. The camera slowly panned over to the person, only showing to back of their head.

Showing his silver hair

The suspense didn’t last much longer, the camera showing that it was indeed the missing speedster. Quiet gasps were heard as Peter walked towards the woman.

“Long-lost bro get to squeeze his stinkin' sister to death or what?” His voice echoed on the walls of the room.

“Pietro?” He nodded his head and the two shared a hug. It lasted a few seconds and Peter pointed to Vision as he walked in.

“Who’s the popsicle?”

The audience laughed at his joke and the screen faded to black, leaving the team stunned as the credits rolled.

“We have to go get him,” said Raven. “I don’t think he’s safe with her.”

Hank nodded, “I think I can find a way,” he pointed to Jean, “I think you could open a gateway to wherever Peter is. I’ve adjusted the machine to focus on the frequency. If you really concentrate, I’m sure it’ll work.”

“Alright, Raven, Erik and I will go,” decided Charles.

Kurt stepped in, “you might need a quick way out, I can help.” He shook his head as Raven and Charles were about to protest. “I’m the one that noticed he was gone; I want to be there when we bring him back.”

The professor agreed and told them to go pack whatever they’d need and to be back as soon as possible.

***

Jean put on the helmet and closed her eyes in concentration. She held out a hand to better focus her power. Nothing much happened, but she frowned her brows with renewed efforts. Flickers of orange light made itself known, slowly gathering together to form a small circle. She grunted in efforts and the portal grew bigger. She opened her eyes which were now glowing a fiery orange and she let out a screech. The gateway was now big enough for them to go through. They quickly said their goodbyes, Charles leaving Hank in charge for the time he was gone. The four shared a look and took a determined step forward. Passing through another dimension definitely felt strange. Nothing seemed solid as they were suddenly free falling.

They landed on the grass. Erik quickly helped Charles back into his wheelchair and took a look around. There was a military base with soldiers that stared at them with dumbfounded faces. He could hear an alarm, probably trigged when they came in. An older man that seemed to be an authority figure started shouting at them, but Erik didn’t hear him. All he could see was the sign that indicated that Westview was in front of them; and the force field surrounding it.

***

Notes: I have to say, Erik talking to Nina is probably my favourite part of this chapter. I've also made up a scene of the boys talking together based on the image of them walking alone that was in the SWORD base in WandaVision. Next up: The x-men meet Hayward (Erik doesn't like him) and learn about who Wanda Maximoff is.

[mommymooze]

Lack of Vision

Reader x Black Eagles

The smell of ancient vellum, leather, ink, paper and polished wood fills your nose before you enter the room. Some of the students have begun to clear out having finished the bookwork assigned by their professors. You prefer the library to be nearly void of others, their whispered conversations disturbing your concentration and you can feel their eyes upon you as they watch you reading and looking for the proper materials for class. You come from a well-respected family in the Empire, not a noble, however your family works with them and high level healers and mages.

None of that matters here at Garreg Mach. Teenagers are cruel creatures, judging everyone by their superficial standards. The more aesthetically appealing, the higher the regard given to the student. You are nearly invisible to most of the students, nothing of importance about you. There are thick eyeglasses on your face that warps your appearance into something strange and difficult to look at. You attract no attention, nor do you draw attention to yourself. The only person that notices you for any reason is Hubert. He took interest in you for a short period of time to confirm that you are no danger to his Lady, once cleared he ignores you like the rest.

The Professor is extremely hesitant to allow you to accompany the group into any battle. Your primary focus is Faith magic and healing, however you do cast reason spells. Targeting enemies at a distance is, extremely difficult for you. As far as healing, Linhardt keeps his fellow students alive long enough for the group to make it back to the monastery, Dorothea being his backup. When the student is brought back to the infirmary, that is where your magic becomes the most useful. Your healing skills quickly rival Manuela. Not being distracted by sparring, fighting and traipsing around the campus flirting, fighting or pranking like most of the students, you immerse yourself completely into your studies.

You constantly write home requesting additional and more advanced healing tomes and books about magical theory. Even Professor Hanneman is jealous of some of the people you correspond with regularly, discussing points of rune manipulation and theory. Professor Byleth is surprised that you pass the Gremory test before the ball. You would be upset if you had not passed, perfecting your magic skill is your obsession.

Eyeglasses are the worst in every weather. They fog in winter, get drippy with spring rain. Summer they slip and slide from sweat. Fall it is back to rain. At the academy, there is just enough space between the buildings that your glasses quickly get acclimated to the cooler temperature outside, then as soon as you step inside, they fog up immediately, rendering them useless. Useless for you means near blindness. You can tell that things moving around are other people. There is no depth perception, stairs are terrifying. As soon as you make your way inside a building you seek a wall to put your back against as you wait for the fog to clear.

Once Ferdinand had found you just inside the building containing the library. He grabbed your hand and started to drag you to the stairs. You had to stop and explain to him why you were so intimidated and refused to go with him.

He should offer his arm so that you can hold on and if anything bothers you or you do not feel comfortable you could let go and keep your balance and composure. He then starts to march forward at his normal pace, which is great if you are tall and long legged such as he is, however your height is more in the category of Edelgard’s and you would have to nearly run to keep up with him.

“Pretend you are carrying a teacup filled to the brim with hot tea. How quickly would you move with that in your hand? Do you want to spill it all over yourself and possibly burn your hand?” You ask.

“Goodness no!” Ferdinand responds. “What a terrible waste of tea!” Ferdinand thusly takes his time and you arrive at the library unscathed.

Time passes, Emperor Edelgard declares war. You join her side without hesitation. The church is indeed corrupt. The noble system is useless and only sustains power to those that should never have been entrusted to it in the first place. The Emperor also announces the Black Eagle Strike Force. Not long after this announcement you approach her, Hubert always alongside of his liege.

You reach forward placing a handful of necklaces with a Black Eagle medallion on them. “I wish to distribute these to the members of the Strike Force with your permission.”

Hubert immediately notices that the necklaces are enchanted. “What is this?” He demands an answer.

“As you know, my sight distance is limited. This will expand my abilities greatly. Should someone undergo severe injuries or become surrounded by enemies I can remove them from the situation or cast physic on them. It does not have to be visible on their person, they can wear it under their armor.” You answer.

“How do you know one from another?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Once everyone has worn them for a few days I will be able to tell the difference, who has which necklace and once in battle I will have no issue identifying the correct person to assist.”

“Hmmm.” Hubert is hesitant to agree.

“I think it is a wonderful idea. We have a long difficult road ahead of us. If it provides the opportunity to save an ally, I cannot see how this would be an issue.” Emperor Edelgard smiles.

Leaving a necklace for the two on the table, you seek out the remainder of the Strike Force handing them their necklaces, giving them instructions to try to wear it at all times, always wearing it during a battle. You then find Linhardt and discuss the intricacies of the spell with him. He is quite impressed, not impressed enough with needing to learn anything further, lest it cause him more missed naps.

Unfortunately, you are not able to give Professor Byleth theirs before the attack on Garreg Mach.

Without being amid the battle itself, you greatly aid your allies. Two clerics with minor healing skills and perfect eyes describe the battle as it unfolds. They both speak at the same time describing everything they see. You have been training them for weeks. They keep you appraised of nearly everyone on the battlefield. You cast physic and fortify on several allies, healing them, allowing them to keep fighting. Nobody must be rescued as a result, however it is always an option.

The weary warriors return to camp, the injured head to the infirmary. Once you heal all wounded there, you quietly make your way around camp. Stopping at the entrance to a tent you announce yourself.

“You are injured. Let me attend you.” You whisper to the canvas entrance flap.

“I have seen too much blood today. Let me sleep.” Linhardt moans.

You enter the tent, shuffling forward until you touch his cot. “You’ll sleep better if you are healed. Assist me if you want this completed quickly. Fight if you want this to take longer.”

“Very well.” The sleepy man turns on his side, tugging at his robes to show his right leg and the gash in his calf.

You need little light to work, most of what you do is by touch. Cleansing the wound, folding and refolding the cloth to have the clean portion removing the debris and dried blood. Healing the wound, finally rubbing the scar with light soft touches of magic until nothing is left but smooth and slightly pink skin.

You leave, heading for the next tent. It is easy to tell who is injured. Sometimes the smell of blood alerts you. Whimpers of pain, cursing, stuttered breathing, all of them involuntary tells that they are hiding their wounds. No amount of chastising them has worked thus far. You must seek them out and find them before they fall face first in the dirt, fevers burning because of infection that quickly settles in their neglected wounds.

You can tell this tent belongs to Ferdinand. He makes the smallest high pitched squeak when he moves an injured muscle the wrong way.

“Ferdie, I’m coming in.” You give him ten seconds before you enter.

“S-Sorry. I should’ve…” The redhead begins to apologize.

“Shh. Guide me to the worst first.” You instruct him. You’ve been through this many times before. You recall back at the monastery you would drag him back to the infirmary after returning from battles. He would then invite you to tea and tell you about everything that happened. He would frequently let slip about a few people that had been hurt, and those you had not seen in the infirmary would be sought out later.

His hip had a deep gouge in it from the point of a sharp lance. You wonder how me made it back to the tent with something that deep, the blood had dripped all down his leg. You cleanse it, pouring some healing potion in to soften the burn as you prepare him for the alcohol to follow, flushing out the debris and who knows what that was on the enemy lance tip. Finally, you heal the wound closed now that you are certain it will not become infected. He tells you the next injury is to his shoulder.

Completing your treatment of each and every one of his wounds you get back on your feet. “Tell me what you find in the morning. The worst infections can come from the smallest cuts.”

“I know, thank you.” He calls out to the darkness of his tent.

You know whose tent is next. You stand outside, pausing. “Don’t blast me into next week. I must do what is necessary.” You announce before entering.

“Your concern is unnecessary.” He fumes.

“You prefer necrosis?” You sass.

“To be looked after –ugh.” Hubert groans.

“Better than dead. I’m going to be here a while, aren’t I?” You kneel in front of his cot, smelling blood everywhere. You know he has a high threshold for pain but this man is ridiculous. He is a human pincushion filled with so many holes he should be classified as swiss cheese.

You begin by placing him under a magically induced sleep. This slows his heart rate, making him bleed out slower. Lighting several candles in the room you need to pick apart this man, healing every possible wound new or old, removing all signs of infection.

He cares so little for himself it is a miracle that he can remain standing on his own feet most days. Tweezers and a scalpel assist you with removing four pieces of shrapnel from his back. Two fractured ribs are also healed. His legs are battered by the fallout of spells attacking him. He can deflect them from his head and torso, however he is so tall that his legs still feel some of the impact of magic and what it carries with it. One last scan for any further untreated injuries makes you sigh in relief. You pull back on the sleep spell a bit. He remains asleep, allowing him to rest, however he should not be so deep in sleep as to not be able to be rustled awake.

Sitting on the ground in front of his cot, you rest and meditate until morning. You will not leave him unprotected. Once he begins to rustle several hours later, you stand and face the exit to the tent.

“I would ask if I missed anything, but you will never tell me if I did.” You state matter-of-factly.

“Thank you.” He mutters softly.

You nod and leave.

Camp is broken down. Everything is packed into wagons or on the back of horses. Enbarr is the next destination. Back to the capital to plan.

Most of the fights for the next few years are smaller skirmishes. The larger battles are much fewer and further between. However, this current battle is quite serious. The Empire has had control over the bridge at Myrddin since the Emperor declared war. There is word of kingdom forces approaching, threatening the bridge and surrounding territory. The entire Strike Force is called together to interfere with the invasion.

You have the bridge map memorized. The strategic meetings provide you with the locations of where everyone is to be deployed and defending their area. Your assistants inform you of the fighting and position changes as the battle unfolds. They update you as the enemy moves forward beginning their attacks. Suddenly the watcher to the right is quickly rambling, upset and excited.

“What! Tell me what is going on!” You order, having no idea what is happening due to their rambling.

“They are swarming, trying to get past Caspar and Ferdinand, many are getting through and overwhelming Hubert. He’s moving back but…”

Immediately you cast Physic at Hubert then Caspar.

“I can’t see Hubert there are so many around him!” the observer is shaking moving left to right to see.

You cannot let him fall. You cast warp and appear standing alongside his fallen body. There are a few surprised utterances by the soldiers, however they are quickly gathering their wits about them. They are not as fast as you are, you throw a series of spells. The first is your Thoron. You cannot see well enough to cast it as a normal Thoron, your modified version is closer to clusters of ball lightning emitting from around you, arcing out in a rotating pattern. You lean over Hubert, who is still alive from what you can feel. The soldiers swarming him are very very much at risk and feeling your wrath. Their bodies jolt and shake with the electricity. Just as the spell ends you cast recover on Hubert.

“Muh…more coming!” The dark mage blurts out, casting Mire at the closest one.

You call upon the hellfire from within you, casting your own special Ragnarock. The smell is horrific as all flesh in a huge circle around you is incinerated in the heat of the flames that extends around you for a 30 foot radius.

“What next?” You ask the dark mage on the ground beneath you.

“You were successful.” Hubert says as he takes your hand to assist him in getting back onto his feet.

Hubert begins to walk briskly towards the next sign of melee. You grab his elbow and are dragged along.

“Are you certain you wish to do this?” The dark mage asks.

“I’ve made it so far.” You counter, scared and excited at the same time as you are headed for the center of the battlefield.

There are a lot more sounds around you than normal. Spells going off, horses rushing in at the direction of their riders, the clashing of metal against metal. You keep turning your head at every sound. You hear the sound of boots coming closer, you cannot clearly make out a face, but the colors donned by the fighter are of the enemy, so you cast a normal Thoron spell at him. Hubert calls out and you direct your attention to him.

“Heal Ferdinand!” He orders.

You lock on the cavalier and cast Physic. A hearty Yes! is heard not too far away as you continue to be aware of your immediate surroundings.

Hubert dashes away from you, headed further toward the center of battle. You know better than to run into the thickest part of things where your clear vision extends not more than six feet ahead of you. A green coated figure comes close and you grab onto the arm of Linhardt as he walks past.

“Everyone good?” You ask as he is dragging you along with him.

“So far. I am glad this is almost over. I am so exhausted.” He groans.

You listen as the noise dies down, the sounds of spells being cast has ended. The voices are calling out more organizational orders than directing the forces to attack. Linhardt takes you to the area where they have set up camp, pointing you into the direction of the infirmary tent before he gets close enough to be dragged inside. A healer outside notices you and hauls you in, you are needed to put a few soldiers back together. Much later, as you emerge from the tent you are grabbed and warped away.

“Sit.” You are pushed backward until your calves hit a surface for you to sit upon. He stands in front of you, arms crossed.

“I know. It is a risk I had to take. You are too stubborn and so am I.” You confess before you are asked a question.

“Do you have any idea what-“ Hubert’s voice is full of venom and anger.

“Yes, I do. More than you. I did not join this war to do anything halfway.” You calmly answer. You know his bark is worse than his bite. And if he wanted to harm you, he would kill you first and ask questions later.

The dark mage turns to step away, then spins around to face you again. “And what of after the war?”

“I have no vision of what is beyond anything that I can see right now. I have bound myself to you through a blood oath that you did not participate in, so that I could help you live through this war.” You respond, quiet and rational. “You are not committed to me and owe me nothing. I knew you would not wear the necklace. I did what is necessary to keep you alive. We cannot win this without you. It is not like I will ever have a suitor clamoring at my door.”

Hubert is furious. You knew he would be. Based on ancient customs and rituals in several countries, one of them Brigid you created the spell. There is an exchange of blood between wedded parties, mixing their blood so the two could ‘become one’. However further research into the matter reveals that as a part of one’s self being with the other could be extremely useful, especially relating to magic spells to locate the other and/or to assist them.

The moment you warped to Hubert’s side, he knew what had occurred. You knew he would treat it as a betrayal of his trust in you, however this being a ‘one way’ blood passing would not bind him to you in any way. A complete exchange blood oath on his part would sever this one sided oath and cause a magical backlash to yourself. Since you had initiated this blood oath, you cannot perform this with another.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “What is done is done. Leave.” He orders.

The tents and supplies are packed away again, the long convoy is back on the road. The anniversary of the millennium festival approaches quickly. The weather has turned quite miserable, raining day and night. The roads are getting sloppier every day. Riding in the back of the supply wagon is dangerous for you, but you feel it is worse it is worse as you cannot tell where you are stepping. Just as someone announces they can see Garreg Mach in the distance, the wagon you are riding in flips onto its side due to the deep ruts in the roadway and shifting of the cargo. You are buried under multiple boxes and cargo from the wagon.

When you awaken you are dry and clean and lying on a cot in the infirmary of the academy. You sit up in the bed and recall what happened. Your left arm is wrapped up to your shoulder. You feel a bump on your head. What you don’t feel, is your glasses.

“Cleric?” You call out. You know someone was in the room with you, you had heard them with papers.

“Oh! You are awake. I will fetch Manuela.” You hear her footsteps getting further and further away down the hall.

Manuela arrives and explains the situation. Your left arm will have to be in a sling for a few days. Your glasses were crushed under the wagon. A message was written and sent today requesting a replacement pair, nothing we can do for that in the meantime. She fits you with a sling and at your insistence you walk from the infirmary down to the first floor. Alone.

You were able to slowly make it to the end of the corridor that led to a courtyard. From there you only have to cross the courtyard, find the stairs down and then the dorms in order to get to your room. Piece of cake you think to yourself. You know the layout of the monastery, where the obvious dangers are. It’s just the minor details that you can’t see. If someone leaves items out where they don’t belong or an item is in an unusual spot, that could be a problem for you.

The open courtyard is intimidating, people can come at you from all angles, and they do. You do not get run over, but you get spooked when a large something crosses your vision suddenly. You feel better when you get to the area that has bushes all along one side. You stay close to the bushes, keeping out of the way of the faster people.

Now is the dangerous part. The stone walkway in front of you, and the stairs that go down to the dorms. You must choose embarrassment or death. You choose to not die today. Sitting on the ground you scooch your behind closer and closer to where you think the edge of this level is until your feet reach the end of the stone covered walkway. You scoot until your lower legs are over the wall and feet are hanging. From here you scoot right until your feet touch the stairs leading down.

Whew. Now you can stand on the steps, hold on with your hands on the level above as you cautiously descend down the stairs. One step at a time. Your hands are now flat on the wall above the stairs. One last step and there’s no further steps. You made it! Nobody saw you or if they did they said nothing and you lived!

Cautiously you walk across the small courtyard until you knock into the porches of the dorms. You grab a post, sit on the porch, spin your legs and then stand up next to the post. No stairs, no problem you think.

You are at the last room, that belongs to Byleth. You knock.

“Come in.” Is pleasantly called from the inside.

“Byleth, can you give me a hand and get me to my room. I’ve been released by Manuela.” You request.

The former Professor walks past you, stopping so you can take her elbow. “I am happy that you are out already and didn’t have any serious injuries. Your eyeglasses were smashed beyond fixing. Are you going to be okay getting around on your own? She inquires.

“I can make it here and there. I have problems with stairs, anything that is left out of place, cats and dogs being on the paths. I perhaps should get a walking stick to help with balance. I can see a little, everything is just very very blurry. While you may see a barrel, its edges, the lines of the wood, the metal band holding it together, I see a brown almost oval blob. I can judge by the size of the blob if I am close enough to bump into it.

Byleth leads you out the door, pausing at the stairs, then through the courtyard to the next set of stairs, finally over to your room that is next to Bernadetta’s. Thanking her you go through your room, arranging your clothes and belongings. You are always quite organized in your room. Everything must be in its place or you can’t find it. You go to your desk drawer and pull out your magnifying glass. If you have plenty of light you can just make out a few letters in a row on a written page. So you can read, but it’s going to give you eye strain. You decide that maybe it’s time to do some handiwork. Heading out the door you walk to your neighbor and knock on hers.

“Bernie, can we talk a minute?” You ask pleasantly.

Bernadetta cracks her door open then shuts it quickly. “Who is it!”

“Bernie, it’s me. I don’t have my glasses, so I guess I must look different?” you question as you answer her.

“Oh! You do look much different without your glasses on.” The purple haired woman opens the door, now recognizing you, she lets you inside leading you to a chair by her desk.

“I heard they were broken when the wagon tipped over. How are you doing? I bet Bernie can help you some.” She smiles.

“Oh Bernie, that would be wonderful if you can walk with me sometimes. I don’t want to be a burden on anyone. I know you don’t like getting out much, but I do need to get to the dining hall. Honestly, the stairs scare me a lot!” You confess.

“Oh! I think they would be scary to someone that can’t see them. I will help you. Just let me know, okay?” Bernadetta offers.

“You have perfect vision, I trust you so much Bernie. Oh! I came over because I have a request. Since I can’t read much right now, I thought I would knit. Can I borrow a couple pair of needles you’re not using right now?” You request.

“Sure! I have quite a few different sizes, so you have a few to choose from.” The woman dashes to a drawer to grab her needles.

You are sitting on a bench outside the greenhouse knitting, a small rectangle grows longer below the needles.

Without turning you call out, “Hey Ferdinand, are you busy?”

“I did not see you there. You are looking quite well. Are you getting along all right? May I be of assistance in any way?” He happily answers, being the noblest of nobles, he must offer his assistance to all that could possibly require it.

“If you would have some time to escort me to the market briefly in the next few days, I would like to purchase some yarn.” You request.

Ferdinand bows low, “Of course, I would be most happy to assist. I do have somewhere I have to be, however I will return for you before dinner. I will then escort you to your room to store your purchase, and then take you to the dining hall as well. It is my duty to help all in need of aid. Please do let me know if there is anything else that I can assist you with.” He smiles brightly, you know because you can hear it in his voice. If a smile was ever loud, it would be his.

Time passes and Ferdinand returns to greet you again. “I am yours to command.” He says bowing before you.

“If you could please take me to the market and find the one selling wool and other knitting materials.” You say grabbing his elbow as he leads you past the pond.

“How are you getting along without your glasses? I see you are keeping busy.” He asks as you slowly stroll.

“I am doing fine. It’s not like I’ve suddenly lost my vision altogether. I simply cannot see clearly at the moment. The finer details are not visible. A basket of apples is varying shades of red in a brown circle. Grass is simply mottled green with no individual blades. Stairs do not show their depth, the ground does not reveal its pitch. If small thin items are on the footpath I cannot see them. Reading is difficult without a magnifying glass, and that gets tiresome after a while. I could not see very far away before, so nothing has changed there.” You reflect.

“Here we are.” Ferdinand brings you forward to the cart.

“Sir,” you ask the proprietor, “Have you any lambs wool or perhaps Angora?”

The man hands you two skeins of wool, one being a bit softer than the next. You feel some of the wool that he has on display. These two skeins are softer, but not by much, certainly not Angora wool.

“I have a project in mind for the Emperor you see…” You don’t care much for name dropping, however in this case, it is the absolute truth.

“Oh.” The merchant gasps. “I think this may be more in line with what you are looking for.” He takes the other two balls of yarn and replaces it with a different one.

This skein feels very silky and soft. There are long, soft hairs mixed in with the wool, which is much closer to the feel of the yarn you desire. “This is more like what I will need.” You answer. Haggling the price a bit you make your purchase. You also buy 8 other skeins of wool in different colors. And several pairs of knitting needles.

The merchant packages your goods and hands them to Ferdinand.

“Anything else?” the noble asks as he walks you back towards the dining hall.

“Thank you so much, it went much faster than me wandering from cart to cart, trying to identify what the merchant is selling.”

The next week you take your shifts in the infirmary, go to meetings and knit in your spare time. Bernadetta attends the meetings regularly, since she must escort you.

Guardian Moon is extremely cold to those from Enbarr. People from the Kingdom would probably walk about in their shirtsleeves. You invite Emperor Edelgard to tea in your room this day and she accepts.

You bustle about your room, gathering everything necessary for a lovely tea. The bergamot is steeping, smelling wonderful as she knocks.

“Please come in, Lady Edelgard.” You answer.

“You are as bad as Hubert! Just Edelgard, please!” She laughs.

“Please help yourself.” You offer sweet pastries with a delicious cinnamon crumble on top.

You fuss with the tea, removing the leaves now that the brew is complete. You pour for the both of you and offer sugar cubes or honey.

There is a knock on the door, “Package!” is called out in a male voice.

You are so excited you nearly knock over the tea table. You dive to the door and take the box from the delivery person, throwing coins at them and slamming the door.

You return to the table and hand it to Edelgard.

“Please open it for me. My new glasses!” You are beside yourself with excitement.

She laughs as she is handed the package and quickly removes the wrapping. Sliding the lid of the box open, she hands the box to you.

Your hands shake a little as you reach inside, taking the glasses in hand at the edge of the lenses, flipping the temples out, you slide them onto your face. You will have to adjust things a bit for the fit, but they feel like home.

“Well, how are they?” Edelgard excitedly asks.

“Perfect! You look even more beautiful than I remember you!” You grin widely, so happy to be able to see her clearly again.

“It is a shame that you have to wear them.” Edelgard comments. “They really distort your eyes. Perhaps some day they can create some type of magic to correct your eyesight.”

“Thankfully, I am not vain. I choose being ugly and able to see rather than be blind and pretty. As Dorothea says, beauty is only skin deep. It is the true beauty of the person inside that counts.”

“So true.” Edelgard nods.

You stand and scuttle over to a dresser. “I have something for you!” Reaching inside you remove a long red fluffy scarf. “It is getting colder outside, my hands need to keep busy. I made a scarf for everyone on the Strike Force.” You announce, handing her the scarf.

Edelgard takes it in hand and wraps it around her neck. “Oh my! This is the softest thing I have ever felt! It is so warm! I can feel my neck is warmer already!” She exclaims, then stands to give you a warm soft hug.

“We certainly need to keep warm through the next few battles.” You nod.

“Your perseverance is your strongest attribute.” Edelgard commends you. “We need people with that on our side. To engage the obstacles head on, finding new and different ways to get around them. I admire your strength in continuing to do your best, no matter what adversity is thrown your way. Knowing you makes me a stronger person.”

[15-dogs]

resident healer |n.s.|

pairing: newt scamander x healer!artist!reader

summary: newt’s brother theseus hires you as his resident healer without newt’s knowledge. however, newt has little use for you so you put your other skills to the test as you spend each day falling a little harder for the man who won’t even speak to you. (super super fluffy! mutual pining, enemies(ish/mild dislike LMAO) to lovers, miscommunication, flustered newt!!)

warnings: extremely minimal swearing, injury, mention of blood

guide: (Y/N) = your name, (Y/L/N) = your last name

word count: 3.6K

a/n: it’s official y’all i’m in love with newt asjdhsj sorry sorry

Newt gasped in pain, jerking his hand away from the Occamy that bit harshly at his finger. He squatted down to meet its eyes, frowning as he scolded, “Don’t be rude.” 

The Occamy simply squawked back. Newt tutted, snatching a snack for the small thing beside its nest and tossing them up in the air. The Occamies in the nest all hopped up, hurrying to retrieve the treats before the others did. Newt shook his head with a chuckle as he moved away from the creatures and onto the next.

“Mr. Scamander,” Bunty called from the top of the stairs which led to his apartment, “Miss (Y/L/N) is here.”

Newt dried his hands off on his pants, brows furrowed in confusion. He’d never heard that name before and he knew he wasn’t expecting a guest, so who was at his door? Newt shrugged his vest back on as he made his way up the stairs, his eyes trained on the buttons he was doing up. He was so focused on the task at hand that he forgot he was in the landing of his apartment, his leg lifted in preparation to take another step which led him to tumble into the wall ahead.

“Mr. Scamander!” Bunty gasped. She ran to his side instantly, checking to see if he was injured. She held his face in her hands, staring into his eyes as he tried to pull away. “You really hit your head, didn’t you?”

Newt blinked in shock, finally wiggling free of her grasp and walking backwards into his den. “No, I’m fine, Bunty, thank you.”

In his efforts to move away from her, Newt bumped into another figure, nearly tipping him over. He steadied himself before turning around, his cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Scamander,” you said, warmly. You extended your hand for him to shake, which he did so hesitantly.

“Right, yes.” His eyes scoured the room as he gathered his words. “And you are?”

You looked over him with an involuntary cock of your head, your brows knit together. “You don’t know who I am?”

“Not really, no.”

You laughed humorlessly. “And I suppose you don’t know why I’m here, either.”

Newt cleared his throat and stood a little taller, still fiddling with his wand. “I’m sorry, should I?”

You knew he wasn’t trying to be rude, but you couldn’t help but be a little offended at his words. You were there for him. It was quite literally your job. You gave him a slight frown before straightening out your clothing to keep yourself busy.

“I am (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I’m your new resident Healer.”

Newt began to smile as if you had said something quite funny. He looked up at Bunty, nodding his head towards the door to his basement. She scrambled down as he continued to converse with you.

“My resident Healer?” he repeated.

You nodded. “Yes, I was hired.”

Those words were like a bucket of ice on Newt’s content mood. His smile had dropped from his face and he stopped fiddling with his wand. His eyes slowly drifted up to yours, asking the silent question of who? Who would’ve hired such a thing for him? 

You could tell from the irritation swimming in his eyes that he knew exactly who had hired you. From the second you saw Newt, you knew he wasn’t a scary person, but now you weren’t so sure.

“Theseus, your brother, did.”

Newt swallowed hard, tapping his foot against the hardwood floor as he thought. It seemed like forever that you sat in tense silence, hoping you hadn’t done something wrong by telling him. Finally, Newt shook his head, his hair flopping back and forth as he paced around the room, ending at the door and opening it.

“I don’t need a Healer. I’ve been fine on my own thus far.”

You took a step towards him, his eyes still focused on the cold street outside. “Mr. Scamander, I don’t think you understand. I’m a private Healer. I work for no affiliation. I have been hired here and I intend to keep this job.”

“My apologies, Miss (Y/L/N), but I feel your talents would be of better use elsewhere.”

Newt rested a hand on your upper back, pushing you closer towards the door until you were halfway out of it. He refused to meet your eyes as you protested, simply shutting the door in your face. His hand hovered over the doorknob for one minute more as he heard your sighs of exasperation from the other side, a sick feeling settling into his stomach. 

When silence finally dawned on the apartment, Newt began to walk away only to hear the distinct sound of ripped paper from outside. He paused and turned just in time to see a note slipped under the door, the sound of your shoes clicking down the stone steps as background noise. Newt squatted to pick up the note, scoffing at your indignant message.

I’ll be here tomorrow at 8 AM, Mr. Scamander.

Best,

(Y/N)

•••

You sat on Newt’s perfectly done up couch, picking at the quilt that sat beside you on the arm of it. Your leg was bouncing and your eyes scoured the room, begging it to give you something to do other than just wait around.

Newt popped out of his bedroom, running a hand through his hair as he ran up and down between his basement and the main floor. You would glance at him out of the corner of your eye every time he did so, wishing he would give you anything to do.

After the fifth time he arrived upstairs, he paused to look at you. You sat at attention, awaiting his useful instructions.

With a limp point towards the room across from him, he stated, “There’s food in the pantry. Help yourself.”

Your hands gripped onto the quilt, balling it up in your fists to contain your anger. You sent a vicious smile Newt’s way and he sent a wary one back before running downstairs.

You had considered yourself to be a person of immense patience, but Merlin was that man testing you. Every day after that you sat on his couch, examining the apartment, hoping that he would come up from his workshop and beg you to help him. 

At some point in your weeks of sitting, you stopped dressing the part of Healer. You stopped caring. He clearly didn’t need you but you clearly couldn’t leave, so you took the necessary steps to make that hellish limbo a bit more comfortable. You brought novels and notebooks, blankets and pillows, all so you could sit on Newt Scamander’s couch and pretend you were his star Healer.

Feeling entirely useless one day, you decided to pull out your notebook and sketch a few items around the apartment. If you couldn’t practice one talent, why not practice the other? You ended up drawing a plethora of strange items from where you sat; all of which you assumed to be objects used in his care for his creatures.

You were snapped out of your thoughts as the soft clang of a dinner plate was placed in front of you. You looked up and spotted Newt across the room at his kitchen table as he took a bite of his dinner with one hand and tucked his wand away with the other. You searched the room for a moment, wondering if that was some kind of trap— Newt had never eaten with you before, let alone make you dinner. You picked up the dish with severe caution, carefully taking a bite and smiling softly at how wonderful it tasted.

Your silent dinners became a regular occurrence. You didn’t bother talking to him and he didn’t bother talking to you. You would finish your meal and then pick up whatever you were doing prior until 8:00 when you left.

As you sat on his couch, curled up under a blanket with your sketchbook, you looked over the room to see if there was anything different to draw when your eyes landed on Newt, himself. He was reading a book, splaying the pages open as he chewed on the thumb of his opposite hand. Something about the way he sat was so poetic, and the next thing you knew you were drawing his portrait.

You began to draw his portrait every dinner, a sudden infatuation with the way he looked blossoming within you. After dinner one day, Newt came up to you to collect your plate rather than just charming it to fly to the sink.

“Do you draw?” he asked.

You, so alarmed by his presence, shouted, “No!” and slammed your sketchbook shut, praying to Merlin that he didn’t see his pictures.

“I just thought you were because…” Newt trailed off as he referenced the ink stains on your hands and shapes of objects that must’ve rubbed off on you. 

You flushed, finally nodding with a quiet, “Yes, I draw. Not very well, but I quite like it.”

He sunk into the spot next to you, his leg bouncing up and down as he spoke. “I’m sure that you’re a wonderful artist. If you’d ever care to show me some time, I’m sure my opinion will be justified.”

Your cheeks turned pink and you ducked your head to avoid his stare. “Yes, maybe at some point.”

Newt let out a gratified sigh before stalking over to the kitchen, butterflies occupying your stomach. You knew then that you didn’t like drawing him because he was fun to draw. No, you realized that you were quite infatuated with the man who barely spoke a word to you but you had the feeling that you were going to change that.

•••

“Mr. Scamander-”

“Please,” he began, looking at you over his shoulder, “it’s Newt.”

“Right, yes, Newt.” You stood up from his couch with his book in hand, trailing after him as he paced around his apartment. “I’ve been reading your book. It’s quite fascinating, I have to say.”

His steps slowed to a stop and his eyes lit up. “You like it?”

You only looked up from his book when you rammed straight into him. You teetered backwards but his strong arms caught you, holding you flush against his chest. “I-I do.” You wiggled out of his grasp, fearing the increase in your heart rate. “I just, er, find it fascinating that you keep all those creatures in your basement, not more than a few meters below us.”

He shrugged, continuing his pacing until he stopped by the basement door. “Not all of them, but a great deal.” Newt averted his eyes towards the ground, a shy smile spreading across his lips. “I could show you if you like? You could take your sketchbook down and draw some up for me.”

“Are you sure that’s okay?”

“Bunty has the day off and I could use your company-” Newt cut himself off, his eyes wide and blush creeping up his cheeks. “The company, is what I meant. Just some company, is all. Well, that’s not to say I don’t like your company— I’m partial to it, actually— but-”

You chuckled, snatching your sketchbook from your bag on the couch. You passed by the man, stopping to look him once over. “I enjoy your company, too, Newt.”

You spent the rest of the day in the basement with Newt as he explained each creature to you  with the glee of a child. You smiled, wondering if he’d ever smile at you the way he smiled at his beasts, but quickly dismissed the thought.

You ended up drawing some of his creatures, particularly focused on the Murtlap that scurried around its cage. After you had finished a rough sketch of the creature, you had turned to show Newt when you were stopped in your tracks by the sight before you; Newt had a Bowtruckle perched on his finger, speaking to it like a friend, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a plethora of scars on his collarbone. Your mouth went dry and you knew then and there that you had to draw him.

You focused on every crinkle of his smile, the sharpness of his jaw, the pure adoration behind his eyes. Newt was encapsulating. Everything about him drove you wild. It was almost embarrassing how he made you feel so mad but you couldn’t help it— you were at the point past no return.

As the day came to a close, Newt cleaned up around his basement as his eyes flickered in between you and the broom he held. You had propped his book up on your leg so that you could draw in some more specific details about the creatures you had sketched, wanting it to look perfect if Newt was going to see. He let out a soft exhale in amusement at your contorted position, alerting you to his presence.

“May I see?” His eyes drifted towards your notebook, just grazing over your body.

You nodded and moved over for him to sit next to you. Fortunately, you had been practicing some charms and learned how to hide some of your drawings— specifically the ones of Newt.

To your surprise (and delight), Newt slid up next to you, your shoulders brushing against one another. You let out a shaky breath and met his eyes with a weak smile as you shoved the sketchbook into his arms. His eyes fell downwards towards the drawings, a pit forming in your stomach as he scanned over them.

 Every time he would flip the page, he would mutter a compliment to you. It was always something specific, something targeted, as if to make you aware that he was truly fascinated by your drawings.

“You captured Molly’s tuft of white fur perfectly,” he murmured, running a rough finger across the drawing of the Niffler you did. He flipped to the next page, chuckling to himself. “And the Glow Bugs are just...lovely. That’s Poppy right there, I can tell.”

You beamed at him, unable to control how he made you feel. Newt carefully set the journal down behind him as he scanned your face.

“You’re quite...you have this...well, you…” he stammered as he fiddled with his fingers.

“What is it?” you prodded, your voice no more than a whisper.

“You’re...beautiful.”

You sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes involuntarily flickered down towards his lips. Your hand crept its way over his, tracing the scars on the back of it with your thumb as you leaned in closer towards him.

“Mr. Scamander!” a familiar voice called from the top of the stairs, causing the two of you to jump apart. You both looked up to find Bunty padding down the stairs, a wide smile on her face. “Mr. Scamander! I know you said I had the day off but I wasn’t doing much today and thought I could be of some use here!”

Newt glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not a problem, Bunty, you can head home.”

“But I’m really not doing anything!”

“Well, I suppose you could help me do final bed checks and whatnot.”

Bunty nodded, scurrying around to do her tasks with an eager grin. Newt flashed you a shy smile as he stood up, his fingers still tangled in yours before he pulled away.

•••

Newt appeared out of his bedroom in the same fashion he did every morning: hurried. However, that time, he shrugged on a coat and walked towards the door of his apartment.

“Going somewhere?” you questioned.

“Yes, I’m off to the Ministry for the day. Bunty’s here if you need anything.”

And with that, Newt left.

Things had been strange since you had almost kissed no more than three days ago. Newt kept all your interactions strictly professional, meaning you were back to barely speaking again. It was frustrating, to say the least, and it made you question whether Newt really didn’t feel the same towards you, that you were coming on to him.

You had been stuck in that void of thinking for days. You would find yourself flipping through your sketchbook and landing on one of the many sketches you did of Newt, frowning as your mind began to spin expert lies to break your heart.

“(Y/N)!”

You could practically hear him calling your name.

“(Y/N)! Please!”

That was real. And it wasn’t Newt, either. It was Bunty.

You hopped off the couch, swapping your sketchbook for your Healer’s bag. You knew the voice of an injured person when you heard it and you weren’t about to take any chances that your instincts were wrong.

You made your way downstairs, finding Bunty by the Occamy nest holding her forearm, some blood seeping through her fingers. You ran up to her, wand drawn as you enchanted the necessary items to fly from your bag.

“Keep your breathing steady and your eyes on me, Bunty,” you said firmly. Bunty nodded, looking down at you with tears crowding her eyes. “Did the Occamy get you?”

“Y-yes. He got out of his nest and into another cage and grew quite a bit larger. I tried to take him back but he bit me.”

“Merlin, Bunty, that’s awful. But I can assure you that you’ll be perfectly fine. You don’t have any serious injuries that I can see.”

You poured a few droplets of an amber liquid from your bag, the skin stretching across her arm to heal the wound. She squealed in pain and you slipped your hand into hers, allowing her to squeeze it to deal with the pain.

“It’s almost over, I promise. We’ll get you to St. Mungo’s after just in case, too. You’re doing fantastic, Bunty. This potion, well, excuse my language but it hurts like a bitch.”

Bunty let out a strangled laugh, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. You patted her hand, flashing your signature Healer smile at her as you got to your feet. Your bag magically packed itself as you helped Bunty up beside you, wrapping an arm around her and apparating off to the hospital.

You had settled things with the Assistant Healer at St. Mungo’s and Bunty assured you that she didn’t need you there with her for her tests no matter how many times you protested. She simply thanked you, explained that she felt fine already, and squeezed your hand before shooing you off to apparate back to Newt’s apartment.

You arrived back in the basement, snatching your medical bag and making your way upstairs. Your footsteps slowed as you heard quiet murmurs of appraisal coming from the den, the flipping of used parchment scraping against itself.

Your sketchbook.

You darted out into the den, finding Newt back early from his trip to the Ministry with your sketchbook in hand, marveling at the pictures you drew of him. Your heart thundered inside your chest and you went light headed at the sight, your face overheating instantly.

“Did you draw these?” he asked. In an impossible sense, Newt’s tone was entirely neutral as was his expression. Nothing. You couldn’t read anything off of him.

“Give that back.” You dropped your bag and swung your wand out in an attempt to retrieve the book, only to have Newt throw a countercurse at you. You sucked in a sharp breath before trying again only for the same result to be repeated.

“You drew these,” he stated. He met your anxious eyes with furrowed brows, which only worsened the black hole growing inside you.

“There’s no point in denying it, Newt.” You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing your hands up and down as your own personal security blanket.

“I think that your drawings are lovely.” Your eyes snapped up to his and he cowered at his statement. “Not because it’s me, that’s not why they’re lovely. It’s because it’s you— obviously not you, it’s me— but you drew them and I’d love for you-”

Feeling rather emboldened by his rambling, you cut Newt off with a defiant statement.

“I like you.”

Newt was silent.

You continued.

“A lot, actually.” You ran a hand through your hair with a wry laugh. “A stupid amount, really. I can’t get you out of my head in a maddening sort of way. And I know that you’re saying you like the drawings but I understand if you’re lying. I think I’d be rather perturbed if I found a journal full of my face, too.”

“Don’t say that,” he muttered with a dismal shake of his head.

“It’s true! It’s odd!”

“No, please don’t say that. It’s not.” With every declaration, Newt’s voice got a little louder

“Why-”

“Because I fancy you!” he shouted, leaving you in a stunned silence. “Sorry.”

You blinked in confusion. Newt fancied you. Newt fancied you. You repeated it over and over again in your head, trying to make sense of his foreign words. You met his worried gaze and whispered to confirm your suspicions, “You fancy me?”

“I-I do.” He laughed to himself, scuffing his foot against the floor. “You’re beautiful and...and witty, and intelligent, and you have this intense gaze like a crow, and it’s just all beautiful. You’re beautiful.” His words tumbled from his mouth like he didn’t have enough time in the world to tell you how he truly felt.

If Newt was going to act like there was no time left, then you were, too. Your wand fell from your loosened grasp as you ran up to him, falling into a deep kiss. His hands hovered in the air for a moment before he embraced you, holding you as tight to his body as he could so his lips could still be connected to yours.

You pulled away, gasping for air as he rested his forehead against yours. He reached a calloused thumb up to rub over your bottom lip before venturing up to your cheekbone.

Seems as if he did need a Healer after all.

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

general taglist:  @pandaxnienke @lunalovecroft @for-bebbanburg

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

Vulnerable [chapt. 1/2]

[2012 Leo x reader]

Based off of a request from an Anon: "A reader who is good at archery?" and the art is in fact mine, signature in the corner.

Leonardo grimaced as he walked. On his bad leg he still limped a bit, but he no longer was so dependent on his crutches. Every step was a twinge of pain in his knee, but he continued, bow in hand and looking for prey. The rest of the team was back at the farmhouse—he wanted to do this alone. He needed to do something. For himself and everyone else. 

He crept along the forest floor, senses hyper-aware of all of the things around him, as with his injured leg, he felt vulnerable. He jumped when a bird shot out of a tree nearby with another one hot on its tail feathers. When had he become so easy to start? Of course, as a ninja, he was trained to be skeptical. Aware. But he'd never felt so jumpy as he did after coming out of his coma, his throat wrecked and his knee in just as bad a condition. He took in a deep breath, then released it. Focus. 

He definitely felt like he was being watched. He was in a sea of trees and bush, wandering and out of his element, having come from the city. It was such a jarring change to have been struck down in a construction site on that frightening day, only to wake up three months later in a quaint farmhouse outside of New York City. His stomach churned slightly recalling what he could remember from his encounter with the Shredder and the wave after wave of Foot Bots. The cold rain, and their mortal enemy's imposing figure stood above him before going in for the kill. He shook himself of those thoughts—not now. Today was sunny. He had to look around him for a second as if to assure that there was light shrouding everything. That there were no shadows to hide in. Shifting his footing, his knee suddenly jerked forward and sent a shot up pain up his leg. He had to resist making noise, but in that moment, a shudder ran down his spine. The sheer pain, he remembered, of the Shredder's blades catching his neck. The trauma to his knee. He didn't know when he'd started breathing heavily, still and partially leaning on his bow. When would he ever be able to recall that day without it shaking him so deeply? Would the memories hit him during his next and inevitable meeting with Shredder? 

But he couldn't think about that now, not as he heard rustling in the brush ahead of him. He stilled. Crouching, he took to the large trunk of an oak and hid behind it, peering around the corner to catch a glimpse of what he was hearing. It sounded big; likely a deer. As long as he didn't engage with a buck and his fearsome rack of antlers, he would be okay. His knee ached as he kneeled there. No sudden movements, he reminded himself. 

He looked around the side of the tree and saw it. A tall, proud buck and his air of regality, eating from a plant and seemingly unaware of Leo's presence. This was his chance to make himself useful. To stick it to his cursed leg that he wouldn't let it stop him. 

Rising as slowly and quietly as he could, he lifted his bow and drew an arrow. He had to find the perfect moment. But he also couldn't wait too long, otherwise he would lose the animal. The buck paused his meal and looked up, smelling the air. He ducked back behind the tree when it actually turned its head toward him, almost as if in acknowledgement. But deer's eyes didn't face forwards—if it were looking for a threat, it would have turned its head. Ignoring that detail, Leo knew it would get his scent quickly, so there was not much time to waste as he aimed, shooting for something vital. The buck stiffened, readying to bound off. He was just about to let loose the arrow when he blinked, and suddenly, there was nothing. The buck was gone, the clearing was empty, and he was extremely confused. He stood up, letting down his bow as he stepped out from behind the tree and looked around him. It had been there one moment, gone the next. 

He jolted when a twig snapped behind him. He spun around, arrow ready to fire. Standing only but a few feet away was the large creature looking down at him, and in his surprise, Leo hesitated. He wasn't sure what to do beside lower his weapon, eyes fixated on the impressive antlers the buck donned. Those could deliver a fierce blow. 

He was backing away, opting to ditch the effort and try again another time, because the animal was certainly strong. And not with his bad leg could he defend himself as much as he would have liked—but unnaturally fast, the buck charged forward anyway. Heart pumping, Leo gasped and drew his arrow, trying to get a clear shot on the animal as it vanished around him, disappearing behind trees, reappearing elsewhere, running at him from every which way. He let out a loud grunt when he was struck in the abdomen by it, disoriented and trying to gain his footing. He tried to dodge the oncoming attack, but his knee buckled, and he fell to the ground against the mossy trunk of a massive tree. His bow was dropped elsewhere. In a last resort, he swiped his knife from his belt, eyes flitting about. He expected another blow from the strange animal, but nothing came. He was left in shock sitting there as he regained his composure, only noticing the buck out of the corner of his eye one last time. 

He watched it, brow ridge furrowed intensely as he got up and snatched his bow from the ground. The buck only stared back, his reaching presence making an imprint in Leo's mind. He knew then that there was something else to this. He had no idea, not even a clue, of where to start with it. But the creature sauntered further into the trees, disappearing into the thicket. 

"What was that?" he muttered to himself, unable to look away from where he'd last seen it. 

He returned to the farmhouse later that night, meeting you at the front porch when he dragged himself up there. His knee was irritated to all hell from the exertion, and you could tell, too; he favored his good leg when he stepped, wincing as he came over. It was then that you noticed he looked a little more rough than you'd originally thought. 

"Leo?" you said, meeting him at the stairs. He tried to give you a smile, but it was obvious he was absolutely beat, his leg was hurting, and overall, not in a good way. "Are you okay? What happened out there?" 

You helped him up the steps with an arm around him, supporting his heavy weight as he made his way into the house. He groaned, a little shameful, "I got attacked by a...deer."

He left his bow and quiver at the door. A deer? You gave him a questioning look, and he continued, "Yeah, a deer. Like with the antlers. It came at me when it realized I was there. I've never seen something move so fast." 

You were going to help him to the couch, but he shrugged your arm off with a sheepish smile, getting there himself. You sat down next to him. "So, an angry buck?" you asked. He nodded. "Weird...it's not mating season. Usually, they aren't so aggressive." 

"Well, this one was," he said, "and I know this is going to sound weird, but…" 

He knew it would be hard to explain why he suspected this was something otherworldly, due to the teleporting. He'd seen it clearly with his own two eyes. Still, it was just as confusing to him to think about as it would have been for you to hear.

"Wait, how do you know that?" he inquired. He looked over at you, blue eyes falling on yours. 

You chuckled, "My dad was into hunting, so I picked up some stuff as a kid. You learn that pretty early on; the antlers on those things can really tear you up. Though...you're lucky for having natural armor." Gesturing toward his bow and arrow, you bumped his shoulder with your own. "I'd say I'm good with one of those." 

Leo quirked his brow, curious for you to go on. He didn't doubt your statement one bit; he'd seen how you watched him practice, how sometimes, he'd catch you idly running your hand along the curves of the bow. "How good would you say you are?" 

Grinning, you padded across the room and got his bow, drawing back the string experimentally. It had been a while. You threw a glance back at him over your shoulder. "Fairly," you replied, setting it down. "I think my parents started me out when I was twelve or so. With one of those kiddie bows, the ones that are easy to pull back? I'm no master, but maybe...I could come out and help you next time? I don't think any of us should be going out alone, anyway, especially you with your…"

He noticed your eyes had fallen on his injured leg. 

"Uh, hold on. I'm not an invalid, [y/n]." 

He didn't want to be snappish, but the last part irked him a little. He could handle himself out there. How well he could was a different story, but nonetheless, he felt weirdly infantile hearing that. It should have been him telling you that and offering to help, not the other way around. 

Damn his leg. 

Still, he knew he had to swallow his pride, for now. He really was in no shape to be wandering the woods on his own. He also noticed that it was a great opportunity to bond with you more without everyone around to overanalyze it. 

"You know, I...I appreciate it. I know you're just trying to help." He tried to hide the disappointment he was feeling with himself, but it was easily replaced by more positive prospects. He hadn't ever spent that much time with you alone, as they were always going, going, going. The farmhouse and surrounding woods was a slow change of pace—a good change of pace. But even then, he still couldn't always get away from everyone else, especially Mikey and Casey. "What do you say we go out tomorrow?" 

You nodded, "I say it's a date!" 

"Y–yeah," He laughed, looking down at the floor. "It's a...yeah. I'm going to go to bed now. Goodnight, [y/n]." 

"Night," you said as he headed up the stairs. 

Mind on the kitchen for a drink before you went to bed yourself, you were slightly surprised to see April there, leaning against the counter with a curious smile on her face. "Oh, hey, April," you mumbled, reaching past her for a glass. 

"Hey," she cooed, "so, a date, huh?" A knowing grin crossed her face, along with that twinkle in her eye she got any time something like this came up. 

Face beginning to flush, you chuckled awkwardly as you filled up your glass from the tap. "Uh, it's more like a...it's not really a date. I just said that. For some reason. We're gonna go out into the woods and scope it out for a little bit." You glanced out of the corner of your eye and saw her sat at the kitchen table, patting the chair next to her. A date? Like that? No. In fact, he was likely offended to some degree that you even proposed helping him out. Not with how sensitive he was about his knee, lately, which was a hindrance to him. But you wanted to help, that's what friends were for. And maybe spending some time away from the antics of his brothers and Casey wasn't such a bad idea, either…

You were going to slip out of the kitchen, but April was set on getting the details. "Come on, girl talk!" she said, low enough so no one else would hear, but you could hear the excitement in her voice. "Did he get embarrassed? Oh, what about bringing lunch? Like a picnic, in the woods," she suggested, clasping her hands. "Quiet, away from you-know-who. It would be nice!" 

"Okay, okay, slow down there," you said. You took a seat next to her and looked behind you into the living room to make sure there wasn't anyone there, then added, "You see, I don't know for sure…" 

...if Leo felt the same way. There was a hunch, but that wouldn't do—you couldn't go off of a mere inkling, lest you ruin good friendship turning things weird. You liked him. How obvious it was, you didn't know, but you never tried to show it on purpose. 

April noticed the uncertainty of your expression and put her hand on yours in your lap. She could feel your hesitance over the subject. "You're worried that he doesn't feel the same way about you," she stated softly. "Is that it?" 

"In short," you answered with a small shrug as you kept your gaze on the edge of the table. 

She tilted her head in thought, humming to herself. "Well, I think you should go for it, if that's how you feel." 

Looking up at her, you inquired, "What if it makes things awkward between us?" That was the last thing you wanted. 

"I think Leo might have a crush on you," she said finally. "Of course, I can't tell you definitely, but...it's just the vibe he gives me."

Your heart fluttered. April's intuition had always seemed pretty on point; you trusted her judgement more often than not. The question was, did you have the guts to come out with it to him, or would it be another time gone past? Hung up on her words, you blinked. "Do you think so?" you asked honestly. 

She nodded and gave a reassuring smile. "I won't pressure you, but I still think you'll have a great time. I can put together a basket, if you want. We don't have much besides sandwiches, though." April was considerate. It was easy to feel comfortable around her; she was a gentle soul outside of combat, and supportive of yours and everyone else's pursuits (so long as they weren't harmful.) Especially pursuits of love, when they weren't directed at herself. 

You thanked her as you got up, to which she replied that it was no problem. Leo's door was cracked slightly open, you'd found out when you passed by, and inside he was fast asleep. he tended to leave it ajar out of habit; he felt that he needed to be able to hear what was going on in the rest of the house in case something happened, paranoid of ambushes. The only time he wasn't conscious of his bad leg was when he was unconscious, and even then, you had a suspicion that he dreamed about it sometimes. Maybe even had nightmares. You recalled seeing him toss and turn one night while muttering incoherent things after he'd fallen asleep on the couch in the lounge, almost rolling off the side before you decided to wake him. Both the mental and physical wound was fresh at that time, so he panicked himself awake feeling your hand lightly shake his shoulder. He apologized as you tried to help him, instead taking his crutches and left by himself. 

But Leo seemed to be having good dreams, tonight. You stopped just for a moment to watch him through the ajar door, seeing that his face was not tense, he wasn't moving around, and looked to be more at peace than he had in a while. That was all you needed to know.

"He looks pretty calm right now," a voice, Raph's, commented out from the blue next to you. He was leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he watched his sleeping brother. "Last few nights were rough. Wonder what has him all peaceful all of a sudden."

You couldn't mistake Raph's unusually soft disposition, even if he talked as gruffly as always. "Does he have bad dreams about it often?" you questioned him. Both of you knew what you were talking about, the event in New York City that landed them all at the farmhouse to begin with. 

Sighing, he answered with a light scoff, "More like nightmares." For a second, you thought he was annoyed by you asking, but he continued, shaking his head. "This just…I can't stand seein' him like this. Not like this, this, but on those nights he gets nightmares, and the hobbling around…"

"It really sucks."

"Big time." 

A silence fell between the two of you, but it wasn't uncomfortable. You both bonding over your mutual care for Leo and his well-being, brought together by circumstance. Raph went to bed. You did, too, thinking all the way that Leo deserved a good day. A normal-as-could-be day. 

You'd take April up on that picnic idea, you decided. 

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a/n: yeahh i find it difficult to believe Leo wouldn't have some kind of lowkey trauma aside physical after his last encounter with Oroku Saki before the Farmhouse