#I can’t believe I haven’t drawn them sooner | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hookedonapirate · 2 years ago

Text

Lady Cassidy's Lover

Summary: 1919 England, Emma Cassidy, wife of a baronet, finds herself trapped in a loveless marriage after the war leaves her husband, Neal, paralyzed from the waist down and unable to produce an heir.

Despite the obstacles, she sticks by her husband's side at Goldby Hall, his family's estate, but when she meets former army lieutenant and Neal's aloof gamekeeper, Killian Jones, she feels curiously drawn to his distant blue eyes and quiet demeanor.

At first, she seeks him out for reprieve from her soulless, mundane existence at Goldby Hall, but what starts out as purely physical quickly turns into more than either of them expects.

But Emma is a baronetess, wife of an aristocrat and Killian is a working class servant. Their love affair is frowned upon, and she risks losing her title, her wealth and her position in the world by being with him. But she is determined to get her happy ending with the man she loves. Even if it means losing everything else in the process.

A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd and for looking this over and for being amazing!

After receiving a comment from the swanfire police, (and no, I don't care if this shows up in "your" tags), I'm feeling quite sassy and classy myself and feel even more inspired to make this fic VERY enti-Neal :-)

Hope you all enjoy!

Catch up: Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4 I Ch 5 I Ch 6 I Ch 7 I Ch 8 I Ch 9 I Ch 10 I Ch 11 I Ch 12 I Epilogue

Also on: AO3

Chapter Two

Dear Mary Margaret,

I’m a thoughtless lout for not writing sooner. In my defense, Goldby needed an enormous amount of tending to. But we finally have a full staff who’ve done wonders in restoring the place. Neal’s strength has returned. I’m still the only one he’s willing to let help him, but every day he can do more and more on his own. He’s writing all the time, which keeps his spirits up, and he’s already finished his first novel.

It is quiet here in the country. I miss the life we had in London, and, of course, I miss you. We have had some guests. Mostly Neal’s old bachelor friends. It’s hardly surprising most of them haven’t found women, believe me. Now and again, we also get visits from writers whose advice Neal has sought out. Apparently, my old friends all seem to think misfortune is contagious.

I know you and David have been traveling everywhere since the war ended, but once you’ve settled back home, I would love to see you.

Your loving sister,

Emma

Emma and Neal take a walk through the park, the rolling hills sparkling with a thin layer of morning frost and the crisp air nipping at her skin. Or rather, Neal chuffs cautiously down the knoll in his motorized chair while Emma walks alongside him, keeping a hand on it in case it decides to roll on its own.

This is her life now. Taking care of Neal, bathing him, dressing him and now taking him out for walks. They had hired staff to cook and clean, but when it comes to helping Neal get around, he’ll only let Emma help him. She doesn’t mind the brisk air, though. It’s just as bitter as she feels, and it helps numb her thoughts.

But the idea she may never feel the touch of a man ever again, the idea she may never feel the warmth of his skin or have a man inside her sends a chill of loneliness through her. Unless she ever left Neal, of course. But it would seem so cruel to leave her paralyzed husband, all because he could not make love to her. It’s not just that though. The war had changed him. Hardened him. Like it had to a lot of people. Left a wound that goes deeper than his physical injury.

He’s no longer tender and thoughtful like he was. He never shows her affection except for a peck on the cheek every now and then. Whenever she tries to be intimate with him, he pushes her away, saying he can’t because of his injury. But he still has his hands. He could still touch her, caress her, make her feel less lonely, make her feel wanted at least, but he chooses not to. Every day, he chooses something else over her.

“Where are we going?” she asks him curiously. Usually when she tries to go for a walk, he begs her not to leave him to fend for himself, even though she never plans on being out for very long.

“There’s somewhere I’d like to show you.”

Ever since they came here to Goldby, he’s been working on a novel or painting or entertaining guests, making use of his hands by doing everything he possibly can with them except for those activities that would make him an affectionate husband to his wife. She tries not to blame him though, she truly does. He was forever injured, and she can’t even imagine the pain he has suffered and the guilt he feels. So she makes sure to never let him see her sad or ungrateful. She makes sure he knows she cares for him and will do anything for him, just as a wife should.

Emma opens the wooden gate to the forest, where everything seems to be motionless, with the exception of a jay jeering loudly and a flock of small birds flying around. There used to be deer and archers and monks paddling along, but now there is nothing. No game or pheasants are present, for they had all been killed during the war, leaving the forest unprotected.

They come to a clearing Sir Rumpelstiltskin had cut during the war for trench timber. There’s nothing left but dead bracken, large, lifeless stumps and patches of blackness where the woodmen had burned the brushwood and rubbish. The forest still has some mystery but Sir Rumpelstiltskin’s cuttings had all but wiped it out.

When they reach the crown of the bare knoll, where the oaks had once stood, he stops and gazes out over at the faraway trees to the colliery railway. “I used to come here as a lad and sit for hours. It’s one of the finest views in all the Midlands. I want to restore these woods. If these places aren’t preserved, there’ll be no England left. Our way of life will end, never mind what we gave up to defend it.” He sits in contemplative silence for a moment before turning his head to look at her steadily. “I mind not being able to have a son here more than any other place.”

Emma swallows the large lump in her throat, knowing it’s not possible for him to have a son. Or a daughter. They’ll never be able to have children and that doesn’t sit very well with Emma. She can tell it doesn’t sit well with Neal either. “I’m sorry we can’t have one.”

“Almost be a good thing if you had a child with another man.”

Emma chuckles softly. She’s positive he’s joking, there’s not even a doubt in her mind he is, but when she studies him for a few seconds, he doesn’t even crack a smile. “You’re not serious?”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” Laughing again, she plants herself on a stump next to him. She can’t believe they’re having this conversation. “Because…because we’re married. I married you, Neal.” She places a hand on his arm. “Why would you even suggest such a thing?”

“So you could have a child to dote on, to fill your days. As far as anyone else knows, I might still be capable of fathering it. If we raised it here at Goldby, it’d be ours, and if we had a son, it would carry on my family name. Don’t you think it’s worth considering?”

She stares at him like he’s gone mad. He might just have, as far as she’s concerned. What kind of man would be willing to let his wife be impregnated by another? It’s absurd! Nevermind that the child— her child—is just an it to him. “Do you really mean this?”

“Well, of course, I wouldn’t want you to yield yourself completely to him, but the mechanical act of sex is nothing when compared to a life lived together. If you govern your emotions accordingly, we could arrange this like a trip to the dentist.”

“A trip to the…” Emma scoffs, not believing what she’s hearing. A mixture of bewilderment and fear eats away at her. But if anyone is capable of the mechanical act of sex without giving their heart away, it’s her. She has done it before, so obviously she can do it again. Right? As long as Neal is the one she comes home to, what’s the harm in it?

But that’s not really the point. Neal is okay with his wife being touched by another man. It’s as if he wants her to be.

“And you wouldn’t mind who the man was?” She can’t believe she’s humoring this ridiculous idea of his.

“I trust your judgment. You wouldn’t let the wrong sort of fellow touch you. He would have to be someone of the utmost discretion. The Cassidy name depends on it.”

“Would you expect me to tell you who this man was?”

He shakes his head. “Best I don’t know.”

“An heir really means this much to you?”

“It means a lot to the people here. I know you can do it for them and for the Cassidys. You do agree with me, don’t you?”

She’s silent after that. And as they make their way back to Goldby, she’s overwhelmed by his words. Even if Neal claims to be okay with it, it’s so absolutely wrong. She couldn’t possibly be with another man just to give her husband an heir. Not only is it absurd, but it would be foolish. What would everyone think? They know he’s paralyzed and can’t have children, so where on earth would they assume the child is coming from?

Her thoughts are halted when Neal’s chair gets stuck in the mud, and she has a difficult time getting the thing moving again. She struggles with it as a black spaniel darts out onto the path in front of them, barking.

A man wearing navy blue velveteens and gaiters and holding a gun strides toward them so suddenly, Emma’s heart jumps out of her chest, fear jolting through her, afraid he’s about to attack them with how quickly he’s moving toward them.

“Jolly! Come here, lass!” He stops to salute them before continuing downhill behind them after the dog.

Emma lets out a sigh of relief.

“Jones?” Neal calls over his shoulder

The man stops in his tracks and turns around.

“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind giving us a hand getting this chair started again? The engine isn’t really made for uphill work.”

“Not at all.” Slinging his gun over his shoulder, the man heads toward them. He’s tall and handsome with broad shoulders, his chin and cheeks sprinkled with a light dusting of ginger scruff. He doesn’t look at her at all, only at the chair as he approaches it from behind.

Emma steps back to give him room, and the dog runs around her in circles, leaping and barking, tail wagging excitedly. She watches in fascination with a smile.

He sets his gun down on the ground off to the side of the trail and rises, glancing at the spaniel. “Down, Jolly,” he chides softly with a thick brogue, his voice deep and gravelly.

Emma laughs a little, trying to ignore the way butterflies form in her belly from merely his voice. “She’s just being friendly.”

“Emma, this is the new gamekeeper, “ Neal announces proudly. “Jones, have you met her ladyship yet?”

“No, Sir.” The man removes his hat, revealing his thick, dark hair as he lifts his head.

Her breath catches as he stares straight into her eyes with his deep, ocean blue ones, as if he is curious to see what she’s like. Suddenly feeling shy, her cheeks flushed, she bends her head, and he switches his hat to his other hand and bows slightly. “Have you been at Golby for some time, Mr. Jones?”

“I was raised here, your Ladyship.” He tucks his hat into the inside of his jacket and grabs the rail of the chair.

He might almost be a gentleman. Nevertheless, he’s a curious and distant fellow, his eyes holding a look of suffering and detachment, yet a surprising warmth. He reminds her of a soldier, rather than a servant.

When Neal starts the little engine, Jones carefully turns the chair toward the incline and pushes the chair up the steep rise of the knoll, breathing sharply through parted lips.

Emma can see him struggle a little at getting the wheels of the chair through the mud. “Need some help?”

“Jones is quite capable of pushing on his own.”

Despite her husband’s insistence, Emma steps beside Jones and helps him push the chair through the last bit of mud, not failing to notice the small distance between them. He smells like forest and sweat and musk, making the inside of her nostrils tingle. She quite likes his manly scent.

“There we are,” Neal says triumphantly, not even noticing she had helped.

“Is that all then, Sir Neal?” the man asks.

“That’ll be all.” Neal continues ahead on his own, calling over his shoulder. “Good day!”

“Good day, Sir.”

Noticing her husband does not show the slightest bit of gratitude toward the gamekeeper, Emma turns around as Jones heads away from her, Jolly striding beside him. “Thank you! That was kind of you. I hope it wasn’t too heavy.”

He turns toward her, his eyes quickly moving to hers, a teasing yet gentle smile, playing across his lips, his eyes twinkling. There is something very charming about him and sweet, behind those distant eyes. “Oh, no, not heavy at all,” he assures her. “Good day, your Ladyship.”

As Emma catches up with her husband and helps him at the hill, she can hear the gamekeeper clicking his tongue and the dog barking. She peers over her shoulder and loses her breath yet again when he too looks back, their eyes connecting once more.

She quickly turns away and continues to push her husband’s wheelchair, trying to forget how blue the man’s eyes are. But why can’t she? She has seen blue eyes before, for heaven’s sake!

Surely none as alluring or beautiful as his.

“Not tired, are you?” Neal asks her, blissfully unaware of the pull between his wife and his gamekeeper.

“Oh, no. Not at all.” But she is. A strange yearning—a dissatisfaction, rather—had formed inside of her. Neal doesn’t notice, it’s not something he’d probably ever be aware of. The stranger, however, knew. Perhaps it’s why he kept his guard up around her.

“Who is your gamekeeper?” Emma asks curiously, wanting to know more about him.

“Jones. You saw him back there.”

“Yes, but where did he come from?”

“Nowhere. He was a Misthaven boy. Son of a collier. He was keeper here for two years before the war. Came back home a full lieutenant. My father always had a good opinion of him, so I took him back. I’m glad to have him. It’s almost impossible to find a good man around here. Gamekeeping needs someone who knows the people.”

“And is he married?” The question tumbles out of her mouth before she can stop it. After the earlier conversation she had with Neal, she doesn’t want him to think she’s asking for any reason other than pure curiosity.

“He is. But his wife carried on with other men while he was at war and is now with a collier at Stacks Gate.”

“So, they’re divorced now?”

“Not properly, I don’t believe. But there never was much proper about Milah.”

“So this man is alone?”

“As far as I know, yes. He had a brother, but he died in the war.”

Emma’s heart clenches. The man was not only betrayed by the woman he loved, but he also lost his brother and now lives in a small village alone.

She knows very much what it’s like to be alone. She once thought having a husband would make her feel less alone but being with Neal has only heightened the inward emptiness that is gradually spreading in her soul. They’re more like roommates than husband and wife, and she is his caretaker. They don’t even sleep in the same bed anymore. He sleeps on the main floor in the library among the books so he doesn’t have to fuss with the stairs, and at night Emma goes up to her bedroom and to her empty bed. Alone.

All alone.

With no one to give affection to, no one to show affection in return, no one to hold her, no one to wake up next to. She had truly missed him while he was gone, she read every letter he wrote her and she was excited for his return. She feared for his life, but she had held onto the hope that he would survive. The hope that they could finally get their honeymoon and begin their married life and that she would have someone to go to bed with and wake up next to.

Earlier, Neal talked about her having a child and giving an heir to Goldby. Perhaps having a child would make her feel less lonely. Perhaps a boy or girl would fill the empty void in her life that’s been there since Neal left for the war. But she’d hate herself if she only had the child so she would feel less lonely. Not to mention, Neal’s suggestion made her physically ill. The fact her husband would rather have an heir than a faithful wife rattles her mind and soul more than she can comprehend.

~*~

The next morning, she sits with her husband at the table eating breakfast. Or rather, he’s eating and she’s sitting quietly, playing with her food, her stomach full of knots as she thinks about what he had suggested yesterday.

Neal takes a bite of his breakfast and looks up, noticing she has barely touched her food. “You ought to eat something. You’re wasting away.”

She’s surprised he even noticed. Lately he has been occupied with everything other than her. Mostly with his next novella. “I’m not feeling well.” As she answers him, the housekeeper brings Neal his newspaper.

He immediately drops his fork onto the plate and spreads out the paper before him. The excitement buzzing in his eyes and the attention he gives to that paper is more than he has given her since he left for the war.

“I haven’t been feeling well since our conversation.”

He doesn’t even look up at her as he quickly leafs through the pages until he finds what he’s searching for.

“Neal.” Her voice is laden with irritation, but he simply chuckles.

“Ah, here we are, look!” He folds back the newspaper and turns it toward her, pointing at his photograph. “I got my picture in the paper.” He clears his throat and reads the article out loud. “Cassidy’s novella has garnered attention for its humorous analysis of people and their motives—” his smile transforms into a frown, the excitement fading from his voice as he continues— “though his views on modern society are not young and playful, but curiously old and obscenely conceited.”

“Neal, stop reading,” Emma suggests, his mood rapidly deflating.

“A wonderful display of nothingness.”

“It’s just one review,” she reminds him.

He finally peels his eyes from the page to look up at her. “But they’re right.” He gestures to the article. “They…they’ve seen right through me. It’s all nothing. Home, love, sex, marriage, friendship.” He sighs. “All of it.”

Emma narrows her eyes at him, anger spiraling through her. Did he just say their marriage means nothing to him? “You don’t mean that.”

“I think I do. The whole point of living is learning to accept the great nothingness of life.”

She rises from her chair and marches away from him, unable to listen to his rant any further. “I’m going to get dressed.”

Over the next few days, some of Neal’s family visit—his aunt and cousins—and Emma pretends to be interested as they chat her ears off the entire time. She is too exhausted from it all. From taking care of Neal, from being neglected by him, from feeling desperately lonely. And the company of Neal's family only makes her realize how much she misses her sister and father.

When everyone leaves, things are no better. The days seem to drag by painfully, and even the housekeeper notices how unhappy and bitter she is and that she is getting thinner since she is not feeling well enough to eat.

Fear for her life and of ending up underground with her ancestors, she calls Mary Margaret.

#cs ff #captain swan #lady cassidy's lover

14 notes · View notes

thepriceofbeingaroseisloneliness · 4 years ago

Text

Kaoru & Toshiya Rolling Stone Japan 18th May 2021

DIR EN GREY talks about the current unique expression method and fun.

DIR EN GREY has postponed their concert scheduled to be held at Tokyo Garden Theater on May 6th. However, if you read this interview that took place two days before the decision to postpone the live, it's easy to imagine that the band will continue to move forward no matter what.

Using the single "Oboro" released on April 28 as the reason for this interview , we asked leader Kaoru (Gt) and Toshiya (Ba),who makes his first appearance in Rolling Stone Japan, about the current state of the band.

Feel free to correct me if you spot any mistakes or any confusing parts. Links or credits to this post when the content is reposted or captured in other SNS is appreciated : ------------- Original interview: Rolling Stone Japan (includes pictures)

Text: Joe Yokomizo -First of all, please tell us the details of releasing this single at this timing. Kaoru: We've been talking about releasing a single around this time for a long time. But, we were asked by the company to release it sooner (laughs). They told us “Can’t you release it around February?”. But we said we couldn’t record it in such a hurry and pushed the release back (laughs). So, the release was decided at the time it was originally scheduled.

-Is it a song you wrote recently?

Kaoru: We chose it from the ones we had in stock.

-How do you choose a song? Like, is there a discussion among the members? Kaoru: We had a talk about if it’d be good to release a ballad or a melodious song this time. Then, we chose it from the songs we had at that time. Toshiya: That's right. We thought a melodious song or a mellow song would be good, so we chose it from the songs we had in stock. As a result of the discussions we had, we came to the conclusion that “Oboro” was the best choice. I personally thought this song might be able to become a single, but I also thought that it could be a good idea to save it for the album. I thought it could become a song that would be the core of the album even if it was just included in the album. Kaoru: We haven’t released any ballad as a single recently. We did it quite a while ago so we felt like it would be good if we tried it.

-It's true that a ballad as a single is quite fresh for DIR EN GREY, and the arrangements are ... Kaoru: Simple. Pretty simple, but it took us a while to get there. -Do you want to increase the number of notes that are being played at the same time? Kaoru: No. Rather than messing with that, it felt like the notes were gradually confronting each other. There wasn’t a big change, but it took us some time to decide the overall flow, how to do it and the final result. -DIR EN GREY has a strong image as a band that is playing lives often. Until now, you released something and toured, released something, and toured. All over again. The releases haven’t stopped yet but the tours and therefore the lives themselves have stopped because of Corona. How do you feel about the state of the band? Toshiya: Since we couldn’t play lives, I think the part of exploring as a band is big. But personally, at some point, I got over that. The band wants to move, but it’s hard to do it. Even if we think about it, we can’t do anything about the situation so, we haven’t stopped thinking about it, but I think we got over it at some point. Rather, we had no choice but to get over it. -Even if you keep thinking about it, nothing will happen.

Toshiya: That’s right. Even if we just write songs and do the pre-production all the time, if that’s all we are doing, it feels like a pie in the sky all the time. It’s a strange feeling, isn’t it? We didn’t get another answer before but, the process of getting that answer has changed. There was a series of routines like making an album, playing lives, making an album, and doing live performances after that but wasn’t that cut off entirely? Then, we are doing it as usual, but something has changed at some point. And it may just be that kind of era from now on. I think we have no choice but to adapt to this. However, even I think about how it was before, I’m starting to think that it won’t be like that again, and we may just get over it. -Did the production itself change due to the lack of lives? It is often said that a song evolves when it is being playing live, but if you make a song in a situation where it is difficult to imagine playing it live, will the image of the song, how to make it, and the depth of making it change? Kaoru: Even if we are making songs, it feels different from usual. To put it the other way around, as the situation is unique now, maybe it’s a song that can only be done at this moment. But it’s like…. wouldn't it be nice if we could create something interesting? I don't know if we are even thinking about it. I think that the fact that there was always a tour up until now had a big influence. As we always had a tour, until then we’ve limited production time. That's why there was a switch, because now we have infinite time. To be honest, if you take it easy, you’ll space out. After all, it was great to be pushed, force myself into doing it and work hard (laughs). -About making it “the right time” by themselves -Regarding the unlimited production time, how was it for you, Toshiya? Toshiya: I think I'm grateful. However, I want to use it as much as I have. As there were moments I got distracted/ was being lazy, I feel that there are good points and bad points, to be honest. -What's the good thing about this recording? Have you tried something new? Toshiya: After all, in the end time is chasing me (laughs). But this time, I felt that I had a little leeway in my heart. That's why I thought about the single in various ways.Then I wondered if I could release this or that and people would listen to it. It’s common to say this but, when you start thinking about figures, I've even thought about if it's good or bad to release something at this timing. I wondered if it’d be better when this corona situation has settled down a bit more. But well, even if you wait for that time to come, then I would wonder about when that time would come, so in the end, I thought it was unavoidable to think about it. If the right time doesn't come, I think we should make it become the “right time”. Rather than worrying about it, I thought that if such a song was completed and it felt good, we should release it. -It's certainly important to create the right timing. Toshiya: People all over the world are dealing with it now, or more like, we are waiting forever, aren’t we? Personally, I don’t think the situation will return to normal even if we wait. I think it’s more useful to think about how to proceed in a situation like this. I personally came this conclusion, or at least, I’m trying to. -Listening to what you are saying, I remembered Samuel Beckett's play "Waiting for Godot." The two main characters are waiting for Godot, but in fact, no one knows who Mr. Godot is, and I don't know if Godot actually exists. But they are waiting, believing that he will eventually come. Toshiya: Everyone, including myself, is waiting now. But what on earth are you waiting for? If you think about it, it’s like we're just waiting for "that moment”, right? But honestly, I don't think “that” will be back. I think it has changed. Then we have to move towards it. I'm a bit scared to stop waiting any longer, but I think we have to take a step forward. Kaoru: I agree with you. -DIR EN GREY Unique ideas -By the way, the new song "Oboro" is said to be a sequel to a previous song. The lyrics are done by vocalist Kyo but for you two, is it a sequel? Kaoru: I was told that but I wasn’t particularly drawn (by that song). The beats and tempo of the original song of "Oboro" are similar to that song. So maybe he was drawn by that and made the lyrics like this. After hearing that the lyrics would be like that, I've never been aware of it. Toshiya: I wasn't even aware of it at all either. I thought “is this it?”.

-By the way, in Toshiya's words, "Oboro" is a song that can be the core of the next album ... Toshiya: It’s just a song. The talks about the album are making rapid progress but now there are endless possibilities, including how to play the songs live. So, I think it's okay if there are songs that exist just as part of the album, and conversely, there may be songs that are only for playing them live. In other words, from here on, how to add value will become even more important than ever. Kaoru: It's nice to have songs that you can only play live. Toshiya: About that, if you might do that at that time, you might want to play it live? I’m thinking about how to add that value to the song. I want to do a live concert, but we can't, moreover if you even do a concert normally, I’m sure it won’t be interesting. -It looks like broadcasting a regular live is difficult, right? Kaoru: A live that it’s going to be only broadcasted is a bit tough. In that sense, hearing what Toshiya said about songs that only can be played at lives are, in other words, songs that won’t become part of an album are really interesting. Toshiya: I don’t know. I was thinking it to myself and I just said it (laughs). Kaoru: There may be quite a few….songs that are like, “Which one is this?". Moreover, no one mentions those songs in an interview (laughs). Toshiya: Ahahaha. Kaoru: Even among the fans, sometimes it’s like “which song is that one?”, and don’t even know the title. The set list doesn't even have the title of the song. Toshiya: I think it doesn't have to be just the song , but the production. I recently thought about it. In the past there used to be a lot of imaginativeness/ playfulness on the DIR EN GREY’s cds. Recently, I remembered that was pretty normal. But from now on, if we are going to put out the record ourselves, I want to make something that can be enjoyable. On the old DIR EN GREY cds, I remember I was asked to find out where the lyrics were written. When I think about it now, it's quite a prank, but that prank was surprisingly interesting. -How about the leader (laughs)? Kaoru: I put a lot of things into the sound (laughs). -The particularity/commitment in “Oboro” -The “mischievous and eccentric” idea that Toshiya mentioned is swallowed normally before one knows. I think expression itself is a struggle, but in the age of the Internet, the speed at which it is swallowed is accelerating. That’s why, even if that happens, I think it is important to keep fighting, recognizing that "I am not just like this". Kaoru: That's exactly what I do. Because I never thought I have a good taste. Even though I can’t make a song, it feels like I'm doing it just because I have a competitive spirit. -Like you don’t want to be taken into ordinary things, or do you want to do something that has never been seen before? Kaoru: I want to do that, but it takes time. Speaking of gimmicks, in “Oboro” there are a lot of them. -What kind of “gimmicks” are there? Please tell me some. Kaoru: It's not interesting if I told them (laughs). There are many sounds that you can't hear. There are lots of sounds that you can feel. I thought it would be great if you could feel it. And I'm thinking about putting a lot of that into the next album. -There is something I would like to ask about lives. I think we are in a situation where values are conflicting. If you play a live, even among fans there’ll be the conflict of the “Don’t play a live in these circumstances” versus the “Thank you for playing a concert in these circumstances” position. Kaoru: It's difficult, isn't it? Neither of these positions are wrong. However, as a band, we won’t stop. So, if the conditions allow it, the live will go on. I think there are a lot of people who says “"Oh, I'm going to live at a time like this. These people’s views have changed”. But well, I think this is happening in other bands as well. -That’s right. In any band, there is a faction that says to play lives and a faction that wants to stop. How should they come to terms with each other? Kaoru: I don’t think normal life will be back for a while here. If someone says “Yes, it’s nothing in the end”, it may change, but it’s that going to happen? The point is, I think it will be difficult unless the number of infected people goes down. Because Taiwan, where the number of infected people has decreased, there are even festivals taking place. Toshiya: We are choosing a method (against Corona virus) that doesn't work right now, but as it is the government who is doing it, isn’t the situation delicate? I think so. When it comes to what is driving people, I think it’s the number of people getting infected, as Kaoru said. The only way to reduce that number may simply cause damage. If you lock down hard like in the UK, you will suffer tremendous financial damage. I think that's why everyone can get lost on the way. However, although it is extreme, unless you have such a strong will, you will continue to do it subtlety and the number will drop again, “Oh, now it’s ok because the numbers have dropped a little” and then after a while they will surely increase again, won’t them? And then repeat the same process. If that happens, I’m worried the same process will be repeated again and again if you don’t cut it off at some point. Kaoru: Tokyo is under the state of emergency for the third time, but I would like them to stop doing lockdown so suddenly. It’s so hard if there is no warm-up/grace period.

Toshiya: Regarding this state of emergency, I will obey what they say, because I have to obey. But in order to do it, I want something that gives me hope. I feel like suddenly, time was taken from me. -Before the light can be seen, “Oboro” -I want hope. That being said, DIR EN GREY's music always sees light at the end. But in the current situation, we can't see that light. I don't think you can understand the meaning of the lyrics unless you're Kyo, but I'm wondering what "Oboro" means. Like, in this era everything is obscure in an ambiguous sense? Or is it a night with a hazy moon but, you can see the light even faintly because it’s hazy? How do you two interpret it?

*Joe is making a reference to the song title, 朧 (Oboro) means hazy,dim,faint.* Toshiya: If possible, I think I want it to be hazy before you are able to see the light. Before people lose the courage to do their best, being surrounded by fog all the time. - It's true that humans aren't that strong. If there is hope, what is it? What kind of hope are you seeing now? Toshiya: That would be ……the best would be that the Corona situation comes to an end. But before that, I'd like "Oboro" to be released properly. Some CD shops are closed due to a state of emergency, so even if you made a reservation, some people may not be able to get it on the release date. So, I hope that "Oboro" will reach everyone who made a reservation. -Which is Kaoru’s Oboro? Kaoru: I think either of them are interesting. In any situation as well, it’s something that it’s only now. It’s also an expression method that can only be done now. Of course, the band will continue, and I will be writing songs, but I think it would be great if we could express something that can only be done now, or something that is interesting. -Anyway, "Oboro" is an excellent title. Toshiya: When you think about it now, that’s right. It can be interpreted as this uncertain situation, and it can also be interpreted as a situation where a faint light is visible. Kaoru: I want you to listen to it and feel it.

#dir en grey #kaoru #toshiya #translation #toshiyatranslations

147 notes · View notes

some-kindofgnome · 4 years ago

Text

these violent delights, pt. i

In an immersive theme park where cutting-edge technology makes your wildest dreams come true, the line between fantasy and reality begins to blur. enter westworld, where artificially intelligent automatons known as ‘hosts’ are programmed to fulfill your every delight.

(westworld AU, eventual host!dabi x reader, host!keigo takami x reader, eventual shouto todoroki x f!reader)

part one | part two | part three

featuring: hanta sero, denki kaminari, katsuki bakugou, momo yaoyozoru, eijirou kirishima

part one: you prepare to enter the park for the bachelorette party your bridesmaids wanted. meanwhile, westworld’s capable employees prepare to roll out the latest programming update.

wc: 8.7k

pt. i warnings: smut (18+!), sci-fi dystopia, artificial intelligence, medical/surgical procedures, body modification. gun violence, robbery, kidnapping, drinking, death, no beta we die like teddy

notes: this is part one of my entry for The Smut Pile’s Western Collab! this is my very first server collab and I am so thrilled to be kicking it off with this plot monster. this is the first of three parts- it leans a little heavy on the world building, so stay tuned for parts two and three. the action dials up from here, promise! i’m excited to be putting out one of my first plot-heavy stories on this blog!

please note: part one borrows several events from season one, episodes one and two of the series. the story will branch off in its own direction in parts two and three. you do not need to be familiar with Westworld to enjoy this fic- so please give it a try! 💖

(MASTERLIST)

“This doesn’t feel right.”

Livestock Management technician Hanta Sero drifts idly from tool cart to operating table with his raven hair pulled back. He’s clad in a protective latex apron and gloves, approaching the table with a blowtorch in one hand and a long, slim pair of forceps in the other.

“That’s what it says here.” Denki Kaminari stands across the black-tiled room, his back reflected in the glass walls of the operating facility. He scrolls mindfully through a folding datapad with a crease of deep concentration in his golden brow.

Snapping his datapad shut, he lifts his chin to find Sero’s conflicted gaze across the lab.

“The specifications were pretty precise.”

“I know what the briefing said,” Sero retorts. “I just…”

He ignites the blowtorch and takes a deep breath, letting his gaze over slowly over the pale, unmarked flesh of the body stretched out on the table in front of him.

“What?” Kaminari takes in the sight before him. He lifts his eyebrows. “Oh. Well-“

He gets up from his stool, tugging his gloves back over his shirtsleeves and crossing the room toward Sero and the body in question. He picks up a scalpel, making a clean little cut just below the subject’s left nipple without any hesitation.

“Dude, stop!” Sero reaches with the hand still clutching his forceps, blanching as a thin well of blood trickles onto pristine flesh.

“He’s offline,” Denki chuckles. “He can’t feel a thing. You’ve patched these guys up a thousand times, Sero. What’s the problem?”

“I dunno,” Sero muses, drawing the back of one glove nervously over his temple. “I dunno. I think they’re starting to get too real. It’s messing with me.” He shoots Denki a weak chuckle and shakes his head.

“What do they need this guy all burned up for, anyway?”

“Momo told me he’s for the new narrative,” Denki replies, puzzling over the red hair and immaculate pale skin of their unsuspecting victim. “Some kind of grizzly new villain who’s supposed to stir up trouble.”

“Better make him extra fucked up, then.” The blowtorch, extinguished in Sero’s panic, is ignited again, but he’s still hesitating.

“Hey,” Denki prompts. “Why don’t we start with the system update? That’ll kill some time. And then- hey.” He reaches across the tool cart, grabbing for the bottle of black hair dye that came with the host’s modification kit. He shakes it in Sero’s face, letting a smug grin cross his features.

“I’ll do the carpet if you do the drapes.”

Sero and Denki find their rhythm easily enough. Before long, the tension dispels and they’re letting conversation flow smoothly between them, making weekend plans while Sero pushes polished silver staples into the now-scarred flesh of the transformed host.

“This guy’s older than he looks,” Denki quips from the tool cart, where he’s selecting an appropriately sized needle for the delicate work ahead of him. “His systems haven’t been updated in years.”

“I’ve never seen him in the park before,” Sero admits. He’s finishing the clean row of staples that trail from the corner of the host’s mouth to his ear, struggling to push the staple into the skin at the edges of his face. The sharp prongs don’t hold as well in the spots where the muscle and flesh thin to just skin stretched over bone. He looks up in frustration, shaking the spots from his concentrated gaze.

“Whoa,” he starts as he spots the way that Denki’s moved up between the host’s lean thighs. “You’re really gonna-“

“That’s what it says in the briefing,” Denki presses. He’s got the aforementioned needle in one hand and a bowl of curved barbells in the other; he’s gone a little grin about the gills, too.

“Sick fucks,” Sero snorts, shaking his head. “Doesn’t feel very historically accurate, does it?”

“Please,” Denki pushes. “If you think this has ever been about history, you’re in for a nasty surprise.”

“Christ, you wanna talk about nasty surprises,” Sero replies, blanching and averting his eyes while Denki inserts the first piercing. “Just wait’ll the guests get a look at him.”

"Bakugou's outdone himself this time," Denki agrees, brow furrowed with sympathy and panicked concentration as he unscrews the first barbell. "Those idiots won't know what hit 'em.”

“Bring yourself back online.”

Head of Programming Shouto Todoroki sits in front of the park’s newest addition, datapad spread across his lap. Sero and Denki’s work paid off; the new host is looking fiercer than ever.

Not new enough for Shouto’s tastes, though. He can still see the blue glint when “Dabi,” as his new narrative calls him, shifts into wakefulness and lets his eyes flutter open. He shoots Shouto a sinister grin but does not move from his seat.

Shouto doesn’t want to believe what they’ve done to him. He’s still nude, putting all his new modifications on brilliant display. The staples in his flesh look angry and inflamed. The scars, done perfectly to appear long-healed, still make his blood curdle.

He can’t even think about the flashes of silver that catch the light when Dabi crosses his legs.

“And who are you supposed to be?" Dabi growls an opening line that shakes Shouto more than it ought to. He sports a brand new drawl that fits the world he’ll be slotted into soon enough, but it’s too much, bouncing off the pristine glass and shiny tile beneath his bare feet.

“Lose the accent,” Shouto commands. Dabi's expression shifts a little, but he does not drop eye contact.

Shouto can’t help but wonder if they all stare like this. He hasn’t been alone with a host in a very long time. Especially not one with this kind of significance.

“Do you know where you are?” He presses, determined to push forward. The sooner he gets Dabi through analysis, the sooner he can pretend like the unsettling host doesn’t exist.

But Dabi’s voice with no drawl is even more spine-chilling.

“I am in a dream.”

“And… do you want to wake up from this dream?”

Dabi’s eyes drift away in a direction they’re not supposed to. For a moment, he casts his gaze down and to the left, letting it sweep across the edge of the room as his brow creases with terrifying subtlety.

The gesture is minuscule, almost as if he's recalling a distant memory. For a moment, Shouto can only admire its beauty.

Then he realizes it’s not supposed to be there.

“Yes,” Dabi continues, his voice soft and lilting and almost wistful. “I’m terrified.”

“Freeze all motor functions.” Shouto’s heart pounds in his chilled throat. His extremities have gone cold. But Dabi follows his instructions to the letter, freezing before he can even blink. Shouto questions why he expected any differently.

Not two minutes later, Head of Behaviour Momo Yaoyorozu ducks gracefully into Dabi’s glass prison. Shouto is still sitting exactly where he began, perched on a little rolling leather stool. Six feet away, Dabi has not moved, bare and frozen on a stool of his own.

"I got your page," Momo soothes, shutting the door quietly behind her and unfolding her datapad. The hinges go rigid when they sit flat, blending seamlessly into a broad tablet that she taps and scrolls quietly through.

“I checked his programming on the way over. There’s something new here,” she concludes. “But I don’t know who added it. Must have been one of the interns, or-“

“I know who it was,” Shou answers grimly, already scrolling meticulously through the lines of code that make up Dabi’s new personality. Momo freezes, looking up at him with cold surprise.

“You don’t think…”

“I do,” he confirms. He takes a deep breath to quell his racing heart and shoots his closest colleague a shaky look. “You’re going to want to see this.”

“Incredible,” Momo gasps a few moments later when Shouto asks Dabi the same series of questions and gets the same frightening response. He knows why it shakes him as much as it does, but it hasn’t occurred to him that someone like Momo would actually… appreciate them.

“It’s like he’s-“ she starts, then stops herself. The conclusion she’s drawn should be as impossible as it sounds. But it’s staring them both in the face.

“Like he’s remembering something.” She finishes her thought this time, and Shou clenches his jaw.

"He must have slipped the code into the update," he determines. "In the programming, he's calling them Reveries."

“Kind of poetic,” Momo muses, still admiring the way that Dabi’s eyes seem to mist as they stare into the middle-distance. “It makes him look so real.”

“The code pulls memories from his earlier programming,” Shouto continues, looking up at Momo and waiting for her to be as spooked as he is.

He’s almost frightened that she’ll be defensive. But she’s sharper than he’s given her credit for, and that revelation is enough to pull her from her stupor.

“That could cause a lot of problems,” she muses. “Especially if the loops haven’t been closed properly. They’re supposed to be wiped after every cycle, but if there are links pulling them back…”

“I know,” Shouto emphasizes. Momo straightens, planting matter-of-fact hands on matter-of-fact hips.

“What are you gonna do about it?”

“I don’t think there’s anything I can do,” he confesses, turning back to catch another blood-chilling glimpse of the all-too-familiar host. “I can’t just pull the programming out from under him. He’ll know.”

“You can’t send him into the park with it. If it’s slotted in with the update, he could spread it to the other hosts.”

Shouto pushes his datapad aside and leans forward, steepling his fingers as he sighs deeply and descends into even deeper thought.

Momo’s right. With the Reveries included, the update has potentially disastrous consequences. But that’s operating on the assumption that his father makes mistakes, which most people would confirm is simply impossible.

If he clears the programming before letting Dabi go through, however, he’ll be facing the wrath of his father.

Shou purses his lips, lacing his fingers together but leaving the pointers extended and pursing his lips against the smooth joints.

“I think we’re going to have to.”

The glossy, perfect train- the first of many you'll take today, as you're told- pulls into a station that's even whiter than the train itself. Polished white floors and perfect whitewashed columns are the first things you see out the massive panoramic windows as the cars pull to a complete stop. When the doors glide open, your maid of honour touches your sleeve as the other girls filter out of your private compartment and onto the platform.

You’re far from the only ones disembarking the train. The rest of the platform is soon crowded by immaculately-dressed guests from all over the world. They bow and shift like a flock of starlings, moving in stark contrast past the perfectly-still bodies of the white-clad staff waiting to greet them.

A tall, statuesque woman with raven hair steps forward, addressing your maid of honour by name. She gives you an apologetic wave and a see you in there before disappearing amid the writhing sea of people.

You’ve been reading up on this place for weeks, scouring pamphlets and websites and guest reviews for every detail about the induction process you can glean from public knowledge. Details of the park itself are kept very private, but you’ve learned all you can about the way you’ll be introduced to it.

This place was not your first choice for the occasion at hand, but your friends practically insisted. You know it’s for selfish reasons- it’s the only chance they’re ever going to get to see the place for themselves- but you can already think of several places you’d rather celebrate your coming nuptials.

Not exactly your typical bachelorette party fare. But your friends agreed to wear matching dresses in that shade of pale green you couldn’t stay away from, so you’re giving them this.

Before long the platform is nearly cleared. You’re just starting to make your way toward the escalator, wondering what exactly became of the host who was supposed to greet you, when a soft croon of your name over one shoulder nearly shocks you out of your sandals.

Your host has arrived, and he’s even more gorgeous than you feared. Graceful and lithe-looking, he’s clad in a pristine white suit and turtleneck that contrasts the bold flashes of his golden hair perfectly. He shoots you a smooth smile, lit by razor-sharp tawny eyes and as he turns his face to catch the light, you can see that his jaw is grazed by the barest hint of scruff- perfectly groomed, just like the rest of him.

"Hello," you greet, trying not to lose your breath. You clasp the fingers of your right hand around the ring finger on your left- the remnants of your favourite new nervous habit. You've taken to twisting your engagement ring in moments of idleness or anxiety, but for safety's sake, you've left the flashy diamond at home.

You know you’re engaged. That’s what matters most.

“Good,” the host croons. You’re getting quickly used to his honeyed brogue, strong and low and sweet as he takes your hand and drops a suave kiss to your knuckles. “I’m glad you found your way here.” He jerks his head toward the emptying escalator, eyes never leaving yours.

“Follow me.”

As you’re ascending through the polished storeys of the park’s immaculate headquarters, your attendant rattles off a long list of mundane medical questions. He’s tapping away on a datapad as he walks, and you’re sure that whatever information he’s taking down will be swept away for later use.

Finally, he brings you to a plain-looking white door. He tucks away the datapad and slips his hands into his pockets. He’s graceful and perfect- too perfect. You’re starting to suspect that he’s no ordinary employee.

“Go on,” he urges, nodding toward the door. You shoot him a sideways little glance but step forward, hooking your fingers around the polished handle and pushing it open. You step inside.

The interior of the room- or closet, as it would be better described- is lit almost exclusively by glowing strip lights hidden in the crevices of the doorway, racks of clothing, and bordering a large series of mirrors that stud each wall.

It’s the biggest walk-in closet you’ve ever seen. And it’s filled to the brim with racks of clothing, all appropriate to the vague late-19th century setting of the park.

“Everything is bespoke,” pipes your immaculate attendant as he shuts the door behind him, “and exactly your size.” Painfully, you remember being asked for your body measurements in anticipation of this visit. Did they custom-tailor everything for each guest?

Or are you being given special treatment?

“You can pick out anything you’d like,” he continues, moving toward you, “and your other clothes will be waiting for you when you’ve finished your stay.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” you muse, fingering the raspberry-coloured silk of a lavish-looking day dress.

“The clothes you choose will determine the course of your experience.”

Your attendant is right beside you now, so close that you can see the way his golden eyelashes brush his tanned cheeks. He’s leaning in to examine the silk same as you, but his shoulder pushes just a little close to be solely practical. As he grips the material between lithe fingers, he lifts his gaze to yours on purpose. There’s a charming lilt to his smile that you can’t help but admire.

He pauses, dropping the silk and turning to face you head-on. Though the smile has slipped from his features, he still eyes you with interest.

“You want to ask, don’t you?”

Your brain catches up immediately, confusion swelling and fading in the span of a heartbeat. It tightens to thick dread in your chest.

He’s right. You do.

“Are you real?” The words sound even more ridiculous in the air between you than they did in your head. But ever since you boarded the train it felt like you could never be sure. And he’s perfect. Too perfect. Even the way he takes your question seems scripted and rehearsed.

He gives a low chuckle and takes your hands, stroking smooth thumbs over the backs of your knuckles. Then he peeks up at you from beneath flawless dark lashes and flashes a hint of pearly canine as he speaks.

“If you can’t tell, does it really matter?”

You don’t need him to expand.

“Come,” he prompts gently, dropping one hand to pull open a drawer of delicate slips and shifts, sitting in neat, folded piles of undyed linen. Some are plain, others trimmed excessively with lace and ribbons. You’re drawn to the coloured ribbons immediately- pale peach, soft blue, mint green. But the brassy gold of your attendant’s eyes is even more magnetic and you can’t look away for longer than a handful of seconds.

“You know,” he continues, squeezing your fingers gently and moving back in to run his knuckles up the inside of your wrist. Every single one of his touches is delicate, fluttering like a songbird against your skin. But there’s nothing gentle about the way he looks at you.

“Some of these clothes are a little difficult to put on alone.”

He does not explain further, but he watches as you’re drawn to the same conclusion that he is.

You have to roll this one over in your mind for a long while. You left your engagement ring behind, but the engagement itself still stands. Then again, he told you to enjoy yourself here. ‘Make every use of the park’s benefits,’ he’d suggested.

He’s just a computer, you tell yourself. A glorified sex toy. Maybe he walks and talks and flirts like a real human being, but…

There’s something about him that’s making it hard to turn him down.

After a silence long enough for any normal person to question, you look up at your attendant once more. He’s patiently awaiting your response, having gone uncomfortably still. You're not even sure he'd blink if you stare long enough.

You give a tight little nod and he’s smiling again, the same lazy smile as before. His default expression, you’re beginning to gather. He reaches for your coat.

“Wait.” You stop him with one hand on either forearm. He’s touched you before, but it’s still shocking how warm he is. Even though the sleeves of his perfect white jacket, he feels unquestionably alive.

"Don't you have a name or something?"

“Of course I do,” he responds. “Would you like to hear it?”

“Um…” Your brow knits. “Yes.”

He slips around behind you, curling his fingers into the open folds of your jacket and beginning to slide the weighty material off your shoulders. As he does, he leans forward, letting his lips draw close to your ear and making you shiver.

“Call me Keigo.”

“Keigo,” you repeat. It’s pretty and rolls easily from your mouth in a slow purr of desire. You can’t help yourself anymore. Keigo’s been programmed to put you at ease, but he’s doing much more for you now.

He undresses you methodically, pausing only briefly to run a hand down the curve of your waist or dip his fingers under the point of your chin when he catches you looking down. Even when you’re standing completely naked in front of him, he does not move to touch you in any untoward manner.

Whatever unspoken arrangement you thought you had formed is obviously not as unspoken as you’d hoped.

With his help, you select some period-appropriate undergarments. He helps you into your breezy linen shift first, lovingly tying the drawstrings into a neat little bow at the centre front. The corset is not as uncomfortable as you'd anticipated, fitting you devastatingly well. Keigo’s skilled hands pull the laces with precise tension, and the whole time he breathes soft commands and inquiries over your shoulder.

“Too tight?” He whispers, holding the laces taught at your waist. You take a slow, deep breath, then shake your head.

“Good.”

He ties the laces off and helps you into two petticoats- one of plain white cotton, the other of decorative silk and lace. Then he sits you on a cool, leather-covered sofa on one edge of the room and drops to his knees in front of you.

“Uh-“ you start, but he produces a pair of silk stockings from seemingly nowhere, smirking over the tops of your knees.

“Let’s get this out of the way.”

He pushes your airy petticoats up from your ankles, letting the backs of his palms brush the insides of your knees. He shoves the material up to your thighs and your confusion is multiplied now- is this what you think it is?

The way he admires your thighs as you shyly press them together certainly makes it seem so.

"Keigo," you gasp, curling your fingers against the edge of the sofa. The leather is supple and delicate beneath your touch like you could tear it if you wanted to.

He looks up just in time to watch you hook a bare thigh over his shoulder, and his brows shoot into his pointed hairline.

You’ve decided what you want out of this trip.

"Dove," he chides, setting down the stockings and pushing them gently aside. He takes both hands up the backs of your calves, stroking perfectly manicured fingernails into the tender skin at the backs of your knees.

He drops a kiss to the inside of your thigh. His face disappears behind the swath of frothy white petticoats gathered in your lap, but you feel his hot breath on your skin clear as day.

“If you wanted something from me,” he purrs, “all you had to do was ask.”

“I’m asking now,” you hum, letting your head fall back against the back of the couch. He’s easy enough to convince. Somehow, the fact that you didn’t have to work very hard for this almost makes it feel more acceptable.

“Here’s my answer,” he replies, sinking his teeth into the flesh of your inner thigh. You let out a strangled gasp, thigh jolting against his face as he slips his hand under the other leg- still hooked over his shoulder. You let out a low, shaky breath, trying not to think about the mark he’ll leave.

He pushes your leg away after biting it, shoving your knees apart and leaning eagerly forward. His head is fully buried under your gathered petticoats at this point, and you can feel him nosing his way into the crook of your groin, sliding a few free fingers up to prod gently for your hair-dusted folds.

“Wet already, bluebird?” He chuckles into your skin, sending shivers up your spine. “I’m flattered.”

“Stop,” you groan. There’s heat rushing to your cheeks with every word that tumbles out of his pretty mouth. You don’t want any of this to stop, but the heat between your legs is the one quickly growing unbearable.

“Do you want me to?” Keigo sits back almost immediately, ridding you of the delicious tingles his close breath were sending across your skin.

“No, no!” You yelp sharply, indignantly, digging your bare heel into his back to keep him close. He stops as soon as you apply pressure, letting out a quiet little chuckle.

“Keep going,” you pant, curling your toes against his pretty jacket.

“Your wish is my command,” he hums, already leaning into your flesh again. He does not hesitate this time, burying his head between your legs and giving the weeping slit of your cunt a long lick.

His first touch is all it takes to remind you how long it’s been.

“Fuck,” you gasp, low and languid. He doesn’t hesitate to close his lips around your swelling clit and suck. He makes sharp, sloppy noises with his lips and tongue, and the way they resonate in your ears near-doubles your pleasure. He’s eating you out perfectly, with terrifying precision. The strength of his jaw and tongue remains almost painfully consistent.

All the better for drowning him out. Despite his easy-flowing attitude and suave charm, he’s not a person. And it isn’t unfaithful to want him like this.

Even if you know he wouldn’t like it.

Keigo is diligent and careful, plunging his tongue in and out of your needy hole before finding the nub of your clit again, hard and sensitive. When he flicks the tip of his tongue against the tender front of it your legs spasm and you cry out softly as sensitive goosebumps rush across your ribcage.

“Like that,” you plead breathlessly, drawing your foot up between his shoulder blades as the tension builds. “Again, please.”

You’re holding the swells of your petticoats up around your thighs for him, but your fingers are beginning to clench in the delicate material. You’re not going to last long at all beneath a tongue as talented as his.

“Don’t worry, dove,” he purrs into your body, sending thick vibrations through every nerve in your system, “I won’t leave you unsatisfied.”

As he settles into his rhythm again, he plunges two fingers into your messy depths. He curls them tightly inside you, massaging your tender walls with a blunt and careful touch.

It takes little more than a few methodical strokes to make you fall. You cum with a tight little squeal, closing your thighs tightly around his head while you spasm and buck and sigh. He’s attentive enough to keep pumping his fingers through your orgasm, drawing out the pleasure as much as possible and greedily lapping at the wetness that trickles from your clenching pussy.

"That's it," he soothes, easing you down from your high with one calming hand on the column of your twitching thigh. As you settle, sweat-soaked, back into your seat he surfaces, sweat and shiny, sticky fluid sticking in the bristles of his perfect scruff. He licks his lips and you realize you’ve unconsciously mirrored him, doing the same.

In the moments directly following your peak you say nothing, looking down to meet his brassy gaze as deep uncertainty settles into your gut.

What happens now?

Keigo sits back on his haunches, pulling the folded pocket square from his breast and mopping up the mess on his chin and jaw like he'd done nothing more than spill a glass of wine or splash water over his lips.

“Much better,” he croons, reaching for the discarded stockings from before. “Feeling a little more relaxed?”

You swallow hard.

“I’d say so.”

His smile is surprisingly bright and sunny.

“Good.” He hooks his fingers under your knee again, unhooking your leg from his shoulder. Sliding a palm down to your ankle, he fits one stocking deftly over your foot and slides it up your calf, continuing his work as if uninterrupted. He fits the stockings over your knees and ties them off carefully with slips of silk ribbon, sitting the knots just below your knees so the stockings won't fall. Then, he gets to his feet and offers you a hand.

“Let’s pick out the rest of your clothes, shall we?”

The park is even more immersive than you imagined. The photos do it no justice. When you step off the (genuine steam-powered) train at Sweetwater Station, it’s accompanied by a very real twinge of anxiety. The village is like a scene out of a Clint Eastwood movie. Only there are no cardboard sets here. The saloon doors really swing inward. The shops and businesses that line the main street are built from real, weathered lumber. The dust that’s kicked up by the hosts that go about their daily lives is already beginning to coat your new boots.

You sneeze.

“God bless you,” greets a kind stranger in a rough-hewn grey coat and white hat. He’s got a very apparent drawl to his voice, but the glint in his blue eyes is kind.

Back at the facility, guests and hosts were easy enough to distinguish from one another. Out here, it’s a little more difficult. You’re not sure whether to believe that everyone is real or assume they’re all fake.

Luckily, there are four women beside you whose humanity you are acutely aware of. You’re lucky enough to have found your bridesmaids on the train in- all clustered in the bar car, but together nonetheless.

And they’ve insisted on keeping the party going.

“C’mon, bride-to-be,” your maid of honour chides, grabbing you by the hand and pulling you out of your reverie. “I know exactly where we need to go first.”

“It’s not even noon yet,” you protest, but the others are already miles ahead of you. You’re dragged easily into the broad, dusty street and toward those broad, swinging doors. The saloon stands proudly in the centre of town on a prominent corner with faded signs advertising its wares. And your maid of honour eagerly bats the doors open, striding boldly into the sun-soaked saloon.

The tables are surprisingly crowded for this time of day. It’s most likely a flood of guests, disembarking the train and heading straight for the local watering hole for a real taste of the action. Beyond their idle chatter tinkles the bright keys of a player piano against one wall. You can see the player scroll turning in the piano’s upright fixture, but that doesn’t change the unsettling way that the keys seem to press themselves.

It’s an eerie fixture in a town populated by walking, talking player pianos.

The man behind the bar bleeds Old West stereotypes from every pore. He’s got a huge, exaggerated greying moustache and a tweed waistcoat with shirtsleeves bound back for work. He’s polishing an empty glass with a cotton rag, but you spot him just in time to watch him politely greet a guest and reach behind him for a frosted bottle of unlabeled whisky.

The only other fixtures in the place are the women patrolling it, clad in colourful, lacy outfits that you’re certain violate some kind of historical convention. But they’re all breathtakingly beautiful, bosoms heaving over tightly laced corsets and fluttering from table to table like songbirds. They seem to provide little more than decoration and, as you settle into a table not far from the door, they fade easily into the background.

Until one of them screams.

You’ve read as many stories as you could scour the internet for before coming here. You know this place can get intense. Details of the park’s narratives and interactive storylines are kept under wraps as much as possible, so you can’t be sure whether this is out of the ordinary or not.

But when you whip around to find the source of the blood-curdling shriek, it doesn’t feel scripted.

It doesn’t feel scripted when the pretty girl in peach lace flings herself to the feet of a brand-new guest, here with his wife and their young son gaping from across the table. It doesn’t feel like she’s supposed to be wracked with sobs having never exchanged a word with this man.

It doesn’t feel like she should be pleading with him.

But the sobs wrack her body anyway, and her rosy little cheeks are flushed deeply now as she sniffles and blubbers.

“My daughter,” she begs hoarsely. “My girl, my daughter, please, I know you have her. Give her back to me, please. I know you took her. Give her back to me, I’ll do anything.”

Whether the father-of-one knows what she's talking about or not he's white as a sheet, stumbling backwards against the edge of his wife's table and pushing his arms forward, trying to keep her away.

The player piano finishes its tune, keys stilling as the saloon’s patrons look on in shock. And for an honest handful of heartbeats, the saloon is silent save for the host’s ragged sobs.

It takes a few moments for the player scroll to re-align itself before the tune restarts, and as the familiar notes cycle back through the saloon the host re-centres herself, climbing to her feet. There's a hardened resolve on her tear-stained face as her target looks around, gathering his wife and son with a this is bullshit and turning to leave.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me-“ the host begins to snarl. She lunches for the man, hands outstretched for the back of his brand new jacket, or maybe the brim of his crisp Stetson.

“Freeze all motor functions!”

A deep voice booms from the door of the saloon, amplified and simultaneously muffled with the use of a megaphone. The girl, and every other host in the saloon, freezes in place as though they’ve been paused. They don’t just stand still- they’re paralyzed. The smiling bartender is stalled with a glass in his hand; he doesn’t even blink.

In the doorway stands a hulking man of at least six and a half feet, seeming nearly as broad across the shoulders as he is tall. He wears a black uniform, armored black vest and heavy combat boots with a head of brilliant red hair spilling over his shoulders. As he lowers the megaphone he’s grinning, the bare flash of a sharp canine catching the low light of the bar.

“Sorry for the intrusion, folks,” he declares, striding across the floorboards toward the frozen host. Her expression is paused in a sneer of sheer horror and aggression, her hand outstretched for the man who has long since stepped aside.

The red-haired guardian angel, who has the name Kirishima stitched neatly onto the breast of his protective gear in white thread, catches your gaze. He shoots you a familiar little wink and a nod, a soft y’alright? escaping his throat in a quiet little growl.

You lick your lips, nodding slowly. Kirishima averts his gaze and reaches for the frozen host. As soon as he touches her skin she goes limp, falling easily into his powerful hold. He hoists her body over one shoulder and surveys the saloon, touching two fingertips to his forehead in a bright little salute.

“Please, don’t let me intrude on your stay any longer,” he continues. “As you were, everybody. Resume.”

The last word seems to be a command for the hosts in the room, as they spin to life again. They resume their rounds as if no time had passed at all; as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever transgressed.

Spooked, but encouraged by Kirishima’s smooth removal of the offending host, the guests around you go hesitantly back to their conversations. The player piano, also halted by Kirishima’s commands, has resumed its delicate play, and slowly the environment returns to the way it was before.

Your friends are among those willing to brush off the incident.

"What happened?" mumbles your maid of honour across the table, as if the host were still around to overhear her. As if the host's friends might be listening in to see if anybody's talking about her.

“No idea,” quips one of the other girls. “Must be some kind of glitch.” She looks over her shoulder, watching the remaining hosts at the bar. “I wonder if it happens often.”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

Head of Narrative Katsuki Bakugou slams a stack of papers onto the table in front of him, disrupting the intricate hologram that provides a real-time, scale model of the park to the room’s occupants.

“Katsuki!” Momo scolds, watching the hologram stutter and flicker. It’s not the first table he’s damaged.

“You’re not pulling my fucking narrative. It rolls out today. Do you have any idea how many writers I had busting ass on that thing?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” she retorts, tapping the screen of the datapad she’s got hooked tightly in the crook of her other arm. “You saw the host that Eijirou pulled, didn’t you? The fact that he had to step in at all means things got way out of hand…”

“Bullshit,” Katsuki retorts, sweeping his papers off the holo-table (and shattering the image one more time). “That was a fucking glitch. You don’t even have the results back from Behaviour yet.”

“I already know what they’re going to say,” Momo continues.

“That’s right,” Katsuki snarls. “I forgot you know everything around here.”

“She was carrying the latest update. There must be something wrong with the code.” Momo tries not to remember Dabi and his distant stare. She swallows the part about the extra coding slipped in by the man who could do no wrong.

She flips her datapad shut- it’s doing her any good, since Katsuki’s right. The results from Behaviour regarding the misaligned host won’t be ready for some time.

“You can’t. Pull. That. Narrative.” Katsuki’s squared up now, all the gathered papers tucked under his arm. His jaw is ticked, nostrils flaring as his eyes flash. “An entire trainload of guests is wandering around Sweetwater looking for the stories they fucking paid for. If you pull the plug, there’s nothing left.”

He’s right again.

“Look.” Katsuki crosses to the holo-table one more time, only this time it’s without the murderous intent in his gaze. For once he’s ready to use the table as intended, pin-pointing the broad, dusty street of Sweetwater’s main strip and bringing up a live feed of the bustling little town.

"Dabi is riding through here in less than two hours," he continues. "Dial-up his aggression a little. Make him shoot up the place. If you want to pull the hosts, at least let them go out with a bang.”

Momo isn’t convinced. But it’s the closest thing to a happy medium she can picture at the moment. Katsuki, as prolific as ever, knows how to think on his feet.

“How many d’you think he’ll take out?” She probes quietly, quirking an interested brow.

“Enough to keep the guests AND your Doctor Frankensteins entertained while I find us some more loopholes.”

Her mind races through more questions. But the panic, fluttering high and shallow in her chest, has somehow been replaced by a delicate sort of reassurance.

She flips open the datapad one more time, activating the remote host commands available only to an employee of her standing. Finding Dabi’s program file, she does exactly as Katsuki suggests and dials up the aggression in his behaviour stats by eighty percent.

“This had better work,” she threatens softly, but Katsuki’s already folding his arms across his chest, looking far too satisfied with himself. His ego is insufferable, but his talent is unmatched. Worth suffering for.

His mouth splits into a triumphant grin as he shoots an idle glance at the live Sweetwater feed. The only stage he’s ever needed.

“’Course it will.”

The afternoon sun has nearly dipped behind the tallest rooftops in Sweetwater when your friends stumble out of the saloon. Your friends are already tipsy, giggling and clutching each other as they try not to trip over the hems of their skirts. They’re all a little too eager to pull out the extravagant lace fans that pair perfectly with their colourful dresses and fan at their heaving bosoms.

As you bound down the steps and into the dirt road, you dive seamlessly into the milling crowd of hosts and guests, starting to swim. If you’re about to be caught in the eye of a devastatingly orchestrated narrative maelstrom, you’re blissfully unaware.

“Give me the time,” Katsuki grunts from the Sweetwater side of the holo-table. Momo glances up at the digital clock on the wall.

“Thirteen fifty-eight, forty-two,” she notes. Katsuki’s got the camera feed trained on a lone trio of riders, clad in black and plodding steadily toward Sweetwater. He watches carefully, keeping an eye turned on the clock.

“They’re going to be late,” he grunts bitterly, folding his arms over his chest. Sero, Denki and Kirishima, who have all crowded around the holo-table on their lunch breaks to watch the show, snort in near-unison.

“I don’t think anyone down there’s keeping track,” Denki quips, smoothing his palms down the front of his crisp shirt, apronless for once. Katsuki shoots him a vicious glare.

“You wanna go back to your sewing room or what?”

Denki goes quiet.

Inside the park, the sun passes behind a cloud. The light shifts just enough to draw your gaze, and when you look up, you’re among the first to spot a few dark shapes approaching. They’re close enough that you can make them out as riders, all on horses as black as the wide-brimmed hats on their heads.

There’s something about them, their precise formation and the slow, plodding, deliberate pace of their horses that holds your attention. You can’t quite write them off as guests, no matter how much they stand out from the dully-dressed villagers around you.

You glance across the street just long enough to spot a WANTED poster tacked to a column not far off. You can’t make out any of the writing on it, but the face is distinct- dark, shaded patches covering his jaw, chin and lower lip, carving out two shadowy patches under his eyes.

There’s something about the narrow shape of his cheeks that pulls familiar.

But you don’t have to wonder much longer.

The three riders ride quietly into town, the crowd parting around them with little more than low murmurs and dull, lidded fear. They pull to a stop in front of the saloon, barely twenty feet from you.

The cowboy in the grey tweed coat who caught your eye fresh off the train approaches the riders. He’s got a revolver holstered on one hip, and he draws it slowly out of its pouch as he squares up with the horse at the lead of the pack.

“Haven’t you seen the signs with your mug on ‘em?” He drawls, his face drawn into an expression of tense righteousness. He jerks his chin toward the nearest one, the WANTED sign you’d seen seconds earlier. “You’re not welcome here, Dabi.”

The taller rider in the centre- Dabi- tilts his chin into the sunlight, and that’s when you catch sight of its purplish colour. His face glints with silver, a perfect match for the drawing posted across the street.

He does not hesitate, drawing his own revolver in one smooth motion and shooting the cowboy in the chest. The gun discharges with a crack that’s louder than you ever imagined it could be, punctuated by the screams of bystanders nearby.

As the village descends into panic you stand there dumbstruck, watching the chaos unfold.

“Wait for it,” Katsuki grunts, hiding his satisfied grin as his colleagues watch in rapt fascination. Sero hasn’t blinked since the action began.

“You sure?” Dabi rasps, voice muffled by the feed. He produces a shiny golden badge and flipping it, like a silver dollar, onto the expiring corpse of the righteous host.

“No,” Denki whines. “He killed the sheriff?”

“Shut up and keep watching,” Katsuki growls, quelling the proud adrenaline pumping through his veins. There’s nothing quite like seeing his hard work come to life- supremely worth fighting with Momo over.

Dabi smirks, tipping the brim of his hat.

“Seems like invitation enough to me.”

He swings capably off his horse and you can’t deny your fascination with the mystery surrounding him. You should be terrified, but there’s something about the cool confidence with which he carries himself that you can’t quite put aside.

If the women flocking to the windows on either side of the street are any indication, you’re not the only one who feels that way. In a brief moment of lucidity, you take a glance around you. Your bridesmaids have disappeared, disappearing in the panicked mass of flooding crowds after the scarred rider fired his first shot.

He’s followed by a second rider on his right flank, both quickly disappearing into the bar. The third rider- a petite blonde woman swathed in a heavy coat- gets down off her horse and turns quickly toward her saddlebags. When she comes around the front side of her steed, she’s got a shotgun in her hands.

She’s loading it. The pandemonium amplifies. At her feet, there’s a long, thick coil of rope that’s partially unwound and trailing into the saloon. It’s unwinding slowly, with dull screams and shattering glass echoing from inside.

That’s all you have time to notice before another shot goes off in front of you. The little blonde girl’s levelled her shotgun, emptying her rounds at anyone who raises a weapon against her. You’re barely standing ten feet away. But she passes you clean over.

Is it because you're a guest? The only ones who have fallen at her hand are the hosts, capable of being hurt by her gunshots. The guests who haven't taken off are clustered in the windows of shops or hiding behind broad wooden columns, but there is no fear painted on their faces.

You know the hosts can’t hurt you. But there’s something about the thrill of it all that sends adrenaline pumping through your veins anyway. There’s a cool mystery to all of the black-clad riders.

A part of you wants to join them. If you can be anyone you want in here… why not one of them? Why not swing cooly down from your horse and terrorize, when there are no consequences to your actions?

You take one step backwards, then another. Your senses are finally coming back to you. You should run. Disengage. Maybe you can’t be caught in the crossfire, but you can’t stand dumbly in the empty street, either.

Something has to change.

Before you can make it to the safety of a storefront, a pattern of three gunshots in tight succession from inside the saloon triggers something in the blonde, still picking off hosts. There are bodies littering the street.

She lowers her shotgun and hops back onto her horse, spurring it on with a sharp whistle. The beast takes off without hesitation, and it’s then that you realize the other end of the coiled rope is wound around her saddlehorn. As the horse strains its haunches and pushes forward the rope goes taut. And as the pair of them take off down the street, the spoils emerge: a heavy wrought iron safe, bursting out of the saloon doors and leaving nothing but splintered remains in its wake.

It bounces and rolls down the steps and slides smoothly as soon as it hits the dirt street. The blonde shooter and her horse disappear, safe in tow.

You wonder what became of the bartender inside and his friendly moustache.

Dabi emerges seconds later, a fresh rifle clutched lazily in one hand. His companion’s lost his hat in the turmoil inside- he’s blonde, too, with a deep scar splitting his forehead from hairline to brow.

"Let today be a lesson for every one of you," Dabi calls, re-cocking his shotgun as he surveys the fresh bodies and fleeing guests. You've stopped dead all over again, drawn to him like a magnet despite your best judgement.

He levels the shotgun, aiming it about five feet to your right. You follow his gaze. In the window over your shoulder, with her hands pressed to the glass, is a little girl no older than five. She’s watching Dabi and his riders with fearful fascination and does not seem to realize that she’s been targeted.

You don’t care if she’s a guest or not. She’s a human girl with big, lively eyes, and your adrenal glands work faster than your sense of logic.

Dabi shuts one eye, tilting his head. The corner of one lip curls ever so slightly as he concentrates, taking aim. “And that lesson is-“

“Stop.” You step in front of the window, spreading your arms and drawing his attention for the first time. When he looks at you over the top of his shotgun, his expression goes slack. He drops the shotgun and his eyes are wide, wider than they’re supposed to be, almost.

You’re close enough to see that they’re a shocking shade of blue. That blue strikes an achingly familiar chord in your heart.

You recognize those eyes.

“What the fuck!”

If the holo-table didn’t weigh half a ton, Katsuki would’ve flipped it on its end. The feed is as smooth as ever, but his face has gone scarlet as he paces away from the table, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“What? What’s wrong?” Kirishima’s well past the end of his lunch break by now, but there’s no way in hell he’s going back to work before seeing the way this plays out.

“He stopped,” Katsuki growls. “He’s not s’posed to fucking stop.”

Dabi’s been stopped on the brink of a speech that took Katsuki days to put together. He’s been waiting to hear it delivered for weeks. It’s the speech that Dabi’s entire narrative was hinged on, forged out of countless sleepless nights and careless notes scribbled idly on coffee breaks.

“Holy shit.” There’s a genuine shock in Denki’s voice that’s enough to make Katsuki turn around. Denki’s gone white, Sero beside him, too.

“You’d better get over here and see this, dude,” Kirishima mutters, jerking his chin toward the feed. Momo’s watching over his shoulder, too, one hand pressed to her pursed lips.

“That’s a guest, isn’t it?” Sero quips. Silence settles over the room.

“I’ll get Shouto,” Momo declares, turning away and opening up her datapad.

“What’s going on?” Shouto bursts into the holo-room not two minutes later, mismatched eyes lit up with urgent concern. “Did I read your message right? I-“

Katsuki’s pacing the room, quieter than ever. Denki, Sero and Kirishima are still gathered around the feed, winding back the stream to replay the events that have sent them all spiralling. Momo’s the only one who even acknowledges his presence.

“Something’s happening in the park,” she explains, hushed and tight as she meets him at the door. “Another updated host is off-script.”

“How bad is it this time?” Shouto asks, hiding the dread that’s spreading in his gut. He had hoped that the girl from the saloon was just an unexpected glitch, but the results from Behaviour told another story.

Still, two deviances in just the first day of the update feels worse than he dreaded.

“You’d better take a look for yourself.”

Momo leads him to the holo-table and the feed, letting the other boys step aside. Shouto steps up to the projection, watching Dabi ride into town. Watching him break into the saloon with Twice and Toga, two other repurposed hosts, by his side.

He watches Toga ride off with the safe behind her and watches Dabi start his speech. And then, from a near-birds-eye view, he watches Dabi spot you of all people. Dabi lowers his rifle and strides toward you.

Shou’s heart leaps into his throat.

With dull horror he watches Dabi slip a leather-gloved hand under your chin. He watches you tilt your jaw into his touch. You’re fascinated by him. Even though the dust and pixels it's painfully obvious.

Dabi seems to notice, too, since he stoops low and hoists you over his shoulder without another word. You struggle, but he holds you fast. He strides across the road to his horse and sets you- still squirming and fighting- in the saddle, climbing on behind you and grabbing you tightly before you can escape.

Just before he spurs his gargantuan black steed forward, he pauses to glance over his shoulder. Shouto can’t be certain, but for a moment it seems like Dabi’s found the camera, staring plainly up at Shouto through its low-quality lens.

A breath passes. He looks away, gives a whistle, and disappears into the wilds beyond the town.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Kirishima presses. “Katsuki, you didn’t program him to kidnap a guest, did you?”

“Of course not,” Katsuki snarls from across the room, his nerves fraying dangerously. “What kind of idiot do you think I am? Do I look like a walking liability to you?”

“Look, it’s fine,” Denki chimes in. “It’s not like he can hurt her or anything. Just chalk it up to the park experience. Tell her Dabi kidnaps random nobodies all the time.”

The room goes quiet as a crypt. Kirishima looks at Shouto. Shouto looks at Katsuki. Katsuki looks at Momo, and Momo takes a slow, deep breath.

“Do you want to tell him, Shouto?” she asks, “or should I?”

Shouto closes his eyes and tries to quell the panic rising in the back of his throat. He shoots Denki a cold look, jaw ticked but eyes blazing.

“That’s my fiancé,” he mutters, low and shaky. “Dabi kidnapped my fiancé.”

#hawks x reader #dabi x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #dabi #hawks #hawks smut #hanta sero #denki kaminari #eijirou kirishima #katsuki bakugou #momo yaoyorozu #tw guns #tw gun violence #tw death #tw drinking #tw body modification #reader insert #westworld au

297 notes · View notes

katyamorrigan · 3 years ago

Text

‘Hope is the thing with Feathers’ by KatyaMorrigan

For the Grishaverse Reverse Mini-Bang 2021, run by @grishaversebigbang, and with stunning art created by @wqemzz-blog - click here for her incredible illustration of Kaz and Inej!

Captain Inej Ghafa has returned to Ketterdam for the first time in three years. In all that time, The Wraith never docked at Berth 22 for more than an afternoon, and the crew never strayed further than the harbour front.

Could she have stopped by sooner? Absolutely. Did she choose not to for entirely business-related reasons? Absolutely not. She has no idea what her friends will make of seeing her again after so long, least of all Kaz. But there is hope - hope that in that time, he will have grown as much as she has. That he will be the kind of person that she can share a pot of tea with without a thought of how he might feel about her.

Because Inej isn't done with being a pirate yet. But it doesn't mean she wants to be at sea forever.

I had the best time getting to write this fic based on the idea proposed by Emma. So much of a good time, in fact, that I overwrote it by around 4k words in the end... This is the much more civilised 2k word version - the full iteration of the story is on my AO3 ), but this significantly neater version will remain on my Tumblr for good. I really hope that you like it, and check out @wqemzz-blog for all your beautiful art needs!

Link to the fic on AO3: ‘Hope is the thing with Feathers’

And available to read below the cut here:

‘Hope is the thing with Feathers’

It occurred to Inej as she entered Kaz’s office for the first time in three years, that in the past she might have second-guessed the meaning of his offer to have tea together. They had just spent a few hours talking during dinner – mostly talking over Jesper and Wylan, who had hosted the meal and were either polite or forgiving enough to allow them to dominate the conversation with reflections on Inej’s time beyond Ketterdam. Three years was a long time when you had last been teenagers breaking into the Ice Court together, when you were now the owner of a galleon that hunted slaver ships from Fjerda to the Wandering Isle. There was plenty to discuss between them, and it seemed that Kaz had changed enough to ask her to stay with no apprehension, so that they could be in each other’s company a little while longer.

The attic room was identical to her memories of it but her gaze was drawn to Kaz, with ungloved hands, stooping to open the cupboard and bring out two tins. With a tentative look at her, he placed them on the desk and opened them. Inej couldn’t help laughing.

“When did Dirtyhands start keeping cookies in his office?” she teased. “Two kinds, as well.”

He gave a permissive smile. “Nina may have had more influence over me than I would like to admit. She sends them to me from Ravka.”

Feeling a bittersweet rush of longing for her friend, Inej reached over and helped herself to an iced biscuit with a red star on the top as Kaz took the other tin and started to make them tea. The room filled with the smell, quiet clinking noises coming from the cupboard again as Kaz fetched cups and saucers, and Inej watched him from the corner of her eye as she nibbled. He had taken off his jacket, and Inej could see the strong line of his shoulders as he prepared their drinks. Yes, a younger version of herself would have been much more flustered than Captain Ghafa, as she was now. She might have told herself stories about how invested Kaz was, about his tactics and techniques for making her trust him – for making her want to stay. Now she had no such worries. She was in the bedroom of an old friend – an old partner, in many ways – and they were sharing a pot of tea.

Inej smiled as she turned away from sneaking glances at Kaz and looked out of the window instead, at the uncharacteristically beautiful light that was shining in. The fog of the early afternoon had lifted, and Ketterdam seemed to concentrate every scrap of colour on painting the evening sky in crimson and gold. It felt like a personal display from the city, like it was finally welcoming her in. She couldn’t believe that she had been away for so long.

“Can I open the window?” she asked. Kaz chuckled.

“You have never once asked my permission to open a window.” Kaz brought over their cups and placed them on the sill, where Inej was now sitting, and obligingly opened it for her.

A gentle breeze entered the room, tickling Inej’s cheek. She closed her eyes for a second and forgot that she had ever been away. The sensation of being here – in Kaz’s office, on the windowsill, letting the fading sunlight warm her skin – made her feel so young and so old at the same time. It was like slipping into an outfit she hadn’t worn in years, feeling the ways it had always fit her, and the ways that she had grown since. Inej was nothing like the girl that Kaz had once known, but she didn’t feel so different when she was back here, just a little taller and a little more forgiving.

Kaz brought over a plate with more cookies, taking a large one heavily studded with chocolate, and leaned against the wall. It had been three years, but still they were so comfortable existing in a space like this together, breathing in the warm air. She took a sip of her tea, and tasted honey. Just the way she had always liked it.

“You look well,” he said, not breaking the silence but disrupting it, like ripples on a pond. “The sea suits you.”

“Thank you. I rather like it too. Ketterdam has continued to suit you – is that a new scar on your jaw, or have I just never noticed it?”

“It’s new. About a year ago I was very nearly shot in the face by a Razorgull. Fortunately Jesper manipulated the bullet at the last second and I was only burnt.”

She inhaled sharply in sympathy, and Kaz shrugged. “It healed quickly, and that’s all I ask for.”

“Do you ever think you’ll end up more scar than skin?” she said, half in jest and half with sincerity. As the words left her mouth, she thought of how closely her question came to the kind of Suli proverb that she had goaded him with previously. That she had tested him with.

“Not anymore.”

His reply was unexpectedly thoughtful. Inej turned to him, and he gave a soft smile.

“The Dregs don’t get caught up in the same trouble that they used to. There’s less chance for me to get hurt.”

“I’m glad.”

She took a cookie, a chocolate one like Kaz’s, and bit into it. It crumbled instantly, scattering crumbs all down her chin and the front of her waistcoat. Kaz saw; there was a beat of silence and then laughter, Inej’s giggles muffled by the cookie.

“You pirates make our manners look sophisticated,” he commented. She swatted the air in front of him.

“My manners haven’t suffered at all, I’ll have you know!”

“My poor windowsill. I’ll have to clean it now.”

“It could probably do with a clean if you’re anything like you used to be,” she replied, and Kaz raised an eyebrow at her.

“I always cleaned the windows frequently.”

“Specifically the windows.”

He tilted his shoulder and looked out across the city. The gilded roofs stretched from the harbour all the way to the Barrel. Inej watched him as he absorbed it all, taking a sip of tea, adjusting the cup in his bare hands. He looked exactly the way she had hoped to find him – a little stronger, a little harsher, that new scar dimpling the line of his jaw like a tally on a gun barrel, but unmistakeably the same Kaz that she had left behind. He looked every bit the young man that he was – handsome, clever, mean.

“You loved to sit here and look out. I always made sure you’d be able to.”

“Oh.”

She was glad he kept looking at the view. To lock eyes with him then might have done something to her – made her feel another way. A way she had felt for a long time, that she had stifled. Inej focused her gaze on the broken pieces of cookie in her hand, crumbling it more. Everything felt quietly loud; gentle, but unrelenting.

The familiar click of claws on tiles came from a little further along the roof.

Kaz leaned towards the sound. “They must have recognised you,” he smiled, “The crows have come back.”

Inej made an elated noise and turned herself to look. There they were – a little murder of crows, with sharp eyes and sharp beaks, cawing as politely as crows could.

“I can’t believe it,” she murmured.

“They stopped visiting when you left. They knew you were here.”

“No,” she said, delighted but disbelieving. He nodded.

Inej watched them move, alert and intelligent, talking to her. She remembered Kaz’s decrial of them as mannerless and untrustworthy, but when she scooped up some cookie crumbs and held them out, they arranged themselves neatly to feed from her hand. Her hands were rough now from the years of sailor’s work, but she could still feel the smoothness of their beaks as they pecked and the trace of their feathers on her fingers.

“I missed them too.”

Kaz took another sip. “Were seagulls not friendly enough?”

She laughed. “They were friendly in their own way – they certainly ate up scraps quite well. But I couldn’t feed them like this. They didn’t wait for me like the crows always did.”

“They were always looking for you to come back.” His voice was as gravelly as ever, but Inej felt a hint of longing as he spoke. With the last of the crumbs gone, she brushed off her hands and turned back towards the room, to look at him. The expression he wore was the one that she remembered most vividly, and with the least joy; that inscrutable intensity that made her feel transparent. He was looking inside of her, and she struggled to translate what he had seen from the look he was giving her.

“Do you ever wish you had stayed here instead?” Kaz asked.

Ah. The question that she had expected to be met with – it had been avoided all evening while they were with Jesper and Wylan, but now it emerged while they were alone. It was a question that she knew the answer for. Whether it was the one he wanted or not, it was the one he would get.

“No. I love being on the sea. I love having a purpose that I can enact so clearly. Everything I told you over dinner was true – it has its challenges, but I wouldn’t have done anything differently.”

Kaz nodded, and she saw pride lock into his eyes.

“You’ve become somewhat of a legend to the sailors who come to Ketterdam now,” he said, a grin building. “Men who arrive shaken by what they saw at a distance – of a pirate queen in blue and gold invading slaver ships and leaving them to die. It has certainly damaged West Stave.”

She touched her earring. “It has?”

“Of course. The bulk of working girls in any of the brothels are stolen, and with so few slaver boats succeeding in bringing any ashore…”

Inej grinned back. Her only hope when she finally decided to leave Ketterdam had been to bring justice to those children like her, but to know that her efforts were ruining trafficking from the ground up… It was almost too much. Her face hurt from smiling, and Kaz turned away from her to look out of the window again.

“How long are you staying here for?” he asked.

Another question. So much easier.

“Two weeks. My crew have been given leave in that time, but I’m hoping that they will all want to sign on for the next stint.”

“And you?”

“I have given myself leave, yes, Kaz,” she chuckled. Kaz huffed self-consciously. “I’ll be around, is what I mean. If you wanted to have tea again some time.”

“Yes.”

Their eyes met, and she was a teenager again. Inej hadn’t thought about Kaz in that way for a long time. Hadn’t allowed herself to. She knew that the moment in which she let the thought of anything tender and vulnerable growing between them take root in her mind again was the moment in which she would have to rethink her answer to that tricky question. But Saints, it had always been hard not to.

“I can tell stories about Captain Ghafa while you’re gone, if you’d like.” Kaz’s smile was sharp. “Make sure that everyone in Ketterdam knows the name and fears it.”

Her heart betrayed her so, so quietly.

“You don’t need to,” she said.

“Why’s that, Inej?”

Three years of never letting herself near him, just in case the possibility of a dual life came back into play. Three years in which she only regretted one thing.

“I’ll be back again before too long.”

#gvbb21 #gvbbminibang21 #grishaverse mini bang #six of crows #six of crows fanfic #kanej #kaz x inej #grishaverse #kanej fanfic #kaz brekker #inej ghafa

59 notes · View notes

muselexum · 2 years ago

Text

@akagamiko sent: [ LAST ]: a letter sent in the aftermath of the writer’s death.

letters -> [meme]

When Shanks walked into Akane’s room on the Red Force, he could almost be fooled into believing that not much of anything had changed. It still looked lived in, as if she could walk through the door at any moment. A part of him hoped for it too, no matter how irrational. Maybe if he just spent enough time waiting then maybe, just maybe, for once in his life he would be spared the grief of being left behind, and she would walk through the door.

But she wouldn’t.

And as he sailed to where Whitebeard, Ace, and her other fallen crewmates were laid to rest so she could be by their side, he wondered if things could have ended up any other way. If only he had known about her sooner, if only he had protected her more--

If only he had never parted ways with Eliza.

But the world wasn’t fair, and the world wasn’t kind. He knew that. Lived by it. Still, wasn’t burying the daughter he had only just discovered too cruel? His and Eliza’s daughter. From the moment he saw her, he knew that she was theirs and he had loved her beyond comprehension. He hadn’t known that such a thing was possible. His world had shifted, but it had felt so natural and right. She was his daughter, and it was like twenty years of lost love flooded into his heart all at once.

He had failed her.

As he sat on the corner of the bed, staring off as his mind threatened to consume him, his eyes were drawn to a piece of folded paper on her night table. He wasn’t sure what he felt in that moment-- both hope and dread. As much as he wanted to grasp onto any remaining presence of her, he wasn’t quite sure how he could handle reading her words post-mortem.

He leaned over, the high amounts of rum in his system making his fingers clumsy as he reached out to grasp the letter. He stared down at it, and that was when he saw it. The same ‘rune’ he had engraved onto Eliza’s necklace, written on the outside. A new layer of grief hit him with the realization that this had been prepared. A pre-meditated letter. Surely she hadn’t been expecting to die...? There was something about it that just made him want to fall on his sword. The idea that she had been preparing to die, and he had been right there clueless to it.

He maneuvered the letter with his fingers, opening it up to see her handwriting.

Hey,

If you’re reading this then it means that I didn’t get to it first and rip it up. It’s a little weird writing this knowing that it’ll only see the light of day if I’m dead, but I’ll try. I owe it to you.

I want you to know that none of this is your fault. I chose this. You know, since two years ago I think I’ve been waiting for my time to die. I never wanted to admit it to myself, but I’ll finally admit it here. There’s a part of me that wants to fight to survive no matter what, but there’s also been a growing part of me that’s been ready for my turn. I thought it would get better with time, that I’d find something new to live for. I know a lot of the others have moved on, but I can’t. Every day I wake up and wonder why someone like me is still here and why someone like Ace isn’t.

All my life, at least since mom died, I was searching for something. I didn’t know what it was until I found the Whitebeard pirates- or they found me. They saved me. I felt like I wasn’t just living, but happy to be alive. Then they were taken from me, once, twice, then again and again until almost none of them were left. Am I cursed? I know it’s probably self-centered to think that I had anything to do with any of it, but everyone I come to love dies and I’m left wondering if maybe I shouldn’t love or exist at all.

I love you though. Have I ever told you that? I’m sorry that I’ve been difficult about it, and I’m sorry that I’m leaving you behind after my whole spiel about wondering why I get left behind. Since we’ve met I’ve been putting you through hell haven’t I? I’m sorry. It was hard getting used to having a father, but I’m glad I finally knew what it was like to have one.

I know you’re in pain right now, but I want you to know that there’s nothing you could have done to change my decision to fight against him. I would have always found a way to do it. I needed to do it. I would never have peace if I didn’t. None of this is your fault. This daughter of yours was just a lost cause before you ever stepped into the picture. I’m glad you still did though. I couldn’t have asked for a better father. Thank you for loving me when I didn’t want to be loved. You did all that you could for me, please know that.

Goodbye, Akane

P.S. I better not be seeing you any time soon. Don’t do anything stupid like me.

#me: lemme write something to cheer myself up a bit :) *writes the worst thing ever*#perfect #hope you dont mind me writing Shanks a bit~ this awful scene was in my mind #not me actually tearing up thinking ab this #akagamiko #FOR ALL ( answered. )#AKANE ( general tag. )#AKANE ( drabbles. )

5 notes · View notes

soulmatesabroad · 4 years ago

Text

Soulmate Prompts:

Since this is a fic fest about soulmates, we are in need of prompt suggestions! Please send in some prompts that have to do with soulmates! You do NOT have to be writing for this fest to send in prompts!

More info can be found at @soulmatesabroad!

A: The One au. The One is a tv series that's sort of dystopian in that it explores a reality in which you could suddenly apply to this program that will match you to your soulmate and it follows how specific people deal with that.

B: Where you wake up with a tattoo after meeting your soulmate. Larry are vacationing at the same hotel, they meet and then every day for 4 days after they both gain a new tattoo. When they meet again, they realize their tattoos match perfectly. Rope & anchor, compass & ship, heart & arrow, rose & dagger.

C: Ziall soulmates au where their first words to each other are tattooed somewhere on their body. Both of them have the phrase “fuck you” on their arms. Of course the first time they meet they both say...

D: in uni, prof is giving a lecture, his student is his soulmate, figuring it out over the semester

E: reverse Wellington: Larry meet, drunk Louis shouts "soulmate" at Harry, then they get to know each other and fall in love

F: Larry please- soulmates who meet in dreams and appear the way they see themselves so that irl one doesn’t recognize the other because he sees himself as plain/boring

G: Larry please - One of them either doesn’t want to meet his soulmate and has been doing everything to avoid meeting them. He gets stuck in a time loop (like Groundhog Day) until he meets and acknowledges his soulmate.

H: One of them is a surfer, the other is a photographer and they meet somewhere warm. They're 26 and kinda gave up on finding their soulmate but then it happens.

i: any pairing: universe in which soulmates recognise each other by having the same song stuck in their head. cue person a hearing person b humming the song under their breath in location x

J: Larry please - fic where each year you get opportunities to meet your soulmate and live life with them but as soon as the clock hits 00:00 on Dec 31st your memory resets in regards to who your soulmate is. There’s no way to go around this...or is there?

K: A is a hopeless romantic who has always dreamed of meeting their soulmate. Unfortunately their remote location means they see the same few people every day, none of whom is their match. When Character B arrives and A falls in love with them, the question arises: are they soulmates? Or does A just want them to be?

L: Food is love, and supposedly your soulmate's cooking will taste better than anything you've ever eaten before. Too bad Character A is hopeless in the kitchen. Character B is the chef who promises they can teach anyone how to cook-- is that the only reason A finds their food so delicious? Or is there something more at play?

M: Characters A and B are working together on a yacht. They share a room, and as crew they also happen to share most of their working hours and duties as well. Is that the reason they're so drawn to one another? Regardless of their connection, they're both determined to keep it professional.

N: It's not only humans who have soulmates, apparently. At least if the pet psychic Character A has consulted about their dog's depression is to be believed. The psychic claims the pup met his soulmate at doggie daycare. Now A is trying to see if she's right by seeking out every possible dog from the playgroup. Will helping a dog find it's soulmate lead Character A to the same thing?

O: Hybrids aren't accepted many places, but in a few countries they have full rights and equality, even if prejudice still exists. Character A was raised in an anti-hybrid country and is now studying/working in a hybrid friendly place. Character B is the hybrid neighbor who they feel drawn to in ways they've heard are typical of soulmates. The possibility is as frightening as it is enticing.

P: Nontraditonal ABO: it's generally accepted doctrine that alphas and omegas are made to go together. Character A has always been attracted to people of their own secondary gender, and has therefore run away from the concept of finding a soulmate. When they meet character B, who shares their secondary gender, and find that the two of them share a soulmark-- the sign of a true mate --their world is turned upside down.

Q: (larry) They have been penpals for years now, sharing their little creative thoughts with each other. Will they ever meet? A new job, a different city, some crossed paths and fate might help.

R: Louis is 30 and the CEO of his family business in Toronto and he has hired a new assistant, Harry, 27. A lot of sexual tension, business trips, coincidences and ‘if he my soulmate or I just have a stalker and also a big crush?’

S: Strangers to friends with benefits to lovers larry; Louis and Harry has finished college and they both are doing a tour across Europe visiting different countries. They start from different cities in and meet in the second/third country they’re visiting. They get along quickly and have a one night stand because they think they won’t meet again. But they meet again in the next city or in the trip to the next city. Is their connection due to their sexual attraction or because they’re soulmates?

T: Louis and Harry are both Niall’s friend but they don’t know each other, however they meet in Niall’s wedding (with his soulmate) in Ireland (or another country if the author prefer another place for the wedding)

U: Larry: Soulmates have a special connection, they have visions of their more important events of their life - both sad and happy but they can’t see their faces, bodies or their friends/families faces. Louis and Harry know everything important that happen to them but they haven’t met yet, they live in different countries and they know that but they don’t know the country they live in. How will they meet? What will happen?

V: Larry: Exes to lovers - People have their soulmates mark in their 18 birthday. Harry and Louis were together during high school and break up before Louis 18 birthday because person A was afraid of not being their soulmates. Louis goes to travel aboard so they don’t know about their mark. They meet again some years later when they’re in their 20...

W: Larry enemies to lovers: Both of them work for the same company and has the same job position but they hate each other because the first time they met it wasn’t “meet cute”. All their coworkers think they are similar and would make an amazing couple so they try to get them together. Most people don’t believe in soulmates anymore, they think it was a legend or maybe it’s not a legend and they’re soulmates?

X: Untraditional soulmates !! For example, a pairing (or poly) comprised of people who aren’t soulmates but are in love anyway. Maybe their “true” soulmates died or just didn’t work out for some reason. Maybe their “true” soulmates are platonic and separate from the romantic relationship. But ultimately the theme being something like “i am choosing to love this person” rather than the world telling them who to love :)

Y: Character A is a writer who pours their heart and soul into everything they write, though their focus on the soulmate trope is underappreciated. They go away on a writer's retreat to give it one last try and meet Character B, a person who seems to have stepped right out of one of their novels. Is this their soulmate or a figment of their imagination, or have they truly had one of their characters come to life?

Z: In a world where you see in color after hearing the sound of your soulmate's voice, Character A doesn't remember seeing in black and white. When they realize they're different, nobody can explain the reason. It isn't until they meet Character B, a stranger with the same affliction, that they begin to put things together. Or: A and B hear one another's cries as babies, changing their vision from black and white to color before they could possibly have realized it.

AA: Characters A & B somehow keep running into each other inexplicably all over the world. Maybe they happen to study abroad together then have a work conference in the same city then vacation in the same city, etc. Eventually they realize they've been seeing each other all over and maybe the universe is trying to tell them something.

BB: Louis gets a call from an unknown number from across the world. When he answers it, he's asked if he is a Mr. Harry Styles' previous employer and to give a recommendation on his performance. Amused, he pretends he is Harry's old boss and gives a glowing recommendation without knowing who he is. The job that this Harry is going for must be quite intense, because a few days later Louis is asked to fly out to interview in person to attest to Harry's character, where he ends up meeting Harry and falling for him.

CC: OT4/5 platonic soulmates with all the main characters being aro, ace, demisexual, etc. A soulmark appears when you meet a soulmate-- whether they're a platonic, romantic, or sexual soulmate(or sooner combo of the 3) is something each person has to discover for themselves. OT4/5 are grateful to find soulmates who are excited to experience beautiful and deep platonic relationships.

DD: Soulmarks are a trait that most humans have lost. Character A is a vampire who was born in a time when they were far more common. Imagine their surprise when they meet Character B, a human, whose soulmark complements their own.

EE: Larry: An AU where magic exists, Louis has always thought he’s a dark wizard and Harry doesn’t know if he’s a wizard or a normal human. Spoiler: he’s a wizard! They meet when they are 18/20 in a trip and they find more than themselves.

FF: Larry: Louis and Harry are friends of Zayn and Liam but they haven’t met yet. Ziam is having a wedding and their bachelor parties in Hawaii, they meet them.

GG: Louis and Harry haven’t met yet but they meet in a reality show that consists of traveling around the world. The rules of the reality show: Choose a person in the first program to travel with them (Louis and Harry travel together) and spend as little money as possible.

HH: Louis and Harry have been working in the same building for years but they haven’t met officially although they’ve seen each other around. They officially meet when their boss decided to do a work trip to Sydney

ii: Louis and Harry go to Orlando to visit the amusement park. They meet when they’re waiting in the queue for one of the rides and they spend a lot of time together because their other friends are tired of visiting different amusement park and they want to chill.

JJ: Famous/Non-famous larry: “Every time that you and your soulmate are in the same city, you’ll have a mark in your wrist. If one of you leave, the mark disappears” Person A is an actor who loves love but is tiring of two things: fake pr-relationships that make the general public believes that he’s not interest in having a soulmate and traveling. Person B wants to find his soulmate but he knows it’s not in his city so he’s traveling around. They have been in the same place several times but they haven’t met. How many countries will they visit until they meet?

KK: larry please: It is well known that the first time soulmates touch they leave a vivid mark on their partner's skin. Well one morning Louis wakes up with a bright stripe across his cheekbone and no idea what happened.

LL: hl au: harry is a well-known anthropologist from england but he’s requested to join the discovery of an ancient palace in mexico city. louis is a historian that has lived in said city for several years now, so he’s almost a local. the discovery they both take part of includes a blue greeny jewel that holds a legend about soulmates.

MM: Zouiam ot3 matching soulmate tattoos

NN: A and B are childhood friends and have known they're soulmates since they got their marks in their early teen years but they never develop romantic feelings for each other but they Do want to spend the rest of their life together. Bit of conflict / comfort.

OO: Lirry Shrek au. Harry Fiona has always expected their perfect soulmate to break their curse. Liam Shrek is tired of playing the role of the ogre and being rejected by prejuices. They meet.

PP: Zayn is travelling with his van, he picks up some hitchhikers along the way. They stargaze and bond with each other. They find out they are soulmates when some dangerous situation arises.

QQ: ot5 1d era au. A slowly finds out they are soulmates with each of the others while in the bus or travelling/staying abroad together.

RR: Ziam: In a world where magic exists but soulmates are rare, Liam and Ziam met in the same Magical College and have an instant connection. In history of magic, they learn about soulmates and Character A know that they (Ziam) are soulmates but he’s afraid and tries to avoid Character B all the time.

SS: Larry - Louis needs a break of his job and travels to a place where Harry lives and Harry needs a break of his past relationships. They meet in a pub and after too many drinks, they decide to do a road trip around the country. The author decides how people know who is their soulmates.

TT: Zouis: they discover they’re soulmates in Zayn’s wedding. Louis is the boyfriend of one of the best mates

UU: Larry - A reality show is trying to prove that soulmates still exist and Louis and Harry are participants in it

VV: HL Monday AU with Harry as Mickey and Louis as Chloe (but with a happy and not toxic ending please!)

WW: The voice you hear your thoughts in is your soulmate’s but you don’t know who they are until you hear them speak for the first time

XX: You’ve been sketching your soulmate’s face since you were old enough to pick up a pencil, the drawings become more realistic through the years as the day you meet comes near

YY: Red strings of fate au. Person A cuts their string. Person B is devastated to find their string has been cut but moves on with their life and finds love with, you guessed it, Person A who doesn’t believe in soulmates. When Person B finds out that Person A cut their string they’re so angry because they know how devastated they were to find their cut string. And Person A is confused at first because they thought Person B didn’t believe in soulmates either and didn’t realize that it was because they had no way of finding their soulmate. And then it hits Person A that there might be a slight chance that Person B IS their soulmate. So they nervously show up with their string and ask if Person A wants to see if the ends fuse together or not. Up to writer if the ends fuse or not.

ZZ: Person A reads tarot cards and while reading Person B’s cards, Person A can see that the cards are telling them that the two of them are soul mates

AAA: Soulmates can hear what their soulmate is singing. Harry grows up with a soulmate who exclusively sings a weird blend of Oasis, Green Day, and the odd Light Killers song. Louis grows up with a soulmate who mostly sings Fleetwood Mac and Peter Gabriel. They both hate their soulmates taste in music.

BBB: Every person is born with a golden string on their finger attached to their soulmate. Everyone but them can see it but it is considered highly rude to tell people without prompting (like taking away a coming of age experience). Or Harry and Louis fight a lot and everyone looks at them knowingly until one of them cracks and asks someone about it.

CCC: Character A runs a clothing boutique of some kind and one day uses a steamer too close to the smoke detector and sets off the fire alarm. Character B is one of the firemen to respond. Character A is very embarrassed that they did this in front of a super hot fireman, but the firemen are super nice about it. It just so happens they have to come back the following week for an annual inspection of the building and Character A jokes around/flirts with B. Soulmate aspect up to writer. (One idea could be matching soul marks?)

DDD: When soulmates touch for the first time, an electric shock goes through each person. They can’t touch each other without a shock...until they fall in love with each other. Too bad Character A & B hate each other and are not thrilled that when they touch by accident they finally feel the electricity they’ve always been waiting for.

EEE: The color of your eyes act like a mood ring and changes according to your soulmates' mood. The first time you make eye contact with your soulmate, they turn the same color.

FFF: Reluctant soulmates where one or both of them keep their soulmarks covered at all times because they want to fall in love without the person soulmates

GGG: AU where your soulmate smells like HOME only they’re both too dirty and disgusting to smell like anything other than yuck

HHH: Older Larry AU where they’re both in their 40s or older and still haven’t met The One. Embracing this, they each go on a trip alone, but wind up meeting

iii: Fleetwood Mac/ Rumours AU - Larry as Stevie and Lindsey, Ziam as Christine and John. A breakup and a divorce while recording and touring an iconic album. Endgame Larry. Lovers to exes to soulmates.

#soulmate prompts #mod post #33

68 notes · View notes

hearts-hunger · 4 years ago

Text

aay’han mar’eyce (bittersweet discovery): chapter three || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

chapter one || chapter two

Series Summary: In search of the Jedi you’ve been tasked to find, you and Din wrestle with the bittersweet discovery of your little one’s past and destined future. || Part Three of Jate’kara (Lucky Stars)

Chapter Summary: Ahsoka gives you a bittersweet gift.

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst | Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical violence, pregnant reader

A/N: You got me, I’m a sucker for Din and his bride working through angst together, especially if that angst has a lot of fluff and hurt/comfort mixed in, especially if they get emotional about how much they love their baby. I hope you like it! ♡

You stumbled backwards, both arms wrapped protectively around your baby, eyes wide as you watched Din block swing after swing of the blazing white swords. Each parry sent sparks flying from his beskar; he met his attacker’s downward blow with his vambraces and held them there for a moment, the contact ringing as neither would give way. Din regained his footing and held the swords off with one arm while he activated his flamethrower, and the forest was awash in an angry red blaze.

He threw his whipcord and bound his attacker, giving you your first real look at the Jedi you’d been tasked to find.

She’s beautiful, you thought foolishly, unable to process how quickly the fight had started. Her skin was the color of candlewick flowers, and the head-tails that draped over her shoulders were dusty blue and white. She looked slightly stunned by the whipcord that confined her, but only for a moment; she gave Din a smirk and leapt upwards. Your shocked gaze followed her as she drew the whipcord over a branch and hoisted Din up by his vambrace. He cut himself loose and drew his blaster as she drew her swords again.

“Ahsoka Tano!” he growled. She stilled at her name, studying him warily.

Din’s shoulders rose and fell with rapid breaths, and he held a half-defensive, half-placating hand out to her out to her even as he kept his blaster trained on her.

“Bo-Katan sent me,” he said, and you heard how he struggled to keep his voice calm. “We need to talk.”

They stayed frozen for a moment, each considering the other, perhaps gearing up for another round - then her gaze snagged on you, and the baby in your arms.

She turned off her swords and straightened, her posture relaxing.

“I hope it’s about him,” she said, surprise and genuine interest coloring her voice. Din turned, slowly holstering his blaster; you gave him a pleading look as your baby cooed at the two of them.

She took a few steps towards you, and you reacted in panic; whatever truce she and Din had come to, you didn’t know what her intentions were. Adrenaline and fear still coursed through your body, and you stepped back from her and held your baby closer.

She stopped when she saw your expression.

“Wait,” she said, her hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt either of you.”

You looked to Din. She’d just attacked you, out of nowhere, and you couldn’t believe he was so willing to trust her.

“Din,” you said, willing him to understand your hesitation, your fear. You saw from the set of his shoulders that he wasn’t completely at ease with her, but he also hadn’t tried to stop her from coming over to you. What if she tried to take your baby? Your hands shook, and you couldn’t get your heart to stop pounding.

He closed the distance between you, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “It’s alright, cyare.”

“Alright?” you snapped. “She tried to kill you.”

Ahsoka put her hands on her hips. “In my defense, I thought you were coming to kill me.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. It was probably best not to mention the Magistrate’s deal.

She nodded to your baby. “Are you... the little one’s mother?”

“Yes, I am,” you said, more confidently than you’d said anything else in this exchange. You met her gaze and held it, speaking to her not as a warrior, but as a woman and as a mother.

“I made a vow to protect him,” you said. “And even though we both know I can’t fight you, I will gladly let myself be the last protection he has from you, if I need to.”

You made no mention of your husband, nor of his far superior skill in fighting her if the need arose. You also didn't tell her you were pregnant, which made the act of self-sacrifice a more complicated thing. None of it changed the point you were trying to get across to her: she must be very careful to earn your trust where your son was concerned.

She nodded, her expression serious and sincere. “I know you will,” she said, and there was nothing patronizing in her tone. “I promise you won’t have any reason to. Not from me.”

You saw nothing but honesty in her eyes. For the first time since she’d drawn her swords, you felt your tension and fear ease. You relaxed your hold on your baby, and he reached out to Ahsoka and babbled at her.

“Hello, little one,” she said, and the smile that eased her expression was kind and gentle. She looked over at Din.

“We should head to my camp,” she said. “We don’t want to be caught out here after dark.”

He nodded. “Lead the way.”

You and Din walked beside each other, following a few paces behind Ahsoka as she led you to her camp. His body language was a little reserved, and he kept an uncharacteristic distance between you as you walked.

“Are you angry with me?” he finally asked.

You looked up at him. “No,” you said truthfully. “I’m not angry with you. I’m... sorry if I was a little harsh, earlier. I was just scared.”

“Me too,” he said. He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to try and rush you. She and I came to an agreement when we stopped fighting, without having to talk about it. It’s a little hard to explain. You just sort of... know that you’re not enemies any more. But it was wrong of me to try and force that on you.”

He put his hand to the small of your back as the path steepened. Steadying you, lending you his strength - that came as easy as breathing to your husband, and you felt a sudden rush of gratitude and tenderness at the way he continually showed you his willingness to protect and care for you.

“Thank you,” you said.

He looked down at you. “For what?”

You shrugged. “Everything. Taking care of me. I love you.”

“Oh,” he said, and he affectionately nudged his shoulder against yours, a little bashful. “Well, you’re welcome. I love you too.”

You took his forearm in a gentle grip and raised it to examine his armor. “Did she hurt you?”

He shook his head. “No. Well - ” He rolled his left shoulder. “Dangling from the whipcord isn’t nearly as fun as it looks. But otherwise I’m fine.”

You moved your hand down to his, and he twined your fingers together.

“Your armor was sparking like crazy,” you said. You tried to shake the memory of him bracing his arms together against her death stroke. “Did you know it would hold up like that?”

He shrugged. “It’s sturdy stuff, this beskar. I haven’t met a thing yet that it couldn’t hold up against. I’ve never had to use it against laser swords, but it seemed to do the trick.”

You glanced at the sword hilts strapped to Ahsoka’s waist. “I’ve never seen weapons like those before,” you said. You wondered if she was the only person who used them, or if they were a traditional Jedi weapon. Though you had always known Din would likely teach your son how to fight, that had always been a long way off, and you wondered how young Jedi were when they started training in combat.

“Me either,” Din agreed. “They’re powerful, there’s no doubt about that. I’d be afraid to use one of them, let alone two.”

You smiled. “No you wouldn’t.” Whatever he said, you knew your husband was skilled enough to be effective with a weapon he’d never used before and could become proficient with it if he put his mind to it.

“You can’t fool me, Djarin,” you teased. “You want to try them out, don’t you?”

He chuckled. “Maybe. It would certainly be an interesting look, wouldn’t it? A Mandalorian with a laser sword?”

You gave a soft laugh. “I think you could pull it off.”

You kept a hold of him as darkness fell; the roots grew more tangled and the fallen logs more numerous as you went deeper into the mountains. For all the times Din had gotten snagged on something earlier, he was much steadier on his feet with the night vision in his HUD. You, on the other hand, felt like you were stumbling over something every other step.

“Dank farrik,” you bit out, grabbing Din’s arm to keep from falling flat on your face. No sooner had you steadied yourself than he swept you off your feet, scooping you up bridal-style and holding you close to his chest.

“Din!” you squeaked, grabbing onto his shoulder for dear life. The baby giggled at the sudden swing upwards, and your husband gave a warm laugh.

“Relax, cyare,” he said. He gave Ahsoka a nod when she glanced back to see what the commotion was, and you thought you saw a smile on her face as she turned back.

Din kept pace behind her, seemingly no worse for wear with both his wife and baby in his arms. You relaxed and circled one arm around his neck while the other held your baby, who was absolutely delighted to be carried around by both his parents.

“You don’t have to carry me, Din,” you said, amused and affectionate. He was really quite the romantic under that tough exterior, and it had always been something you loved about him.

He hummed in agreement. “I know, but I figure it’s better than you twisting an ankle,” he teased. “And you’re probably tired, aren’t you?”

You nodded. It was very nice to be off of your feet for a moment; you’d been walking all day, and you knew Din must be just as weary of it as you were.

“My camp’s just ahead,” Ahsoka called over her shoulder. Your baby offered her a pleasant babble in response, and you smiled at the sound of Din’s chuckle.

“We sure did get a friendly one, didn’t we?” he asked.

You brushed your fingers over your baby’s ear, feeling an almost impossible amount of love for him when he smiled and cooed at you.

“Yeah, we did,” you agreed. You hoped that no matter what happened - whether he trained under Ahsoka or another Jedi, or stayed with you and Din - nothing would dim your little one’s bubbly and inquisitive personality.

As promised, you arrived at Ahsoka’s camp before long. Din set you down as she turned on her lantern, the warm golden light spilling over the ground in a small circle. You let your baby down to stretch his legs, and he toddled over to the lamp and greeted it with a curious babble.

A shiver took you by surprise, and you rubbed your hands over your arms as you realized how cool the night air was. You saw Ahsoka fasten her cloak over her shoulders and wished you’d thought to bring something; it had been warm when you left the Crest, and you didn’t know you’d be trekking through the mountains after you left the city.

“Here, cyare,” Din said from behind you. He unclasped his cloak and draped it over your shoulders. “Better?”

You snuggled into the warmth that enveloped you and gave him a grateful smile. “Much better. Thank you.”

Ahsoka perched on one of the small boulders near the lamp, watching your little one with a smile. You were unexpectedly endeared to the way she watched him with such obvious affection; though part of you wasn’t surprised, as your baby charmed everyone he met, you also hadn’t ventured to hope that she would even like him. You didn’t know how you felt about it; it would be much easier to justify not leaving him with her if she was unkind to him.

You watched as your baby clambered up onto the rock across from her; he sat still, uncharacteristic for your usually energetic and adventurous little one, and cooed up at her. He cocked his head and gestured with his little claws, something that still made you smile even if you’d seen him do a hundred times.

“Look, Din,” you said. You nodded to your baby. “It’s almost like they’re talking.”

He watched them for a few moments; Ahsoka certainly seemed to be nodding in response to your baby’s gestures, but didn’t everyone do that to a baby? You were a little surprised when Din pulled you aside a few paces.

“What?” you asked, your voice low. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment; you put a hand on his arm.

“Talk to me,” you said. “What is it?”

He looked over at your baby, then back at you. His shoulders were tense, and you wish you knew the reason for his discomfort.

“What if they are speaking?” he asked. “What if... it’s some language only Jedi speak? What if that’s the only way he communicates?”

You frowned. “He’s only a baby, Din,” you reminded him. “He’ll learn Basic. He’s just little, that’s all.”

He gestured over to the two of them. “But what is that? It’s not Basic, and it’s not just baby talk. He’s saying something to her, and she understands it.”

You looked back over at them. You had thought there was something different, more intentional about your baby’s gestures and coos as he sat with Ahsoka, but you’d dismissed the idea as quickly as it occurred to you. With Din’s concern, though, it came back in full force - were they speaking? Could Ahsoka understand your child in a way even you couldn't?

The thought made you pale with a mix of emotions you couldn’t quite identify. Grief, guilt, and sadness were among them, and something even a little like jealousy.

“They can’t be,” you said, even as it became clear that they were. “He’s not - he can’t...”

You and Din had been interacting with your little one every day, talking to him like you would a human baby. Had he been trying to speak to you, and you just couldn’t understand him? Had you been parenting him inadequately this whole time, thinking you knew what was best for him?

Your chest tightened. How could you know what was best for him? You and Din weren’t Jedi. It was why you had been tasked with returning him to them, why you had been looking all over the galaxy for a Jedi - your baby belonged with them.

You looked over at Din, who had started to pace back and forth, agitation rolling off him in waves. You weren’t a pacer, but your discomfort needed somewhere to go; you worried the fabric of his cloak between your fingers, twisting and pulling at the well-loved cloth.

“Have we been doing this all wrong?” you asked.

He didn’t stop pacing. “What do you mean?” he asked, cautiously, as if he knew already.

You bit your bottom lip, feeling closer to tears than you wanted to be. “What if we - ” You shook your head. “What if we’re not what’s best for him, Din?”

That did stop his pacing, but he seemed no less tense.

“We are,” he said. “Of course we are, cyare. Don’t talk like that. We’ve done the best we can.”

You felt a flash of frustration and guilt. “Isn’t that the problem?”

You thought of your other little one, the one growing inside you. You had considered yourself a decent mother - rough around the edges, perhaps, without your own mother’s help, and capable of making mistakes like everyone else. But with Din’s help, you were trying so hard to be the mother your babies needed - one who taught kindness and virtue, one who protected and cared for them above everything else. And you loved your son, like you already loved this baby you carried. You truly hadn’t considered a misstep of this magnitude, nor the idea that your son would really be better off with the Jedi.

“We can’t even speak to him, Din,” you said desperately. “How many other things are we doing wrong? How many other things am I doing wrong?”

Din read your distress easily and closed the distance between you. He put his hands on your shoulders, something he did when he really wanted you to listen to him.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, cyare,” he said. His voice was gentle and firm. “You’ve loved him as your own. You’ve taught him and protected him and loved him like he came from you. You can’t blame yourself for something you didn’t know.”

Your vision blurred in a wash of tears.

“I knew he didn’t belong with me,” you said quietly. “Deep down, I must have known - I did know, and we were always supposed to bring him to the Jedi. I was never supposed to be his mother.”

His grip on your shoulders tightened.

“No, cyare.” He sounded hurt, heartsick. He released your shoulders; his hands hovered near you, as if unsure how best to comfort you.

“How can I convince you?” he asked. “You’re a wonderful mother, cyar'ika. He belongs with you. He belongs with us. He’s supposed to train with the Jedi, but - we’re his family. We’ll always be his family, even if we have to let him go.”

You pressed your hands to your face, hiding behind them as a few tears fell. You leaned against his chest, and he gathered you in his arms.

“He’s your baby, cyar’ika,” he said gently, holding you close. “You’re his mother. You took the adoption vow just like I did. He belongs with us.”

You remembered the day you said the adoption vow, both you and your husband repeating the words after the armorer. Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad - I know your name as my child. Din had explained to you later that adopting a foundling was a very serious thing and a cause for great celebration: a parent and their foundling shared gai bal manda, name and soul. You had kissed your baby then, cradling him in your arms as Din held both of you close, calling him Djarin’ika - little Djarin.

You felt a wave of peace at the memory. He did belong with you. Whatever happened, he was your son, the little one who had made you a clan of three. Your little Djarin.

You took a deep, steadying breath and looked up at your husband.

“He belongs with us,” you said.

Din cradled your face in his hands and rested his helm against your head.

“Yes, cyare. No matter what happens, no matter how far apart we are. He’s still our son, and he’ll always belong with us.”

You rested against his touch for a few moments, both of you drawing strength and comfort from each other. You were so thankful for Din, for his kindness and honesty and unwavering love for you and your family.

“Our son is lucky to have you as his father, Din,” you said, holding his wrists in a gentle grip. “Your dad would be very proud of you.”

Din cleared his throat, the sound thick with tears. You pressed closer to him.

“Thank you, cyare,” he managed after a moment. “That means more to me than you know.”

You held him for a moment more, then pulled away just enough to press a kiss to his helmet, right over his cheek. “I love you.”

He released a shaky breath. “I love you too, cyar’ika.”

He held you for the space of a few heartbeats, seeming to collect himself; when he straightened, you could see from his body language how tired he was. The light of the huge moon shone weakly through the clouds and reflected dully off his beskar.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” you asked, looking over at Ahsoka and your baby.

Din shook his head. “I don’t know. I think that’s what we’re about to find out.”

Both of you watched as Ahsoka lifted your baby into her arms, carrying him with one hand and holding the lantern with the other. She made her way over to you, the lantern light swaying gently over the ground; you took Din’s hand in yours and tried to keep yourself from asking the hundreds of questions that ran through your mind.

She set the lantern down and placed your baby on the stone nearest Din. Your baby looked up at his father with a sweet little smile before he looked back at Ahsoka, babbling to her again as she sat across from him.

Din shifted his weight onto the other foot; his impatience, his nervousness, was easy to read.

“Is he speaking?” he asked her. “Can you... understand him?”

Ahsoka tucked her hands under her cloak, considering his question.

“In a way,” she said. She looked up at you. “Grogu and I can feel each other’s thoughts.”

You felt a wild, sudden thrill in your chest like the beating wings of a caged bird.

“Grogu?” both of you asked.

Your baby swung his gaze over to you, his little ears flopping with the movement. He cooed and looked up at you with those big, starry eyes, and you felt a deep ache in your chest.

“Yes,” Ahsoka said. You almost didn’t hear her. “That’s his name.”

Oh.

You couldn’t say anything. You couldn’t think anything. You squeezed Din’s hand, tightly.

“Grogu,” he said again. Gentle, wondering. Your little one looked up at him and gave him a curious coo.

You couldn’t help your beaming smile, then, nor the rush of tears that accompanied it. You knelt in front of him and extended your hand to him; he took hold of your finger and waved it happily.

“Hi, my love,” you said softly, only for him to hear. “My little Grogu.”

His ears perked up and he showed you a toothy grin, and you thought your heart might break with love for him.

“That’s right,” you said, and your voice was wobbly with emotion. You ran your thumb over his fingers. “Your mama loves you, Grogu Djarin.”

He giggled when you pressed a kiss to his head, touching your cheek with his little hand.

You felt Din’s hand on your shoulder; he knelt next to you, but kept his gaze trained on Ahsoka.

“What did he say?” he asked her. “When you were talking?”

You looked up at Ahsoka; her expression was calm and somber.

“He was raised at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant,” she told you. “Many masters trained him over the years. At the end of the Clone Wars when the Empire rose to power, he was hidden. Someone took him from the temple.”

You sent a silent thank you to the jate’kara for keeping your little one safe, for whoever had hidden him from those who sought to do him harm.

“Then his memory becomes... dark,” Ahsoka said. “He seemed lost. Alone.”

You wondered how long he had been alone before Din found him. You knew he must have been lost before he came to you, but you didn't like to dwell on it. To know he had been raised with the Jedi and had Masters train him and care for him, only to be taken away so suddenly and left all alone, tracked by bounty hunters and hunted by the Empire - you wished you could protect him from everything that had ever hurt him.

“I’ve only known one other being like this,” Ahsoka said. “A wise Jedi master named Yoda.”

Your baby - Grogu - looked over at her at the Jedi master’s name. She smiled.

“Can he still wield the Force?” she asked.

Din cocked his head. “You mean his powers?”

As much as you wanted to know more about Grogu’s past, you let your husband carry the conversation; your little one was tired, and his head nodded as his eyes fluttered shut. You gathered him into your arms and held him close; he grabbed a fistful of your shirt and snuggled close to you.

“The Force is what gives him his powers,” she explained. “It is an energy field created by all living things. To wield it takes a great deal of training and discipline.”

Din considered this. “I’ve seen him do things I can’t explain. Both of us have.”

His grip on your shoulder tightened, a warning and a comfort.

“Our task was to bring him to a Jedi,” he said.

Ahsoka shook her head. “The Jedi order fell a long time ago.”

“So did the Empire,” Din countered. “Yet it still hunts him. He needs your help.”

She looked at the baby in your arms for a long moment, the barest hints of sorrow and regret lining her face. However long ago the fall of the Jedi order had been, you knew she had not yet healed from the loss.

“Let him sleep,” she said gently. “I’ll test him in the morning.”

She rose, hesitating before she turned away. She looked at the three of you.

“He doesn’t feel lost or alone any more,” she said. “Not with you.”

You knew from her voice that she was telling you the truth. You searched her face, gratitude and sympathy warring as you saw the complicated mix of emotions across her expression.

“Thank you,” you said sincerely, your voice tight. “You’ve given us a great gift, Ahsoka. We’re more grateful to you than you know.”

Her smile was genuine, if shadowed by sadness. “You’re welcome.”

You watched her go, her figure enveloped by shadows as she stepped out of the light of the lantern. You wondered if she had any family, if she too had been lost and alone after the Jedi order fell.

You looked down at your baby.

“Grogu,” you said softly, not intending to wake him. It was a good name, fitting for your little one. Grogu of Clan Djarin, sharing name and soul with you and Din.

“Come on, cyare,” your husband said, his voice low so as not to wake the baby. He helped you to your feet and held you close for a moment, you and Grogu held safely in the circle of his arms.

“I can’t believe we know his name,” Din said softly. He brushed a finger over his son’s ear. “Grogu. Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad, ad’ika.”

You swallowed. Your adoption vow meant that much more now that you knew his name. Din tapped his helm against the crown of your head, like a gentle kiss.

“We should try and get some rest,” he said. “I know you didn’t plan on being away from the Crest so long, though. I'm sorry.”

You shrugged. “It’ll be like the old days, right?” you said. You gave him a smile. “You forget I went with you on lots of hunts back then, and we ended up sleeping under the stars more than once.”

He put his hand around your waist and drew you close as he steered you towards a small clearing in the brush.

“Oh no, cyare,” he said, an edge of teasing to his voice. “I haven’t forgotten those nights.”

You felt your face warm a little despite the cool night air. Back then, when the two of you were newly married and chasing the rush of bounty hunting, you rarely spent your nights under the stars just sleeping. That desire for each other had never dimmed, but becoming parents had cut down on your opportunities to be spontaneous, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had such a... risky liaison with your husband.

Din settled himself on the ground, his back propped up against a broad tree trunk. “We should do that again, sometime.”

You curled up next to him, resting against his chest and drawing his cloak around you and your baby. Din put his arms around you slowly ran his hand up and down your arm.

“Do what?” you asked. You hid a yawn behind your hand and leaned your head on his collar. “Start hunting again?”

He hummed in agreement. “Or just fly somewhere and go at each other as many times as we can before we get caught.”

You laughed. “Din,” you chided. You weren’t necessarily opposed to it, but you were less adventurous in that way than you had been back then. You preferred to make love to your husband somewhere you wouldn’t get caught.

He chuckled and drew you closer. “I’m only teasing,” he said. “But, we are going to have a new baby soon. Our chances for something like that are about to be few and far between.”

You hadn’t really though of that - bounty hunting would become more difficult than ever with two babies. Though you had enough credits saved that you didn’t need to hunt now, it was something you would have to work out eventually. But you were already overwhelmed with everything that had happened today; there was no use worrying about your future when you couldn’t do anything to change it right now.

You cuddled closer to your husband for warmth. “Sorgan,” you said.

He gave a soft grunt as he got comfortable. “What about it?”

Despite the darkness, and your back turned to him, you smirked. “You can go at me as many times as you want before we get caught, when we go back to Sorgan.”

“I thought we were going back to Sorgan to have the baby,” he said. His voice was intrigued, though, and you knew you’d piqued his interest.

You gave a half-shrug. “I guess you’ll have to take me back before then,” you said cooly. He would have taken you back regardless, if you asked and he thought it was safe; but you kind of liked the idea of getting back to your more adventurous days, even if it was just in the woods on a backwater planet rather than on a high-adrenaline bounty hunt.

He gave a soft laugh. “Alright, cyare,” he said. “You’ve still got a little shereshoy in you, hm?”

That was a Mandalorian word for living life to the fullest, having a zeal for the enjoyment of each day, no matter what it brought. You and Din had lived like that before Grogu came to be with you, in the traditional way; you still believed you lived it out now, even if it looked different than it had back then. You were a wife and a mother, and you loved it and wanted to do it for the rest of your life. It was a different kind of shereshoy, but one you liked just as much.

A little bit of adventure wouldn’t hurt, though.

“We’ll go back to Sorgan,” he promised. “Sometime before the baby’s born.”

He didn't say whether Grogu would be with you, and you didn’t ask. There’d be plenty of time for working through that with Ahsoka tomorrow, in all its confusion and sadness and worry. For right now, you were together - and that was enough for all of you.

Read chapter four!

pedro pascal character taglist: @punkgeekcryptid, @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl, @stardust-galaxies, @theorganasolo, @qhbr2013 ♡

series taglist: @kyjoraven, @sarahjkl82-blog, @remmysbounty, @bitchin-beskar, @cosmicbreathe, @prettyboyskywalker, @happyxdayxbitch, @radiowallet ♡

let me know if you’d like to be added to either taglist! ♡

#this series is proving to be a little more challenging than the other two? idk if i'm 100% satisfied with it #but i think it's still very cute and i hope you like it <3 #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian chapter 13 #chapter 13: the jedi #aay'han mar'eyce #jate'kara series #maddie writes stuff!#usercaty #clan dinui #(cate i smiled so much using those tags ily)

75 notes · View notes

honeypiehotchner · 4 years ago

Text

i knew you (Bucky Barnes soulmate AU) -- part one

I know, I know. I just finished a story and I started another one and now I’m posting a different one...I’m insane. But I’ve had this idea for a while, just never wrote it down until last night! Enjoy xx.

Also! It’s Bucky x Reader, but it might read as Steve x Reader. I promise it’s platonic!Steve x Reader, though. Steve has no intentions of stealing Bucky’s girl. He knows Bucky would haunt his ass if he did (this is set in The Winter Soldier movie, so Steve still thinks Buck is dead).

Warnings: just some general sadness and angst, mentions of depression, it’s angst city honestly it made me cry

You watch as the old footage replays of Bucky’s wide grin. The only kind of smile that his best friend, Steve Rogers, could draw out of him with one single look or gesture. The only kind of expression that knocks the wind out of your lungs and sends chills down your spine.

“Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable both on schoolyard and battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country.”

You hastily wipe a tear away. It’s been months since you put the pieces together. Months since your parents told you that they had known for years. Months since they told you they didn’t want to tell you because they didn’t want to see you hurt.

Months since you’ve realized the man you keep seeing in your dreams is Bucky Barnes.

At first, you thought you were crazy. People dream of faces they’ve never seen all the time, right?

Soulmates are said to be rare, but not nonexistent. You’ve always thought they were real, just that the world was so cynical to really talk about them. The idea that there is one person out there whose soul is connected to yours is exactly the kind of thing that would send this generation walking the other direction with their middle fingers raised and eyes rolling in disbelief.

Then you started remembering your dreams. You started to see his face more clearly. Granted, you had no idea it was Bucky that you were seeing.

You came to the Smithsonian almost half a year ago now with your best friend. She realized you both had never been before, and she basically said fuck it one day and took you with her. Her exact words were, “How have we gone to college here for a year and a half and we’ve never been to the damn Smithsonian?”

You weren’t expecting to meet your soulmate that day.

Of course, you use the word “meet” very loosely. Your soulmate isn’t alive, which explains the emptiness you feel on a daily. It’s been said that soulmates can feel what the other is feeling. Often times it’s muted, but recognizable.

You got to see his face, to finally realize that it’s Bucky. The Bucky Barnes.

It sounds ridiculous — and God, you love your best friend for not calling you pathetic that day — but when you walked up to the very exhibit you’re standing at right now and saw Bucky’s smile...you knew. Instantly, you knew. And it moved you to tears.

It was like your soul had finally found her counterpart, here, grinning like a madman next to his best friend, all the way back in the 1940s.

Your parents knew simply because of things you would say, offhandedly, without even realizing it.

Your interest in WWII caught their attention, but it surprisingly didn’t last long -- only from about the time that you turned thirteen to a few months before your fourteenth birthday. You would’ve found Bucky a lot sooner had your interest in the war itself lasted much longer, but it didn’t. You wonder now if you subconsciously knew it was Bucky, but steered yourself away from it in an attempt to save yourself the heartache at such a young age.

Your taste in music has been the constant that they didn’t quite understand at first. You listen to modern tunes, sure, but you’re a sucker for the music of the 40s. Even clothes. You sometimes found yourself leaning toward the styles of the 40s in subtle ways, not realizing it.

The true confirmation of their suspicions came, though, when your mom said she heard you say Bucky’s name. The first time was on a road trip. You had fallen asleep in the car. You were sixteen at the time. You were dreaming and you have no recollection of ever saying his name. You weren’t even aware that you said his name while you were dreaming until she confessed that day.

You haven’t told anyone about it. Your best friend doesn’t even know. She still believes you got too excited about seeing Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, that’s all. She doesn’t know the real reason, the real aching pain that you feel every day.

The only thing that eases the ache is this. Hogging this exhibit. Watching the footage over and over again. Watching Bucky’s smile and being unable to hold back your own, despite your tears.

You know the staff must think you’re delusional. Somehow you haven’t cared enough to entertain the thought. But you have seen the security guard give you strange looks when you walk in almost every other day.

It used to not be this bad. You came every day for a few weeks, but then you were able to calm down to once a week, sometimes twice a month, if you were too busy with school to think about Bucky much.

But lately, something has changed. You don’t know what it is. You still feel the emptiness, but something is different. It’s...troubled. That’s all your mind can come up with.

It makes no sense, though. How can Bucky be troubled? He’s dead. You believe in ghosts and all -- you’ve never been given a reason not to -- but you’ve heard more stories than you can count from people whose soulmate has died. They all say the same thing. They felt it when it happened. Because it was like a switch was flipped. They were feeling everything one moment, and the next, it was all gone. Empty.

Empty. How you’ve felt since the day you were born. You’ve been to therapists and they all told you the same thing. It’s just your thinking. Change your thinking processes. You’ve never slipped or spiraled far enough for it to be classified as a depressive disorder or anything else, just...empty.

When you found out about having a soulmate, and even more so when you found out it was Bucky, you still felt empty, but not as much. It was like everything suddenly made perfect sense. The emptiness had a purpose, a reason for existing.

When you see him smile, everything makes perfect sense. You feel like you have a reason to exist.

“Excuse me, miss?”

You slowly drag your eyes away from Bucky, preparing yourself to deal with a disgruntled museum-goer or staff member complaining about how long you’ve been standing here. But that’s not who you see.

He’s wearing a hat, but the resemblance is unmistakable.

Quickly, you glance at the video before looking back to the person beside you. That’s him. Steve Rogers.

“Hi,” you say hesitantly, quietly. He’s obviously hiding, which he is right to do. If anyone got wind of Steve Rogers walking around here, there would be mass chaos.

“Hey,” he replies just as quiet. “Um...Wanna get a coffee?”

You have no idea why he’s asking, but you nod anyway. Who would say no to coffee with Captain America?

Outside the Smithsonian and down the block, you bring Steve to your favorite spot to get coffee. Your best friend turned you onto it when you first got here for college, and you’ve gone here weekly ever since.

After grabbing your coffees, you pick a table far enough away from everyone else on the patio to talk without anyone listening in.

“So, uh…” Steve exhales, shifting in his seat. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” you shrug, holding onto your cup with both hands. “Why did you ask me to get coffee?”

“You looked familiar,” Steve says, slowly. “What’s your full name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Y/N L/N. Why?”

“Y/N…” Steve mutters under his breath, a crooked smile crossing his face. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

“Huh?”

“Bucky used to talk to me about you,” Steve continues, and you swear your heart stops. “He had me draw pictures of you. He couldn’t draw for crap, but he kept describing you to me from his dreams. I’ve drawn so many I’d recognize your face anywhere.”

“He dreamt about me?” You whisper. “Really?”

“All the time,” Steve nods, smiling sadly. “So you’re his soulmate?”

“I guess,” you say. “My mom says I used to say his name in my sleep all the time. I dreamt of his face, too, but I never knew it was him. Until my friend took me to the exhibit a few months ago.” You pause. “It sounds stupid. But seeing him there makes me feel...better.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says suddenly. “It can’t be easy being born in a completely different generation.”

You smile softly. “Thank you. I’m sorry, too. I can’t imagine how hard it is to still be here after all this time. And without your best friend, too.”

“Yeah, it hasn’t been easy,” Steve admits. “But thanks. I appreciate it.”

“If it’s not too much to ask,” you begin, pausing to think about if you’re going to regret this. “Would you tell me about him? Just anything. It doesn’t have to be anything profound, just...anything you want to talk about. But if it’s too hard, don’t worry about it.” You wave your hands in front of your face, already preparing yourself for Steve to politely turn you down.

But he doesn’t.

“Bucky, he…” Steve pauses, shaking his head. “He was a lot wealthier than me back in the 40s. I had no business acting the way I did, picking fights with people three times my size, but I still did it. And Bucky was always there to pick me up off the ground and give me a ride back home.”

“Yeah?” You chuckle. “You used to be super skinny, right?”

“I was really sick, actually. Bucky had every reason to treat me like anyone else, but he never did. We grew up together -- though I used to joke that he grew up. I stayed the same size. But he never made fun of me for it.”

You can’t help but grin. “That video in the museum -- his smile. I see it in my dreams all the time.”

“Yeah, yeah that was Bucky’s signature grin. He could give any woman that smile and they were his.”

“I can see why,” you admit quietly, averting your eyes when Steve raises his eyebrows. You change subjects, not wanting to talk about how attractive you find Steve’s dead best friend -- despite him being your soulmate. “What was his favorite thing to eat for breakfast?”

Steve takes the bait, and for the next four hours, the two of you sit on the patio, talking about Bucky Barnes.

His favorite color? Your eyes. Which you think is a little ridiculous, but Steve swears it’s the truth.

His favorite thing to do? Go dancing. Hands down.

His favorite thing to talk about? You. Again, you give Steve a stern look, and again, he swears it’s true. But when he wasn’t talking about you, Steve says Bucky talked a lot about the future. He was an optimist. Steve has no idea how, but Bucky always saw the brightest side.

Bucky was kind. Kinder than a lot of men his age, at the time. He had that blinding smile and instead of hiding it and going for the mysterious, brooding attitude, he chose to smile as much as he could, to anyone who looked like they needed it.

Realizing that the sun is beginning to go down, Steve decides to get you home.

“It’s alright, I can walk,” you tell him, feeling high on everything Bucky. “It’s just up here. I go to college here.”

“At least let me walk you to the campus,” Steve offers.

You raise an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Bucky would kill me if I let his girl walk home alone. Especially when it’s getting dark.”

“Fine,” you cave. Hearing Steve refer to you as “Bucky’s girl” sends chills down your spine -- the good kind of chills. The kind that makes you wish it was the 1940s. The kind that makes you wish Bucky was here, holding your hand, walking you home.

Once you reach campus (you decide to let Steve walk you all the way to your dorm building), you ask Steve the question you’ve been wondering about ever since you first saw Bucky in the museum.

“Hey Steve?”

Hands stuffed in his pockets, Steve turns his head toward you. “Yeah?”

“If this was the 40s...do you-- Do you think I’m the kind of girl Bucky would want?”

Steve’s steps falter. You slow your pace to match his until you’re both stopped, looking at one another.

“What is it?” You ask.

“Yes,” Steve says simply. “Yeah. I do. I know for a fact he would’ve torn down every building until he found you. Because he tried.”

Your breath hitches. Deep down, you had convinced yourself that you weren’t the kind of girl Bucky would want. Not that it’s your fault because you were born this side of the millennium. But to hear Steve tell you otherwise makes you freeze.

“What?”

“Bucky didn’t have me sketch you because he wanted me to practice my drawing. He did it because he wanted to see a picture of you. Something he could keep in his wallet and look at every night. He was a ladies man, yeah, but every single one...he wanted them to be you. But they never were.” Steve shakes his head. “It really tore him up, that he never found you. He still held out hope, though. Until the very last second.”

Tears have sprung to your eyes before you even realize it.

“Before he fell, he--” Steve pauses. “He told me to promise that I’d find you. I guess I kept my promise after all.”

He looks up to see the tears in your eyes, streaming down your cheeks. Without a single word, Steve pulls you into his chest, and without hesitation, you let yourself cry.

He’s not Bucky. And you’ll never find your Bucky, but he’s close enough. Steve promised Bucky that he’d find you, and he kept that promise. Now he’s going to do everything in his power to keep you safe.

Because he knows for a fact Bucky would’ve wanted that, too.

#i knew you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #platonic!steve x reader #captain america: the winter soldier #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes soulmate au #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #angst city y'all #it will not have real fluff for a while #we are stuck in traffic in angst city lmao #oops

424 notes · View notes

queenxxxsupreme · 4 years ago

Note

Heyo! 💖I just wanted to say that I completely ADORE your works and I was wondering if you could maybe give us some dad!Witcher reactions to when the reader goes into labor? Totally up to you, only if you want to and if your comfortable with this!☺️ again, I love your work so much and I really love seeing the boys being included in amazing fics and hcs💕

A/N: This has also been sitting in my box for a while, and many people have asked about this, so I’m glad it’s finally done. You can all thank @pressedinthepages for helping me out with Geralt cause he’s the reason y’all haven’t gotten this sooner. Thank you again baby!!!

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, labor, pregnant lady going into labor but not the actual birth part, just labor pains and water breaking :)

***

Lambert

You sucked in a sharp breath, your hand coming to hold your side.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Lambert sat up in his chair, brows drawing together as he looked across the table at you.

“I-I’m okay.” You told him, rubbing your ribcage. “The baby just kicked me.”

“Doesn’t seem like they’ve stopped moving at all today.” Ciri commented. She sat next to you, talking to you about different names for your unborn child.

“They haven’t. I think they’ve gotten too big. There isn’t enough room in there for the little thing.” You rubbed the side of your stomach. “Anytime they stretch, they bruise one of my organs.”

You started to stand up, needing to stretch your legs.

“Where are you going?” Lambert followed you with his gaze.

“Just for a little walk.”

“Thought you couldn’t walk too far ‘cause your ankles hurt.”

“They do, but sitting hasn’t helped my back at all. It's making my legs hurt even more.”

Lambert stood to his feet, a mug of ale in one hand, and moved to your side.

“The baby needs room to move. They can’t do that if I’m sitting down.”

He placed his free hand on the small of your back, offering what little support he could.

“They need to get a move on and get here soon.” Lambert thought out loud. He used his shoulder to push open a door that would take you out to the courtyard.

“Can’t rush a pregnancy, love.” You sighed gently, though you agreed with him.

“Just don’t like seeing you hurting knowing I can’t do anything to make it better.”

“I’ll be okay.” You looked over to him to meet his gaze, offering him a little smile.

“But what if you aren't?” He stopped, his hand slipping from your back to your hand. “What if…. What if you don't make it through this? Through having the baby? What if…. I-I’ve heard stories-,”

“Lambert, I’m giving birth to our child here at Kaer Morhen with Yennefer and Triss. Should anything happen, I trust them to do what's needed to save both myself and the baby. So stop with all that nonsense.”

Lambert nodded, knowing what you said was true. The safest place you could possibly be was Kaer Morhen where some of the best mages in the world were.

“I just can't help worrying.” The witcher muttered shyly, putting his hand on your back once more to lead you through the courtyard.

“I know.” You smiled softly. It was a rare sight to see the young witcher look so anxious and worrisome. “You’ve been worrying a lot recently.”

“‘Cause I know you're getting closer to having the baby. We’re…. I'm gonna be a father.” He shook his head like the mere thought was too good to be true. “Don't want to turn out like my old man. Damn bastard wasn't worth shit.”

“You'd never be like him, Lambert.” You assured him, looking over to admire his side profile. “You're too kind of a man.”

He scoffed.

“Don't hurt my feelings like that, bug.”

You grinned.

“Besides, if you need to be put in your place, Eskel and Geralt would gladly kick your ass. Though I know it will never be needed.”

“What about us kicking Lambert’s ass?” Geralt asked as he and Eskel moved towards you two.

“Y/N said she doesn't think you two could beat me.”

You elbowed Lambert in the side.

“How are you feeling today, Y/N?” Eskel asked you.

“Not too great, if I'm honest. Though today it doesn't feel like a rib has been kicked out of place.”

The three boys began to chat about something Vesemir was asking them to work on together. It was a fallen wall on the west side of the keep.

You weren't paying too much attention, shifting your weight from one foot to the other every now and again. You slipped your arm around Lambert’s holding the inside of his elbow. You didn't want to just excuse yourself and walk away. Lambert would follow you and not even finish talking to Eskel and Geralt. You figured you could endure standing just a little longer.

But then the pain between your hips sharpened and took your breath away. Your grip on Lambert tightened. There was a wetness between your legs that made you furrow your brows.

“Oh gods.” You whispered.

“What?” Eskel asked you. Lambert was in the middle of taking a sip of his ale and hadn't had the chance to ask first.

“I think the baby’s coming.”

The father-to-be choked on his ale, coughing and sputtering. He hit his fist against his chest, struggling to speak.

“What?!”

“I’m going into labor, Lambert.”

“The fuck you are.” His voice nearly cracked.

“Eskel, give me a hand, please.” You weren't too sure how Lambert would react so you needed someone you knew wouldn't freak out.

Eskel moved to your side, holding his arm out to allow you to use him for support. Lambert remained on the other side of you, one hand on your lower back and the other on your arm. His ale had been discarded, no longer important to the witcher.

“How-How do you-I mean, how do you know they’re coming?” Lambert stumbled over his words worse than you'd ever seen.

“I do believe my water just broke, love.” You met his gaze, smiling softly. Though you wanted to scream and curse at the gods for the pain you were feeling, you needed to stay calm for him.

With Eskel’s help, Lambert’s rambling promises that everything would be okay, and Geralt’s moral support from right behind you, you were able to make it to the room designated for this very occasion. You knew it would be wise to have a room on the main level just in case you weren't up in your room when the time came to deliver.

Geralt went to gather Yennefer and Triss while you carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. Eskel went to stand just outside of the doorway so that he was far enough away to give you both some privacy but close enough that if you needed anything, he'd be there.

“Should-Should you lay back?” Lambert asked you, brushing your hair back out of your face.

“No, love. I’m fine. I’m-I’m fine.” Your voice cracked as you softly shook your head, tears filling your eyes and blurring your vision.

“Why are you crying? Are-Are you okay? Is the baby okay? Is something wro-,”

“Lambert, I love you but please breathe.”

“I am breathing! Are you breathing?”

Your head fell forward, hands gripping your knees as the tears left your eyes. A surge of pain tore through your pelvis.

Lambert saw the way your strong facade was crumbling. He needed to be strong for you. He needed to swallow his fears and be there for you. You were doing all of the hard work. He was just there to watch and encourage you. He had no right to freak out.

It took the witcher a few minutes to gather himself, to tell himself over and over that you would be okay. Then he was able to elevate his heartbeat and focus on you.

“Hey, hey, bug.” His tone softened. He turned your head to him, his thumb stroking your flushed cheek. “I'm right here, okay?”

“Lambert, it-it hurts.” You whispered, turning your head to bury your face in his neck.

“I know, bug. ‘M sorry.” He rubbed your back, pressing kisses to the side of your head the best he could. “But you know what?”

He pulled back and you had no choice but to pull your head away from him.

“If there is anyone here in this keep that could do this, that could go through this, it's you.”

“That's-That’s not true.” You shook your head. “You-You’re strong. You survived the trials. You're a witcher for crying out loud!”

“And he's the biggest cry baby you’ll ever see.” Geralt spoke from the doorway. You smiled a little, wiping your cheeks.

“That’s debatable.” Lambert muttered.

Triss and Yennefer entered the room. Yennefer stayed off to the side while Triss came to you. Yenn was there for backup if Triss needed it.

“You ready for this, bug?” Lambert asked you, rubbing your knee.

You bit your bottom lip, nodding your head.

Eskel

You slammed one of the cabinets in the kitchen shut and turned to gather the rest of the clean dishes from the woven basket on the table.

“Y/N, you really should let someone else take care of that.” Eskel said.

“No one else knows how to put them away the right way.” You told him. There was no kindness in your voice, no peaceful tone to your words. You sounded bitter and angry.

“I don’t think there’s really any wrong way to put away dishes.” Lambert thought out loud.

“And that’s exactly why I’m putting them away.”

“Y/N, let me help-,”

“No!” You cut Eskel off, turning to face him. “Just let me do this! Let me put these away so they are done right.”

Eskel stopped walking towards you, brows drawn together.

“Eskel.” Geralt said his brother’s name and beckoned for Eskel to join him and Lambert at the table.

Eskel looked back at you once more before going to his brothers. He sat down next to Geralt, arms resting on the table.

“What is up her ass?” Lambert whispered low enough so you couldn’t hear.

“I don’t know.” Eskel shook his head, eyes finding you. “She’s been like this since she woke up.”

“Yeah, I know. She’s made the whole keep feel like hell today.”

“Is something wrong with her?” Geralt asked.

“She won’t tell me if anything is wrong. She’s just been an entirely different person all day.”

The witchers fell silent as Jaskier entered the room.

“Good evening, Y/N!” The bard chirped.

You were reaching a shelf that was probably a little too high up for you, so he decided to offer a hand.

“Let me help you, darling-,”

“Fuck off, bard!” You snapped at him, placing the plate down on the counter with enough force to nearly break it. “Just-Just leave me alone! What is with you men not understanding a gods damned word coming out of my mouth today?”

You stormed across the room, jaw locked and eyes set on the door you wanted to leave through. Well, to say you stormed through was a little bit of an exaggeration. With your enormous pregnant belly, the most you could do was angrily waddle.

The witchers and the bard watched you leave the room, the door slamming shut behind you.

“That was absolutely terrifying.” Jaskier put his hand over his heart. “What did I say to make her so explosive?”

“It’s not you, Jaskier.” Eskel shook his head, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m sorry about that. She’s…. She’s never like this.”

“I’ve faced bloodthirsty alps and I can honestly say I’d rather deal with them than an angry Y/N.” Lambert shook his head. “Good luck, brother.”

Eskel felt as though he’d need more than luck to deal with you.

He found you in the courtyard, resting on a stool by the goats’ enclosure. Your legs were parted and you braced your hands on your knees. Your eyes were closed tightly.

“Are you okay, doll?”

You didn’t answer him. This worried the witcher. He moved to kneel down in front of you. His hand slipped around your stomach, holding you tenderly.

“Y/N, my love, please answer me.” He begged quietly, brows drawn together.

Your eyes opened, glossy and red. You shook your head gently. You knew that if you spoke, you’d lose what control you had over the situation.

“Please, Y/N. Just-Just tell me what’s wrong.” Eskel reached up to brush a few pieces of hair out of your eyes.

“Nothing.” You shook your head, pulling his hand away from your face. You rubbed your face and tried to stand up but he wouldn’t let you.

“It’s obviously not nothing. You’ve been acting weird all morning. Is everything okay with you? With the baby?”

“I’m fine, Eskel.” You spoke through your teeth as a surge of pain drove through your hips. You removed his hand from your stomach, his touch burning in a way that made the pain worse.

“No, you aren’t. You’ve been avoiding me all day, Y/N, and-and you’ve been mad at everyone who talks to you.” He placed his hands on his thighs, feeling hurt that you’d push his hand off of you. So many thoughts ran through his mind and his stomach churned. Why had you pushed him away? Why were you avoiding him? Why were you angry at him and at everyone else?

“Did I do something?” His voice was weak and timid.

“No, Eskel.” You shook your head, rubbing your eyes once more.

“Then please, Y/N.” He begged, heart racing in his chest. “Please just tell me what is wrong so I can make it better. I-I-I feel so helpless. You’re angry and you’ve been harsh with everyone. You’ve never raised your voice at me, let alone the others. Something is wrong, Y/N, and I-I can’t leave you alone until you tell me what it is.”

Your head hung and your eyes squeezed shut tightly. He could hear how furiously your heart was pounding. Tears fell from your eyes as you brought your hands up to cover your face. You shook your head.

“I-I can’t- Eskel, I can’t do this. Everything hurts so bad.” You cried, finally leaning forward to rest your head on his shoulder.

“What hurts, my love?” He pressed kisses to the side of your head, one hand coming up to embrace you in a careful hug while the other rubbed the outside of your thigh.

“I’m so scared, Eskel. I-I can’t-I can’t do this. I can’t.” Your tears dampened his neck but he didn’t mind. Your breath was hot and your fingers dug into him so tightly he thought for sure he’d have bruises.

“You have to explain to me what is hurting, doll.” He pulled away just enough to cup your face and brush his thumbs over your flushed cheeks. “If I don’t know what’s wrong, I can’t help you.”

“I-I’m-I’m sorry I’ve been so angry and so mean.” You leaned into his touch. “The baby- It’s coming.”

Eskel’s brows drew together and he looked down at your stomach for a moment.

“What?”

“My-My water broke this morning.” You shook your head. “But I-I-I can’t do this, Eskel! I can’t do this! I’m-I’m so scared! I can’t!”

“Y/N, look at me.” He held your face between his large hands, tilting your head up so you had no choice but to look at him. “Why didn’t you let me know when it happened? You’ve been moving around so much today. You should’ve been sitting down and resting until the baby comes.”

“I can’t do it, Eskel.”

“Yes, you can.”

Even though you were freaking out and crying, he was calm. He took your hand in his and tucked your hand underneath the neck of his shirt. He placed your hand directly over his heart and applied a little pressure, wanting you to feel his heart beating steadily.

“You need to calm down, doll.” His voice was gentle and tender, matching his eyes and his touch. “Everything will be okay. I know you’re hurting right now but it will be over soon. Okay?”

You nodded. He leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips and then your forehead.

“Let’s get you inside and to a bed.” He stood to his feet and held his arm out for you.

Geralt

You shivered a little, pulling one of the numerous cloaks you wore tighter around your body.

“Are you cold, dove?” He asked, his hand immediately finding the small of your back.

“Just my nose.” You explained. “The wind is terrible today.”

You had wanted to go on a walk around the grounds of the keep, feeling the need to stretch your legs. You walked alongside him, your arms weaved together.

“Do you need my cloak?” Geralt asked, starting to take his off.

“No, no, Geralt.” You shook your head, almost laughing at him. “I’ve got plenty of layers on. I don’t need anymore.”

The White Wolf had made sure you were wearing at least six layers before you both ventured outside. You were sure you had on one of his cloaks and maybe even Lambert’s or Eskel’s. You didn’t mind though. The cloaks were nice and cozy, and they smelled like Geralt, all musk and fire and steel.

Geralt’s arm slipped out of yours so he could go down the steps first. He held his hand out for you, eyes carefully watching your footing to make sure you wouldn’t fall down the four stone steps.

“Why thank you, good sir.” You grinned just a little, placing your hand in his.

“My pleasure.” His grin was a little less prominent than yours, but it still warmed your heart.

You began to lead the way to the little area the goats were kept. You wanted to check on them and make sure they’d be warm enough for the evening.

Before you could reach the goat enclosure, a sudden wave of heat came over you. You stopped walking and started desperately tearing at the cloaks in an attempt to take them off.

“Y/N?” Geralt furrowed his brows together. “What are you doing?”

“I’m-I’m just too hot.” You handed him the top cloak and then the next one.

“It’s far too cold for you to be in such little-,”

“Geralt, I am too hot for all those layers.” You told him firmly. Your heart started racing and a thin layer of sweat covered your skin. With the wind, this chilled you but at the same time, you felt like you were on fire.

You were down to your last cloak when you finally felt a little comfortable. The wind shifted and suddenly Geralt knew what was happening. He could sense the changes in your body, the chemical ones no one else would have been able to detect.

“Are you hurting?” He asked, furrowing his brows together.

Before you had a chance to answer him, you sucked in a sharp breath and put your hand on the side of your stomach. It was as if your body had waited for the perfect moment to start having contractions.

“We need to get you to the bedroom.” Geralt spoke mostly to himself. He handed you the cloaks and then, before you could object, he very carefully picked you up bridal style.

***

Geralt placed you carefully down on the bed.

You stayed sitting up, one leg hanging off while the other was bent. Your head hung as you tried to focus on your breathing, to listen to what your body was telling you.

The pressure between your hips didn’t seem to be growing, but it was there and it was bothersome.

You looked up to see where your dear husband had gone.

He was moving around the room almost frantically. He checked the windows to make sure there wasn’t a draft coming in. He checked all of the candles lit around the room for when the sun went down. He didn’t want them to run out and leave him in the dark with you in labor. He could see just fine without light, but you wouldn’t be able to see. He checked the chest at the foot of the bed to make sure clean blankets and linens were there should they be needed.

As he was moving across the room to check the fire in the hearth, you called his name. He stopped in his tracks and turned to face you.

Your eyes were squeezed shut and you were leaning forward, one hand on the bed in front of you and the other on your stomach.

“Y/N?” He wanted to move towards you but his boots seemed stuck to the wooden floor beneath him.

You didn’t realize until then that his eyes were glossy and he was fighting back tears.

“Why are you crying, my love?”

He looked away from you for a moment, trying to gain control of his emotions.

“I don’t like seeing you in pain.” He explained, clearing his throat. “I-I’m the reason why you’re hurting and there isn’t a damned thing I can do about it.”

Your heart melted hearing him sound so upset and concerned.

“Oh, Geralt.” You murmured his name. “Come here. Come sit with me. Please.”

Geralt didn’t hesitate to move to your side. Before getting on to the bed, he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. The mattress dipped beneath his weight behind you.

“Lean on me, dove.” He kissed the side of your head, his hands slipping around your sides.

You sunk back against him, eyes fluttering shut as the pain seemed to ease up. The new position didn’t put so much pressure on your back.

His hands, large and warm, rubbed the sides of your stomach. He tucked his nose into your hair, eyes closing as he breathed in and out, listening to your heartbeat and the one inside of you.

Whenever a contraction came around, you’d tense up and he’d rub your stomach. He’d whisper in your ear how strong you were, how much he loved you, and how happy he was.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, you spoke.

“Geralt? Tell me a story.” You rubbed his hand that rested on your stomach.

“What kind of story?”

“Of your time with Jaskier before I met you. I miss him, Geralt.”

“I know.” Geralt kept his lips against the side of your head. “He’ll be here soon.”

Geralt began to tell you of one of the many times Jaskier was the reason they were run out of town. He’d pause for a moment when a contraction came, hesitating to make sure you were okay.

It killed him that there wasn’t anything he could do to stop the pain or lessen it. This had to happen. Yes, it wasn’t fun and yes, he felt so useless, but soon, his child would be in his arms with you at his side.

Taglist: @pressedinthepages @mishafaye @whitewolfandthefox @wolfyland07 @belalugosisdead @persephonehemingway @keira-hulmaster @dinonuggs69 @greatestauthorofmygeneration @shadow-hunters-lover @dancingwith-thesunflowers @tedi-fach-las @thecomfortofoldstorries @raspberrydreamclouds @natkowaa @disasteren @weathervanes-my-oneandlonely @onlyhenrys @wackylurker @criminaly-supernatural @magpie343 @permanently-exhausted-witcher @hina-chans-stuff @the-space-between-heartbeats @havenoffandoms @carriebee1 @ger-bearofrivia @naominami @writingawaymylife @reaganjenelle @theawkwardpedestrian @scarlettwitcher @badassspaceprincess @just-a-sad-donut @summersong69 @an–actual–human–disaster @rubyqueen819 @omgkatinka @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @vonxcon @mazakeen @bravelittlesunflower @thereagles @awkward-turtles-world @menalliha @cotton_mo @maan24 @thefirelordm @monkeymo @krenee1drful @nympha-door-a @unadulteratedtreecrusade @Aquarius-pisces-rose @mentallyscreamingsincebirth @fl0ating @sometimesiwrite @crazybutconfidentaf @runawayolives @she-wolfoftheinquisition @onlygeraltofrivia

179 notes · View notes

theres-an-impulstor-among-us · 4 years ago

Note

Waaaiiiitt I'm dumb and realized missed the word prompt part before requesting, same anon who requested something with Wels and Hels,, if it's still open maybe that request with the word "injured" or "sick"?

No worries, I was gonna write something soft with Hels and Wels even without a specific word! I just love these two so much asdfghjkl

Requests are still open! See this post for details.

…

Wels dodges a strike from his counterpart’s sword and parrys with one of his own. Hels blocks it and kicks Wels away from him.

“You’ve been practising,” Wels observes.

“Yeah, so what?” Hels demands. “You kicked my ass last time.”

“Good of you to admit that.”

“Shut up.”

Grinning to himself, Wels pretends to charge again but dodges under Hels’s arm and takes off running towards his house, which he can see about fifty blocks below him in the valley.

“Hey!” Hels shouts from behind him. “Come back!”

“Come catch me!” Wels shouts back over his shoulder.

He can’t help a childish giggle as he hears Hels swear and take off after him. After all the angst surrounding their first few meetings, it feels good to mess with his counterpart a little.

However, after only a few seconds, he hears a scream from behind him. He spins around and finds Hels nowhere to be seen. Frowning, he looks around and then moves closer to the cliff and peers down.

His heart jumps as he spots Hels lying on the ground at the base of the cliff. He jumps off and activates his elytra, soaring down and landing safely a few blocks away.

Hels has sat up but his left leg is bent at a worrying angle and he’s groaning softly.

“Hels?” Wels says worriedly. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“I decided to jump off a cliff because I’m STUPID,” growls Hels. “What do you think happened?”

Wels moves closer, hands outstretched ready to help. “Your leg looks broken. Here, let me-.”

“Leave me alone,” Hels snaps. “I can take care of myself.”

Raising his hands, Wels steps back and turns away. He crosses his arms, listening as Hels gets to his feet and tries to take a single step, before crashing back down to the ground.

A pause follows this sound.

“...Wels?”

A smile slowly spreads across Wels’s face as he turns. “Yes?”

Even under the helmet, Hels’s red cheeks are clearly visible. “Can you… um…” He clears his throat awkwardly. “Can you pass me something to lean on?”

“Like what?” Wels spreads his arms, gesturing to the grassy landscape around them. “I’d welcome any suggestions.”

“Fine. I might need a bit of help getting up. Are you happy?”

“Whose help?” Wels asks innocently.

Hels scowls at him. “You really are gonna make me beg, aren’t you?”

“Not beg,” responds Wels calmly. “Just ask nicely.”

“I hate you.”

“Okay.” Wels shrugs and starts walking away.

“Wait, wait!” Hels’s voice cracks audibly. “W-Will you help me? P… P-Please?”

Wels immediately turns back and heads to Hels’s side. He lets Hels put his arm over his shoulder and lifts him to his feet, making sure to avoid bumping Hels’s injured leg. “Come, this way.”

He guides Hels to one of his empty cottages and takes him inside. After helping Hels empty his already half-empty inventory, he lays Hels down on the bed in the corner.

“Can I look at your leg?” Wels asks.

After a moment, Hels sulkily crosses his arms and nods.

Wels carefully slides off Hels’s boot and rolls up his trouser leg. He winces at the sight of the state of Hels’s leg. “Oof. It looks bad, but it’s definitely not broken.”

“It feels like it,” Hels responds.

As Wels sets about tending to it, he glances briefly at Hels. “You sound very calm for someone whose leg is half-broken.”

“I’m used to pain,” responds Hels simply.

“Really? I’d like to think I am too, but I’d still be an utter mess if my leg was snapped in half.”

“My leg’s snapped in half?!” yelps Hels, trying to sit up.

Wels shakes his head amusedly and pushes him back down. “No, it’s a figure of speech.”

“Oh.” Hels huffs. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Hels doesn’t respond to this.

Wels continues treating Hels’s leg and is eventually able to wrap a splint around it. “There you go. That should be enough for now. Seems it was a clean break, so it should heal within a week.”

“A week?!” Hels’s eyes widen in alarm. “What am I gonna do while it heals?”

“Stay here,” says Wels, as if it’s obvious. “You’re not in any danger, you know.”

Hels sighs and folds his arms. “Fine.”

In the ensuing silence, Wels’s eye is drawn to the table where Hels has left his things. “Whoa, this is one battered flint and steel.”

Hels turns his head away and mumbles something that Wels can’t quite hear. “What?”

His counterpart reluctantly raises his voice slightly. “It’s the one you gave me when we got trapped in that pit.”

Wels stares at him. “Really? You kept it all this time?”

“Um… yeah, of course. It’s a useful tool. And I had no way of making another one, so…”

He falls silent. Both he and Wels know this isn’t the true reason he’s held onto it this long.

At that moment, Wels’s communicator goes off. He takes it out and looks at it. “Ah, hold on a sec. I gotta take this. I’ll be right back.”

Before Hels can respond, Wels darts out of the house, closing the door behind him.

Hels settles down in the bed. He hasn’t had a soft place like this to sleep for a very long time, so it’s hard not to succumb to his exhaustion. But he can’t let himself do that yet. He doesn’t feel safe yet.

Minutes go by. Then half an hour. An hour.

“Wels?” Hels calls. “Are you… out there?”

He gets no reply.

“Wels?” Hels cries out, his heartrate accelerating as he realises he’s on his own. “Wels!”

Nobody responds. He’s alone.

Hels buries his face in his hands, trying his hardest to stop the tears in his eyes from escaping. “Wels!” he wails one last time.

“What’s wrong?!”

Hels looks sharply up to find Wels rushing through the doorway. “O-Oh.” Hels aggressively wipes his eyes, more than a little embarrassed. “I thought… I thought you’d left me.”

“Why would I do that?” asks Wels in confusion. “I said I’d be right back.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what everyone says,” Hels mutters. “Then they don’t come back.”

Wels gives him a sympathetic look. “Is your dimension really that bad?”

“I believe I once told you that it’s every person for themselves back in my dimension. Things haven’t changed a bit. If you get hurt, you either die or your recovery takes long enough for people to steal everything you’ve got. Anyone who offers to help you will abandon you to be killed or robbed sooner or later. Usually sooner.”

“You know that’s not what we’re like here, though, right?” says Wels gently, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “If you get hurt or sick, you can always come to me. In fact, please do. I’d much rather spend a few days taking care of you than you be out there on your own, in danger from mobs. Please do remember that you won’t respawn if you die.”

After a moment, Hels gives a quiet sigh. “I still don’t understand why you care about me. We’re not related, we’re not even friends.”

“You’re a part of me, Hels. But even if you weren’t, I still wouldn’t abandon you when you’re in need of help. It’s against a knight’s code of honour.”

“Honour, huh?” Hels considers this for a moment. “That’s very you.”

Wels chuckles. “Thanks. I think. Anyway, you’d better get some rest. Feel free to use this cottage as long as you need to. In fact, you can use it whenever.”

He takes out a small key from his pocket and places it among Hels’s things. “Here’s the key. Use it as a refuge for whenever you need it.”

Hels stares at him in shock. “Wh-Why would you give that to me?”

“Because I’m not using this place for anything else and you could do with a place you can come where you know you’ll be safe. You can also leave anything you like in here and it’ll be safe for when you come back.”

“Are you asking me to move in here?” asks Hels slowly. “Like, to live here?”

Wels shrugs. “Maybe. All I’m really saying is the place is yours to do with what you like. You don’t have to accept if you don’t want to. I just wanted to offer it to you.”

He approaches his counterpart and gives his shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Get some rest. I’ll come check on you before I go to bed.”

Hels blinks as Wels heads towards the door. “Thank you,” he blurts out, before he can stop himself.

Wels turns back briefly and smiles. “You’re welcome.”

With that, he leaves the cottage, and Hels is alone again.

But this time, Hels doesn’t feel scared. His counterpart’s kindness has ensured that he is safe, warm, and cared for. He looks around the room — HIS room — and settles down in the bed — HIS bed. This is his cottage now. He has a place to live, a place to belong. Every time he leaves an encounter with Wels, he thinks things can’t possibly change any more. And yet, they do.

Wels really, really does care about him.

And perhaps Hels cares about Wels too.

#hermitcraft #welsknight #helsknight #vaunna’s requests

41 notes · View notes

beewolfwrites · 4 years ago

Text

An Iron Box - The Eternal Rocks

Apologies for the late update! My life has become a little hectic, so I haven’t been on Tumblr or AO3 as much. Hopefully I can make it up with new scenes that weren’t in AWIAF :)

If you’re still following this fic, thank you for reading. It means the world <3

The AO3 link is here if you prefer reading it on there.

----------------------------------

I had stumbled across the copy of Wuthering Heights shortly after becoming an executive member. When I first moved into my room, it was tucked away in a drawer, and judging by the curled pages coated with dust, it had been there a while. I’d never cared enough to discard it, nor had I cared enough to read it. Until now.

The noon sunshine filtered through the windows as I sat on my bed, legs stretched out and book in hand. So far, it was a trivial mess – a ditsy story of childhood friends turned teenage lovers. Of course, this was the kind of book she would read. And if she really did have a Masters degree in literature, chances are she had already read it.

Yesterday, when I was called to the meeting room, I had an inkling as to what the fuss was about. And sure enough, there she was, dragged in like a stray by Niragi of all people. What terrible luck.

Well, for her at least.

Things had panned out just as I expected. If only she had come with me when I’d asked, she wouldn’t have had to deal with Aguni’s militants. They had given me the whole rundown of her Eight of Hearts game... how she’d solved it a little too late... how she’d accidentally set herself up by mentioning my name.

And now, I finally knew her name.

After showing her to her new room yesterday, I’d rolled it over on my tongue, memorising the foreign feel of it, the way the vowels stretched and consonants collided. It suited her, in a way. However, it seemed it would be a while before I could call her by it. According to the grapevine, she had disappeared into her room and hadn’t been seen since.

This morning, when I went downstairs to get breakfast, my eyes had instinctively scanned the crowded room, hoping to catch a familiar doe-eyed stare. But she was nowhere to be found.

‘Who are you looking for?’

Kuina had appeared beside me, balancing a bowl of cereal in one hand.

‘Nobody,’ I told her.

She wagged her finger, and through a mouthful of cereal, insisted, ‘don’t even think about lying to me. I can read you pretty well by now.’

I tried to ignore her noisy chewing. ‘I met a girl in a game.’

Kuina had wiggled her eyebrows at this, and something inside me instantly turned cold. If she thought I was involved in a petty romance then she could think again. I had no interest, and besides, this was hardly the place.

‘I believe we can use her in the plan. Niragi brought her in after a game yesterday.’

‘And there I was thinking you actually had a heart, hm?’ Kuina paused, her spoon dangling between her fingers. ‘I did hear there was a new girl, but nobody’s spoken to her yet. Do you want me to try and talk to her?’

I had mulled it over, but there was no point in rushing things. There was every chance she would emerge in her own time. It was like tempting a frightened animal out of its den and straight into a snare.

‘Not just yet,’ I said. ‘Let her feel hungry.’

‘You think she’ll come down for lunch?’

I smiled. ‘Probably not. But she’ll be hungry enough that when you do pay her a visit, she’ll want to trust you.’ Surveying the busy room, I added. ‘Keep an eye on the rumours. If she doesn’t come down in a few hours, bring her some food.’

‘Why me?’ Kuina scowled. ‘Why can’t you do it?’

Surely the reason was obvious. ‘She’s here because of me. I’m the last person she wants to speak to.’

Kuina had looked uncertain. But she couldn’t argue against it; we both knew I was right.

Now, several hours later, the sun was sinking and Kuina was probably about to pay (name) a visit. But I would leave that up to her. If Kuina befriended her, she would be much more willing to join our plan. Stretching my legs, I focused on the page in front of me.

‘It’s about life and finding meaning and purpose in everything.’

Her words from the pharmacy. Even now, they still rang clearly, haunting every recess of my mind. I didn’t care about finding meaning in life. I didn’t care at all. But I was curious about her obsession with fiction and poetry. What was it that drew her to books?

What meaning does she see that I can’t?

My eyes landed on the words before me.

“My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.”

How could love be necessary? It wasn’t food or water. It couldn’t be quantified, had little value in life, and if anything, it was a weakness in the games. I had never once needed it myself, and here I was, still alive and breathing. The whole story was trivial, melodramatic and utterly pointless. And yet, my gaze was drawn to the next line and the next.

I suppose I could read it, even if only to ease this perpetual boredom.

“He's always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being—”

A bang rattled the windows as the door to my room flew open. Kuina was standing breathlessly in the doorway, that fake cigarette of hers clenched between her teeth.

‘You,’ she said, inviting herself in and moving towards the chest of drawers. ‘I need to borrow one of your hoodies.’

I flipped over to the next page. ‘Why?’

She yanked open each drawer one by one, plundering through the contents before slamming them shut. ‘I need a spare hoodie for (name). Or, you know, anything that’s not a string bikini.’

‘I see, so that’s why she was hiding.’ I smiled, eyes drifting over the page of my book. ‘What a stupid reason.’

Kuina glowered and jabbed a finger at me. ‘Oi, just because you’re too confident for your own good it doesn’t mean everyone else is. Tell me where your hoodies are now.’

I nodded at the cupboard. ‘The grey one on the left-hand side.’

She opened it up and pulled out the grey hoodie. Out of the three I owned this was the smallest. It was also the newest, having never been soiled by blood in a game before. ‘Are you sure?’

I shrugged and turned back to my book. ‘She can keep it.’

It may be useful to create a debt.

I expected Kuina to simply take the hoodie and leave me to read in peace. But she didn’t. She clenched the fabric in her fists, staring at it. Her jaw tightened around her plastic cigarette.

‘Chishiya, she’s nice. She’s really nice.’

‘Everyone’s nice until you pit them against each other.’

She grimaced, fingers gripping the hoodie. ‘I don’t think... she’s not like that. What did you have planned with her anyway?’

‘We need someone to find the safe where the cards are kept. A guinea pig, so to speak. I’m going to set her up and we’ll take advantage of the distraction.’

Kuina looked uncomfortable with the idea. ‘I’m just not sure about this.’

Sighing, I gave up trying to read and snapped the book shut. ‘If you’re not sure, then drop out. I’ll leave with the cards and you can stay right here.’

Of course, Kuina was smart enough to know what the Beach would descend into once it became apparent that the cards were missing. And if I went missing along with them, she would be the first person they’d turn to. Judging by the look on her face, she seemed to be thinking the same thing.

‘Fine,’ she agreed at last. ‘But of all the people to choose, she really doesn’t deserve this.’

I smiled, thinking back to Niragi’s overdramatic retelling of their game. Apparently, it was a game of laser tag with handguns. She had shot a teenage girl in the chest and emerged without a scratch.

‘Perhaps you’ll think differently if you see her in a Hearts game,’ I said. ‘It’s human nature to be selfish.’

It’s human nature to kill in order to survive.

With a small hiss of disapproval, Kuina trailed out of the room and left me alone, taking the grey hoodie with her.

Finally.

Picking up the book once more, I scanned over the words on the page. The entire plot made no sense. Cathy’s choice was obvious right from the beginning – Linton offered protection and financial security. It was everything she needed to live comfortably, so what was the issue? Why would a person be so caught up just because of a childhood sweetheart? Heathcliff was equally as ridiculous, running away like a brat just because she said a few words behind his back. This was a book for naïve idiots.

No wonder she likes it.

And yet, I read and read until the sun slunk behind the skyline, the darkness creeping in slowly through the curtains until it became too dark to read. I could have easily turned on the bedside lamp and continued, but perhaps it was time to see how things were going with Kuina and (name).

The sooner they were friends, the easier this would become.

Getting up, I left my room and headed downstairs. It was right before the games began – the time when the Beach was at its most lively, and everyone was busy living in the moment just in case these turned out to be their final moments.

I passed by a couple furiously groping one another behind a pillar.

People are all the same.

Stepping outside onto the patio, I scanned the throngs of drunken idiots stumbling around in a haze of skin, sex and drugs. And then I caught a glimpse of that familiar face, standing by the bar and dressed in my hoodie. A man was beside her.

And you are just like them.

For a moment, I simply watched on as the man – one of Niragi’s troupe – tried to make conversation with her. Considering the sheer volume of the music and her self-taught Japanese, I wondered if she understood him. Taking her drink from the bartender, she smiled and said something undecipherable before taking a step away.

Bad move. A gun glinted, pressing into her side.

Oh?

The look on her face told me everything. She wasn’t flirting with him after all. And now it was all too clear what this man wanted from her.

Such an unpleasant welcome.

Perhaps I should have just left her to it, since this was the true face of the Beach, the drop of cold hard reality hidden behind the façade of a utopia. Perhaps I should have her deal with the situation on her own, for better or worse. But how could I? This was a perfect opportunity to regain her trust.

I sidled up to the bar, glancing between the half-drunken idiot and (name), who was standing there wavering like a ghost. Her expression was detached yet poised, like a rabbit on the verge of fleeing. But she couldn’t – not with the hand wrapped around her wrist and the pistol set just below her ribs.

‘What’s this?’ I leaned against the countertop. ‘I see you’ve met our newest member.’

(Name) blinked, only just noticing my presence. I glanced down at the pistol, the barrel half-hidden in the fabric of her hoodie. My hoodie.

‘You should probably put that thing away. Hatter won’t be too happy if you start messing with her. He’s got high expectations of her.’

The militant only pushed the gun further into her torso, standing up straighter in a useless attempt at intimidating me. ‘You know, Chishiya, I’m pretty sick of you interfering all the time. You should stay out of militant business.’

I almost smiled. This man wasn’t even an executive member. ‘Militant business,’ I said slowly. ‘It’s fascinating what you guys do. You take out the trash and dish out the sentence, but you never check the evidence.’

He bristled, his finger tightening over the trigger. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Just shut up and stay out of this.’

Typical. Do I have to spell things out to everyone?

‘What I’m saying,’ I replied, ‘is that you never bother checking to see if the ‘traitors’ are actually traitors. It’s surprisingly easy to slip a few cards into someone else’s room.’

I met his gaze pointedly, watching as he finally started to come to an understanding. He squeezed (name’s) wrist until her fingers blotched white and purple, before finally letting go.

Pushing his face close to mine, he whispered a slurred mess that sounded a lot like ‘threaten me again and I’ll end you’, before striding off into the crowd. It wasn’t much of a threat, coming from someone who couldn’t quite walk in a straight line. But no matter, I wasn’t here for him.

I was vaguely aware of (name) watching me as I turned back to the bar. The bartender was wiping glasses, unbothered by what had just happened. He saw worse every day.

‘お水をください,’ I said. Water, please.

A glass was placed in front of me, and I calmly sipped my water, waiting patiently for the inevitable. About now, she was probably itching to thank me, but wondering how best to do it. An over-thinker, that’s what she was.

When she finally spoke, it was so quiet I could have easily missed it, if only I hadn’t been expecting it. ‘Thanks... I’m guessing stuff like that’s pretty common around here.’

You catch on fast.

‘Well, there are only three rules,’ I said, assessing the grey hoodie. It had been slightly too small on me but was oversized on her. ‘Right now, you’re not allowed to go roaming the city alone because you’re still new, and that makes you a liability. But the next time you’re in a game, you’ll be paired with one of the executives, or someone else with a high rank. If you ask, they’ll go with you to find new clothes.’

She looked mildly surprised. Had Kuina not mentioned that it was mine? If so, I wonder how she would react once she found out. Perhaps this was a tidbit of information I should keep to myself for now.

Speaking of Kuina, I could see her now, watching me nervously through the crowds from a recliner on the other side of the patio.

‘Of all the people to choose, she really doesn’t deserve this.’

Perhaps not. But that’s what made her perfect for the job.

#alice in borderland #aib #imawa no kuni no arisu #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x oc #chishiya x reader #chishiya alice in borderland

42 notes · View notes

miraculousmarifan · 4 years ago

Text

Felinette Month 2020 - Day 19: Fallen Angel

Happy @felinettenovember! Can you guys guess what prompts I spend more than one day writing? I almost decided to try drawing the akumatized Felix before remembering that I haven’t drawn in nearly 10 years (maybe I would be better off painting it?) and wasn’t really good at people before that point... So I did this instead!

Almost 1900 words and if requested, this could have a continuation for some resolution later this year or early next year and/or potentially a piece of art to try showing Felix as an akuma and/or the object that inspired his form

Felix was close to flipping tables. Marinette had to be an angel from above with how she was handling being bullied by this Lila girl. How was it that even after the school was notified that Lila supposedly had a disease that made her compulsively lie but wasn’t antisocial personality disorder (?), the teacher refused to step in and help one of her star pupils? He shouldn’t be surprised. This was the same teacher that condoned Chloe’s defacing of Marinette’s present to count as them working together on it, even though Marinette had put actual effort into it. This was the same teacher that tried to convince Marinette to be a doormat, in the name of “setting a good example,” as though that has truly changed people that benefit from wronging others.

What he really couldn’t understand was how her friends weren’t more cautious about the liar. She had temporarily gotten Marinette expelled by claiming that she had not only cheated on a mock test, but also stolen the liar’s necklace, AND pushing the witch down the stairs. The class didn’t believe that it sounded like Marinette and YET after Marinette is returned due to the supposed uncontrollable lying diagnosis, they don’t question Lila's integrity? He couldn’t quite fathom why they wouldn’t take the things she said with a grain of salt after that very public and obvious set of lies, especially about Marinette.

And yet, here he was. Standing outside the classroom, waiting for a phone call from his driver, when he overhears the liar whispering to a few girls from the class. Marinette had been gone for an appointment the last period of school and apparently that wasn’t enough for Lila. He heard Alya exclaim, “That doesn’t really sound like Marinette…” and then a sad reply along the lines of how she knew Marinette was friends with all them but she couldn’t believe Marinette said that to her and just wanted to understand why by asking their closest friends. So on so on. Even with her verbalized doubt, it was clear from the tone she used that Alya believed it possible that Marinette had something to Lila, even if it wasn’t as severe as the liar had made it out to be. Felix didn’t need to be any closer to smell the fake crap Lila was spreading. He was sure it would have smelled over a mile away.

Rose exclaimed how she couldn’t believe how much Marinette was starting to act like Chloe and how they really needed to shake Marinette out of this. Alya volunteered to talk to her about it and encouraged them not to do anything crazy before then. It was the first time Felix felt a decent amount of respect towards Alya. Apparently she is starting to learn not to jump immediately to conclusions when it comes to Lila and Marinette. Unfortunately their other friends hadn’t gotten that much insight from the previous incidents and believed that Lila wouldn’t possibly exaggerate or make up anything and cause drama unnecessarily. Alya told the group that she had texted the girl and was going to head over to their place to hang out later that night.

Alya left, muttering how it sounded too extreme to be what Marinette had actually said. Felix had to give it to her, even if she had too much faith in the Italian, it was nice to see she wouldn’t fully discount her friend without any true evidence. Unfortunately with Alya’s departure, the voice of reason had left these girls and they were left with a snake. Felix decided to move slightly closer, just to keep an ear out for danger.

“I don’t think having a talk with her is really going to change Marinette’s mind. I mean she already knows about my health conditions and she’d rather discriminate against me than admit that I’m just trying to be friends. I reached out in good faith, painting her a picture, and she destroyed it and told me we could never be friends. It was just shockingly mean! She’s so nice to you guys so I thought this would help, especially since we like so much of the same stuff! I can’t help it if Adrien rejected her for me!”

Felix wanted to gag at that reasoning again. Marinette had worked to move on from Adrien long ago and especially hard when he had started dating Kagami over a year ago. She even started having tea and snacks with his girlfriend at least once a month, since Kagami didn’t get out much and Marinette didn’t want her to feel left out. As far as Felix knew, Marinette had long since given up on Adrien and was more focused on her personal projects than on boys, something her friends should have known by now.

“We know it’s not your fault and she should realize that too!” Rose tried to cheer up Lila.

“It’s so hard to imagine her destroying someone else’s art when she preaches about how people shouldn’t touch other’s work! Plus she has to know how much that sucks, after Chloe ruined her present for Ms. Bustier a few years ago…” Alix sounded angry enough to act impulsively and it didn’t sit well with Felix.

“To me, it just doesn’t seem like talking to her is going to be enough for her to really think about her actions, but you guys know her the best!” Lila managed to get a small amount of wavering into her voice, to convey hesitant worry and unsuccessfully attempted optimism through her small shrug. Felix may have thought that some of her lies should be relatively easy to dismiss but he had to admit that sometimes she could be a good actress.

“If we left her a message along with doing something, she wouldn’t ignore it right? Especially if she knows that if she ever does something like that again, we won’t stay friends with her…” Alix suggested. Felix felt his stomach sink. This was going bad but he couldn’t just walk in there right? He waited a moment longer to hear them start planning how they were going to ruin Marinette’s personal art project that she had been working on during her study hall, as it was sitting in a drying area of the art room. He had enough information to go talk to Damocles about what he had heard.

After hearing Felix’s concerns and hearing his stern insistence that this was actually at risk of happening, not just girl’s venting, Damocles accompanied him to the art room to check into the security of the projects inside. By the time the pair arrived though, they were too late. Nobody was in the room anymore, however Marinette’s project was beyond repair.

She had sculpted a human-like angel with arms raised with peace and joy captured remarkably on its face, an orb in its hands being presented to the sky like a holy gift. The wings had been formed into individual feathers and Marinette had just put the first layer of paint on it that day. The base color of the wings was a lovely shade of light pink, her dress had the first layer of white, the skin left a gray tone, with a small amount of darker gray and lighter gray added to certain areas to imitate how light would fall if emitted from the orb. The orb had a strange tone of light blue-green for the base. He had been enthusiastically anticipating her final painting work since she had finished the sculpting step.

Now the angel was missing a wing, the orb that had barely rested on the carved palms was separated from the hands, and the arms were no longer connected. He picked up the body of the statue gently before looking up at Damocles sadly.

“It’s too bad we didn’t get here sooner. I guess we will just have to check the school’s cameras to figure out who did this.” Damocles took a step towards the stand that the statue had previously been set on, picked up the note left on it, and read it out loud.

“‘This is for ruining Lila’s painting. You should’ve accepted her peace offering rather than blaming her for Adrien’s rejection and if you keep acting like this, you won’t have any more friends here.’--” he cleared his throat in displeased surprise, “-- I will need to take this note as evidence in this. Also, we should probably take some pictures of the damages before getting this cleaned up.”

Felix helped set the pieces of the statue on the table next to each other before the principal took out his cell phone and snapped a quick picture of that and of the note. Before the man could leave, Felix volunteered to clean up the classroom as he was sure Marinette would still want the pieces. He was also sure that Damocles would actually proceed with this investigation due to his involvement and firmness regarding the need to supply a punishment. While the punishment would not be sufficient, there would at least be some record of this incident.

Before sweeping up the tiny pieces that he didn’t expect her to care about, he sat down in a chair and held the body of the statue. His fingers ran over the one remaining wing despite the paint smearing on his skin, feeling the texture his classmate had managed for the feathers. It was an amazing work that would be difficult to replicate, if Marinette even decided it was worth doing again. Part of him hoped she would redo the remarkable piece. He felt anger bubbling just below the surface of his sadness, anger that the girls that were supposedly her friends would do this. Anger that their school was not secure for her. Anger that he wasn’t able to protect her, even having heard the plans. Grief over being too slow to protect her. Crushing sadness that she couldn’t trust her classmates, her supposed friends, to even ask her about a situation before trusting another’s words about her. Someone that had very publicly lied to get her suspended just the last school year. He was so busy with his thoughts and the statue that he missed the purple butterfly coming towards him until it settled into the statue.

“Hello Ange Déchu. I am Hawk Moth. The people around you pass judgement on the innocent and work on behalf of the wicked. It must be frustrating to watch them work to break the people you care about. I will give you the power to understand people’s intentions and apply your chosen consequences on them so you can protect the ones you love. In exchange you would give me Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous.”

In this akumatized form, he could not only protect Marinette but also help her get revenge on the manipulative witch. She would be his queen, his direction, and she would be able to decide how she wanted to apply justice.

“Yes Hawk Moth. I will deal out Marinette’s justice and get the miraculous for you.” The akumatized Felix, called Fallen Angel, unfurled his black wings and pushed off the ground to fly to Marinette’s side. He would protect her first and foremost. Then they would deal with the witch and her flying monkeys however she saw fit.

#felinette month 2020 #felinette month #akumatized felix #lila salt #alya sort of redeemed?#some bustier salt #damocles actually does SOMETHING #felinette #miraculous ladybug

133 notes · View notes