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moonchild-things · 11 months ago

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Chapter Thirty-Nine: Moonrise

Summary: Shōyō Hinata loves volleyball! There is no doubt that all he really thinks about is volleyball. His sister, however, isn’t the same way. Sakura is ready to start her first year of high school at Karasuno with her twin brother and doesn’t really want to do anything, unlike Shōyō. Though she can’t help it when she gets dragged into the antics of the volleyball club.

Word Count: 6471

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A/n: Ah another chapter, how lovely.

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“OH, MAN! OH, MAN! TAKING OFF IN the middle of the night is pretty exciting!” Shōyō was bouncing on the balls of his feet, really one of the only ones really awake at this time of the morning. It was quite early, the sun hadn’t even breached through the horizon yet. Though the team weren’t awake for practice, they were awake to climb onto a bus and make their journey to Tokyo.

Tanaka chuckled at his underclassmen, “Well, you guys were late last time.” He nostalgically remembered how his sister had to be the one to drive the troublesome duo to their camp. Ah, fun times.

“Being an idiot must be nice.” Tsukishima scoffed, “You can even sleep on a bus.”

The two other boys shouted at him, “What’d you say?!”

Sakura cringed, “don’t yell, it’s too early for this.”

The team plus Sakura and the managers all gathered around the bus. Some were tired this early in the morning, but almost all of them were excited. Yet another training camp to go to! The day was finally here that they would get to see some other strong schools from Tokyo! “We’ll be arriving at our destination early in the morning once again.” Takeda said, drawing all of their attention, “Ukai-kun and I will take turns driving.”

Said coach yawned, “Sorry if I nod off.”

Everyone bowed to him with a slight shout, “Thank you!”

Their advisor jumped, “It’s the middle of the night, so not so loud.”

“Oh, sorry… Habit,” Daichi chuckled in apology.

“Do you guys have everything?” Takeda said to them all, “Make sure you double-check.”

Yamaguchi turned to Shōyō by his side, “It’ll go quickly if you fall asleep.”

“I wonder if I can…” the ball of sunshine pursed his lips.

Sakura scoffed lightly under her breath, “you most certainly will.” She knew her brother could sleep anywhere at any time. A bus ride was not going to be an issue for him. Though besides her she didn’t notice the lazy stare that a blond giant was pointing at her.

Ever since they had all gathered together, Tsukishima was surveying the distance that was put between the Hinata siblings. Now that Sakura was actually here, he could see just how she was keeping herself separate from her brother. Along with that Shōyō was also doing what he could to gain her attention every once in a while. Even so, Shōyō was a bit quieter, upset with his sister’s ignorance. It was a strange sight, Tsukishima never thought he’d see the day when the twins weren’t attached at the hip. He saw that ever since they had rode up to the school together on their bikes the twins hadn’t said much to each other. Sakura kept herself besides Yachi or Yamaguchi. Meanwhile, Shōyō sends her puppy-dog eyes every once in a while and distracts himself by talking with Nishinoya and Tanaka.

Then again for a moment Tsukishima could feel himself… empathizing with Sakura. How pathetic, he thought. Him empathizing with Hinata Sakura? That’s baffling! Though he tried to push that thought away, as he should be focusing on how he was going to ignore the others to sleep a bit on the ride to the camp.

Endo yawned loudly, “why do we have to get up at this ungodly hour.”

Asahi laughed at the tired look on his friend's face, “I’m sorry you have to suffer through being awake.”

“Some of us need our beauty sleep, you know.” He not so subtly pointed at Nishinoya and Tanaka, “Some more than others.”

“OI!!” It appeared that the two heard them. Though Endo probably wanted them to. Even if it was early in the morning, he still loved riling up his friends. He just shared a laugh with Asahi before climbing into the bus. Endo was more than ready to sit next to his best friend and use Asahi’s shoulder for a nap.

So the team all piled into the bus. Some were fighting over who would sit next to who and others more than ready to get comfy in their seats for the ride over. Just as Sakura was about to follow behind Yachi when her brother stopped her.

“Imouto, do you want to sit with me?” Shōyō shyly asked as he walked up to his sister.

The girl blinked at him for a moment. She pursed his lips at him and shook her head lightly, “I said I’d sit with Yachi, sorry.”

Shōyō’s expression dropped, “oh.”

So Sakura left behind her dejected brother and climbed onto the bus. She was a bit annoyed with herself for turning him down, even after they had had distance between them for a while now, she still thought it would be a good idea to keep it up.

Yachi noticed the expression on Sakura’s face and asked, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sakura said, getting comfortable in her seat at the window.

“Shōyō-kun definitely seems down,” Yachi cooed, eyeing the boy as he sulked a little bit in his seat beside Kageyama. She didn’t like to see anyone upset, especially her friends. She turned to look at Sakura who pursed her lips.

“Yeah, he’ll just have to get used to it.” Her friend gave her a look. One that had Sakura sighing heavily. “I know now that I have to move forward with my plan, and Shōyō is just going to have to get used to it, since it’s my choice.” It lifted some sort of weight off of her after coming to that conclusion. She was going to use this camp as a way to make it clear to Shōyō exactly what she wanted and how she felt. Sakura didn’t want him to misunderstand any longer like he did that first time she tried to tell him. She finally came up with a good plan, in her opinion, and knew what to say this time around to make it crystal clear to him how she’s felt and how she wants to make things right.

Yachi nodded her head, “Just make sure you talk with him about it. You wouldn’t want him to think that he did something wrong…” She then paused and anxiously waved her hands, “He didn’t do anything wrong right!?”

“No. Not intentionally, at least.” Sakura nodded her head, “I will talk to him when we’ve settled in.”

---

The bus ride wasn’t as tense as Sakura thought that it would be. After not accepting the offer to sit with her brother, she felt like it would fill her with some sort of guilt. Though after the last few days of not really talking with him she had grown to not feel guilty about not being around him all the time. After getting the support that she needed from her friends and talking through everything with them, she knew now not to base her emotions off of what Shōyō was feeling.

Once the team arrived, there were a few boys from the Nekoma team who had come to greet them and show them where to go. Sakura was happy to say hi to Kenma when he came over to them with Kuroo and Nobuyuki. Though she let out a sigh to see that Yua hadn’t tagged along to greet them. She still wasn’t sure if she wanted to say that she was friends with the eager girl. They had shared a few texts here and there, but Sakura hadn’t taken up on any of Yua’s offers to hang out.

“Hey, hey! Where’s the Skytree?” Shōyō exclaimed as soon as he jumped off the bus.

Kenma tilted his head in confusion, “Huh? The Skytree?”

“Oh! Is that the Tokyo Towers?!” Shōyō jumped as he pointed to a random tower in the distance.

“Huh?” The pudding-headed boy blinked, “That’s… Just a normal transmission tower.”

“What the hell?” Kuroo asked, “Are there no transmission towers in Miyagi? Pretty sure I’ve heard that conversation before.”

Daichi’s eyebrow twitched, “The transmission towers in Tokyo all look like the Tokyo Tower to us country folk!”

“That’s a rash thing to say.” Suga said, “Also, we’re in Saitama.”

Shōyō asked Kenma, “So we’re gonna be at a different school this time?”

“Apparently, the summer training camp is always in Shinzen. It’s nice and cool here…” Kenma then slapped his arm to kill an annoying bug, “But lots of bugs around.”

“Hinata!” Nekoma’s half-Russian giant then appeared, running down the stairs. “Did you grow any taller?!”

Kenma deadpanned, “Lev, shut up.”

“That’s a pretty rude thing to say.” Shōyō gaped, “Like I could grow in two weeks!”

Lev just smugly smirked down at him, “I grew two millimeters.” Shōyō then went into shock at that information. Yachi laughed from beside Sakura who was just shaking her head at them.

The boys all went into the gym, getting themselves ready for their first day of some grueling training camp. As soon as Sakura had stepped into the gym, Yua had seemingly made a beeline for her. Through her excited babbling, the older girl was expressing how happy she was to see her friend again and where they would be sleeping during the camp. It took Yaku nearly dragging her back to their game that Sakura was allowed a moment to breathe. Which meant that she was able to go off with Yachi and Kiyoko and help with anything that they needed.

“All right!” Ukai said to the team, “We’re gonna switch out members constantly this time around, so be prepared.”

“Right!”

So their first game of the camp was against Fukurōdani. One of the most formidable teams here at the camp, it certainly was going to be a challenge to go up against them. Some of the crows were more than determined to see how they were going to fair against their opponents. After all, it was time to show off just how much they had improved.

“Let’s try for no penalties!” Bokuto exclaimed to his teammates.

The game began with Fukurōdani serving to Karasuno. Though there was something just slightly off… When Kageyama tossed the ball to Shōyō, it missed.

Sakura blinked, “Missed?” Sure, she’s seen them miss some spikes or tosses from time to time, but this one was one of the most horrendous misses that she's seen from them. The ball was just slightly short. Though thanks to Shoyo’s quick reflexes he was able to save the ball before it could hit the ground. They’re both so… different now, Sakura thought to herself.

The game continued on with each of the boys having some sort of slight imbalance. Asahi’s spikes were powerful, but not as accurate as they should be. Their synchronized attack most certainly still needed work. Their blocks could be a bit more secure, and obviously the freak duo was having some issues as well. So the boys were completely out of sync with each other. All that practice that they had put in individually wasn’t meshing well as a team just about yet. There was yet another learning curve that they would have to get through now.

“Endo,” Ukai called, making the boy jump just slightly at the shout, “you’re getting subbed in.”

Endo pointed at his own chest, “me? I’m a sub? Wh-what about Suga or Yamaguchi?” It seemed like he was baffled at the idea that he was going to be put in instead of the other guys.

His coach just gave him a bored expression, “Is your name not Endo? Go!”

The blond scoffed, “okay, okay. Don't have a stroke, old man.”

So he was put on the court, for what felt like the first time in quite a while. Endo certainly has been on the court before, but that was normally just at practice against his own teammates. Not necessarily against another team. Still, it was technically a practice game anyway. Plus, they were willing to try anything out to get their momentum going. Since he was subbed in, that meant that Tanaka was taken off of the court, just to shake things up a bit. That certainly did shake up the play style just a bit, but not enough to earn points against Fukurōdani.

Endo did try his best, honestly. He was just a bit surprised to be actually put into the game. Most of the time people overlooked putting him in since he wasn’t all that good and he was never picked over his passionate teammates. Why put someone on the court you weren’t sure was going to put all of their effort into the game when you could put someone who would? It made sense that he was passed over all the time, and Endo wasn’t going to put that against anyone, since he understood. Though now that he was going to actually start focusing on getting better at volleyball, just to spite his father, perhaps it was time to change his outlook. He was going to really put his all into it. Even if that meant sweating a bit more than usual, though he was certain that it would be worth it. After all, he would love to say ‘I told you so’ to his father sooner rather than later.

Across the gym, the Nekoma team was also keeping an eye on the game between the owls and crows. “Hm… Splendid.” Nekomata said while watching Karasuno, “They’re splendidly… not in sync at all.”

Yua nodded her head before scribbling something down after watching Lev miss a dive. Most certainly keeping track of any missed receives that he has. Just so she could show Yaku her statistics later and see him scowl at the younger boy to practice them more.

They then watched as Nishinoya jumped up to actually set the ball. Their mouths were agape as Naoi exclaimed, “Jumping from the back zone and into a libero’s jump toss?” Though it didn’t really do much, since the libero ended up jumping a little too far. “I wonder what happened to Karasuno. Maybe they’re in some kind of rut?”

Nekomata laughed, “I think it’s the exact opposite. Because they’re crows, they’re omnivorous. It doesn’t matter if they’re deep in the mountains, or in the middle of Kabukicho. They eat everything there is to eat, and take advantage of those stronger than them to survive.” He explained as the other teams also kept an eye on Karasuno’s game from the corner of their eyes. “It looks like they’re in the middle of evolving at an incredible speed.”

Yua then pointed at the blond who wasn’t able to block Bokuto’s spike, “Though that one doesn’t seem to be catching up, huh?” Then again, Bokuto’s spikes could be pretty difficult to go up against. She didn’t really think a first-year would stand much of a chance against his spikes. So she really couldn’t hold it against Tsukishima. Hell, even she has issues with blocking Bokuto’s spikes!

---

After all of their many, many mistakes, Karasuno had ended up with quite a few penalty runs. Of course, the penalty was just as grueling as it was at the last training camp. However, instead of diving around the gym, they had to partake in Shinzen’s special “refreshing sprint up the grassy hill”. It was quite a refreshing sprint after doing it so many times. All of the boys were in quite a lot of pain after each round of penalties. By the end, it was just like last time, Karasuno was having a hard time standing up to

Now that it was dark out, the moon gazed down on them after they’ve finished playing their last game of the day, Endo was laid out in the grass. He still was recovering from their last sprint up the hill, taking a breather with the rest of the team. He really was testing his athleticism today. While he certainly would exercise regularly, it wasn’t really to this extent. It was near torture in his opinion! Curse these coaches who wish to see them suffer like this. Why couldn’t one of the other teams just let them win?? He certainly would have loved winning at least one game to miss out on a penalty.

Laid out in the grass with the other third-years and Tanaka, Endo was more than ready to go to bed. Hell, he could probably start sleeping right now. The grass that was scratching his back was extremely comfortable on his sore muscles. Besides him, Suga let out a sigh, “We amazingly lost all of our games.”

“It’s actually sort of refreshing.” Daichi smiled, perhaps a bit dazed after all of their penalties.

With a disbelieving scoff, Endo barely sat up on his elbows to glare at his captain, “If that was refreshing, then you are the biggest masochist I’ve met.”

“I haven’t done that many sprints since Coach Ukai was coaching,” Tanaka wheezed, face planted in the grass.

Daichi then sat up, “I’m gonna borrow the tablet from Ukai-san so we can review the synchronized attack video.”

“All right.”

“Sure thing.”

Asahi also got a hard look on his face, determination growing in his eyes, “I’m gonna go hit some serves. I need way more practice.”

Endo sighed heavily before groaning as he got to his feet, “Ah, geez, you guys are gonna make me feel left out if I don’t join in.” Yes, he could just go back to their shared room and go to bed for the night. However, the last thing that he wanted was to fall behind now after talking so boldly to his family before this.

Meanwhile, in the gym, Sakura waltzed up to her brother as he was lost in his own thoughts. She knew that he was thinking about how his playstyle had changed and wasn’t exactly matching up with Kageyama’s. A big predicament for them as the freak duo obviously. Though now that they had the time, Sakura figured that it was a good moment to talk a bit.

“Shō-nii,” she said, trying to get his attention. Though that proved to be a bit difficult as he just continued to stare down at the volleyball he was holding in his hand. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking but really wanted to finally put this behind them. “Shōyō!”

He jumped out of his own mind as it had been racing with some many things. The practice matches had been abysmal and he was still not really on speaking terms with Kageyama or Sakura, so he was really not focusing all too much. However, now that his sister was actually here, in front of him, waiting for him to speak to her, he had to jump at the chance. He exclaimed, “Imouto!”

Sakura cringed at his shout, “You don’t have to be so loud.” It was slightly awkward between the two, since this had to be the longest that they had been able to be around each other. Though Shōyō looked more than eager now that they were having a conversation. Sakura cleared her throat, “we really do need to… talk.”

Shōyō had been wanting to talk with her. It was almost unbearable that they hadn’t been like they were before their big blow out a few weeks ago. They said the bare minimum to each other, didn’t interact much at school, and didn’t even ride home together, it was really driving him crazy. So he nodded his head, agreeing with her though not really knowing where to start.

“I want to make sure we understand each other,” Sakura started off slowly. “I’m not abandoning you.”

Shōyō let out a long sigh, “oh.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do, okay?” Sakura scratched the back of her neck, “I’m sorry I never talked to you about what I’ve been feeling after all this time.” It probably would have been easier to deal with if she had been honest with him all this time. Or at least told him how she had been feeling a bit more than how she was. Was she good at dealing with emotions? Not really. However, she should have been more open with her brother. It would have most likely stopped their disagreement much sooner.

“I just… didn’t think that I wouldn’t notice something upsetting you.” Shōyō had been kicking himself ever since they had their argument. He prides himself on being such a good older brother, being there for both of his sisters and doing his best to help when or when not asked. Though to have it suddenly revealed to him that he had not been able to see some sort of issue that his twin was dealing with upset him.

She just shrugged her shoulders, “It’s my fault for not telling you, Shō. Now I’m telling you that I think it’s better if we have some space.”

“So you can do photography?” There was a slight tinge of realization in his voice. It seemed like he wasn’t taking this as a generally back thing at the moment. Since having space did seem like one of the most horrible things in Shōyō’s mind at times. “I thought that you wanted to leave me because of the fight!!”

Sakura shook her head, “No! The fight, yes, did hurt a bit, but one argument isn’t going to make me just abandon you…” Why did it kind of bother her that Shōyō thought that she would do that? Did her constant support not make it clear that she was going to be there for him no matter what? Though she shouldn’t dwell on that thought, since they are really trying to make amends here.

Sakura could see Shōyō visibly deflate in relief. He then smiled, “that’s good then!” At least he was taking this better than a few days ago. Perhaps that was because they both had clear thoughts and could explain themselves a bit better.

“So you’re not… upset?” She bit the inside of her cheek, nervous for his answer.

Shōyō tilted his head, “I… was. Though I don’t think I knew what you meant.”

“Yeah, that was pretty clear,” Sakura scoffed.

He sheepishly apologized, “I’m sorry, Imouto.��

“I figured we both just needed time to ourselves. I’m sorry too.” She cleared her throat, “I just… This isn’t me not wanting to be around you anymore or be involved in things, I just want a chance to be myself.”

Shoyo gave her a thumbs up, “I’ll definitely support you just like I usually will!” Even if he was still a bit… wary about this, he wasn’t going to stop her from doing anything she wants. Shōyō isn’t a selfish person, especially when it comes to his family. So it wasn’t like he would stop her from doing something she enjoyed. It would be hypocritical of him to do that. Though it definitely was going to take some time to truly understand and get used to it.

The blinding smile that he flashed at her lifted a weight off of her chest. They had cleared up any misconception between them, it was a bit easier than she initially thought. If there was one thing it was Hinata’s were stubborn and it took quite a while to change their minds. So with that in mind, Sakura thought that it would take a bit to get accustomed to their newer dynamic. Though they could save that for when they get back home after this training camp.

So she nearly skipped out of the gym, more than content with just going to bed. Progress had been made between the two! They both had a clearer understanding between them. It was really starting to look up for Sakura.

Though it seems like the universe had to keep a balance to itself. Since as she was walking towards her room for a wonderful night’s rest, she nearly ran into a giant who was too lost in his own thoughts to notice her either. She would have apologized if it hadn’t been Tsukishima.

“Sorry didn’t see you down there,” he sneered

Sakura deadpanned, “You really aren’t original, are you?” Really why is he like this? Sakura wondered to herself.

“Shouldn’t you be following your brother around or something?”

She stared at him with faux-confused eyes, “I didn’t think you paid attention to what I do. Are you stalking me or something?” She said sarcastically, “Though no. I’m going to sleep. Let that idiot lose sleep if he wants.”

She was going to try and walk away from him though Tsukishima just narrowed his eyes at her, “I thought after your fight you’d be begging for him to forgive you.” Based on what he had seen and heard, the twins weren’t on talking terms. They hadn’t been for quite a while now. It was strange for him to think that the twins weren’t attached at the hip or Sakura following her brother around like a lost puppy. As long as he’s, unfortunately, known them he had rarely seen them apart. Not having her at the practices also caused him to become quite confused. Had he noticed that she was missing the first practice that she had skipped? Perhaps. Though that wasn’t because of anything other than wanting to mess with her. He enjoyed getting to poke fun at her brother and by extension her. So he was just missing out on some fun entertainment with her gone.

Sakura rolled her eyes with gritted teeth, “It’s none of your business.” Though Tsukishima smirked, which set Sakura’s mind aflame with annoyance. She wasn’t going to let him know about anything. What goes on between her and Shōyō didn’t need to involve anyone else, especially not this bitchy blonde giant.

Tsukishima towered over her and seemed to be quite pleased with himself that he was able to get under her skin, even if it was by a little. They continued to stare each other down, eyes narrowed in annoyance and smugness. Even if they weren’t saying anything it was pretty clear what both of them were thinking about the other. Her chocolate eyes were piercing his golden ones and neither seemed to be willing to step down.

“Oh, hey, you two. Karasuno!” A voice called, startling the pair out of their staring contest. Sakura glanced over to see that it was Kuroo who was calling out to them. He was standing at the entrance of a gym alongside Bokuto. “You with the glasses. Kitten-chan!” Sakura scowled at him as Tsukishima raised an eyebrow at him, “Would you jump some blocks for us?”

The two stared at them for a moment before Tsukishima bowed, “Oh, actually, I’m done for the night. If you’ll excuse me.”

Kuroo and Bokuto blinked, “What?!”

“I’m not a player,” Sakura said, though going ignored.

“There’s no point in practicing spikes without a blocker!” Bokuto said, “Come on!”

“Why does it have to be me? Why not someone from Fukurōdani?” Tsukishima asked.

Aakashi then walked up to the door and explained, “There’s no limit to Bokuto-san’s spiking practice, so everyone runs away pretty quickly.”

Kuroo jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at Lev. “I’m too busy whipping this guy into shape.” Said boy was currently pancaked on the floor, completely exhausted from his practice that his captain had subjected him to.

“I said I’d jump some blocks!” Lev whined, still laying in his puddle of sweat.

“Shut up!” Kuroo shouted, “If you want to continue as a regular on Nekoma’s team, you need to actually be able to receive the ball!” He then focused back on Tsukishima and patted Bokuto on the back, “He may not look it, but this guy’s one of the top five spikers in the country, so it’ll be great practice.”

Aakashi blandly said, “So he somehow didn’t make it into the top three, huh?” That instantly deflated Bokuto.

Kuroo patted Bokuto on the back in comfort, “Don’t mind.”

“Don’t raise me up just to let me get knocked down!” Bokuto whined at his friend.

The Nekoma captain then turned to Tsukishima with a smirk, “Besides, if you’re a middle blocker, you should be practicing your blocking a bit more.”

That certainly got a reaction out of Tsukishima who just glared at them before marching into the gym. Sakura was still standing outside, more than ready to head back to the manager room to go to sleep. Though it wasn’t like Kuroo was going to let her go that easily. She felt hands suddenly under her arms, lifting her from the ground.

“Come on now, kitten-chan.”

“Hey!” She shouted while being dragged in. Well, it wasn’t really dragged, Kuroo was easily able to pick her off the ground and carry her like a feral cat. “This is kidnapping!” Though he just ignored her with his usual sharp smirk as he brought her inside, to the amusement of everyone else in the gym. Why can’t I just have a normal night, Sakura mentally huffed while giving up on escaping and stopped flailing her legs.

So she was finally let go and left to sit on the sidelines. She had no doubt that if she tried to leave Kuroo or Bokuto would try to chase her down and keep her there. Sakura found their inability to leave her alone annoying. She knew that Bokuto had some weird interest in knowing her due to Sato. Kuroo was a bit more of a mystery to Sakura since she didn’t think she would have interested him at all. Why so many of these guys wanted to keep annoying her at any chance they could, she’ll never know.

She plopped down on the ground, glaring at the boys as they got themselves ready. Akaashi, seeing her displeased expression, came over to her with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about them,” he said with a small bow, “they usually can be a hassle. I figure you’d rather be resting.”

She waved her hand dismissively, “don’t worry about it. I’ll stay for a bit,” she smirked up at him, “there’s nothing wrong with me observing Karasuno’s opponents, right?” Akaashi chuckled lightly at her smug expression before jogging back over to the court. If she was going to be forced to be here by those idiots then she was going to use this time to gather some information. Perhaps they could use it to their advantage if she told Ukai some of her thoughts about these specific players

Bokuto was spiking again and again against Tsukishima. It wasn’t like it was anyway of stopping him. Sakura couldn’t deny that Bokuto was an extremely strong player. His spikes were strong and looked difficult to block. She wouldn’t really know where to start with trying to block his spikes. Sakura watched as Tsukishima was having trouble with blocking it. So from time to time, she would snicker at his failure. Which certainly irked Tsukishima quite a bit.

If all she was going to do here was find his attempts amusing, then why be here at all. While he also found it amusing that she had been forced here, she was getting on his nerves with the subtle comments that she was making about his form.

After missing yet another spike from Bokuto, who cheered at his spike, Tsukishima turned to the smirking girl, “Didn’t you want to go to sleep?”

Sakura rolled her eyes, “I did. Though I didn’t have much of a choice but to come in.” She threw a glare at Kuroo, who just shrugged his shoulders at her.

Tsukishima pursed his lips, “And here I thought you’d have been crying since you can’t follow your brother around like a sad puppy.” That certainly got a reaction out of her, which surprised Tsukishima just a bit. Considering he thought that she had grown some pretty thick skin after all this time. Though there was a spark of insecurity in her eyes that gave him pause only for a moment, just a miniscule moment. However, it was enough of a moment for him to feel just a little bit guilty.

Sakura gnawed at her bottom lip and just stared at him. He really wasn’t letting up, was he? Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? Her eyes grew narrowed while her mind started to fill with impulsive thoughts. Though could anyone really blame her if she went over to him and kicked him in the shin? She didn’t think so. However, she was going to be a better person here. So she took a moment to breathe through her nose and out her mouth before giving the boy the harshest glare she could.

“I know what you’re doing,” she stated, “I would appreciate it if you would stop, but knowing your inability to be civil, that isn’t going to happen.” She glared at him, which was returned back at her through his golden eyes, “Just know that you’re not getting anything out of me.”

With that she spun on her heels and marched out of the gym, certainly not going to stick around. She would need to calm down after having been around him for all this time. Why she even stuck around after being dragged in she’ll never know. Sakura could tell herself that it was to watch the other boys and report back to Ukai about what she saw all she wanted. Her insight isn’t really needed to help better the team, so who was she fooling? Either way, going to sleep and forgetting about that jerk was a need for her at the moment.

Though after all this time, she knew that Tsyukishima was trying to get a rise out of her. That was horribly obvious. As she’s figured out in the past, he had been trying to get under her skin in a multitude of ways. Unlike the last time she was bullied, she had stuck up for herself. Though perhaps the fact that she and Shōyō had just made up only a short time before this, it was still a bit raw for her to think about. So she wasn’t going to take this.

Back in the gym, it was still pretty quiet since Sakura had stormed out. Though Tsukishima tried to make it seem like it didn’t bother him at all. Which it didn't, obviously. Though it was still a bit tense around the gym. It was obvious that the other guys were quite disapproving of how disrespectful Tsukishima is to Sakura.

Bokuto shook his head at him, “That was pretty mean, Tsuki-dude.”

Tsukishima tutted, “Don’t call me that.”

“You shouldn’t be rude to people!” The owl captain exclaimed.

However, a cheshire-like smirk crawled onto Kuroo’s lips, “Oh, I see how it is. ” He slid over to the younger boy and gave him a mischievous stare. “This certainly isn’t the right way to get a girl’s attention, you know.”

Tsukishima stared at him blankly, “Huh?”

Kuroo dragged him under his arm as if he were about to tell Tsukishima a secret, “I can give you some advice if you want. It’ll be a lot better than just annoying her you know.”

It took a moment for his mind to process it, but Tsukishima finally understood what Kuroo was implying. His ears grew hot as he scowled, “that’s not what it’s like!”

Kuroo’s smirk didn’t leave his face, “sure, sure.” To Kuroo’s eyes, it was obvious why Tsukishima was being so mean to her. Tsukishima brushed off Kuroo’s arm and scowled before going back to the net. Ah, young love, Kuroo mused to himself.

---

So the next morning came, which meant more practice games, and plenty of more penalties for Karasuno. By mid-day, the team was quite exhausted since they were pushing themselves harder than they had yesterday. Just about every boy in the camp was trying to do the best that they could and improve. So Karasuno was losing just as much as they had been yesterday. The only difference being that the scores were a bit closer than before. While they weren’t perfectly in sync yet, they were on their way there.

Sakura talked with Shōyō more than she had in the entire week that they weren’t on talking terms. It seemed like as soon as they made up, Shōyō wanted to make up for lost time and made sure to talk with her when he could. Though there was one difference than usual. He gave her space. Shōyō didn’t interject himself into her conversation with others or ask her to be with him any chance he could. He had understood what she wanted, and wished to show her that. Certainly the progress that both of them wanted.

Eventually, the managers came into the gym with plates of watermelon in their hands, ready to share it with everyone. A well earned break was in order for all the teams. They all sat outside enjoying the sun and delicious watermelon. Sakura helped Yachi out with handing out watermelon before sitting down on the grass alongside the other managers to enjoy a slice herself. It was refreshing, even if she hadn’t been playing at all. She got to know a few of the other managers a bit more from the other schools. Yua had been more than happy with introducing her to them. Thankfully, most of the other girls were completely normal when compared to the likes of Yua or any of the other volleyball idiots. So that was certainly an upside in Sakura’s opinion. She got to know some of the other girls before their break was over.

So Sakura had to go back into the gym and watch the boys continue playing. Which was quite painful since it was just Karasuno getting their ass beat just like the day before. She chatted idly with Yachi and Kiyoko as she observed the boys. They all were improving in their own ways, slowly but surely. Asahi seemed to grow some sort of determination within him, Nishinoya was working on his speed, and even Endo was working on improving. While all of the boys on the team were making some sort of improvement, there was one other thing that she noticed. Tsukishima was too stuck in his own thoughts to really make anything notable of his blocks.

Sakura could see that he was… thinking about something. Debating in his mind, maybe? Having difficulty with something. Though it wasn’t like she cared, right? As long as he was good enough for the team to win games, then why would she care about his inner turmoil? She still certainly hadn’t gotten over what he had said the other night, though she would push that sour feeling away for the time being. She just hoped that he figured out whatever it was that he was having issues with. As much as she’d love to see him have some sort of failure, if that failure affected her brother, she didn’t want to encourage it.

---

A/n: So there's that. I'm thinking that in the next few chapters, we're gonna start hitting some developments in Sakura's relationship with Tsukishima. After all, she's getting her relationship with her brother intact and to a point that they are at an understanding, so it's time to focus on some other relationships of hers. I've always wanted to make this a slow, slow burn since I always saw that as a challenge for myself. Back when I first started writing fanfic I got characters into relationships pretty quickly and perhaps a bit unrealistically. So the relationship that Sakura and Tsukishima were going to have was going to be maybe a bit more... realistic? But definitely slow.

Thoughts on the atla live action series? I'm only half way through so I'm saving my full review of it until I get through all the episodes. Though I suppose it could be... worse. I have been sitting on an idea for an atla fanfic and though why not upload it now since there's a live action series now. I uploaded it last week and I'm happy with how it came out. The only thing is that the idea is a bit old so I'm going through my outline for it and refining some of the plot points that I created since I think I'm a bit of a better writer now lol

I've also been writing up quite a few other fanfics. New ones, when I know that I should be writing the ones that I already have in progress. However, these ideas just pop in my head and I can't help myself. However, I'm thinking of changing up how I upload and write fanfics going forward. I already tried it once and it didn't go the way that I wanted, but this time imma stick to it. I want to write out a bunch of chapters so they can go out on an actual schedule. Like one chapter a week, or maybe even one a day. Depends on how many chapters are completely written out. It's a bit of a different process since I'm use to getting feedback from you guys about the chapters as I write them. Though I think this is for the best. Let's just say that I have grow to love quite a few new shows and series and have some fics I want to write. Main one I'm focusing on is a Lost fanfic. Yes, Lost! So hopefully that'll be out.... at some point lol.

Anyway, let me know what you thought of this chapter! Until the next one, my friends!

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#ocs #fanfiction #multiple ocs #fanfic #oc #female oc #female!oc #male oc #male!oc #anime fanfiction #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyū!!#haikyu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq

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gardenofyv · 1 year ago

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Blog Assignment #1

(づ ◕‿◕ )づ It’s Jordan Peele Week!!! ٩꒰ʘʚʘ๑꒱۶

Since finding out Jordan Peele’s works were going to be a huge component of this class, I was ecstatic. I grew up watching his skits on Key and Peele, loved the premiere of his horror films, and to be able to analyze it in such a unique space that is Professor Due’s “The Sunken Place” virtual classroom has easily made it my favorite course this quarter.

This week we watched and discussed both Get Out (2017) and Us (2019). In the following short blog post, I’ll share my highlights from both films along with the themes and concepts addressed in class.

Now, I watched both movies when they first came out. But rewatching them a second time around (and being able to grasp much more complex concepts than when I was a teenager) I noticed right off the bat how vastly different both films are despite being released within two years of each other.

Get Out stays playing in my head like a broken record and it was almost nostalgic watching it again. I got to relive my favorite creepy and suspenseful moments like the first time all over again (like that one scene where Chris goes upstairs and the whole party stops talking- LITERAL CHILLS). It’s also overall much more blunt in its message and holds your hand through its many symbols. This approach I think is vital for two main reasons:

It featured a black protagonist that is quite literally fighting the monster of racism in the form of this body-snatching cult. Such a concept had not been made available to both black and non-black audiences before making it almost revolutionary.

This was Peele’s debut horror film. In comparison to what was released in Us, I think it was necessary for Peele to come out with an initial film that walked audiences through the vision Peele is laying out in both the moment and also for a new generation of black filmmakers and screenwriters.

For this discussion, I want to focus on the character of Rose Armitage and her role as a destruction of the white savior trope and the complicity of white women in white supremacy. Starting off, we are far too over saturated with the white savior trope in Hollywood. I liked The Blind Side just as much as the next person but taking a deeper look, such a trope completely robs the agency and desires of the person being “saved” and instead highlights the “benevolent goodness” of the white savior. In a Q&A with Peele in Professor Due’s class, he talks about how there’s always white character that is the saving grace of all the other bad white villains; “not all white people”. But he creates Rose to literally be like “sometimes it is all white people”. *chef’s kiss*

Yet we see that Rose is not so two-dimensional to just be a good or bad white character. In Get Out specifically, the complicity of white women in white supremacy goes beyond complicity- they are the masterminds of this kidnapping ring. Yes, the grandfather perfected the method. Yes, Dean Armitage is the figurehead of the operation. But it’s Missy and Rose who are the procurers and most vital preparers. Without Rose’s seduction and Missy’s hypnosis, this operation would most definitely never have lasted as long with Jeremy’s brutal abduction techniques. Their importance to this whole thing points out one main idea for me that I remembered from a Gender Studies course I took two quarters ago: white women essentially draw their social status, power, and relevancy from the success of their men. Therefore, these women are further raised to carry out the agendas of white male supremacy for the benefit of their group and themselves. Such is seen in Rose’s warped meticulousness and creepy precision which I’m sure we can assume has been instilled in her from childhood. That seen with her eating cereal and milk separately while searching for her next victim? Creepy and disturbing for so many reasons. All that being said, I would also like to point out the consequent self control and compartmentalization these women must have after going through years of brainwashing and mental gymnastics. I know we’re talking about a fictional movie but how much of it is fiction, really?

It honestly feels a little “anti-ally” of me to focus on a white character for my discussion of Get Out, I get it. Is it because I’m also a young woman who somewhat understands the pressure and molding to fit the agenda of my family rather than my own agency? Maybe a little. Could it be because I tend to hyperfocus on the tropes of white characters in modern media compared to their historical traumatic afflictions? Could be that too. Overall I just find her character to be really fascinating for reasons that I don’t think are delved into that much.

Moving on, we have the absolute mind trip of a thriller/ horror film that is Us. Unlike Get Out which I personally felt was more suspenseful and thriller-ish than anything else, Us quite literally had me watching some scenes between the gaps of my fingers (both times). Since Us doesn’t necessarily walk us through what’s going on and what the relevant symbols and references are, it requires (for me at least) a heightened attention to detail and memory of what was shown from the beginning to the end. For example, in the opening carnival scene, I noticed the camera panned to the attendees a lot- couples eating ice cream together or going on rides. I didn’t think much of it until Addy’s doppelganger (which spoiler alert: is the real Addy the entire time) talks about how they lived above versus below and they show the same carnival scene but everyone’s doppelgangers in a much morbid and kind of grotesque way. Also the Hands Across America intro and that not only being “doppelganger” Addy’s plan to make a statement with the Tethered… it was the shirt she was wearing the night she was switched; something I did not notice until rewatching it and then rewinding and watching it again. So crazy amount of detail and complexity going on here.

Two themes I want to write about that Professor Due lectures to us are the themes of intentional blackness and privilege. Whereas Get Out was revolutionary in the sense that it was reviving and reimagining the genre of black horror as a whole, Us found its form of revolutionary strength in centering an intentionally black family. By “intentional blackness” I mean that Peele explicitly stated he wanted to cast a black family consisting of a dark wife and husband whose children look like a real product of the parents’ marriage, absent of the “light skin” or mixed black actors of Hollywood. He goes on to present this family, not hyper fixating on a conflict of struggle and oppression, but as a regular family just going on vacation. I mean the fact that they had a family vacation house in and of itself was a subtle yet radical thing to see in media since the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. It wasn’t about pointing out that this family was black and that there are inherent obstacles in their existence in white heteronormative society- which was thoroughly commentated on in Get Out- they were simply a family doing as other middle class families do: going on a getaway vacation, going to the beach, hanging out with friends. Their blackness isn’t forcefully put as the focal point of view and conversation but there are elements still prevalent throughout the movie (ex. the aerial view of them walking on the beach).

Alongside this is the theme of privilege. If the family vacation house wasn’t an indicator of some kind of generational wealth we don’t see in black families in other films, especially horror, then their relationship with the Tylers, another affluent white middle class family, should. I find it incredibly funny the way both Gabe and Josh have this polite interplay with each other but behind closed doors, Gabe can’t stop talking about the material gap or competition between them. This kind of material or wealth rivalry isn’t something I’ve seen before in this context but on a deeper level, it grapples with the question of privilege and and gentrification as not just something white people do to people of color, but something people of color can contribute to and inflict on themselves or others. I thought that was a really interesting point Professor Due brought up. Lastly, just as a fun side note in this already very long blog post, the profound preparedness and survival mindset or instinct present in the Wilsons was so incredibly satisfying. It just scratched an itch that is so irritating when watching horror because too often we are sitting and watching these movies, rolling our eyes at another white girl falling to the ground while running and watching others make horrible decision after horrible decision in survival settings. Sincerest gratitude to Jordan Peele for giving us a cast that moved when it was time to move.

If you got to the end of this blog post, congratulations! And thank you! I hope to anyone reading this, or maybe to future me, we can look back on the genius that is Jordan Peele and be able to compare again his evolutionary works.

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amoveablejake · 2 years ago

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State of The Union

One of those Sundays.

As May starts to draw to a close and as next week will see my key songs of the month take centre stage, I thought today would be a suitable time to do a little State of the Union to talk about some of the things that I have been enjoying engaging with lately. Often these State of the Union pieces come on the sort of Sundays that are filled with getting odd jobs done and meandering through the day so as it is that sort of day I thought it was only right that we venture down this avenue. To begin with, I thought that it only seemed right that I discussed the item that has been with me the most as of late and that is a hardback pocket sized Moleskine notebook. Now, regular readers may wonder why I have made this departure from Field Notes and I should say now that I’m sure that this is only a temporary hiatus from my beloved Draplin Design Company brand its just that, I wanted to have a notebook with me that I could have with me for a little while longer than the usual Field Notes accompaniments. This little Moleskine offering has considerably more pages and even though yes, I do fly through them as I scribble away all sorts of thoughts I do like the idea that this notebook will be with me for a couple of months or dare I say, the duration of the summer. The consistency of the companion item is something that I am drawing a lot from at the moment and if I left my notebook in my bag or on the table for instance I do feel an immediate longing for it to be back in my hand as I jot away in it. Moleskine is also my Mum’s notebook provider of choice and she is always writing in them for work so having a Moleskine by my side does make me smile as I think of her writing in hers as I write in mine. Hers being considerably more coherent though I’m sure.

Early next month I will be venturing through the Channel Tunnel yet again but this time as I make my way to Belgium and ofcourse, even though it is still a couple of weeks away I have begun (or rather began a few weeks back) to think about what clothes I am going to be bringing with me on this voyage. There have been a few permutations at present about possible clothes that I am bringing with me but at the top of the heap at the moment is a or maybe even a couple Shaka Wear tees. The thick, Los Angeles born t-shirts continue to be a staple of my wardrobe particularly as we work our way into the warmer months. As I have said many a time before I am a great admirer of thick, heavy tees and the Shaka Wear ones fit this bill perfectly. Alongside the fact that now when I wear the t-shirts I am imagining that I am a part of the ‘Fast and Furious’ franchise. After years of watching the latest ‘Fast and Furious’ films when they were released at the cinema, I thought I should probably go back to the beginning of the series and see how it all began and I have been pleasantly surprised by the earlier entries. Sure, there are still crazy car stunts in them but the earlier films are definitely considerably more grounded than the latest offerings and those early 2000s ones feature aesthetic choices which, oh boy, they hit. ‘Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift’ which I watched in the last week I am now thinking about all the time as its early 2000s vision of Japan was, perfect. There are no other words for it really. It is the vision of Japan as I imagine it from the films and videos I saw of the country when I was growing up and to see it like that again made me very nostalgic. Sure, I didn’t experience Japan firsthand in that time but seeing it in the era in which it occupies my daydreams, it elevated ‘Tokyo Drift’ for me and probably made me fall in love with it a bit more than I should have. Well, I say that but the character Han whose in it, he might well be one of my favourite characters in all of cinema now.

Whilst this is supposed to be a piece where I talk about the things that I like at the moment, I hope I don’t need to mention why this next bit may be a bit bittersweet. I have been enjoying for the most part, the NBA playoffs a great deal. I say for the most part because the Golden State Warriors fell out to the Los Angeles Lakers who are now currently 3-0 down to the Denver Nuggets in the Western Conference finals. I mean, sure, technically the Lakers could bring it back but it would need a miracle to overturn this deficit so for me, I don’t think my teams are going to be bringing home the championship this year. Instead, my eyes have turned towards Jimmy Butler for the Miami Heat who has been a great source of joy throughout these play offs. Butler, jokingly referred to as playoff Jimmy because of the numbers he puts up during these games compared to the regular season, has been on fire and has made sure that the Miami Heat have a seat at the table. They are currently 2-0 up against the once favourites for the title Boston Celtics and really, the Celtics may well come back but even if they do, this feels like it has been Butler’s play off series. Butler has continued to be a marvel of a player and even though he said this before when he was with the 76ers, you never know when you’re going to get this opportunity again. He certainly didn’t think he would. So to see him grab this shot and really run with it, hell, it is very impressive and I sincerely hope that now he does make it all the way because oh boy after his performances does he deserve it. There will be another Heat v Celtics match up tonight I believe and I think for now I am going to make myself a tea and daydream about that as its that sort of Sunday. Ticking things off my list, writing in my notebook, feeling the sun on my face and I don’t know. Just being I suppose. Just being.

-Jake, a man who does feel sorry that he has just cursed Jimmy Butler with the blog curse, 21/05/2023

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charlywrites · 3 years ago

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Requested by @messtar

Request; Hii, can you write something about Lewis falling in love with a artist, i have seen he really interested in art lately, and I think is so cute, love you and thanks

Warnings; none.

Note; just Lewis being a big softie and my heart went woosh <3

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

Art had always been important in your life, you started as a young child by drawing wherever you could, you loved how free it made you feel, you could create whatever you wished.

This passion carried on throughout your teenage years, that’s when you realized art wasn’t a simple hobby to you- it was the career you wanted, you were convinced it was your destiny.

It didn’t work out immediately though, it took years for you to get known for your art, but it was only recently that you got noticed to the point that you were now having your first art exhibit in an art gallery in New York.

Your career truly skyrocketed when your art- and you, got noticed by the one and only Lewis Hamilton. Him sharing your art on Twitter and Instagram made you achieve a whole new level of fame on social medias and while all you wanted was to share your art and made a living out of it, you’d always be thankful for what Lewis did.

You two never met yet, but got to chat a bit on social medias and got to know each other a little even if what you mostly talked about was art and sometimes F1. It had been weeks since Lewis found out about your art yet it still felt as surreal as the first day.

Your pieces were shown in the art gallery for three days and to say the least, those three days had been exhausting but wholesome- you had gotten to meet many people and heard a lot of compliments that went straight to your heart.

No matter how tired you were on the last day, you were already getting nostalgic as it would soon be the closure. However, there was one more surprise for you- when you saw Lewis wander through the different art pieces you had made, it hadn’t mentioned coming as you imagined he had a busy schedule yet here he was admiring your work.

Seeing Lewis in the art gallery made you somewhat feel like a kid excited on christmas’ morning- walking to him, you thanked him for coming by with the biggest smile on your face, “ I didn’t know you’d come by, you should have told me!”

“ And ruin the surprise?” laughed Lewis as he hugged you as if you had known each other for years, you couldn’t lie and not say that you felt butterflies in your stomach, “ I wanted to come for the opening day but my schedule didn’t allow me to.”

“ That’s totally fine, I’m so happy you could come- after all I’m not sure this would have happened without you.”

“ Don’t say that, you’re here, exposing your art because of your talent, not because of me.”

No matter how many compliments you heard these past three days, none could make you as happy as Lewis’ words, “ thank you so much Lewis, for everything.”

“ No need to thank me, you deserve it. Now come on, show me everything, tell me which piece you like the most, the one that took you the longest and all that.”

And that’s exactly what you did until the art gallery had to close for the night, you showed him your favorite piece you had done, the one that took you the longest, the one that had the most meaning to you- you explained everything and Lewis seemed to enjoy your art as much as your explanations.

Once you were outside of the art gallery where you had spent most of your last three days, all you had left to do was head back to your hotel for the night and get back home in the morning but Lewis seemed to have another plan in mind, “ do you have any plan for tonight?”

“ Not really, I’ll probably order some food and catch up on a show- why?”

“ Can I take you out to eat? Only as friends if you prefer- but if you’re too tired I can understand.”

“ Only as friends if I prefer?”

Now, seeing the one and only Lewis Hamilton being all embarrassed and shy in front of you wasn’t something you’d expected to see one day, “ well, it can be as more but it can also be just as friends.”

“ Are you trying to ask me out on a date?”

“ Kind of? Like, I feel like we really connected the first time we talked and meeting you today really confirmed it.”

“ I felt the same way but thought I was just imagining things to be honest with you.”

“ Does that mean you want to go on a date with me?”

“ I’d love to but on another day if you’re okay with it? As you guessed I’m really tired- maybe you can walk me to my hotel and stay to eat something with me?”

“ That sounds amazing!”

As you suggested, Lewis walked you back to your hotel which wasn’t too far from the art gallery and honestly, with Lewis’ arm wrapped around your shoulders and him entertaining you, you got to your hotel quicker than you even expected.

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

After that night, instead of taking your flight back home, you extended your stay in New York to spend more time with Lewis and even got to go on a date like he had suggested that evening- let’s be honest, it was the best date you ever had, you spent most of the time smiling and laughing.

Since Lewis had to head to Miami for the Grand Prix, he invited you to come with him, so you could experience this brand new Grand Prix and support him and his team as a whole. You didn’t have to think much before agreeing, you were enjoying being around him too much and the idea of leaving to go back to your city and home saddened you.

The first thing you did on Friday while Lewis was busy with the press was to go buy his and Mercedes’ merch to truly support him- and it was a bonus that the merch looked cool.

You also felt like it was a cute surprise you could do to Lewis as he wasn’t going to be able to see you until right before heading for the race. Maybe it was going to bring him luck for the races this week-end, at least that’s what you were hoping for.

The look on Lewis’ face when he saw you with the merch you bought earlier today was priceless- the way his eyes were shining and how he gave you his brightest smile meant so much to you.

Pulling him into a hug, you wished him good luck for the first free practice of the day and told him to stay safe.

It seemed like your presence and support might have been what Mercedes needed to start having encouraging results this season. While the first free practice ended with George finishing second and Lewis eighth, the second practice ended with George finishing first and Lewis fourth.

You were aware that free practices didn’t mean anything as it didn’t count at the end of the week-end but you knew they needed those results to keep pushing for more.

Leaving the paddock as soon as the second practice finished, you headed to Mercedes’ garage and waited outside, excited and impatient to congratulate Lewis- you didn’t dare to get inside the garage unsure if you were allowed to or not.

Thankfully, it didn’t take too long until Lewis got out of the garage, most likely planning on going to the paddock to find you, but obviously he didn’t have to since you were already there waiting.

Smiling ear to ear, you jumped in his arms to hug him and tell him how happy and proud you were- it’s only when you shared an eye contact that you crashed your lips against his.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #mercedes amg f1 #request

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reidsnose · 4 years ago

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doodles

overview: reader doodles on her hands a lot and spencer has to give into the temptation of coloring it in

genre: flufffffff

a/n: sorry ive havent posted a fic in like a week, ive been in quite a slump but i had this idea well after midnight but i just had to write it so lmk what u guys think of this one :)

masterlist

doodling on your hands: a once nervous habit that had seeped into your everyday life and now is just a regular habit. nearly everyday you would come to work with clean hands and get home with a mini art gallery on your non dominant one.

Spencer admired this from the moment he noticed it. at first he thought you had a tattoo but when you came back the next day with it completely gone, he was a tad confused, only to catch you doodling on that very same hand a couple hours later on the jet. he thought maybe it was an occasional thing, a habit you'd quit once you got better situated into the team, but after nearly a year you still left work almost everyday with some cutesy sketches drawn on your hand.

Spencer found himself looking forward to your doodles, imagining in his head what you might draw each day, and thinking of all the colors you would add if you had the time. being the great profiler that he is, he noticed a pattern: you subconsciously correlated your doodles with your mood.

after especially hard cases or just bad days you always drew roses.

when you were very happy you drew all sorts of fruits.

anxiousness bore little swampy creatures and lily pads.

tired days filled your hands with random, intricate designs that you didn't even have to try hard to make.

and content was anything else.

he was so impressed and absolutely adored your little coping mechanism. watching you concentrate on making those teeny pieces of art simply for your own pleasure was definitely a sight to see. the way your eyebrows furrowed and tongue poked out a bit was absolutely positively adorable. and soon he had noticed that he was looking forward less to the doodles and more to watching you draw them. and after that he began looking forward to just you.

you were sat on the jet with your back to the corner of the last seat on the plane, creating a pattern of roses on the back of your hand. Spencer plopped down in the seat next to you, growing tired of watching from so far away.

"that bad, huh?" he asked, noticing the type of flower you were gracing your hand with.

"hm?" you looked up, confused.

"you only doodle roses on bad days." he explained, pointing to your hand.

"what? no i don't!" you defended, " i just think roses are neat."

to be fair, you were having a bad day but he could've profiled that without the doodle. he cant be right, can he? there was no way you had a mood system for your doodles! unless there was.

"repetitive strokes are therapeutic, so roses being rough days make sense. the spiral in the middle followed by however many layered petals you want is a perfectly repetitive while still interesting enough to doodle."

"if i didn't know any better i'd say you've been spying on me, Dr. Reid," you teased, enjoying the slight rouge that appeared on his cheeks.

"what! no! i'm- i'm a profiler i notice patterns! i just- spying sounds creepy." he stammered.

"ok. how about admiring." you jabbed, turning a little red yourself.

"fine. but you know coloring helps too." he flipped back to the old topic of conversation.

"unfortunately i only have the standard blue, black and red ink."

"roses are red." he chuckled.

"interesting point," you bent down and reached into your bag, pulling out a red pen and handing it to him, "knock yourself out."

"what?" he looked at you slightly bewildered.

"coloring is therapeutic, you said it yourself. and you and i both know that you need something to relax you after a case like that. we all do." you explained, trying to be as nonchalant as you could knowing his skin would touch yours.

he grabbed the pen and clicked it open, coloring smoothly and slowly inside the lines you had already made in black, careful not to go over them and smudge the ink. you and him both tried your best to ignore the warmth shooting through your bodies from every place your hands touched. his fingertips lightly grazing your knuckles as he worked.you worked your way up your arm, giving you both space to work and by the time you landed, you had a half sleeve garden of surprisingly well colored (and somehow shaded) red roses.

you went home that night and bought a pack of colorful (washable) pens, hoping this little rose garden with him wasn't a one time thing. and even if it was, you would want to add your own pop of color to your doodles.

thankfully it wasn't.

you and Spencer found yourselves drawing and coloring on your hand a lot. he would catch you doing it and pop in over your shoulder just to add a touch of color where he thought it fit. and you began to feel sad washing off what the two of you had created that day, feeling nostalgic for time that has hardly passed.

and sometimes on the jet you would get tired of your own skin, so you would draw little doodles on his hand, often times leaving a little heart at the base of his thumb. these little hearts he avoided washing off for as long as he possibly could because they felt like a part of you was always with him. he started doing the same thing to your hand, a sort of signature the two of you shared.

most days, the doodles on your hands were pretty much fully colored in.

but now Spencer began to worry. what if you get ink poisoning because of his coloring? sure, the risk was statistically low, improbable even; but never zero. so one night after work he went out and bought a little sketchbook and on the front he scrawled,

"y/n's super duper special sketchbook"

upon receiving it, after giving him a hug he never wanted to let go of, you took a sharpie and started editing the title he had given it. so it now read:

"y/n and Spencer's super duper special sketchbook"

the two of you used up a whole page that day, front and back filled with all types of fruits. Spencer smiled to himself, knowing this had made you very happy. you took a second to take a step back and admire him doing the very thing he admired you for. and you understood why; he just looked so precious and you suddenly realized you craved the feeling of his hand touching yours. so you leaned over and drew a little black heart at the base of his thumb. he looked up at you, smiling widely before returning a red heart to the base of your thumb.

and you guys tore through that book, using a page a day and filling it cover to cover in no time. your own personal handmade coloring book. it turned out to be both of your most prized possessions, a pang of sadness filling your chests as you finished the last page.

you felt bad taking it home with you that night, wondering if maybe Spencer wanted to keep it. maybe you should keep it at work so you can both have it. thats the fair thing to do. you looked down, smiling sadly at the little red heart on your hand.

he did want to keep it. but he had a better idea in mind. he looked down, smiling excitedly at the little black heart on his hand.

the next day when you arrived to work all your worries were solved. on your desk laid a new sketch book entitled:

"y/n and Spencer's super duper special sketchbook: volume ii"

you laughed as you read a small lilac post it note that said, "i want to keep this one please" signed with a little red heart in the corner.

ultra mega super cool taglist:

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife @hey-there-angels @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos @sonnydoesrandomshit @coffeereid-deactivated20210303 @averyhotchner @laurakirsten0502 @reidyoulikeabook @rem-ariiana @spencerreid9 @vampire-overlord @takeyourleap-of-faith @s1utformgg @violetspoetic

#criminal minds #spencer reid #reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #dr spencer reid #derek morgan #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #aaron hotchner #david rossi #luke alvez #tara lewis #matt simmons #bau #bau x reader #criminal minds fanfiction

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cedricslover · 4 years ago

Note

can you write a oneshot with wolfstars daughter dating george

Here you go bestie<33 thank u for requesting!!

As a wolfstar shipper and a George girl myself😌, I hope you like this bestie<33

Pairings: Sirius x Remus, George x Fem! Reader

Warnings: some homophobia at the beginning, teasing Sirius Black lmaooo

Word Count: 2.4k

“You want a future with me?”

“Hello dear” you turned around and saw one of your fathers, “Dad!” you jumped and hugged him, you just got off the Hogwarts express, this would be your last summer break since you’re going to be seventh year the next time you step at Hogwarts.

“How’s my baby girl?” He looked at you as you broke the hug, you smiled at the sight of him “Doing great, where’s dad?” you looked around while he picked up your trunk, “Here!” you heard the voice of your other father and your heart jumped out of joy when you saw him, you ran to him and hugged him too.

“Here’s a chocolate for our princess” he handed you a bar of chocolate, “Remus! You ruined my moment with her, you should show up at the exit, not here, you’re ruining my quality time with our daughter!” suddenly Sirius was having a tantrum, not likely a tantrum actually, he was just whining.

“No” Remus answered and looked away while he bit into his own chocolate bar. You laughed at them, “Stop acting like kids” you said and linked your arms to theirs.

“Excuse us?” They both said in unison and looked at you, their forehead creasing that made you laugh even more.

“You may” you nodded while closing your eyes and your parents just looked at each other, and it seemed like they were blaming the other one as to why you are so sarcastic.

“Let’s just go home” you dragged them by the arms since theirs are still linked to yours. You giggled as you saw Sirius not even struggling while carrying your trunk and at the same time being dragged by his daughter, and giggled even more when you saw your other dad who was just eating his chocolate quietly while observing the surroundings.

You three were just like a happy family, parents picking up their child that came from a boarding school, if it weren’t just the ugly looks the people gave you.

It seems like Sirius was also bothered by how people looked at the three of you, seriously? Can’t they just manage their own business.

Remus on the other hand was like used to it, he didn’t show any bothered expression, he didn't want to feed their satisfaction. That is something you got from him, that’s why you just let the people be, but of course, Sirius being Sirius.

He removed his arms from your link and grabbed Remus' face and took a bite from the chocolate that was centimeters away from his lips-being that he was eating it, your eyes widened registering how did that happen so fast, your jaw dropped, and a smile slowly formed in your lips as you saw Remus turning scarlet.

“Gross” you removed your arm that was around Remus’ and walked past them, your smile didn’t left your lips as you see mixed reactions from the crowd at the station, some were smiling, some were confused, some were probably uncomfortable, and of course, the people who were obvious to be insulted or disgusted.

Needless to say, Sirius is your father, so you flicked those people who looked openly disgusted by them, they were sneering, frowning, and rolling their eyes.

“Fuck off git” you mouthed as you walk, turning to them while your middle fingers were greeting them.

“Good job princess” Sirius laughed and high fived you as you three arrived at the front of number 12 Grimmauld Place, you weren’t sure what was the good job for, is it for flicking those people off or for successfully apparating, you decided to shrug it off and just viewed the house, it was your father’s ancestral home, it was filled by terrible memories of his childhood but with you three living there, it was all buried deep down.

You unconsciously stared at the beautiful house that was concealed in the muggles eyes. You felt nostalgic seeing your dads walking towards the door, memories from your childhood appeared in front of you.

A girl in a yellow flowy dress, around the age of four, was running towards two men with their arms open wide, expecting that the little girl would run to them instead of the other, but what they didn’t expect was the little girl would run straight to the space between them and both hug them from the necks.

The little girl was giggling while her dads were teary eyed, that’s when they realized, she never had favorites, if she had the choice to not choose, she wouldn’t.

“Y/N?” Remus called you from the doorstep, his head was cocking from the door. “Oh!” you ran to the door “call me before dinner yeah?” you told Remus as you removed your shoes. You raised your gaze to him with flashing eyes and maintained eye contact, waiting for his answer.

“Alright” he replied to you, you felt sudden joy not even sure why but it did make you kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks!, Love you dad!” you shouted as you ran towards the stairs,

“HOW ABOUT ME?!” you heard Sirius who was probably at the kitchen doing Merlin knows what, “I LOVE YOU TOO!” you yelled while you ran the stairway.

“YOU BETTER BE NOT PREGNANT WITH THAT WEASLEY BOY’S CHILD Y/N!” Remus’ voice echoed and you laughed and stopped from entering your room and peeked down while holding at the stair rails.

“DON’T WORRY, I’M NOT PREGNANT!” you shouted back and you heard his sigh of relief, “YET!” you added and sprinted to your room and closed the door.

You heard both of their voices shouting your name. You cackle while heading to your study table, your room was cozy, it was filled with different drawings you made when you were a child, there was your very first black leather jacket that Sirius gave you before he bought you a bicycle, it was hanging from a corner, properly displayed, he was expecting you to like motorbikes like he did, and you did, you like riding motorbikes.

There was also your very first hair accessories that Remus bought for you, hair pins, hair clips, headbands, and many more. He was the one who likes to tidy you up, even before you make yourself dirty by running and riding the bike. Of course Remus struggled but thankfully, Lily did teach him a few hairstyles when they were teenagers, and the rest of his knowledge came from going to different hair salons just to ask how to style his daughter’s hair.

An owl bumped on your window that made your brows raise and shift your head to that direction.

“Errol?” you said the name of the owl and he dropped a letter to your hand before he headed to your table and lay down, acting very exhausted, of course to your utter panic you immediately got water and placed it in front of him. You sighed as he drank through the container, enough for him to drink.

While he relaxed you opened the letter.

Hello beautiful,

I’ll arrive there at six, see you.

Your husband,

George

You bit your lower lip and smiled, then you forgot, you haven’t told your dads yet. Without wasting any time, you apparated to the kitchen.

“Hey” you voice lingered behind their backs and they jumped, they turned their heads to you with wide eyes, “You don’t do that here” Sirius said while holding his chest, “I almost had a heart attack” he glared at you while you just tried to not laugh,

“You’re just getting old dad” you stated that made him glare at you more, Remus smiled very very sweetly at you, trying to bribe you to not say it “and you too” you smiled back, looking at their sour faces.

“Enough” Remus raised both of his hands and shaked it, trying to shoo you. “I was about to say that George’s arriving at si-” you didn’t have the chance to finish your sentence when someone knocked at the door.

“I’ll get it” you announced, you three were quite tensed as to who might be at the door, you weren’t expecting visitors this early, it wasn't 6 o'clock yet.

You opened the door, ready to run back to the kitchen if something goes wrong, but what greeted who was something-or someone, who had a mischievous smile, his red hair shining because of the sun, and his brown eyes gleaming at you.

“Hello dove” his smile became wider as he caught the perfect view of his girlfriend, her Y/H/C hair complimenting her skin, the eyes that were obviously shocked to see him, and the smile that slowly formed on her soft lips.

“George!” you mentioned his name when you processed who was standing in front of you, he gave you a peck on the lips before he grabbed your waist and pushed you carefully to the side so he can walk, “hello Sirs” he cleared his throat and rubbed both of his hand on his pants before giving your fathers a hand shake.

This would probably be their very first ‘formal’ meeting, they already met each other at Hogwarts, during the Triwizard tournament, but that wasn’t formal enough, unlike now.

George was scratching the back of his neck and was being really nervous, you just surveyed them, and when you noticed something it was too late because your mouth opened before you can even think twice

“Dad, you’re the smallest” you told Sirius that made the three of them look at you, firstly George was shaking his head slightly, trying to tell you that it was not the right time, then Remus was also looking at you, he was trying his best to cross his brows but you can see the ghost of smile that was in his face, on the other hand, Sirius was there shooting daggers at you with his eyes like you’re not his child, then he slowly looked at Remus and George.

George was obviously the tallest, but only an inch taller than Remus, while Sirius, he’s just not a six footer.

“I-uh come George let’s prepare the table” even though it was still early, you reached for George’s hand, still feeling the stares of your father, you wanted to laugh, so hard, but he might not buy you your favorite cereal, so you chose to suck it up.

“Why’d you do that?” George started talking as you fetched his wand and used it to prepare the table using magic, “it was my mouth’s fault, anyway, you told me you're arriving at six, it's not six yet” you answered and watched the floating plates and utensils.

“I was trying my best not to laugh dove, please don’t do that again in front of your parents, I might lose goodie points, and I meant six minutes not six o'clock” he chuckled as he hugged you from the back, wrapping his arms around your waist and laying his chin on the top of your head.

“Even if you lose goodie points, I’ll still love you don’t worry” you faced him and cupped his face, his face that was always as perfect, those freckles that can make a constellation, his eyes that you would prefer to look at rather than the stars, and his hair that would always stand out.

It was like a magnetic pull, your faces was slowly getting nearer and nearer, almost there, the finish line, his lips onto yours, inches turned to an inch, heartbeats getting fast, and you can feel his breath, then his soft lips was supposed to be next

Not until someone cleared their throat that made you push George out of reflex.

“No snogging in this house, you understand that angel?” Sirius crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows, “Yes dad” you replied, slightly embarrassed so you chose to continue to prepare the table while George can’t maintain eye contact with you or anyone in the room.

“Sorry dad” you walked to Sirius who was still in the entrance of the kitchen, surprisingly he smiled at you, “Yeah that’s for bullying me” he wrapped his arms over your shoulder “But about that almost kiss? I’m not mad don’t worry, we all kiss someone at some time” he added like it was just common sense for him to not get mad.

“I love you” you said out of the blue while you two watched Remus and George laughing at the dinner table, you rested your head on his chest, “I love you more princess” you felt him kiss the top of your head.

“Just walk with the boy outside while we clean here alright?” Remus looked at you and George, he tapped George’s shoulder before he turned his back to the both of you and be with Sirius who was still drinking wine at the table.

“Come on” George called you and touched your back to guide you, your eyes were still looking at your parents, mesmerized by their strong bond.

“Georgie?” you tried to get his attention while you two walked the dim lighted streets, only the flickering lamp posts and the moon were the sources of light.

“Hmm?” he was busy playing your hand, touching every bit of it, and even comparing it to his. “You think we would be like them?” you stopped on your tracks, feeling the night summer breeze brushing your skin, "Like who love?" He stared at you, now holding your hand firmly, "Sirius and Remus" you answered and tucked the few strands of hair that was bothering your face because of the wind, you looked at his eyes and saw amusement and adoration all over it.

“You’re asking me that?” a lopsided smile appeared on his face, you nodded slightly as an answer, “You’re thinking of marrying me?” he asked you again, now giving a full smile, you nodded again, “You," he pointed to you "want a future with me?” he pointed to himself, his eyes smiling the same as his lips, you nodded again, oblivious of how that made George’s inner monologues that was doubting what would happen with the both of you disappear, because who wouldn’t, you’re Y/N, raised by two amazing people, you’re beautiful, intelligent, bold, and many more that he would even consider you as perfect.

And you’re here, saying that you wanted a future with him.

Now, with the moon smiling at the both of you, the stars being your cheerleaders, your lips met, you hooked your arms around his neck while he cups your face with one hand and the other holding your waist.

At this night, two teenagers shared a kiss under a lamp post, during the summer of 1995.

#george weasley #george fabian weasley #george weasley fic #george weasley x reader #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #weasley twins #remus x sirius #dad Sirius #dad remus #wolfstar #lgbtq #harry potter boys

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writing-in-lesbian · 3 years ago

Text

Haunting my Dream(s)

Synopsis: You met Natasha when she was living in Ohio. She was your best friend (maybe more) and you were hers. Everything was perfect until one day she disappeared from your life, breaking both of your hearts in the process. That night was when the dreams started. 24 years later and you can't get her out of your life. Maybe it's time you actually pay attention to your dreams. Pairing: Natasha Romanoff / Female reader. Tags: angst Disclaimer: I don’t own Black Widow or anything Marvel related. Word Count: 4.3K

I have always liked rainy days. For as long as I can remember, these types of days have held an attraction for me, it’s as if the cold and the gray clouds called me and asked me to listen to their stories. Most of the time they came to me consciously and lucidly in the daytime world.

To say those cold gray days did not put me in a nostalgic and longing feeling would be a lie. Longing for her, for the past, for the thousands of questions that remained unanswered, the hidden truths buried in the depths of my mind and my being.

Sometimes those days were torturous, reminding me of what I lost, a person that my mind tried to lock in that place where painful memories end. That comfort that usually came with the witnesses of the rain, like the smell of the grass and the wet earth, from time to time becoming my own prison, trapping me in a labyrinth of memories suppressed and assumptions.

Despite that, the rain called me like a jealous lover to the dreamlands, where I would know undoubtedly, from time to time, she would be there, patiently waiting for me.

I had never allowed myself to speak consciously about her until today, 24 years after the dreams began.

For years I did not question the meaning of it, I sought consolation thinking that it was just a feeling of longing for my "Best Friend", that feeling you have when you think you lost something good without explanation.

Or maybe it had an explanation. I don’t know.

The first time I dreamed it, it caught me off guard. Over the years, that dream became recurring and at some point, a refuge.

The set up and places always changed. A hotel, a restaurant, a shopping center, a beach, the cabin in the mountains, our old school, a clubroom, a field, her backyard ... and so I could go on with the list.

Physically she does not look like the person I remembered. It was someone else face, her skin was different and her eyes weren't the shade of green I remembered, but it was her. I know it was her, her essence is unique.

Sometimes she is taller than me. Other times (most of them) she is slightly shorter than I am. We are normally the same height.

It always happens the same way:

I find myself talking with a group of people, friends who correspond to the moment in my life in which I find myself. Friends and acquaintances, teachers and family, love interests that only appeared once and faded from my attention after she arrived. In hindsight I think that must have been my second biggest sign.

I am always in the middle of a conversation on any topic that, in the same way, resembles the point in my life where I found myself, such as high school, the next exam, the final presentation, the thesis, my recruitment, the mission. A good time, good company, but the weather is always cloudy, sometimes with a few small drops, most of the time with torrential rain.

Suddenly, my eyes and attention are diverted to someone who is approaching the group of people I am with.

"Natasha"

Her name resounds between the drops hitting the glass and the thunder that echoes in the distance. It’s like a whisper that should be imperceptible but in my mind it’s the only clear thing that I heard. Strong enough to silence the sounds of people around me and escapes my lips like a forbidden breath.

"Natasha"

I had not dared to pronounce it since our separation, a little over 12 months ago... But you should not take it for sure. There are things that my mind had blocked and was trying to avoid, so I may be wrong with the time.

She walks to us and greet us like it's a common thing. She greets everyone with a kiss on the cheek and a short hug.

She never greets me first.

When she stands in front of me, time stops for a few seconds and suddenly my arms are on her back in a hug that makes me feel that time has not passed, as if we had stopped seeing each other for a few minutes and nothing more.

Her hands draw me to her and squeeze me tightly, I feel mine bringing her closer as well , trying to communicate things that I don't know how to express. Trying to make her feel what my 12-year-old self never knew how to express.

But it’s not necessary, in the dream only hours have passed and not a few months (or years).

I distance myself from her and look at her face that reflects my smile. That face unknown to me but that my heart knows is her. I would recognize her in any dream.

Her hand seeks my hand (or is it mine that seeks hers first?) And intertwines our fingers in endless thoughts. My logic knows things that my self does not and, on this earth, I am not allowed to know yet.

With her by my side, the conversation continues as if there hasn't been any kind of interruption. The people around me do not act strangely, even those who cannot theoretically know her do not treat her differently. That we are holding hands does not cause a blink-of an eye from no one.

At one point (or is it hours later? I don't know, the time here behaves differently) I turn to look at her. I know there are a thousand things I want to say, my mind tries to sort the train of thoughts that I would like to follow but it is impossible.

"Can we talk?"

"We need to talk"

A laugh leaves my lips hearing us say it at the same time. I don't know if we were always in perfect sync or it’s something of this context.

"Alone" I hear myself say, referring to the fact that, although we have been talking for hours (o minutes) with the group of people we are, this talk is important and should only be between us two.

She doesn't say anything.

She never does.

She just takes my hand, says goodbye to the others making signs that we have to go. No one ever questions her, not me. They just accept it and we say goodbye as if we were going to see each other tomorrow.

We turn around and walk a couple of steps before I let go of her hand by shoving my hands into my pockets. She just laughs and keeps hers in her coat. The cold is less intense when we walk.

Every now and then my hips thrust into hers as she smiles at me. Hearing her laugh provokes things in me.

"Can we order something?"

"Of course"

I never know the destination, I think that it adapts to the scenario that my mind decided to put on this occasion. Sometimes it’s inside a classroom, other times it’s a bench surrounded by bushes, most of the times is a table in a restaurant, the furthest from everything. But there are always many people and doors to pass before we get there.

When we arrive, we sat down. I feel her gaze on me. The one that she gave me several times, that look that doesn’t express anything but I know that it held many questions, the one that observes me as if trying to guess my next movement or thoughts, as if she wanted to decipher each and every one of my deepest thoughts.

Or so I usually think.

"Let's talk"

"Do you know what we need to talk about?"

"Yes" my voice is confident, without hesitation I try to say it. "About us"

"What about us?"

"You know" you've known all this time. Probably even before me.

"And you too"

Her eyes drift to my lips, her gaze posing for a few seconds before meeting my eyes again. Unconsciously (or maybe it's the most conscious thing I do on this earth) I lick my lips and her eyes follow my movements again.

"Okay, let's talk then"

"Y/N, see you in a minute" ... ... ...

An alarm sounds and ...

Sometimes the chirp of the birds is the first thing I hear, other days it’s the same rain that, as a jealous lover, tears me away from those lands and brings me back to reality. This reality where I know that she is not with me, that we have not spoken in months (or years) and leaves me with this feeling of wanting to know about her.

For 24 years I had the same dream.

For 24 years I never paid attention to that need or that desire to want to know about her, which intensified as time passed. Sometimes months passed before dreaming of her again. Generally it was once a year.

For a long time, I convinced myself that I was not ready to see her, I was not ready to conclude that talk that the land of dreams denied me, always expelling me the moment she pronounces my name and tells me she’ll see me in a minute.

And now...

Now I am here, trying to finish a dream that started and has stayed with me for approximately 8760 days. Right now I'm a phone call away from asking her so many things, but I know it can't be like that yet.

When I looked for her after the last dream, it was because I woke up with a need like I had never felt before. It was not enough get used to the idea that you could be okay, it was not enough the few times I met you in the real world and turned around. It was not enough that time that by chance I found your file in Maria's files and went in to read it just to know that you were okay, and lose it days later. I imagine Hill figured it out.

After this dream and everything that happened with Thanos and the world, I knew that I had to stop being a coward. I looked for you for several days, they say that if you don’t want to be found, you’ll never be found. I tried various sides and people, but I always ran into walls. At some point I thought you were one of the people we lost when the snap happened, but your name was never on those lists. Just when I thought that again it was not written in my destiny to meet you again (and thinking"OK universe, if I should not find her I will understand") ... I found you.

It took me a couple of days to form a message. For a few hours just looking at your file and the number calmed me down, but something inside me demanded more, asked for more. Someone asked me if I was ready to write to you and I always replied that I didn't know. But my soul screamed to write to you, to initiate a contact and, although it took me 3 hours to write those few lines, at the end of the day I did.

"Hey Natasha, I'm Y/N, maybe this message surprises you a bit, but I don't know if it's something crazy or not (it could be), the point is that I've been dreaming about you (for several years now to be honest, always the same dream, never changes). And to be honest I had always left it alone, however, I dreamed of you last week and I woke up with this very strong urge to look for you, stronger after the decimation. Somewhat difficult if I'm honest, you really know how to hide very well Tasha, but finally something pointed me in the right direction and here I am. Anyway. I do not know if you will read this message or even if I will have an answer, I just wanted to know if you were okay, I sincerely hope you are. Y/N "

I convinced myself that was enough. I convinced my mind not to expect anything, that the message was what I needed to calm my soul, that it didn't matter if you didn't see it or even didn't respond to it. Deep, deep inside, I knew I wanted an answer from you. Which one? I don't know, just that I wanted or needed you to answer.

Although the dream was consistent for 24 years, the last two times that I dreamed it, after I wrote to you, dreamland presented me with two more versions, two new “options”. In the first I saw you, (now your physique corresponded with your essence) but I couldn't reach you. I couldn't get close to you. In the second we talk a little, we exchange 4 or 5 sentences, but never alone.

That was right before you answered me in real life:

"Today. 5 pm. Americana cafeteria"

And now ... am I really ready?

I think the answer to that is no.

You are never ready, at least not consciously. I just know that my heart and mind are finally in the same place. Thanos really did a huge number on various people. Including you.

The place she chose is brighter than I thought, for once the storm clouds don't feel as gray or heavy. This time, that halo of light is enough to illuminate our surroundings. We are at a table, there are some cups of coffee in front of us, you watch the rain fall while your hand plays with the handle of the cup, the other is resting on your cheek.

"Y/N I ... I don't know where to start"

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything right now, just ... just let me speak first, please "

"Okay"

You access without problem. I don't know if it was always like this or not, but this time you know I need it. Maybe you also need the time.

“I know exactly what you were or what you are to me. Maybe it took me 24 years to understand it, I think it was more like accepting it. I always wondered why, you know? "

You just look at me, silently asking me what I mean with your eyes. I know deep down you know it. You extend your hand that plays with the cup and took mine. For a moment I take it and play with your fingers. I want to let go but you stop me, like an anchor tying me to this reality.

And maybe that's what he needed.

“I always wondered why it had hurt so much to part with you, why I cried in the afternoons after our fight, why I couldn't just be with you. Was it a bad or forbidden thing to love you the way I did? What was it that the universe or God wanted to avoid that had to separate us? "

"Y/N"

"I know, I know, probably, well no, surely it was a lesson we had to learn though"

Her fingers intertwine with mine, one of her fingers caressing my hand, as she always did, instantly calming me down.

“I know who I am and now so many things make sense, God, it's painful to see how they didn't before. Now I understand why my relationships did not work as I thought they should, now I understand why it hurt me so much and why so many years ago I could not face you "

"Surely for the same reasons why it hurt me so much too"

I look into her eyes. Those green irises that haunted me for so many years. Even today they do.

“Telling you that you were very important in my life it’s not all you meant to me. You were my first love you know and, well what can I say so many years later? Now I understand all my feelings towards you, now I understand the intensity and innocence that we had during our relationship. It's true when I tell you that all the years that I spent without you only made me realize how much impact you had on my life. They say that the first love is never forgotten and you know what? It's true. It's so fucking true "

“I know, I couldn't forget you either. I think at some point, you became like this ghost or this shadow that did not went away from me. I guess that's why I couldn't look for you after leaving ... "

Her voice cuts out. There's no need to talk about why she unexpectedly left Ohio that day. When I entered S.H.I.E.L.D and after hearing Barton tell your name to Fury, I decided to hack the system and find out about you. Those skills were what led me to join the agency, so I thought it would be something easy. In the end I did it, but it took me a while to do it until that day I found your file in Hill's archives.

“To be honest, I was able to accept that recently. That you had been my first love. So many years I lied to myself trying to justify that I only saw you as a friend, what a fool I was "

"Silly no detka, you just weren't ... we weren't ready"

"Could be"

“I can definitely tell you that I know I felt things for you too, I can't cover the sun with a finger, but for obvious reasons I couldn't look for you and then I couldn't dare to look for you, not after everything I had done and with so much red in my ledger. I always thought of you thou, I wondered what become of your life. I guess I don't think I was ready either and with various things happening in my life ... Now, I also understand several things. I forgive you for not looking for me that night, I understood that it was something that was not in our hands"

I lightly squeeze her hand and look at her. Slowly I turn my gaze to her eyes and there it is, again, trying to decipher what is going through my head, as if trying to prepare or anticipate something. Unconsciously I moisten my lips with my tongue.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything"

"What was I, for you?"

“A watershed in my life. A pending chapter "

I don't know if it's what I expected or not. I don't even know what I wanted to hear, but her words carry a lot of weight for me. I look at our hands again, I see slowly how her other hand covers them, as if she wanted to protect them.

PENDING.

The word overwhelms me more than I ever thought. It puts me in this state of nervousness, ecstasy, uncertainty, happiness. Of everything and nothing at the same time.

Pending. Without resolving.

Pending. Unfinished.

Pending.

PENDING.

“I know you are gay. And there were so many things between us that it would be absurd of me to try to put you inside a label or a box. You were many things to me. I've learned that you don't need a label to feel comfortable with yourself"

She stared into my eyes as I shot her a glance, lightly squeezing her hands.

I'm here.

I'm with you.

You are with me.

You are here.

"Did you ever wonder what would have happened?"

"If you had stayed?"

She can only nod her head while looking away.

"Several times. More than I would like to admit. You?"

"Every time I thought of you"

Her hands release mine and take the forgotten cup of coffee with a slow sip. I look at my warm and dark coffee, the waves caused by the movement come and go.

"I want you to be free"

Her gaze turns doubtful, intriguing even. She leaves the cup on the table.

“You said that at one point I became a ghost or shadow. I don't want to continue being that. I want you to be free. You are too important to me and I want you to be happy. Really"

"You say it like this is the last time I will see you"

There it is. The easy way out, the conclusion of many things. If I say goodbye and get up of this chair, I will end this chapter. I can get on with my life.

But...

"It is not"

"Then?"

Her gaze seeks mine, that gaze equal to that of 24 years ago where I promised my life and she promise she would never lave. That look full of so many insecurities and fears. That look that deep down we know that we would break our promises and break both our hearts.

But this time I have the power of decision in my hands. This time I am in control.

“It’s obvious that we have a strong connection. And I think the way we ended things, that unfinished chapter, where we were and at the age we were, influenced us to unconsciously drag things along and follow us through life. So I want to free you and get rid of those ghosts"

"Y/N, what are you trying to say?"

“I want us to leave the luggage that we dragged behind. I don't want you to be my one that got away”

"Please be clear"

Clear. That word resounds like thunder fallen within the enclosure and is transformed into five simple words.

what do you want?

I want... I want... I want...

I WANT.

I WANT TO BE WITH YOU.

"I want to be with you. I want to see where this connection can take us and I definitely want to know you with the intention of being your girlfriend. I want to try this. Give us a chance to be a couple. Really"

"Detka" her words stay there. I take both of her hands between mine and lift them resting my elbows on the table.

"I know. I know there are a thousand things to fix, okay? I know. But precisely for that reason, with all the more reason we should do it. It’s clear to me that we both started with a light luggage that over the years became a mega suitcase. At least that's how it was with me ”.

"Same with me"

I smile slightly.

“I know we are not the same people we were at twelve, we have to get to know each other again. For my part I have forgiven what I had to forgive of you and myself. It took me 24 years to understand and accept it and I don't want 24 more years to go by. I'm tired of running and forcing things that I didn't understand why they didn't work. I will never be ready, whatever way I think it to be. I know that there is a great risk in all this, I know the world is in chaos and the mission to find the gems has not been easy”

Her gaze does not seem surprised at this confession.

"And still you want ... but why?"

"Because it's you. As simple as that"

Probably simple wasn't the word she expected.

There are so many complications and logical reasons to run to the other side. Definitely none of this fit with my plan to find her again, but what would life be like if all our plans went according to what we idealized?

It's so fucking ironic.

But so simple to understand.

And so, so simple.

Suddenly everything made sense.

“Sorry if it took me so many years to find you, but here I am in front of you. Closing all the past and setting us free from it. Here I am, ready to give myself to you completely. To meet us and take the opportunity. I think neither you nor I need a conventional love and let's be honest, we probably don't make sense, but don’t you wanna stop asking what if? I know that I prefer to find out"

She doesn’t say anything. For a few moments my anxiety begins to take over me. I try to count the seconds and focus on my breathing. Her hand in mine is sufficient anchor to the present.

"I am"

"You are?"

"Yes detka" There is her laugh again. The one that caused butterflies in my stomach so many years ago and today causes them elsewhere.

"Like you said, if I'm here and you're here, why don't we try?"

Four words that make it all seem simple, but probably not, but what the fuck does it matter now? The universe screamed at me many times that I should look fir her, it tried to teach me the lesson very early but my stubborn self was probably opposed to accepting the truth.

Natasha Romanoff was my first love, the first person I ever innocently loved, the first person who made me question myself. She was the first to break my heart (and the first heart I broke)

And now, after so many years, I have found her again.

I feel a slight squeeze in my hands and Natasha stands up. Before I can question anything, her lips steal mine in a kiss that has been waiting for almost 8,760 days. It's everything I could imagine. Her lips move in perfect sync with mine and just when I think it can't be more perfect, her tongue asks for access and I happily oblige.

A vibration on the table interrupts us, Natasha keeps her forehead on mine, eyes closed, savoring the moment, with a peck on my lips, she moves away from me and looks at whatever interrupted our moment.

Natasha takes my hand and with a slight tug pulls me to my feet. In reality she is taller than me by about 5 cm. Her eyes search mine.

"Ready to save the world?"

I just nod my head.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #angst #unbeta'd

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iceeckos12 · 3 years ago

Text

and he sees dawn before the rest of the world

or: a fucked up little au of 200. intended to be unsettling so just be warned warnings for: unreality (i think that’s the appropriate term? please lmk if not), implied self harm, fucked up relationship dynamics; lmk if i should tag anything else

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

“Ugh, five more minutes,” Martin hissed, throwing an arm across his face, as though he could stop the barrage of sound just by covering his eyes. His alarm was unsympathetic to his whinging, continuing to scream its daily mourning dirge, grieving the end of another period of blessed rest. “Fine, fine! I’m getting up, christ…”

He reached clumsily for the phone on his bedside table, only for his fingers to scrabble uselessly around the ghost of its presence. He was momentarily so stymied by the absence that it took him longer than it should’ve to remember that he’d moved it to his desk, to prevent him from giving into the temptation to hit the snooze button just one more time.

Letting out another slew of curses, Martin shuffled onto his other side and reached for

A jaw-cracking yawn near split Martin’s face in two as he hunched over the gleaming tea kettle, steam beginning to pour from the spout. He shuffled his feet, eyes meandering sightlessly over the cow-shaped mug drying on the counter, the cluster of crumbs that he must’ve missed when cleaning up after dinner last night.

He hated mornings. Maybe it was the preemptive dread he felt at the thought of going to work; maybe it was because he hated having to be upright this early in the morning. Either way, he felt strangely disconnected from his morning routine, each motion carried out with habitual, distant efficiency as his thoughts raced along like a hamster on a wheel just below the surface.

It...was a bit silly for him to be worried about work, though. The stuff he was doing was interesting, and he had the loveliest coworkers a guy could ask for. They’d even offered to teach him a thing or two about artifact restoration once they learned the truth about his CV.

He drew himself up to his full height and rolled his shoulders back, clouded sigh mingling with the fog from the boiling water. Things were going well. Hell, he was actually going to get top surgery sometime in the next year or so, which was amazing considering his teenage self would’ve laughed at the very idea of being out.

There was no reason to dread going to work.

Martin carefully poured the water into the mug, letting the tea steep before adding a splash of milk and sugar. When he picked the mug up, the heat from the tea had bled into the ceramic, so warm as to be uncomfortable against the delicate skin of his palms. He didn’t let go, just kept on gripping the mug, like trying to contain the last gasp of a dying star.

Martin stared around his kitchen. The waterstains on the inside of the cow mug slowly evaporating into the still air; the crumbs that had sat there for who knows how long. The empty, blank face of his fridge.

Martin lifted the mug, and steam collected on his glasses as his breath wafted over the surface of the tea. He drew away, waiting for the lenses to clear, before leaning in for another sip.

His reflection stared back at him, a monochrome facsimile of his face rimmed in white smoke, and he recoiled, the mug slipping from

Working nine to five, what a way to make a living…

Martin stared out the window, his hand pillowed in the palm of his hand as Dolly Parton crooned in his ears. Split second by split second, he let his eyes catch on a point in the darkened surroundings, only letting his vision blur into incoherence when that fixed point whipped out of sight. It was a game he sometimes played when he got bored of reading or playing cards on his phone.

The old woman across from him let out a quiet grunt and shuffled, drawing his attention back inside the train. She was a gnarled old thing, bowed by the gravity of grief and time and life, though Martin couldn’t say for certain whether it was one well-lived.

Barely getting by, it’s all taking and no giving...

That was the thing about people watching: Martin was never quite sure if it was disrespectful to make assumptions about a person’s life based on a passing glimpse. He could never be sure if the person with the grumpy expression had a foul attitude, or if they were just a kind person on the tail-end of a truly awful day.

The old woman was knitting though, and Martin generally found it safe to assume that knitters were nice people.

For a moment he thought about taking out his headphones and striking up a conversation; the pattern looked devilishly complicated, and as a beginning knitter, he always appreciated tips. There was an unfinished set of fingerless green gloves in the back of his closet; it was easy for hands to get cold in the Archives, and the color suited

“Alright, Martin?”

Martin startled, his pen clattering to the floor. He looked up to find Sasha perched on the edge of his desk, grinning like the cat who’d just eaten the canary. Or, he thought she was. His eyes kept skittering from one corner of her face to the other, like a smooth stone skipping across a lake.

“Uh…” Frowning slightly, he let his gaze travel over the shelves of books, the humming lights, his cluttered workstation. He removed his glasses so he could rub at his aching eyes, and let out a deep sigh. Probably just the stress. “Yeah—yeah! Sorry, I’ve been distracted all morning.”

Martin got the impression of Sasha’s grin being tempered with genuine concern. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything okay?”

“I think so. Just...work, and my mum…” he gave an expansive you know sort of gesture at life in general. “Thank god the weekend’s coming. Anyway, is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to come get drinks with Mel and Tim and I after work, but…” She cut him a meaningful glance, the bottomless holes where her eyes should be boring bright spotlights into the back of his skull. “We’d understand if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“Is Georgie coming?”

Sasha shrugged. “Probably. Mel didn’t say so, but they’ve been all over each other since they started dating.”

Martin laughed. “True.” Tried to gauge how he was feeling, whether or not he was up to a night of socializing. You should go, a strangely posh little voice murmured in the back of his head, and he found himself saying, “Actually yeah, I would like to come. I could use a night out.”

Sasha clapped him on the shoulder, and the impact rattled through him like a gong being struck. The echoes of it vibrated all the way down to his toes. “Excellent.”

Martin hesitated, and then, not entirely sure of what he was asking, “What about J

“Thanks for waiting with us,” Georgie said, smiling beatifically up at him. Passed out on her shoulder, Melanie let out a drunken snuffle and curled over, like she was thinking of climbing through the spaces of Georgie’s ribcage and sleeping in her chest cavity forever.

“Not a problem,” Martin replied, scratching the back of his neck.

To be honest, waiting with her was as much for his benefit as theirs. At first, he’d thought it was just stress; now, he was very sure that something was wrong. It wasn’t anything specific, or even bad; more like there was a sepia camera filter tinting the world dusty and nostalgic.

After his third drink, he’d looked into Tim’s laughing face and thought he might burst into tears. And he still didn’t know what Sasha was supposed to look like.

But he didn’t want to worry her, so he just bit his lip and rocked back and forth on his heels, even though the motion made his head spin that much worse.

(Maybe he needed to take a couple of days off. Have a lie-in. But that would—that would delay his work. The Institute’s work. Delays were bad; he felt strongly enough about that to carve it directly into his skin so that he’d never forget. He could roll down his sleeve and take a peek at it whenever his motivation slipped, like checking a watch for the time.)

For lack of anything else to say, he nodded toward Melanie. “She’s really out, huh?”

“She’s always been a lightweight.” Her tone was wry, but her eyes were soft and fond as she brushed Melanie’s bangs back from her face. “Never gets hungover though, the lucky bastard.”

“The nerve!” Martin said, affecting offense, which sent them right into another giggling fit.

Once he got his breath back, Martin mentioned offhand, “You know, considering how similar they are, I’m surprised that her and J̷̧̱̜͕͕̤͉̣̺̺̝͖̠̹̜͙̣͉̩̺̤̟͉͓̞̹̗́̆̂̋͆̊̎́͂̑͋̌͊͘̚͠ͅo̶̧̨͕̖͔̬̖̝̪͚̻̟̠̜̣̰̅n̶̥̉́̎͑̀͂͆̿̾͛̾̔̐͌́̅̂͂̒̆̐́͊̄̾̍̅̅͝

“Stop it!” Martin screamed, grabbing the mug from the counter and throwing it across the room. It shattered against the wall, scattering shards of ceramic across the floor. “I know

“What you’re doing,” Martin gripped the bathroom counter, ignoring the persistent ringing of his alarm, staring deeply into his reflection, “Stop it, stop it, nononon̴̡̡͚̮̠͙̻͔͎͈̜̓̈́̈́͜͜ͅǫ̸̯̠̱̖̲͙͍͎͒̇̑͒ṅ̶̨̩̳̩̝̹̳͎͈̬̦͆́̈́́͐̏̈́̕͝͝o̸̡̻̱̗̥̮̙̳̞͗̄͋̈́̀͝n̸̢̛̟͙̘̱̩͕̦̫̤̮͆͑̊͋́̂̽͜o̶̘̱̗̘̘͑̿͜ņ̶̥̞̠͕͓̠͔͚̮͈̬͕̀͗̄̓͑͑͛̕ͅő̸̮̫̓͌̾̌͋́̂̏̒̃̃̄̚n̵̗̫͕̺̻͔̭͖̉͒͗̀̈́̃̅o̴͓͉͉͗͋̎̕—”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m sorry, it’s okay—”

“No!” Martin shrieked, shoving Jon’s hands away, skittering backward across the broken and cracked stones of the Panopticon. Through the arched windows, the sky was a poisonous green and black, and multitudes of eyes orbited the room, watched his every movement with sickening fascination. “Just—stop.”

Luminous gaze weary and resigned, Jon did as he was bid, dropping back onto his heels.

Rubbing sweat and grime and tears from his face, breathing harshly through his mouth, Martin took a moment to remember where he was, why he was here. It always took a moment for everything to come back.

As though unable to keep silent any longer, Jon asked, “So what was it this time?”

“Don’t,” Martin hissed, dragging his hands through his greasy hair.

Though his expression went mulishly annoyed, Jon raised his hands placatingly, a silent, alright, you win. It was a familiar gesture, one that he’d done so many times while they were living in Scotland, while they were traveling the devastated landscape of the apocalypse. It made Martin ache for when things were simpler, when his heart didn’t just feel like one big bruise.

He gently set the thought aside, and turned a more assessing eye on the Panopticon. Normally the changes were insignificant, but something thick and red and black had started to coil around the windows, weaving in and out of the floor, cracking the stonework. Martin traced the strange things with his eyes, frowning—

“Christ, Jon,” he whispered in horrified realization. “Are...are those corpse roots?”

Jon bobbed his head. “They’ve long since overtaken the rest of London. It’s just us, now.”

Martin sucked in a long, frustrated breath through his teeth. There was no point trying to talk any sense into Jon, not after so long, and force would only result in immediately getting kicked back into that horrible dream world.

“And the others?”

Jon shrugged, tracing the cracks in the earth with his fingers. “Still alive, and living happily in the dream I made for them.” He didn’t say, unlike you, but the implication was so loud he might as well have screamed it.

“Shut up,” Martin muttered, pushing to his feet and limping to one of the windows.

Corpse roots, as far as the eye could see. They covered the city of London in a blanket of tangled black, so thick that it was impossible to see the buildings beneath.

“Was it worth it?” he asked, sagging against the side of the window, too tired to be angry.

When the silence persisted a second too long, Martin turned around to find Jon with his head tilted back, examining the corpse roots consuming what had once been the Beholding’s seat of power, expression distant and thoughtful. The eyes, ever-watching, never understanding, drifted closer, greedily drinking in the sight.

When Martin realized that Jon wasn’t planning on answering, he let out another sigh, ruffled his bangs away from his face, and said, “You’re never there.”

Jon’s gaze snapped to him with a laser-edged focus. “Sorry?”

“If you’re going to trap me in a dream,” Martin said, each syllable clipped and precise, “You could at least be there.”

Like it always did, Jon’s face crumpled, and he looked away. “...I don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, we’re well past that and you know it!” Martin shrieked, striking his fist against the stone. “You made your fucking decision to damn the world, to hell with whatever we thought, the least you could do is stop hiding behind your pointless guilt and act like this is what you actually want!”

It would’ve been better, if Jon had simply become drunk with power and was no longer listening to reason. The fact that he’d made this same decision every single day with clear, unclouded eyes and sound judgement—as Jon the human, rather than Jon the lynchpin of the apocalypse, pupil of the Eye—made Martin want to scream.

“I do want it!” Jon snapped back, then quieter, “I do.” He looked up at the corpse roots again, eyes going misty. “I just—I should witness every second of misery and pain that I’m causing. I don’t deserve to just...forget.”

Wind snapped and howled around them like a creature mad with rage, and Martin idly wondered what would happen to this world once Jon died. If it would all go back to the way it had been before, or if the shell of the apocalypse would remain until the end of time, a corpse husk of a reality warped beyond repair.

“You shouldn’t have to experience this alongside me though,” Jon continued, rallying. “So I would really appreciate it if you’d stop breaking your dreams.”

“Tough,” Martin snapped back, folding his arms obstinately over his chest.

“You could be happy!” Jon reiterated, stabbing his index finger into the palm of his hand. “You could just...live your life! Forget! There’s no point in being here.”

“It’s a deal, remember? Where you go, I go. Fuck you very much, but I don’t break my promises.”

Jon stared at him for one beat, then another—and then promptly burst out laughing, his whole body shaking with the force of it. Martin stared at him, utterly bewildered, as the laughing slowly began to dissolve into desperate, heaving sobs, as he began rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around himself in a mockery of comfort.

“I miss you,” Jon gasped out, half-crazed. “So much. I miss you every day even though you’re right in front of me. But I can’t go to you, because I don’t deserve to, not when I’m the one who trapped you here. I’m everything that’s wrong with the world. I always have been.”

“Jon,” Martin sighed, low and tired.

Jon buried his face into his knees. “No, you shouldn’t—you shouldn’t forgive me just because you pity me, that’s not what I—I don’t—”

“Who said anything about forgiveness?” Martin shook his head. “Fine. You’re an asshole, and I hate you. But it’s like I said.” He gestured toward the Panopticon, the roots, the poisonous sky. “When has deserving ever mattered?”

Jon lifted his face from his knees, though his gaze stayed rooted to the floor. “...I suppose.”

“Right,” Martin agreed. “I’ve accepted that you’re not going to change your mind, but...at the very least, I don’t want to die alone. So can you please just…”

There was a long, weighted pause.

They’d had arguments like this what felt like hundreds of times before. Martin begging for Jon to change his mind, Jon refusing with that same resigned, determined expression on his face, before sending Martin back into his dreams.

Maybe it was because Martin wasn’t asking him to change his mind this time. Maybe it was because they were so close to the end of all things, and soon they’d be the last two people on earth. Maybe it was because Jon was tired, had been for so, so long, and he had won anyway, so there was no point in fighting any longer.

“Alright,” Jon whispered.

…

...

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

“Ugh, five more minutes,” Martin hissed, throwing an arm across his face.

Somewhere in the far distance, the toilet flushed. A moment later, a pair of feet padded lightly into the room, hesitated at the edge of the bed, and then made their way over to the desk. The alarm abruptly went silent.

Martin uncovered his eyes and grinned up at Jon as he tentatively slid back between the covers, every movement careful and deliberate, like he was reading stage directions from a script.

“Look at Mr. Workaholic, having a lie-in,” Martin teased, pulling Jon into his arms and inhaling the scent of his coconut shampoo. “Must be the end of the world, or something.”

Jon stiffened for just a moment, before turning around and burying his face into Martin’s chest. “Or something.”

#iceeckos12 writes #my writing #tma #jonmartin but make it especially tragedy flavored

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ericsonclan · 3 years ago

Text

No Water Off My Back

Summary: Clementine thinks back to her childhood friend Duck and deals with her feelings on his disappearance.

Word Count: 1000+

Read on AO3:

Read Chapter 2:

Clementine stared out into the open seas, watching as the waves rolled in and gently crashed against the ship. She was in silent awe of how beautiful the sunrise looked upon the deep blue waters. Her mind slowly began to wander as the blade in her hand transitioned from one finger to another. Something about the sea today was drawing out old memories for her. Maybe it was the color of the sunrise or the extra salty smell of the sea today. Something was making her feel nostalgic about the first crew she had first been a part of.

But soon her mind was heavy with the memory of all those she had lost. Usually, her thoughts stayed on Lee, her guardian during the early few years of her life, a man who took her in as his own and made sure to teach her how to survive while still showing her a gentle kindness that made her feel safe. God, some days she really did miss Lee but her mind seemed set on mourning another loss today, one of a friend that meant a lot to her. As the images of his smile filled her mind Clementine spun the knife between her fingers faster until she accidentally nicked herself.

“Ow, shit,” She swore under her breath, shaking her hand violently to get rid of the pain.

“I think this might work better,”

A handkerchief appeared by the side of her face, causing Clementine to look up and spot Prisha.

“Thanks,” Clementine grabbed it and began to apply pressure to the small wound.

“Think nothing of it. If it gets worse I’ll grab Ruby,” Prisha sat beside her friend on the edge of the ship.

“Eh, I think it’s just a bleeder. Acts tough but it won’t last long,” Clementine mumbled before looking out onto the waters again.

The two sat in silence for a while before Prisha broke it.

“Your eyes seem heavier today. Couldn’t sleep?”

Clementine shook her head. “It’s not that, just thinking about an old friend I lost,”

“Oh, my condolences for your loss,”

“Yeah,” Clementine took a deep breath. “I’ve lost lots of people over the years so it's not like it was anything new but still. I’m missing him today, him and his loud voice and carefree attitude. He was such a dumbass,” Clementine shook her head with a smile then inhaled sharply.

“Mind if I ask how you lost him?” Prisha held onto a nearby rope to help secure her spot as the ship gently rocked with the waves.

“I don’t mind,” Clementine gripped onto the side of the ship and stared down into the watery depths. “His name was Duck,” She glanced over and saw her friend’s expression. “It was his nickname, his real name was Kenneth. Named after his dad. But everyone called him Duck. No matter what kind of trouble or bullshit life threw, it always rolled off his back like water.”

“Ah, his nickname is starting to make sense now.”

“Yeah,” Clementine’s gaze wandered up to the sky that was starting to turn to a warm orange. “He was part of the crew on the first ship I was on. That ship was… a mess but still, it felt like family to me. He was like my brother, always there, always trying to cheer me up and just a bit annoying,” Clementine laughed to herself. “If you were looking for one of us, you’d probably see the other right there too. Everything was going okay until another crew attacked us when we weren’t prepared at all. We all fought like hell and there were losses that day but the one that stung the worst was Duck’s. When the fighting finished and the smoke had cleared he was just gone. Disappeared without a trace,” Clementine slowly lifted up her right knee to rest her chin upon it. “We searched everywhere but he was just gone,” Tears stung her eyes but she refused to shed them.

Prisha was silent for a few seconds. “I am very sorry for your loss, losing someone you thought of as a brother,” Her throat became tight and tears slowly blurred her sight. “Years ago when I was much younger, my hometown was struck with a plague. It wiped out my parents in mere days and death felt like it was everywhere. I tried my best to stick by my brother, Sanjay, who was ill at the time. I swore I would protect him no matter what,” Prisha’s eyes were focused on the sun as tears slid down her face. “But one day he wasn’t responsive. He’d grown sick too. And when I went out to try and get help I was taken. Over the years I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that he’s gone. So I understand it, the pain of losing someone like that,” She looked over at Clementine whose face was slick with tears.

“The losses never get easier, do they?”

“No, they never do,” Prisha took a deep breath then quickly switched the subject. “Your hand, is it doing alright now?”

Clementine lifted up the handkerchief to check. “Sorta,”

“Okay, I’ll go get Ruby,” Prisha began working her way back to the main deck.

“Prisha,”

Prisha glanced back at her friend.

“Thanks for sharing and the handkerchief,”

Prisha smiled softly. “Think nothing of it,”

The day quickly moved on from that conversation and even though it took Clementine a few attempts she was able to focus on things other than her childhood friend. She began to do her daily chores, getting a surprise hug from AJ when he woke up and small, loving kisses from Louis whenever he had the chance. Soon the morning changed to the afternoon where Clementine sparred with Mitch, the two of them shit-talking constantly as they exchanged attacks. When evening rolled around Clementine got lost in a discussion with Aasim about a topic that seemed to not interest the majority of the crew. Instead, Willy, AJ, Sophie, and Brody got caught up in dancing with Rosie while Marlon played his flute. Despite the bittersweet memories that had appeared in her mind in the early hours of the day, Clementine felt as though she’d had a good day.

However, it soon became a pattern that her mind would wander towards memories of Duck whenever she rose at dawn. Oftentimes she caught herself thinking about how much he would’ve loved to be on Ol’ Kickass and with others like the Ericson pirates. Still, she never let her emotions weigh her down to the point that it affected the rest of her day. So Clementine continued creating new memories day in and day out on the seven seas.

After several weeks afloat they were finally able to dock at a port town to trade their goods and get rid of their sea legs for a day or two. Sophie and Marlon immediately wandered off into the town, excited to get some time away from Ol’ Kickass while Prisha and Violet seemed happier to have fewer people on deck as they cuddled in the hammock on the upper decks. Clementine had debated on what she wanted to do with this day off. She could spend it doing inventory with Ruby and Aasim onboard the ship but she figured the two of them also wanted to just have some time alone. So she went and found Louis who was currently walking around with AJ on his shoulder so that the small pirate could feel tall and mighty.

“Well if it isn’t the most badass pirate in all the lands,” Louis strolled forward and stole a kiss from Clementine. AJ made a face and disgusted sound at that which gained him a look from Clementine. Louis chuckled. “Eh, you’ll understand one day, little man. Kissing is cool,”

“Nah, it seems gross,” AJ shook his head which made Clementine sigh knowingly as she took her love’s hand.

“You’re gonna eat those words one day,” Clementine sent up a smile to AJ who didn’t seem convinced.

“Nuh-uh,”

Quickly the little family unit got into a discussion until AJ got distracted by the cool marketplace. Immediately Louis led the charge over, hoping to find a trinket to gift to his wife. While Louis and AJ got caught up in all the interesting wares that the marketplace had to offer Clementine got distracted by something else. She felt as though eyes were upon her back, yet each time she turned round she couldn’t find anyone. At first, she figured she was being paranoid but the continuous sensation of the hairs on her arms standing up and the uneasy feeling in her gut made her doubt she was going crazy.

“What’s wrong?”

Clementine glanced over to see the worry in her husband’s eyes.

“Not sure, just something feels off,”

“Like dangerous?” Louis studied Clementine’s eyes and got his answer. “Alright, take AJ and I’ll find the others, I think Omar, Willy and Brody should be done trading wares.”

“Okay,” Clementine shared a quick kiss with her love then took AJ. It was better to be safe rather than sorry. They had run into too much trouble, had lost too much together that taking any unnecessary risk was out of the question.

While AJ was sad to not add anything new to his collection he could tell how serious the situation was and listened to Clementine when she told him they were heading back to Ol’ Kickass. They returned to the ship quickly. As Clementine explained the situation to those onboard Louis had returned with the others, helping carry the new wares and trading materials that Omar, Willy, and Brody had successfully gotten through bartering. It didn’t take long for the crew to work together to pull up the anchor and set sail. The ship cut through the light blue waters as they traversed towards the west where Aasim was certain they could find new places where they weren’t known.

A day or two passed with no signs of danger and life immediately went back to normal. Until one day in the early afternoon when Willy spotted something from the crow’s nest. As he leaned over, staring into a spyglass, he spotted a ship that was slicing through the waves as if they were nothing.

“Ship spotted towards the northeast!” Willy called out, alerting the others. Quickly the entire crew was swarming about on the upper deck. Louis began to shout out directions and his crew followed them without question. It took no time at all before they were ready for battle but the unknown ship was already upon them. Immediately the crew of the other vessel tossed over their anchor before a pirate with an unreadable expression strolled forward.

They studied the crew in silence which made the Ericson pirates on edge, ready for any sort of signal for an attack. Suddenly however a happy sound made them glance to the right to see a tall, brunet pirate dressed in captain’s garb swing over and land on their ship. His feet thunked against the board as he stood before Clementine. After a second his head lifted, revealing a scar that ran across his right eye, forcing it shut. The enemy captain locked eyes with Clementine and beamed.

“Looks like I finally found you!”

#twdg #twdg clementine #twdg prisha #twdg duck #twdg louis #twdg aj #prisha clem brotp #louis aj brotp #clem duck brotp #clouis #fanfic #a pirate's life for me au

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deiitaelric · 3 years ago

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split up - part 4

PART 3 HERE

The young adult had more experience in cooking due to his age, so he checked the ingredients and decided on a dish himself. He started to work right immediately and kept Izuku working by his side to make sure he didn't leave a finger in the process. He started to command the other few students who went to help too, seventeen years old Katsuki included, who just wouldn’t stop complaining about being given orders. When dinner was ready, all class 3-A - plus added ones - had dinner together in small groups, the students still asking occasionally questions to their guests.

Once he had his stomach full of delicious food, the kid reclined his exhausted body on Izuku. The greenette smiled tenderly and asked if he could pick him up, receiving a simple nod. Mini Kacchan made himself comfortable between his arms, resting his blonde head over Izuku’s shoulder. He started to fall asleep immediately even though Izuku was moving around picking up the table.

“So Bakugou-kun was this quiet, huh?” Uraraka let his eyes draw the kid factions.

“No really. I think he’s just exhausted. He had a tough day” Izuku rested his hips towards the counter, the duty finished.

“He kept looking at you all the time he was talking to us, like checking you were still there” She raised a hand and pocked one soft and round baby cheek, causing the kid to frown in his dreams.

“I’m the only one he knows here. I didn’t change that much so he recognized me at first sight”

“There are the others” The girl pointed toward the young adult and the two teens who were negotiating - or arguing about - something in a corner of the room.

“You know Kacchan, right?” Inquired Izuku, smiling with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, you’re right” She chuckled. “It’s cute seeing him being this openly affectionate with you, it’s unexpected but… right, you know? ”

“I know what you’re thinking” He dedicated a sad smile to the other three. “But Kacchan and I had these two past. The ‘friends’ past,” he caressed the kid’s hair making mini Kacchan to hug him tighter; “and the ‘no friends’ past” Izuku diverted his eyes back to the others, where the younger seemed to be losing his patience. Uraraka placed a comforting hand on Izuku's back and he smiled at her. “It’s okay. Is the past. We are good now and it seems like it would be even better”

She opened his mouth to say something but her eyes left him to look up right behind him. Izuku was about to turn when he felt a warm hand on the top of his head.

“Hey. Let me have him”

Izuku turned, which caused the warm hand to tousle his curls, his bangs entering in one eye. He looked up with the other eye, smiling even if he wouldn’t want to.

“Kacchan! I’m fine”

“Come on, you’ve been carrying him around for a while” The young adult tousled even more his curls but brushed the bangs away from his eye before grabbing the kid.

“Kacchan, you don’t have to, I can-”

“I know you’re strong enough to carry him, I just wanna help” The blonde settled the child on his chest and it moved something deep inside Izuku. It kinda suited him.

“Oh, well, then. Thank you, Kacchan” Izuku turned back and found Uraraka was gone. “Huh?”

“Should I put him on the couch? I think it’s late enough for him to sleep”

Izuku put his thumb between his lips, thinking about it. “He said he wanted to sleep with me so probably I should take him to my room. He said it himself so probably he’ll gone mad if I don’t take him with me”

“Yeah, he’s definitely gonna be mad if he wakes up in another place”

“I’ll take him to my room, then” Izuku made a move to grab the kid back but the young adult didn’t allow him to do so. “A-are you gonna carry him to my room?”

“This way, right?” Was all the blonde said before starting marching towards the elevator. Izuku left the room with a red glare following his flustered steps.

Izuku brushed the blonde hair away from the little face and covered him with the cover. He looked peaceful and Izuku kept looking at him until his company made a little noise. Turning, he found Older Kacchan looking at an All Might’ figurine. He smirked when his eyes met.

“You have one of these of Dynamight, you know?” Izuku held back a laugh. “Why are you laughing? I’m telling the truth” The blonde kept smirking, leaving the figurine right in place again.

“I know”

“You’re not even a little surprised” He raised an eyebrow, not losing the smirk.

“Of course I’ll have Kacchan’s merch. I simp for the best”

“Oh? So you simp for me?” The young adult took a step, thinking it would derive one step back from Izuku. He smiled wider when it didn’t happen.

“I think you know already I’m a little bit of a fanboy”

“I still don’t get when you’ll gonna just broke under me or be full of this stubborn confidence”

“Broke un-under… Wh-what?” Izuku blushed hard, embarrassed for his own assumptions. “I-I think you should g-go to bed too, it’s getting late” The flustered boy opened the door only to find another blonde there. “Wha-chan!?”

“Fine! I’ll sleep at somebody else's” Katsuki proposed. Fuck Aizawa and his lazyness. How could two teens, a man and a little boy sleep in the same room with only one fucking bed? The kid had found himself a room to stay - fucking Deku’s -, but there were still three of them. He’ll do the same as the kid and the other two could kill each other if they wanted.

“Are you leaving me the trouble?” The young adult pointed at the teen with his head. Said teen started trembling out of annoyance.

“Go you to sleep in somebody else’s room instead of me, then, like I fucking care”

“I’m sleeping in the fucking couch” Teen said, patience lost long ago.

“It’s all clear, then” Adult Katsuki concluded, leaving without another word. Original Katsuki found himself sighing. He would have to find himself a roommate for the night, and some spare blankets and so for his teen version. Heading towards the door, he could see how his oldest self was carrying the kid, dragging a flustered Deku behind.

When all the work was done, Katsuki cursed himself as he walked right towards Deku’s room. What was he doing, anyway? He didn’t know, and he really didn't expect what he found: a very red freckled face opening the door he was just about to knock.

“Wha-chan!?”

The nervousness of the greenette, seeing the twentyish blonde inside his room, twisted something deep down his chest. He just frowned deeply and pointed with an angry hand to his older self.

“You. Get out”

The young adult did so, but not without stopping one second to make sure Izuku knew he could count on him for anything and tousled his hair one more time. Then he started walking away, not looking back.

Katsuki stood there, thunderstruck, until Izuku’s eyes met his’.

“Is there... Anything you want?”

Katsuki just blurted the first thing he could think.

“You better take good care of the brat”

“Of course, Kacchan”

They shared a silence and Izuku moved his feet a little uncomfortable.

“Was he-?” Katsuki started, making Izuku frown.

“Kacchan, he’s nice, okay? Did you not see how he said goodbye?”

“That’s why, I didn’t- Nevermind. I just don’t like him”

“Huh? How can you not-?”

“He acts like he knows everything, like he knows me better, like he knows you better... I don’t like it”

“He’s you but with a few more years, it’s normal he knows you better than you do now. And who would know me better than Kacchan?” Izuku shrugged, smiling at him.

“He’s not the only one who’s pissing me off, anyway. I can’t wait for them all to fucking leave”

“I guess it’s really weird having this other ‘you’ around, but it’ll only last a few days. And the kid is pretty nostalgic”

“Whatever” Katsuki rolled his eyes and shoved his hands inside his pockets.

“Do you wanna check on him? He’s sleeping in bed” Izuku moved over to let Katsuki take a look inside the room.

“It’s fine. Are you still up for practice tomorrow?”

“Of course”

“You would have to bring the brat, tho”

“I think he would like the idea, he told me he wanted to see how much you had improved his quirk”

“His quirk, huh?” Katsuki smirked while Izuku tried to fight a laugh without success.

“Yeah, he said it was his because he’s the youngest so he’s the original and all of you are just proyections of his future self”

“...that smart fucking brat”

“You always were”

“The fucking confidence” Katsuki bonked Izuku’s head as the latter laughed again, and then he turned around. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then”

“Good night, Kacchan”

“Night, nerd”

---

PART 5 HERE

#bakudeku #bkdk #bakudeku fic #bkdk fic

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findingyourrootscomic · 3 years ago

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Mudkip Cedar is so beautiful, isn't she? ;;w;; Such wonderful, bright colors. Was in the mood to draw Cedar and Nauki's baby forms today, feeling a little nostalgic! So! Some interesting news! Despite The Things We Have not being completed yet (14 pages left to render!), I’ve started to draw Finding Your Roots again! I think after an entire summer of working on the rabbit comic, I got super burnt out? So, I got in the mood to draw some FYR instead, and since I got back to working on it a couple weeks ago, I’ve finished eleven pages! I’m really proud of myself for how easily I’ve jumped back into it, and I’m currently working on drawing the next big battle. >:3 It’s coming out great so far and I’m super excited.

FYR’s third birthday came and went in July. It passed on July 10, specifically, that day three years ago is when I finished the first page of FYR. It was before I even planned on ever releasing the comic publicly. I wasn’t even quite sure whether I wanted to commit to making a Nuzlocke comic or not! And even once I started releasing it, I always had these fears and anxieties over the project. FYR is going to be long, guys. It’s going to be long. We’re seven chapters in and have around 23 to go. Book 2 will probably take me another couple of years to finish, and at that point? The comic might just be halfway done. We’ve got four books to go, book 3 is looking like it’s going to be long. I loved the project so much that the thought of burning out and never finishing it, a fate shared by so many comic artists, was horrifying. It would keep me up at night. I’ve broken into tears from the stress of it. Wooooof, right?

But recently, thankfully… that changed.

I was chatting with my friend @zeropro, who somehow found the right words to encourage me not to view FYR as a goal, but rather a journey. Zero is a really good friend of mine, one of the best friends I’ve ever had in fact, and she would always sit with me and listen when I would vent about the stress of finishing FYR. The last time I vented about it, complaining about how I might be working on this project into my 30s (I’m currently 22), she said this:

“But what’s wrong with working on it late into your thirties, it can just be this constant fun little project that you dip into, a documentation of your growth through your whole artist career. Wouldn’t that be nice? Like a rabbit you can take care of for a long time. Imagine being the author of One Piece or Dragonball, where it’s not about finishing it but keeping it going for as long as people will read it. Isn’t it nice that FYR will at least have an end?

“Comics like TTWH and LL, they are meant to be completed, but FYR and JBN, these projects are here to grow with us, to keep us company through hard times. What’s the rush? I like to think your art style might change even further as FYR goes on! And who knows where you'll take it!

“Every day you get to draw another page is another day you get to draw another page, not one page more of a thousand. Every day as you draw one more page you will end up there, but that’s not the point, it’s what you get to do now.”

And those words… I’m happy to say, they solved the problem!

It’s not that I have to work on FYR for another ten years or so. It’s that I GET to work on FYR for another ten years or so! FYR has been such a stable, comforting presence in my life these past three years, and while I’m excited to some day see it completed, I’m happy to welcome it in my life for a long time coming. I’m the sort of person who is quite terrified of change. The unknown scares me a lot; I’m not good at handling an unknown future where bad things could happen and I have no way to predict or stop it. But FYR will always be around for me. It’ll be a pet I get to take care of for a long time who can never succumb to old age. It’ll be a friend I can trust to be always be around, because I’m the one who controls it! And if I ever want to put it aside for a while to work on other projects, like I did with TTWH, I’m allowed to do that too! Doesn’t matter if it takes me a year or two longer to finish FYR cause I was working on other stuff. FYR will always be around for me, and for you!

I’ve been doing a lot of work on planning future FYR chapters as well. I basically realized that a lot of my plans for the plot’s future, uhhhh, kinda sucked? They weren’t incredibly original, were too plot-focused, and didn’t leave a lot of room for the characters to explore themselves and grow naturally as people. Character focused stories are always better than plot-focused ones!!! So I’m overhauling a lot of my plans for FYR right now, doing some outlining for late Book 2 and Book 3, and restructuring FYR to be a story much more focused on character development and themes. We’re gonna spend less time chasing down villains and more time exploring the characters, their feelings, growth, and identities. I think the changes are going to make FYR a really spectacular experience, a comic that’s incredibly unique. I’m excited to share it with you.

I’m incredibly proud to be the author of FYR. I’m proud to be able to make a comic that’s made so many other people happy. We’ve laughed together, cried together, and we’re telling this story together. I’m not going anywhere. So I hope you’ll stick around, too!

Because this comic is amazing. And it’s only ever going to get even better.

- SPB

#pokemon #mudkip #spb's art

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finalfantasyix · 4 years ago

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Meet The Team Working On A Final Fantasy 9 Remake You’ll Never Get To Play

Final Fantasy 9: Memoria Project is a fan homage like nothing we've ever seen before. “It is no secret that fan projects get shut down all the time,” Dan Eder tells us about Final Fantasy 9: Memoria Project, a fan-driven love letter to the classic JRPG. It isn’t aiming to be a playable remake of the epic adventure though - instead, it’s an aesthetic homage to its timeless world and characters.

It’s somewhat anomalous in the world of community creations, but Eder wants to use this distinct identity to craft something truly special, even if many obstacles stand in the way of making it a reality. But the team keeps moving forward: “Without a doubt, some of the most frequent comments we get from naysayers is ‘have fun with it while it lasts’ or ‘cease and desist incoming’”, Eder explains. “People are understandably skeptical of the longevity potential of yet another passion project. The key difference is that, unlike those projects, Memoria is essentially an elaborate piece of fan art, nothing more - it will have no actual gameplay, will never be released to the public, and is nothing more than a ‘what-if’ scenario. [It’s] no different from any other fan-made piece of artwork. We have never, and will never, make a single dollar out of this project, and are basically doing this for the personal gratification of the fans.”

The genesis of Memoria Project dates all the way back to Eder’s younger years, with dreams of a potential FF9 remake entering his imagination soon after the original game’s launch. That’s no great surprise - millions still regard Final Fantasy 9 as the series’ finest hour. “While it's true that the project really started to pick up steam a few months ago, it wouldn't be a stretch to say I've been planning it since high school,” Eder explains. “I remember scribbling ‘FF9 remake’ on my notepad during classes and writing imaginary new features and battle system mechanics, starting online petitions to remake FF9 for the PS2, sketching drawings depicting scenes from the ‘FF9 sequel’ and whatnot. I could confidently say that my life would probably have been completely different had my older brother not borrowed this game from his friend in the summer of 2000.

“As a non-native English speaker who had never played an RPG up until that point, my first playthrough was a challenging experience to say the least, and I can honestly say that I understood literally nothing of what was going on the first time I finished the game (how I even managed to beat it is a mystery in and of itself). It didn't really matter to me though, since I was absolutely enamored with the incredible cast of characters, jaw-dropping FMV sequences, mesmerizing music, thrilling gameplay, and just the overall atmosphere and charm it exuded at every step. My unconditional love for this game persisted throughout my entire childhood and adult life, and it is one of the central reasons why I chose to become a 3D character artist in the video game industry. In short, this project is my way of thanking this game for everything it has done for me over the past 21 years.”

Eder’s passion for this game can be found across several industry professionals who grew up with games like this and wanted to replicate them, or create something entirely unique to live up to their brilliance. This is very much how Memoria Project found its feet, beginning life as a trivial side activity before blossoming into something infinitely more ambitious. It still has a long way to go, but there’s little urgency to reach the finish line, so the team can take their time and just enjoy the nostalgic indulgence of it all.

“Memoria actually started unofficially as a side project when I reached out to Colin Valek [of] Sucker Punch Studios in early 2020 after I came across his fanart of an environment from FF7,” Eder says. “I had already modeled Princess Garnet, and thought it could be a fun idea to combine our talents to reimagine the opening area of Alexandria. Initially, it was progressing at a snail's pace - we were slowly chipping away at it for over a year without making a lot of progress. While Colin continued modeling the buildings, I created another character - Vivi.”

This glacial pace received a resurgence of sorts in January when the Alexandria scene was finally complete, with Eder and company finally being able to see how much potential the project had if it was opened up to a larger range of creators. “When I posted that WIP screenshot, the response from fellow FF fans was overwhelmingly positive, more than we could have imagined,” Eder remembers. “Very quickly, other people from the gaming industry started reaching out - environment artists, animators, riggers, concept artists. That's when I decided to turn this side project into a full-fledged modern reimagining of the original game, while always making sure to emphasize the fact that this is a non-playable proof-of-concept, since we never have any intention of doing anything to violate Square Enix's copyright. Four months after officially announcing the project, we've grown from a couple of FF fanboys to a huge team of over 20 industry veterans working collaboratively to honor this masterpiece, fueled by our love and adoration for the source material.”

Now, the project has over 20 developers from Sucker Punch, Ubisoft, Rare, Unbroken Studios, and more all diving into this labour of love in their spare time, with composers and voice actors also contributing their talents to help make this glimpse into the world of Final Fantasy 9 worth celebrating. But Eder is aware of being overly enthusiastic, knowing that fan projects like this often doom themselves by undertaking something that isn’t feasible with so few resources.

“One of the most common traps for these kinds of fan projects is being overly ambitious,” Eder says. “Since all of us are actively working in the video game industry, we understand the importance of milestones, short term goals, and taking things one step at a time. For now, we are focusing our efforts on the opening sequence of the game, which mainly revolves around Vivi and his exploration of Alexandria. Where we go from here is still being discussed, but one thing I can say for sure is that Vivi will not be the only main character we're planning to include.” I’m told that Memoria is aiming to look indistinguishable - at least from a graphics perspective - from something you’d see in a triple-A blockbuster, and it seems the team has the pedigree to back that claim up.

Visuals are the entire point after all, since turning this project into a playable piece of media would require far more resources to create. By narrowing its focus, Memoria is able to deliver something special while also hopefully avoiding the ire of Square Enix. “The fact that this is a non-playable project definitely makes it easier for us to tailor the experience in a way that would truly allow the audience to be fully immersed in the world without having to worry about technical limitations,” Eder tells me. “Creating actual functional gameplay is a completely different ball game, one that we never had any intention of even discussing given the copyright limitations. This gives us a lot of leeway with how we are going to portray the world of Gaia in terms of character interaction, camera movement, [and] scene transitions. We have a lot of cool plans for the near future - please look forward to it!”

As for the sad truth of fan projects like this often being wiped from existence by publishers throwing out cease and desist letters, Eder is confident that Memoria occupies a niche where this won’t happen. It’s not a commercial or even playable product - it’s a piece of fan art, albeit an endlessly elaborate one. If the tides were to change, Eder believes companies should welcome the enthusiasm for experiences like this.

“If I were to be completely honest, I think it could be a potentially brilliant decision by Square Enix to do something wildly unexpected and invest in a project like this,” Eder states. “There's a considerable amount of hype, talent, motivation, and pure, unadulterated passion behind it. It's not something I would expect, but I think it could be incredibly helpful in regaining some of the trust and reverence that this legendary company was known for during its golden years.”

(source)

#final fantasy ix #memoria project #final fantasy 9 #ffix: memoria project #article #news #interview #long post #very long post!

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astarryon · 4 years ago

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Another Lifetime: Shouldn’t Have Gotten Shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Description of war and battle injuries, mentions of blood, gunshots, language, etc.

Summary: Bucky doesn’t like talking about her, but Dr. Raynor isn’t an easy person to argue with. And now that it’s summer –– now that he’s living through the months they’d shared together all over again, only without her by his side –– fighting the memories becomes all the more difficult.

A/N: Listen, I really don’t know what’s gotten into me but ever since tfatws started I have been INSPIRED! Hoping to update this fic sem regularly, but we’ll see where the new school term takes us. As always, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think!

Bucky Barnes has never been overly fond of the summer.

One aspect was the fact that he could remember what it was like to be a miserable kid living in a cramped Brooklyn apartment with no air conditioning and three baby sisters who never stopped whining about the heat. Of all the jumbled, foggy memories bouncing around the confines of his skull, that one is clearer than most. And though he still finds it difficult to picture the faces of his little sisters –– can’t hardly remember arcs of their noses, much less the colors of each of their eyes –– a nostalgic, brotherly feeling washes over him all the same.

There’s also the little detail that he’d received his draft notice in the summer months. That Bucky remembers perfectly, one of the few memories strong enough to remain unmuddied by all those years of shitbag scientists rooting around his head and picking his brain apart. The heat that year had been sweltering, and once his mother found him in her kitchen with that damned letter clutched between his fingers, he felt it burn right through the strings of his heart.

The first week of July delivered the news. The last saw him shipping out to bootcamp.

He guessed he didn’t mind the sunshine. That part had always been nice, and it helped to calm him on occasion these days, to remember that the golden rays licking comforting heat up his skin were the same ones which had shone down on him back in the 40s, before and during the war.

Before Hydra had condemned him to seventy long years of dark and cold.

To that end, logic said the season he really should hate was winter, but he’d never felt any ill will toward the colder months, and found now, in the present, that he’d only grown fonder of them. When the rain came down from the sky in sheets, or when snow fell so thick it resembled white, puffy clouds blanketing the ground, he took walks. Partly because no other soul would be idiotic enough to trudge through a borderline natural disaster at three in the morning, meaning he wouldn’t have to put up with prying eyes and conspicuously pointing fingers, and partly because experiencing said natural disasters in solitude did wonders for the soul.

Steve thought it was strange. Hated that Bucky did it, kept insisting that he at least take a goddamn jacket, there isn’t any actual proof he can’t get pneumonia. But Bucky always shook his head and declined, rolling his eyes and muttering beneath his breath about how apparently the tables have fucking turned.

But, no. The winter, the rain, the cold –– none of that could ever draw half as much ire from him as did the gentle beginnings of June, the scorching heat of July, the fading light of August. Because those weren’t the things which served as reminders from before.

Reminders of her.

“James. Did you hear me?”

Bucky blinks hard, freeing his gaze from the wall calendar tacked up and viewable just over his doctor’s shoulder. Glancing down, he sees the familiar green of the velvet armchair –– one of three options for patients to choose from in her office, and Bucky’s personal favorite on account of the way its textures did something to sooth him as he gripped its arm anxiously with his flesh hand –– and the worn, fraying knees of his black jeans against it. He doesn’t bother meeting his therapist’s gaze. He already knows which of her expressions he’ll find her leveling at him, if he does.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters, sucking his teeth. He hopes his voice isn’t quite as strained as it sounds –– though, judging by the way Dr. Raynor clucks her tongue as her fingers twitch toward her pen, it definitely is. “Guess I’m a little scattered today.”

The sardonic hum Raynor gives in response as she knowingly tilts her head nearly makes him open his mouth to finish the silent argument she’d started, but Bucky knows better than that. The moment he starts up, she’ll feign innocence and inquire as to why he feels the need to defend himself when no verbal accusation has been made. God damn, it would be just his luck to end up with the one government assigned therapist actually capable at her job.

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Dr. Raynor offers. “And the two days before, if memory serves me right.”

Bucky shakes his head and tsks, tapping a metal finger against his temple. “Not a funny joke, doc. Remember the audience you’re dealing with here.”

“‘Deflecting.’”

The word drops from Raynor’s mouth with a simpleness that puzzles him.

“‘Scuse me?” he prompts when she only goes on to stare at him owlishly.

“Oh, that’s what I’d be writing in my notebook,” she explains simply, folding her hands together in her lap and leaning back in her chair. “If we were using it right now, that is.”

Again, Bucky rolls his eyes, and has to make an active attempt not to cross his arms like a forlorn child. The threat in her words is easily recognizable, not that she’d really bothered trying to conceal it. She knows that damn notebook irritates him more than any other aspect of their current arrangement, and he knows she’s not bluffing. If he doesn’t start talking, Raynor starts writing –– and if Raynor starts writing, he gets tailed by government watchdogs to ensure there are no imminent incidents lurking in the near future.

He sighs dejectedly and meets her gaze. “What was it you asked me?”

“What it is about the month of June that makes you so uncomfortable.”

Bucky blinks, red alarm bells shrieking in his head. Fuck, he can’t help but think. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Caught red handed.

“June’s fine,” he tries, but even to his own ears the assurance sounds weak. To think, he’d once been the most prolific tool of espionage around –– now he can hardly deliver a lie with a straight face. “Don’t have any feelings toward it one way or the other.”

“Strike two,” Raynor quips, glancing one again toward her pen.

Fuck!

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Bucky sits a little straighter in his seat, searching for any semblance of comfort to be found while already knowing he was bound to come up short. Damn it all. She wasn’t going to let him out of this one.

“Alright, hold your horses,” he sighs, waving a halting hand. Raynor’s expression doesn’t shift. She simply continues peering at him with her dark eyes, waiting patiently for his next few words to come. “Why do you assume I’ve got a problem with June?”

“Because you didn’t start staring at that calendar until it switched over from May,” Raynor supplies. “Like I mentioned, today isn’t the only day you’ve been scattered. Seems like something we should consider talking about.”

“No,” Bucky answers quickly. Too quickly. Shit. If she thought he’d been deflecting before, he didn’t even want to know the words running through her mind in regards to his behavior now. “I mean–– well, no. I don’t think it’s that important.”

Raynor arches a brow. “Funny,” she tells him, “the way your eyes keep drifting back to the word ‘June’ tells me otherwise.”

He sighs, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. Caught between a rock and an even bigger, weightier rock. The universe really wasn’t one to take his side often.

Bucky knows there really isn’t any choice here. Either he does what Raynor asks and elaborates on his suspicious behavior, or he risks facing the repercussions of those notes she’ll be jotting down in her notebook. Which of the two evils is more definitively the lesser, he can’t rightly say, but he knows which of the consequences he’d prefer to suffer through. And they’re certainly not the ones which see him robbed of the ability to walk freely down the street without a detail of armed babysitters.

So he figures that, maybe for once, being honest can’t be the worst decision to make.

“A few years ago, back before the blip,” Bucky tries, “I spent a summer in Wakanda.”

“Housed by the royal family,” Raynor nods, tone soft. “We’ve spoken about that before. You said you found it peaceful there. That you liked it.”

He did, and still does. On the nights when his mind isn’t quiet enough to let him find sleep but his heart feels light enough to forego the slideshow of horrors he’d been made to suffer throughout the years, Bucky’s thoughts often return to the bliss which life in Wakanda had offered him. He’d remember the farm he kept there, the little children who would come to sing and play and dance in trees to keep him company in the afternoons. He’d remember Princess Shuri –– Just Shuri, James, come now –– and the kindness she’d displayed in deactivating the deeper, most concerning parts of his programming. The day she’d told him it was done, turned off, that he’d never be forced to revert back to the Soldier against his will again, he’d rushed her and caught her up in a bearhug so relieved and forceful that her Dora Milaje detail had actually pointed their spears at him. He’d remember the tranquility of it all, the simpleness.

The peace.

There’s no hope of him being able to return to that place any time soon, much as he’d like to, but the memories sit resolutely concrete in his mind. The first of a new set which he’d never have to worry about being stolen away from him by the currents of an electric shock.

“It’s a nice place,” Bucky affirms, sighing wistfully at the thoughts swirling up in his head. “I bring it up because back then, that summer… I started remembering a few things. From before.”

Raynor keeps her face smooth and composed, but Bucky notices the twitch in her cheek that says she’s got a question. “When you say before,” she asks, voice gentle, “do you mean your time as the Winter Soldier?”

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. Ironically, things would be easier, were that the case. He might not be so miserable in the present, seeing the month of June start all over again. The melancholy might not be so strong. “No, not then. I mean from before. From the 40s, during the war. I don’t know if it was Wakanda’s heat that did it, or that my programming was officially deactivated. But one night I went to sleep in my hut like normal, and then the next morning I woke up, and… and I remembered.”

Raynor clasps her hand together in her lap, the pen, the notebook, the hesitation all forgotten. Bucky sees it in her expression, the shock at the fact that he’s speaking, that she’s actually making progress in getting him to talk about things so painful he often wonders if they aren’t better left in the past. He’s still trying to figure that one out. Miserable as he’s been for the first four days of June, he figures nothing good or relieving or positive can come from retelling this particular tale. It’s all behind him now, and there isn’t anything to be done to change the ending in any significant way.

But… but he figures he owes it to her. As painful as the memories are, they can’t be anything in comparison to what she must have gone through in the aftermath of it all.

Slowly, Raynor crosses one ankle over the other. “What was it that you remembered, James?”

Bucky sighs, closing his eyes and inhaling as deep a breath as he can pull. He lets it loose after counting to six, then opens his eyes again and crosses his arms over his chest. “It started back in June of 1944. I got shot.”

––

June 1st, 1944

It was damn lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

A funny thought, really. One which brings a sarcastic, bitter smile to your lips as you bend your neck to get a closer look at your handiwork. Wasn’t it just two nights ago that you’d been laying in your cot, staring up at the moon through the flap of your tent and counting all the reasons it wasn't fair that the bliss of unconsciousness evaded you? Wasn’t it three that you’d considered sneaking into the med tent and downing a few of the sleeping pills meant for the soldiers? You hadn’t, of course –– god only knew the sort of trouble you’d get in if it came to pass that you were caught –– but the consideration had been there all the same.

“Fuckin’ shit!”

The foul language, mixed with the rough jerk of the body beneath your dexterous hands, was enough to steal your attention back from your jaded inner monologue. Nearly two years back, when you’d first signed on to work as a field nurse, the pained outburst would have sent you flinching. Now, the swearing isn’t anything new, and thankfully for the soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up, it was no longer anywhere near enough to give you pause.

“You better hold still unless you want this to scar even worse than it's already going to,” you tell him matter of factly, gently tugging the thread the rest of the way through your current stitch.

The soldier –– Matthews? Moore? You can hardly remember the name he’d gasped at you in pain, but you’re sure it started with an ‘M’ –– rakes his dirty hands over his even dirtier face, brown eyes squeezing themselves shut as his fingers quake with agony. “Sorry,” he rasps, skin paling. “Just… Jesus, shit hurts so bad!”

You cluck your tongue, guilt racking your heart as you push the needle through his skin once more. “Shouldn’t have gotten shot then, genius,” you murmur, shaking your head disapprovingly.

It works. For a moment the soldier’s face twists in disbelief, and in the next, a shuddering, wheezing gasp of laughter expels itself from his throat. The sight is bleak, but it’s enough to twist your heart with warmth as you once again pull the thread through the stitch. You’d learned in the first few months of working as a nurse on the frontlines that the last thing these men wanted or needed was to be coddled along over their injuries, especially by a woman. Vulnerability was more averse to them now than ever before.

Personally, you don’t much understand it –– but your work isn’t, and has never been, about yourself.

“Look, why don’t you tell me something,” you start, glancing up to… Morrison’s…? face in apology before sticking him with the needle yet again. He jerks, but not quite so violently this time. Another one down. Only about a thousand more to go tonight. “How’d all this happen? I thought you boys weren’t meant to scope the new territory until tomorrow afternoon. Y’know, in the daylight? When you can actually see whether or not someone in the distance is pointing a gun at you?”

“Unit leader was gettin’ jumpy,” the soldier coughs out, groaning against the pain. Guilt stabs your heart like a knife. You’d have given him something for the pain if you had it, something to numb the wound. But shipments of med supplies were behind, and it would be at least a week before you got your hands on anything like that again. “Said going at night would be better, that we could get the drop on them before they even knew we were coming.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Never mind the fact that their soldiers know the land better than ours do.”

So, the unit leader had jumped the gun. You’d figured as much, when two of your nurses had run into your tent with messy hair and sleep addled expressions, panicking about the oncoming slew of injured soldiers who needed immediate medical attention. That had been two hours, six patients, and about one hundred and ninety seven stitches ago.

Again. It was lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

The soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up opened his mouth to speak –– whether to snark along with you at the poor choice made by the unit’s leadership or to blindly defend his superior’s decision, you couldn’t be altogether sure –– but before he could even fix his mouth to properly shape the words, a sudden roar of someone else’s agony effectively cut him off.

Steadying your hands, you carefully turn to peer over your shoulder, searching for the source of the commotion. All night, you’d been surrounded by a cacophony of screaming soldiers, but that yell of pain is one you’re certain hasn’t yet met your ears. And, as you watch the flap of the med tent swing back before admitting entry to three people –– one of your nurses and two soldiers, one leaning bodily against the other –– you discover that your assumption is correct.

“We got a bad one,” the nurse –– Sally, curly haired, nearing twenty four and a bit more capable than the other girls when met with the sight of blood –– shouts. Her eyes scan the tent, searching and searching until her gaze finally lands on you. She pauses only a moment to turn and direct the uninjured soldier to drag the one he’s supporting over to an empty cot before barrelling in your direction. “Gunshot wound to the abdomen. I haven’t really had the chance to get a good look at it, but he’s–– well, to be frank, that man has lost a shit ton of blood.”

A gutshot. Poor guy would either go through a sickening amount of pain just to die, or he’d survive, and end up having to endure even more pain. Either way, in light of your depleted supply of painkillers, ‘excruciating’ didn’t even begin to describe it.

Oh, damn it all.

“Take over here for me,” you command, gesturing with your chin to the needle perched between your fingers. Sally’s already moving to pluck it from your hand before you’ve even finished speaking. “He’s got about fifteen to go before we even think about sending him back to his tent. Don’t let him convince you otherwise.”

“You don’t think I know better?” Sally remarks drily, but you don’t have the time to come up with a witty comeback. You’re already on your feet and rushing toward the soldier writhing in pain across the tent, reflexively grabbing a collection of gauze, thread, tweezers, and rubbing alcohol along the way.

This isn’t going to be much fun for either of you.

The first thing you do is excuse the uninjured soldier, the one who’d carried him in. For one, there isn’t any need to keep him witness, and for another, you work better when an addition of unnecessary eyes aren’t tracking your every move. Besides. You doubt the poor soul laying on your med cot is at all interested in one of his peers –– one not sick or out of his mind due to his own pain, that is –– see him in this state. So, you simply thank the young man for his assistance and shoo him back in the direction from which he’d come, waiting until he’s passed the tent’s entrance before turning your full, undivided attention to your newest patient.

He’s got his eyes screwed shut tight in pain. You can hardly blame him. Of all the wounds to suffer through, a gutshot has the potential to win least desirable. It’s easy enough to see why, as the young man’s handsome features carve themselves into an expression of despair. A slick sheen of sweat coats his pale forehead, dampening his dark hair and sticking it to his skin. He’s biting down so hard on his bottom lip in effort to swallow his screams that you’re genuinely shocked he hasn’t drawn blood.

Though, part of you wonders if there’s even enough blood left in his body for his lip to bleed. Deep scarlet blooms stain his green shirt, so thoroughly soaked through that the fabric has turned almost black. Swathes of red cover his torso, his pants, the pale skin of his arms. It’s everywhere, already leaking onto the white sheets of the cot.

Sally wasn’t kidding. He really has lost a shit ton of blood.

“Hey there, soldier,” you start up, setting your collection of medical supplies down before taking a closer look at his torso. Shirt sticking to his skin the way it is, you aren’t going to be able to get much done until it’s out of the way. And, given that this man is certainly in no state to shrug it off himself, you’ve got no choice but to cut it. Lucky that you’d thought to grab a pair of scissors too, you suppose. “Don’t suppose you might be able to help a girl out by telling her what year it is?”

His jaw works for a few moments, teeth grinding together so forcefully the sound is audible. You think he might be gearing up to let loose another scream before he shakes his head a single time. “I got–– got shot,” he wheezes, whole body shaking, “not concussed. Don’t–– ah, don’t really… get how the year’s relevant.”

You exhale a bemused scoff through your nose, considering your response as your scissors work their way through the bloody fabric concealing his wound. You’re working as gently as you can, and so far it seems to be doing the trick. The soldier hasn’t flinched once since you started, though it’s hard to tell if that’s more due to the fact that he hadn’t noticed any difference one way or the other, or if it’s because he’s dedicating what strength he has left to keeping his head screwed onto his shoulders.

“Fair point,” you reply, still carefully cutting through his shirt. “How about a name, then? Little more relevant to the conversation, I’d say.”

It takes a few moments of silence for him to respond –– almost as if he’s trying to remember that he’s got a name –– but eventually, it comes.

“James,” he tells you, the single syllable leaving his mouth in a pained grunt.

You nod, cutting away the last of the fabric. “Nice to meet you, James,” you tell him, carefully peeling the tatters of his ruined shirt from his abdomen. “You just hold tight a little longer for me, alright? We’ll fix you up good as new.”

It isn’t a pretty sight, what you find beneath. Under all that red is a nasty wound, jagged and swollen at the edges, punched into the flesh just beneath the southmost edge of his ribcage. Thankfully, no bones have been hit –– a shattered rib would be immediately evident, both in the pitch of his screams and the deformed shape of his chest –– but the wound is more than a little inflated. There’s a puffiness to it that you can’t comprehend, a stiffness to its perimeter that doesn’t click in your mind, until––

Until you see the small, dark center, and suddenly it does.

You swear beneath your breath, a filthy, ugly word that you’d picked up a few weeks back from one of your patients. You don’t even know what it means, not really, but speaking it feels cathartic enough that you don’t altogether care.

Oh, sweet, holy hell.

James cracks an eye open, muttering, “Darlin’, you rea–– you really gotta work on your bedside manner.”

“Alright, listen to me, James,” you tell him, forgoing a witty response. You don’t have the time, not considering what you’re now dealing with, and you figure James will appreciate your working hands more than he’ll appreciate your shitty attempts at banter. “There’s… there’s something I need to do for you, before I can start patching you up. Now, normally I could give you something for the pain, but we’re out of the anesthetic I need. So this isn’t gonna… it’s not gonna feel very good.”

James looses a labored sigh, oddly calm for the clear anguish marring his face. “Shit, well good news,” he mutters, swallowing thickly, “it already doesn’t.”

His lashes flutter in a telltale manner, one which lets you know he’s getting closer to the brink and you’re running short on time. It’s easy enough, not to give in to the panic this incites in your chest. You’ve been doing this job a long time now, know that what James needs is your calm, your level-headedness. Those things have a higher chance of keeping him alive, of seeing to it that he comes out of this on the other side. Scarred up, maybe, and without the ability to breathe as deep as he once could, but still alive.

You shake your head, grabbing the tweezers from where you’d set them down before planting your forearm against an uninjured section of James’ bare chest for leverage. “Alright, big breaths, James. You scream as loud as you want or need to, but just… try and stay as still as you can, okay? I won’t be able to stop until it’s done.”

The only answer he gives in response is a shaky nod, the thick black fringe of his lashes brushing his cheekbones as his lips begin to move at a speed with which your eyes can hardly track. A prayer, you figure, or a plea for a quick end. Whichever it is, it helps him to relax just the tiniest bit more, slightly smooths out the lines of pain and suffering etched into his face.

Until you start digging with the tweezers, that is.

Then it’s all white hot screams of pain.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper beneath his cries, words drowned out by the sheer volume of the howls ripping out of his throat. But you don’t stop working, don’t withdraw the tweezers from his bloody wound. You hadn’t been joking when you told him starting meant you couldn’t stop until you finished. Abandoning the task now meant leaving James to bleed out in a matter of seconds. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry. You’re doing good, though, alright? You’re doing amazing. I’m sorry.”

It takes a moment for the tweezers’ edges to find the metal bullet lodged in his skin. At first, all you can feel is a mess of flesh and muscle, shredded and frayed from the impact of the gunshot. For a few short seconds, you wonder if your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you, if it would have been more wise to search for an exit wound on his back than to simply jump straight in without taking the time to stop and think.

But your worries are unfounded –– proven two seconds later when your tweezers make contact with the tiny, foreign object threatening James’ life. Carefully, you maneuver the tweezers into the correct position to properly take hold of the bullet. Then, with one last whispered apology, you slowly and carefully begin to pull.

James’ legs buck hard against the cot, arms straining at his sides where he’s got both his hands fisted into the sheets in an attempt to hold on for dear life. His teeth chatter against each other, knocking and clacking as he tries to get ahold of the screams pouring freely from him, and that thin sheen of sweat coating his skin has turned into a full on tidal wave.

But his torso doesn’t move –– not a single inch.

“We’re almost done,” you assure him, keeping your hand steady as you continue gently easing the bullet up, and up, and up. You can just make out the silver edges of it now, slick with blood and dented. It won’t be long now, before it’s out and you can start working on staunching the blood leaking from his body. Maybe you can lift his spirits with a joke or two then, a witty comment to ease some of the pain. Maybe––

The bullet slips from the tweezers, catching you off guard and jerking your hand to the left. It’s only by a centimeter, not a huge distance, but given that you’ve got edges of metal inserted into this man’s wound, to him, it makes all the difference in the world.

James throws his head back and screams, loud enough that you can instantly hear his vocal cords go raw beneath the strain of the volume. A single word leaves his lips; it sounds like Ma, only it’s warped, strangled. Much as you detest the fact, you know the sound well. A soldier crying out for his mother while under the thrall of delirium and pain isn’t exactly a rarity around these parts.

Guilt twists your heart with the razor sharpness of a cruel knife.

“Stop,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “P-please–– please stop!”

“I can’t,” you tell him, already repositioning your tweezers and going back in. Luckily, the bullet is much closer to the surface of his wound now. It only takes a second before you find another grip on it, instantly deciding to forego gentleness in favor of speed. “But the good news is––” With a slight bend of your wrist and a soft, wet pop, the bullet comes loose from his wound. “––we’re done with the shitty part.”

James’ eyes, glassy with pain and pupils blown wide, fall first to the bullet you hold up for his perusal, set against a backdrop of lowlight and your blood covered hand, before wandering their way up to your face. It’s then that you notice his irises are water blue and clear as crystal. You’re not sure why, but their color fascinates you.

“I wanna keep that,” he mutters weakly.

Then, his lashes flutter rapidly and his head lolls to the side, his lungs expelling a great, big breath before shuddering to a halt.

Your heart lurches at the sight. For one, awful moment, you think you’ve just put the poor man through all of that pain and agony only to end up somehow killing him in the process –– never mind the fact that this isn’t the first time you’ve extracted a bullet from a soldier’s abdomen, and certainly isn’t likely to be the last. But then his chest starts up moving again, at a much less worrisome pace. It’s slow, and his breaths are shallow, but they’re still breaths.

Unconscious –– not dead.

The realization is enough to make you send a mental note of thanks to whichever being was kind enough to have shown James mercy.

You allow yourself the shortest of moments to bask in the relief –– that you’d successfully extracted the bullet, that James hadn’t died during or after your attempts to do so, that you aren’t now left to set in motion the process of another condolence letter being shipped across seas to his family.

And once it passes, once you’ve inhaled and exhaled and wiped your hands on a cloth, you grab a cloth and press it to James’ wound, setting to work on stopping his bleeding –– but not before wrapping the bullet you’d just dislodged from his body in a pad of gauze and tucking it into the breast pocket of your uniform.

––

Chapter Two: Someone Good

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mcu #tfatws #catws #marvel #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #au #series #angst #hurt #comfort #1940s bucky

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firstofficerwiggles · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 5: How the Paintball Battle Was Won

Links to Chpt. 4 , Chpt. 6

Pairing: The Mandalorian x female reader

Rating: T

Warnings: Canonical violence, PTSD for the reader, angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: ~6400

Author’s note: So this chapter gets more angsty, but I promise it is sandwiched in there between some humor and some serious fluff along with some Domestic!Din thrown in there for good measure. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter! (Also, smut is coming in the next chapter for those of you who are thirsty for it.)

“Paintball?” You look up at Mando in surprise, “Isn’t this a game for teenagers?” He’s brought you to a dusty town on Baros with a few hole-in-the-wall cantinas and a sleepy looking marketplace in the middle of nowhere to play paintball?

“I wasn’t sure if it would still be here, but they’re open,” Mando sounds chipper. “I haven’t been here in years.”

“You used to come here and play paintball?” The idea seems ludicrous, that Mando, a seasoned warrior and top bounty hunter, would be playing a game that requires shooting brightly colored balls of paint at your opponents.

“When I was younger and first in the Fighting Corps, we trained here on Baros for a time. We used to sneak out when we had breaks between training sessions to come and play with the local kids.” Mando’s voice sounds nostalgic and happy as he remembers his youth. “I’m sure now that our commanders knew what we were up to, but it gave us additional fighting practice, so I don’t think they minded.”

You try to imagine Mando as a teen boy stealing away with his friends from a probably rigid training schedule to play fake war games with other kids. It’s a charming thought, but it’s hard to picture when you look at the man now. But he’s right, it would have been decent training too… oh, now you understand.

“This is so I can practice shooting live, moving targets.” You’re on to his plan.

“What?” Mando is all innocence, “I just thought since we’re here, we ought to have some fun.”

“I know you think I can’t tell, but I feel you smirking at me under there.” You tell him pointing towards the helmet.

Mando simply chuckles at you and gives your hand a tug towards the entrance.

“What about the baby?” You ask, hoping to stall a little, “He can’t play paintball.”

“He’ll be safe in his pram, and you’ll have a chance to practice protecting him too.” Mando replies. He’s clearly thought this out.

“That might be too advanced for me to focus on shooting targets and guarding the child,” you tell him.

“Yes, but I’ll be here to help you.” His voice sounds warm as he tells you, “You’re going to be great, c’mon.”

The owner of the paintball place seems delighted to see Mando and tells the rest of the patrons in the prep area that they are in for a real treat today. Most of the other people here are teenaged boys, but you’re surprised to see a couple of adults here too including a few other women. Perhaps you were too quick to judge. The teen boys are in sheer awe of Mando and after they openly gawk at him for a few minutes, they’re pestering the owner to find out if they can request that Mando be on their team.

“Teams will be by random draw as always, although people paying together will automatically be put on the same team unless they request otherwise.” The owner tells everyone waiting. “Now, please enter the locker area to suit up and stow away personal belongings.”

You’ve been given protective gear and a helmet to wear to ensure your safety during the game. While the paintballs aren’t lethal, they can still hurt quite a lot without protection. Mando watches as you gear up, and when you’re done you can’t help but goof around and strike a model pose.

“How do I look?” You can still manage to make flirty eyes at him, as although your helmet covers most of your face, the visor only has light tinting so your eyes are still quite visible.

“You’re adorable,” he tells you. It’s been a little over a week since your trip to Canto Bight and your first Keldabe kiss with Mando, and he’s been growing more affectionate with you, particularly with compliments. He’s still rather shy about physical affection though, almost as if he thinks he’s limited to only a certain number of touches a day.

“Ok, everyone, let’s go over the rules.” The owner calls everyone to his attention and reviews the rules of the game, which are basically, if you get shot three times in a ‘critical target area’ as indicated on your protective gear, you are out of the game.

“Today’s game is your basic brawl. The last team with the most players remaining when the buzzer sounds will be the winners. However, we have a special guest and special rules that will add to the challenge!” The man gestures towards Mando, “If you want to take out the Mandalorian, you need three hits somewhere not on the armor, and good luck with that!” The man says it in such a way that he’s confident no one will be able to get Mando out of the game.

Before the game begins, you check on the child to make sure he’ll be ok. He has his favorite silver ball and a couple other toys with him in his pram, and you’ve tucked in few snacks that he likes in case he gets hungry.

“Ok, sweetie, you’re going to play with your toys and keep the pram closed until Mando or I open it,” you tell him. He coos at you in response and you give his nose a little boop before securing the pram.

“Here, put this on,” Mando hands you a metal wrist cuff with various buttons, “It’s linked to the pram like my vambraces, so that way the child will follow you wherever you go.” He quickly shows you how the buttons operate.

You and Mando get assigned to the red team and are issued paintball guns filled with the appropriate colored balls. There are three teen boys, a man, and another woman on your team. The teen boys are vibrating with excitement at being on Mando’s team; they keep calling him ‘sir’ and asking for ‘battle advice’. Mando is very kind to them, and answers all of their questions in a serious manner. It’s quite sweet really, how nice he is to them, but you’ve noticed that’s generally who he is, so long as that person cannot be perceived as a threat. With your team agreeing on Mando’s plans for the battle, followed by a loud war cry whoop from the boys, you head out to your designated starting positions.

Your adrenaline is pumping and when a loud bell rings out to indicate the start of the game, you’re almost as keyed up as the teenagers around you. Mando’s plan calls for your team to be on the defensive and wait for the other teams to come to you, allowing you all to maintain better positions and hold on to better cover for as long as possible. It’s a good plan and fairly soon, some of the teen boys from the green team have charged over to your area recklessly, making them easier targets. You get off a couple shots, but your nerves get the best of you and you miss wildly. Fortunately, only Mando seems to notice as your other teammates are on target and dispatch the boys without anyone on your team getting hit.

“It’s alright, just breathe,” he tells you, “Remember you’re a good shot, I know you are.” He places a hand between your shoulders and rubs lightly to help calm you down. He points towards something moving in the bushes to your right and taps your shoulder. You can see another player advancing towards your position.

“Aim your weapon, take a deep breath,” Mando instructs you, “and shoot.” You pull the trigger and watch as your paintball splatters bright red on the other player’s chest plate. You remember quickly that you need two more shots to eliminate your target and so you shoot again. It ends up taking you five more shots but in the end, you’re victorious.

“I actually did it!” you squeal a little in delight and Mando gives your waist a small squeeze.

“Great job, cyar’ika!”

Hmm, there’s that foreign word again. It’s the second time he’s said it to you, and you think it must be Mando’a but you haven’t thought to ask him about it yet. You’re about to say something when a yellow paintball suddenly bursts on Mando’s left pauldron. You instantly whip your head around and fire off shots in the direction of the shooter. A sudden fierceness overtakes you in your determination to take out the player. You channel all your focus into your aim and once again, you are successful, only faster this time.

“That was even better,” Mando tells you, and your heart soars at his praise. He hasn’t even bothered to take a shot yet, he just seems content to watch you.

The game continues and it seems that the other players have caught on to your team’s plan, which leads to a break in the action. Everyone huddles together for a moment, and you realize the rest of your team are waiting for Mando’s instructions.

“So, Mando, what do we do next?” you ask him.

“What do you think our strategy should be?” he counters.

“Well, it seems like we’ve taken out quite a lot of the green team, so I say we head towards the yellow team’s area and try to lower their numbers more.” You figure this is the best way to ensure that your team will have the most active players in the end.

“Why don’t we finish off the green team first? You know, get them while they’re weak,” one of the other players suggests.

“No, her plan makes the best sense,” Mando says in support of your idea, “If we want to be the winners, we have to make sure the yellow team has more casualties.” There’s something about the way he says this that gives you a sense of pride. He’s not just going along with your suggestion because he likes you, it’s because he trusts your judgement and he agrees with it.

You set out in an attack formation as directed by Mando in search of the yellow team. He’s stationed you towards the rear of the group allowing the child’s floating pram to stay behind you, meanwhile he’s positioned himself at the front as an attractive target. You don’t love the idea of Mando making himself the bait, but you recognize that his strategy is logical as the challenge of taking out the Mandalorian will be too tempting for the others to pass up on and thus it should be easier for the rest of you to hit them.

The plan works perfectly and as a barrage of paintballs are launched in Mando’s direction, your team begins methodically targeting the yellow team. You try not to watch as more yellow paint splashes onto Mando’s beskar, because each time it does you feel a spike of irrational anger, how dare they shoot at your Mando. As for himself, Mando is finally shooting off paintballs of his own, but you get the impression that he’s doing so rather leisurely, like he’s not really putting in too much effort. Must be taking it easy on everyone.

Things seems quiet for a moment and you turn to check on the little guy’s pram. It’s still closed up and he’s safe and sound. You’re just turning back to look over your shoulder when a green paintball hits you in the side, right where there’s no padding. It’s surprisingly painful and you double-over, grasping at your side. Mando’s reaction is swift. He quickly dispatches the green shooter and then rushes over to you.

“Are you hurt? Do you need help?” His voice is full of concern.

“I’m fine,” you wheeze out, “just stings.”

“Take a moment and breathe,” he says as he tucks his left arm around you to hold you close to him while he proceeds to keep shooting with his right. It suddenly strikes you as incredibly attractive how he’s managing to comfort you and still fight at the same time.

You can’t keep yourself from telling him, “Maker, you’re hot.”

“What?” He looks down at you for a second, a little surprised.

“Nothing, I’m just impressed by you.” You laugh a little and pull away so you can go back to the game.

The game continues for a while longer and you’re astounded by how much you’ve gotten into it. You no longer feel nervous about shooting at other people and you’re caught up in wanting to help your team win. You get hit a couple more times, but luckily they manage to miss the critical targets so when the buzzer sounds, you’ve managed to be one of the ‘survivors’. You run over to Mando to assess his ��damage’ and while he has yellow and green paint splotches all over his beskar, he has only one green spot on his arm in the unarmored section near his elbow, which means that no one managed to successfully remove him from the game either. After a brief count, your team is announced as the victors by just one player. Your whole team cheers and exchanges high fives as you congratulate each other.

“See, I told you it would be fun,” Mando leans down close to you, “You were great, I was impressed too.” He brings his helmet down to touch the crown of yours.

You don’t have a chance to say anything back as the teen boys are at Mando’s side begging him to take a holophoto with them. Mando dutifully poses with the boys as you help out by acting as the photographer. You pull out your own holopad and snap a few holos too for your own enjoyment later.

You return to the locker room to get cleaned up and back into your regular clothes. You’re securing your holster belt with its real blaster when you realize again how thankful you are that Mando’s gone out of his way to help you learn so much about fighting, even to the point where he found a way to make sure it would be enjoyable.

You head over to where he’s cleaning the paint off his armor with a bucket of water and some rags. It must be a bit hard to do though because there’s no mirror to help him see all the areas that need to be cleaned. You pick up one of the rags.

“Have a seat and I’ll help you get cleaned up,” you say as you motion to a bench.

“Thanks, it’s hard to do without being able to take it off,” he tells you.

He sits with his legs akimbo and you step between them to get better access to the beskar. Fortunately, the paint washes off without much effort, but there’s so much of it and you want to be sure to get it out of the small ridges and furrows of the armor.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you tell him as you clean, “It really was fun and I think you’re right, it was good training.”

“You’re welcome,” Mando says warmly, and he brings his hands up to your hips to pull you in a little closer. He leaves his hands there as you move to clean his helmet and begins tracing little patterns with his thumbs. His touch is simple, but it makes you feel so fluttery inside. You look down at his visor and give him a little smile as you wipe a streak of gloopy green paint from the crown of his helmet.

“It drives me crazy when you look at me like that,” he tells you with his hands tightening on your hips.

“How am I looking at you?” Your smile widens.

“Like you have a secret and you’re daring me to find out what it is,” he says, his voice sounding deeper.

You chuckle, and as you finish cleaning his helmet you drop your lips down and give it a kiss, “Is that so?” you ask in a coquettish tone and you give him a wink.

Mando groans at you and pulls you in closer, “I’ve had enough being in public, let’s get back to the Crest,” he says. His words and the timbre of his voice fill you with dark excitement, and you nod your head in response.

You bid goodbye to your teammates and hurry out into the street, heading in the direction of the ship. You’re only a short distance from the Razor Crest when you hear a laser bolt whiz past you. You draw your blaster and turn towards the source of the bolt where you see five armed men bearing down on you, Mando, and the child. “Hunters!” Mando shouts to you as he returns fire.

Another blast comes from behind you and you whip around to see three more shooters trying to box you in. Like Mando, you shoot back, your fight mode coming out in full force. You manage to shoot one of the hunters in the chest and you see him fall. You don’t dwell on it though as you scan the area for a possible escape route. You feel Mando tug on your sleeve as he gestures to the left where you can see a small side street. You rush towards the street as fast as you can while Mando provides cover. You’re still wearing the wrist cuff from before so the baby’s pram is following after you. You feel a sharp burning sensation in your side and it almost knocks you to the ground, but your determination to get away is stronger and you push your legs to keep you running.

The narrow street spills out into a broader avenue that is now bustling with activity. You bump into people as you try to get away and it makes you stumble. You look around wildly for help but everyone seems oblivious to your distress. The baby’s pram is still right with you and you’re relieved to see it’s still closed up tightly. But where is Mando? You thought he was right behind you but now you don’t see him anywhere. You turn back to the narrow side street when you see one of the hunters come barreling out of it. He fires several bolts in your direction, one of which ricochets off the pram. People scream and scatter. A primal protectiveness surges within you as all you can think about is how you won’t let this man hurt your child and so you raise your blaster and shoot him twice in the chest. He falls to the ground, but something in you won’t let you stop. You keep moving toward him until you’re standing over him and then you shoot him in the head to make sure he can’t hurt either of you. You should probably feel guilty about killing him, but you don’t. You look down the street, worried that you’ll see another hunter heading your direction, but it seems quiet. You pant as you try to catch your breath and now you realize just how badly your side is hurting, you think it must be from before where the paintball hit you but when you look down you see your shirt is soaked with blood. You sag against a building as you realize you’ve been shot. A woman sees you and hurries over to help,

“We have to get you to a doctor right away,” she’s saying.

“Wait, I need Man-, I need to find Man- Mando.” The pain is making it hard to speak.

“It’s alright, your child’s pram is right here.” She doesn’t understand.

You sway on your feet and she quickly places an arm around you to help you walk. “Don’t try to talk, dear,” she’s telling you as she drags you towards a medical clinic. Everything is getting blurry and you fight to stay upright. When you make it inside the clinic, someone immediately pushes you towards a gurney and you collapse on it just before you black out.

Din is desperate to find you and the child. When he sent you down that side street, he succeeded in taking down most of the hunters. But one particularly large man, a Clawdite, had managed to tackle Din. That allowed another hunter to slip by and head down the street in pursuit of you. After stabbing the Clawdite, Din quickly trails the other man. His head is filled with worse case scenarios but when he finds the body at the end of the street, a sense of relief comes over him. It’s short-lived, however, when he realizes neither you nor the child are anywhere to be seen. Din can feel true fear rising in him that perhaps there were others and maybe you were both captured, when he remembers the wrist cuff he gave you and the tracking device he installed within it. He breathes a sigh of relief again when he pings your signal and realizes you’re nearby.

Din tracks your signal to the medical center, the sight of which makes his blood run cold because if you’re here that means that one of you must be hurt. He rushes inside but before he can ask anyone about you or the baby, he hears a frightened scream and then your voice shouting,

“NO! NO! Get away from me! NO!”

Din is back in full combat mode as he hurries towards the sound of your terrified voice. He finds you in a room with a round floating medical droid trying to administer an injection. You are curled up on the floor in a corner of the room with your hands over your face as you cry out in fear. Din shoves the droid out of the room forcefully before carefully approaching your huddled form.

“Shh, shh, it’s alright, it’s me, it’s Mando,” he says as he tentatively reaches out to you. “The droid is gone, and I’m here.”

You sob something that sounds like ‘Mando’ and launch yourself into his arms. You’re still crying hard when you get out the word, ‘baby’. Din looks around the room and thankfully he sees the child’s pram. He manages to reach the open button on his vambrace and the pram’s dome opens up to reveal the little one safe inside. The baby looks concerned at your distress and he lets out a sad-sounding coo.

“He’s alright, cyar’ika, the baby is safe, you did so wonderful protecting him.” Din holds you and runs a hand over your back, and he continues to whisper soothing words trying to calm you. A noise at the door causes him to look up and see two nurses there who are trying to figure out what all the commotion is.

“Sir, who are you and why is this patient out of her bed?” one of the nurses asks indigently.

“She’s terrified of that droid, you can’t let it near her again,” Din says, scooping you up in his arms and helping you back to the bed.

“Alright,” the other nurse says in a kinder tone, “but you can’t be back here unless you’re family.”

“I’m her husband,” Din snaps, knowing they won’t argue with that, “Now can someone tell me what happened?” His voice is demanding and rough.

“I’m sorry, sir, your wife was shot in the side,” the kinder nurse explains, “She’s lucky because the bolt missed her vital organs but she will need some time to heal. The droid was only going to give her a bacta shot.”

“She’s scared of that droid,” Din repeats, “Can’t one of you give it to her?” His tone of voice makes it clear that it’s a demand not a request.

“Maybe she’s just scared of the shot,” the indigent nurse says, a slight scoff to her tone.

“The shot is fine, just please not the droid,” you manage to say in a weak voice. You look at Din as you explain, “The Empire used medical droids for torture.”

Din remembers how you told him you were punished by the Imps when they discovered your sabotage, but you’ve never gone into details about that punishment. He has some idea now what they must have done to you, and why seeing another droid like that would cause such a negative response.

“No more droids are to come into this room,” Din instructs the nurses.

“Of course, sir, I’ll give her the shot myself,” the kinder nurse tells him, “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Din turns back to you and reaches up to smooth the tears from your cheeks. “It’s going to be okay, I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you.”

“Will you please stay with me?” you ask and you grip his hand tightly as if he might disappear.

“Nothing could make me leave you,” he says as he caresses your face.

A soft whine floats over to Din and you from the pram as the little one wants to know what’s happening. Din steps away from your side to quickly pick him up and bring him over to the bed with you. At first Din tries to just hold him close to you, but the child isn’t satisfied with that. Instead, he quickly climbs out of Din’s arms and onto the bed to nestle up against your chest, he then reaches up to touch your face with his little hand.

“Hi, buddy,” you say softly, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Din watches the two of you as a vast sense of gratitude washes over him; he’s so very thankful that you both are safe now and no lasting damage has been done. He holds your hand again and brings his helmet down to your head allowing him to watch over you and the child as close as possible.

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

Several hours later, you are doing much better after the bacta shot has done its work and the medical center releases you to go home. Din swipes a hoverchair and quickly steers you back to the Razor Crest; he insisted that you shouldn’t walk all the way back to the ship. Once on board again, he gets you safely tucked into your bed still with the child cuddled up against your side. The little guy refuses to leave you alone and even demanded to ride in your lap on the way back to the ship instead of returning to his pram.

With the three of you safely in space, Din returns to the hull. He’s pleased to see you’re resting comfortably as you talk softly to the child and he sets about to prepare some dinner for the three of you. It’s been hours since any of you have eaten and he’s sure you must be hungry. Din’s not as good a cook as you are, but he tries to add the little touches that you do for him like cutting up the fruit and arranging it on a plate, and adding honey to your tea the way that you like. When he brings your dinner over to you, he notices that the child has managed to use his powers to bring several of his stuffed toys over to your bed and he seems to be arranging them around you for additional snuggling.

“You’re doing a great job as a caregiver, buddy,” Din tells him chuckling.

“I keep telling him he’s being so sweet sharing his plushies with me,” you respond with a soft chuckle of your own.

Din helps you sit up, before handing you the dinner tray.

“Do you need help eating?” He asks concerned.

“Nah, I’m fine, Mando,” you tell him, “Really I feel much better; I don’t think I need to be in bed anymore.”

“You’re staying in bed for the rest of the day, and probably tomorrow too,” Din replies pointing his finger at you the way he does when he disciplines the child sometimes.

“Yes, Nurse Mando,” you reply cheekily.

“That’s right. Now eat your dinner before I feed you myself,” he says with a nod of his head.

After you’ve eaten, you’re still sitting up in bed and now you’re playing a little with the child and his plush toys as you tell him a story. Din can hear in your voice though that you’re tired and even though he knows you are doing better, you need your rest.

“Ok, kiddo, I think that’s the end of story time.” He comes over and picks up the child despite his little whines of protest.

“It’s alright,” you say softly.

“No, you need to get more rest,” Din tells you, “Besides, it’s time to get this guy cleaned up before he goes to bed.”

You can hear the sounds of water running in the fresher and Mando saying “Don’t look at me like that, she needs to rest so she can get better,” and it makes you smile. Both of your guys are being so sweet as they take care of you. You stretch back out against your pillows and close your eyes, and before you know it, you’ve drifted off to sleep.

When you awaken a while later, you see Mando sitting on a crate near your bed reading something on his holopad. He’s taken off his armor and is now more relaxed in his undershirt, trousers, and helmet only.

“Mando, is everything alright, what are you doing?” You’re surprised he’s not in bed himself or up in the cockpit where he’d be more comfortable.

“I didn’t want to leave you alone in case you needed something,” he tells you.

“That’s very sweet, Mando, but you must be getting tired,” you say.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he replies. You know he can go for long stretches without sleeping, but it’s really not necessary now. Maybe there is a way you can get him to rest at least.

“You could come lie down with me,” you suggest and give him a small smile.

“There’s nothing I’d like better, but you’re hurt and you need to rest,” he says, but it’s clear from his tone that he’s tempted by your offer.

“I won’t do anything more than just cuddle with you, I promise,” you counter, and you give him the flirtatious look that you know he likes. It works like a charm and although he lets out one of his long-suffering sighs, he’s standing up and moving towards the bed.

“Alright, we’re just going to cuddle and you are going to rest and try not to move too much.” Mando may be trying to sound stern, but there’s an eagerness to his movements that gives away how much he wants to join you in the bed.

He lies down next to you on his back and puts his arm around you pulling you close to his side. You shift your position so that you can place your head on his chest and rest your hand on his stomach lightly. This way you can lie on your good side and take any pressure off the side that needs to heal. As you settle into him, Mando lets out a sound of contentment making his chest vibrate beneath you.

“Thank you, this is nice,” you tell him, “Plus, you’re so warm and cozy.”

He chuckles at that and rubs his large palm across your back, “It’s getting to where I can’t say no to you.”

“I see no problem with that,” you reply and you give his chest a kiss through his shirt.

“Mmm, I bet you don’t.” His chest rumbles again pleasantly against your cheek.

“Mando, I didn’t get a chance to really thank you earlier, but I want you to know you really helped me back at the med center.” You hope he understands how important he was for you in that moment.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, I could see how terrified you were and I knew you needed me.” Mando says softly and pulls you tighter to him. He pauses and then asks you, “When you said you were punished by the Imperials, did they… torture you with the droid?”

“Yes,” you tell him in a flat voice, “It would give various shots to induce different types of pain. It was horrible. Seeing that droid today felt like being back there, back in that terrible place. I- I don’t want to talk about it too much.”

“I understand,” Mando tells you, “I hate droids… well, there was one once who wasn’t so bad, but mostly I hate them.” His voice is gruff as he tells you this.

“Why do you hate them?” you ask.

“My home was destroyed by droids,” he says, “Everything was gone, my town, my friends, my parents, all killed.”

“Oh, Mando, how awful,” Your heart breaks for him, “That’s devastating. I’m so sorry for you.”

“I was only a child, and I would have been killed too if not for the Mandalorians who rescued me,” he explains.

“You were a foundling too,” you say softly.

“Yes,” he replies.

You’re quiet for a bit as you stroke his chest in a soothing manner. You know he’s supposed to be comforting you, but you want Mando to know that you’re here for him too. He brings his other hand up to cover yours. You realize that his glove is off and for the first time you are touching his bare skin. Your breath catches in your throat at the sensation and you revel in each tiny movement that he makes as he slowly explores your fingers with his. His hand is large and warm, and you marvel at how delicate and gentle he is as he touches you.

“You skin is so soft, cyar’ika,” he murmurs to you.

“Thank you,” you say softly, but then you can’t help but ask, “What does that word mean, cyar’ika?” He’s called you that a few times now and your burning curiosity can’t wait any longer.

Mando chuckles lightly, “Aren’t you the code-breaker? What do you think it means?”

“Oh, I see, a linguistic challenge, hmm?” You’re willing to play along and you take a moment to think.

“Well, you’ve used it in place of my name, so it could be a nickname, but based on context, I’d say it’s a term of endearment.” You lift your head up to look at him as you propose your theory.

“What do you mean?” He questions, intrigued.

“Well, if it were a nickname, I think you’d use it more frequently, and by my count you’ve only said it four times, which makes me think it must be more special than just a nickname. Plus I know you’ve said my name more often than that.”

“Oh?” He sounds amused.

“Yes, and when you said it was important too,” you explain, “Twice you said it when I was very distressed and you were sure to use a calming tone, but then, the other two times were when you gave me a compliment, and those times, you had a more romantic tone.”

He’s laughing openly now and shaking the whole bed as he does. Oh no, you’ve nerded him into hysterics, “Sorry, am I being too analytical?” you ask him sheepishly.

“No, no, I love how logical you’re being, cyar’ika,” he emphasizes the word again and his voice is caring as he tells you, “I’m impressed and entertained by how you think. I had no idea how much thought you’d put into it.”

“Well, am I correct though?” You’re still dying to know.

“Yes, you are,” he says between chuckles, and you smile up at him in response. He calms down a bit and then tells you, “It means sweetheart.” His voice is deeper as he says the word in Basic and you feel your stomach flutter in delight.

“I like that, Mando, I like it a lot; it’s such a beautiful word,” You wish you had a term of endearment for him that would sound even half as beautiful.

“Din,” he says to you.

“What?” you reply confused.

“My name is Din, Din Djarin,” he introduces himself to you, “I’d really like for you to call me by my real name.”

“It’s an honor to know you, Din Djarin,” you reply in as warm and loving a tone as you can, trying to show him how much it means to you that he’s sharing something so personal.

“The honor is all mine, cyar’ika,” he tells you and he squeezes your hand to punctuate his words, “You mean so much to me, I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.”

“I feel the same about you, Din.” Lying in his arms, it’s easy to tell him how you feel, and you realize how much you want him to hear it. “I was so worried when we were separated today, but when you found me, and I knew you were there, it just felt right, like I knew everything would be all right.”

Din pulls you in closer, hugging you as tight as he can without hurting you. He feels your arm snake around his waist to hold him tighter too and he feels a sense of true serenity. It’s a new emotion for him or at least one he hasn’t felt since he was very young. The two of you stay like that for a long time and as he listens to your breathing, he thinks perhaps you’ve fallen asleep. He relaxes his hold on you and thinks that maybe he should try to slip out of the bed so that you’ll rest properly, when he feels you stir.

“Din, will you teach me more Mando’a?” you ask, your voice sounding dreamy.

“Yes, but not tonight, you need to sleep,” he says softly but firmly.

“Ok, good,” you reply with a small yawn.

You settle back in to the bed a little and pull up the blankets around you more. Din starts to pull away from you little by little, but you’re having none of it and you grip him tighter.

“Are you trying to leave?” you ask, sounding only a little pouty, “Don’t you want to stay and cuddle?”

He sighs, “You need your rest, and I’m distracting you from that.”

“I’ll rest better with you here,” you insist.

“I’ll stay if you promise to go to sleep now,” he replies.

“Ok, I’ll go to sleep.” You’re quiet for a few seconds, but then you whisper to him, “Din?”

“Yes?”

“Goodnight,” you whisper, “I hope you sleep well.”

“Cyar’ika?”

“Yes?”

“Stop talking.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you so much for reading! Continue to Chpt. 6 Where no Mando Has Gone Before. If you’d like to be added to the tag list, just let me know!

By the way, do you all remember that droid from a New Hope that gave Leia the shot? That’s the one I was thinking of when I came up with how the reader was punished by the Empire. That thing gave me nightmares for weeks when I was a child.

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