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amiedala · 3 years ago

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SOMETHING MORE (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 24: There's the Kicker

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: this chapter doesn't warrant warnings except brief mentions of violence!

SUMMARY: When you hear your name, you think you’re hallucinating it. It comes out of nowhere, and the voice that it comes from is familiar, trusting, warm. And there’s the kicker: it’s unmodulated. You’re pretty sure you’re imagining it, because you’ve spent so many nights playing over Din’s voice in your mind, his promises, the way he broke them.

And still, you freeze, turning around, feeling completely suspended on the space-time continuum. Standing there, unmasked, heartbreak written all over his face, is your Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian. As your heart hammers, drowning out every impulse to run towards him and jump into his arms, you have to remind yourself he left you, and even though he found you, he’s not yours anymore.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: HELLO MY LOVES SO SORRY THIS IS DAY LATE!! i had a lot of family and personal stuff come up on the back half of the week, and the chapter just wasn't where i wanted it to be last night. i hope this makes up for it! and i promise, the next chapter is going to be muchhhhh longer, and (in my opinion) very good ;) ENJOY!!

Getting back to Hoth feels like trying to run up a staircase that doesn’t fully exist.

Your starfighter, the one you put together with your aching hands and a little bit of wishful thinking, is rebelling against you. It’s fitting, you think, trying to hit warp for the thousandth time, that in the Crest’s unceremonious, splintered death, it left behind a new ship for you can wrangle in its wake. Immediately, you feel awful, swearing and kicking the parts of your hand-me-down Rebel ship into shape, reminding yourself that your home—the physical part of it, at least—is gone, and it makes you want to break down in the middle of space, get lost in the stars and not think about anything in this forsaken galaxy ever again.

But every time you close your eyes, you see the lightsaber glow green, and you know somewhere deep in your chest that Wedge called you back for a reason. It’s colossal and monumental in the same thundering way finding Din and the baby for the first time was, as illuminated and fated as meeting Ahsoka. There’s something here, something real, something more, if General Luke Skywalker himself sent Wedge a hologram and shook your old friend up this badly.

Finally, you get the ship to move. You kick the malfunctioning warp system a few times before she shudders to life and groans under your pressure. “Kicker,” you mutter, flipping all the colorful, variant buttons on the dashboard to get her to move. “Kicker, that’s what I’m gonna call you. I’d name you Rebel,” you continue, punching the ship into hyperspace, “but that one might be a little too on the nose. What do you think?”

Because it’s a ship, Kicker doesn’t say anything. You smile though, a small, stolen one, and as you exit the crush of warp in front of the icy behemoth that is Hoth, you feel your heart aerating and releasing, nervousness building a colony of butterflies up in your stomach. Luke Skywalker, you whisper a few times, turning his name over in your mouth. You know he’s real. You’ve seen him before, only from a distance, but you’ve heard the concrete stories, the way he turned from desert farm boy into the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy. He’s the kind of man that can turn into myth with the right storyteller, and he’s always awed you. There’s a part of you that connects to him—something yearning and desperate, that part of the tales you always heard where he keeps trying to save people beyond saving.

Wedge knows him. Knew him, maybe, with the mystique surrounding the Jedi that Luke became, but you’ve seen the way Wedge talks about him, how the double suns of Tatooine shine in his eyes, his enthusiasm, his kindness. And you know they haven’t seen each other in ages, because Wedge has been from one end of the galaxy to the next, and Luke—you aren’t on a first name basis, he’ll always be General Skywalker, but there’s something about the way he appeared in your vision that makes you feel closer to him—well, Luke’s been becoming a Jedi.

And after perceiving said Jedi on the seeing stone immediately after your premonitions of Grogu getting whisked away by something evil? It feels like too close of a coincidence. And you don’t believe in coincidences to begin with.

The descent to Hoth feels even colder and slower when you’re shivering in anticipation before you even break through the planet’s atmosphere. You’re in your jumpsuit, and one of the spare blankets from your makeshift bed in the back of the cockpit is draped over your legs, but you’re still freezing. It feels like forever until you’re finally docked and you can sprint towards the control room where Wedge told you he would be, boots stomping heavy and intentional against the frozen ground.

“W—” you wheeze, immediately skidding to a halt the second that you breach the doorframe, all the breath leaving your lungs, “what did he say?”

The room, you realize, a second too late, is full. There’s seven people splayed around the hologram, and they’re all staring at you. You recognize all of their faces, both from seeing them around here on base, and from your youth when you were still a fully integrated member of the Alliance, and you feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you pull your helmet off, trying to walk over to where Wedge is standing with as much grace as you can muster.

“It seems like some of the message is corrupted,” Wedge manages, lowly, pulling you gently out of the way of the other people talking urgently over the holotable. “He said something about a new Jedi, though, and that he’s heading back to find them—”

“Me?” you blurt.

Wedge startles. “What?”

You bite your lip, grabbing his arm and dragging him a bit further away, hoping to avoid the other generals’ earshot. “I—I was on Tython,” you breathed, “just now. And before my fiancé and our kid abandoned—left me on Dantooine, we were on Corvus. Where we met with a Jedi—I think. I don’t know if she identifies as one anymore. Her lightsabers were white.”

Wedge blinks at you. “What?” he repeats, and you steal a nervous look at the others gathered around the hologram. Some of them are examining the table itself, others are watching you, and you feel both incredibly small and incredibly judged. “You’re not making sense, rebel girl. What about you?”

You inhale. It’s shaky, but it’s a start. You’re still out of breath. “I—I’m Force sensitive,” you whisper, as quietly as you can, “that’s why I was left on Dantooine. The baby—Grogu, our son—he’s also Force sensitive, and Moff Gideon was after the both of us. It was safer if we split up. Can,” you interrupt yourself, still out of breath, “can you play me the message? I think that Luke—General Skywalker—might have been talking about me.”

Wedge stares at you. After a second, he takes a half step back, but the look on his face, disbelief, is so close to Din’s of confusion and betrayal after you showed him the same piece of information about yourself. You swallow, suddenly self-conscious, pulling your braid over your shoulder.

“How long have you known?” Wedge whispers, voice urgent. “About your abilities?”

You shake your head. “Not long,” you promise, “two months at most. Listen—”

“Why did you say yes to me?” Wedge interrupts. “Why did you come here? We’re barely anything, right now, Nova, the Alliance is completely scattered after the fall of the Empire. There’s not enough of us to protect you.”

You blink, anger slowly filling up the expression on your face. “I can protect myself,” you hiss back, “and, besides, I’m not—I’m not dangerous, Wedge, and I can take care of myself. Besides,” you say, trying not to choke, “I think Gideon has the baby right now, b—because our ship was shot to shit—”

Wedge faces you again, putting both of his broad hands on your shoulder. Immediately, you close your mouth, suddenly anxious. You don’t know what he wants from you, and you don’t know if you should have told him about everything. But if he was friends—close friends—with Luke Skywalker, he shouldn’t be this uncertain about your Force sensitivity. You bite your lip, unsure how to react, but you can feel the anger and desperation slowly building back up in your chest, billowing like an old, ancient flame.

“Moff Gideon,” Wedge says, voice low, “is after your fiancé and your kid?”

Troubled, eyes furrow, you nod. “Yes.”

“And when you just left the base earlier today,” Wedge continues, his voice intense but slightly strained, “where did you go?”

“I—” You inhale, sharply, breaking his intent gaze to look over at the rest of the people in the room. Almost every single one of them is outfitted in the regalia reserved for admirals and generals, and the ones who aren’t are pilots. You know the uniform. You’re practically wearing it yourself. They’re all looking at you with a strangeness to them, eyes flickering back and forth between you and Wedge, as if asking for permission. “When we met Ahsoka Tano on Corvus,” you continue, trying to direct your conversation to both Wedge and the others in the room, “she told us—me and Grogu, my kid—that she couldn’t train us, because we had emotional attachments to one another. But she told us to go to the planet Tython,” you pause to swallow, mouth dry, “because it has a strong connection with the Force, and we could connect with a Jedi who could.” You stop, looking back at Wedge. “I heard him,” you whisper, “and I saw him. His lightsaber, lighting up the hallway of an Imperial cruiser. I know that Gideon was after my family.” You pause again, inhaling a shivering breath. “When I was just on Tython, I saw our ship. It was just rubble.” You’re trying so hard not to cry, but you can’t help yourself. “I’ve had visions, Force visions, for months now, of the planet. Gideon and his troops were after the baby, and I know Tython is where they took him.”

Wedge’s hand is up against his chin. He exchanges a quick, unreadable look at one of the generals, and then he faces back to you. “How many men does Gideon have?”

You look around at the people in the room again, and decidedly take a step forward, towards the table, towards the paused, flickering, blue hologram of Luke Skywalker pulsating up from the table. “A lot,” you admit, hand flying to your necklace before you startle with the realization that it’s not there, that you gave it to Grogu right before you were deserted out on Dantooine. “I know the galaxy is still in reparations from the fallen Empire.” You swallow, trying to meet the eyes of the rest of the people in the room. “But I don’t think the Empire is as fallen as we previously thought.”

Wedge moves in behind you, and a space opens up around the table. You smile, grateful, falling into rank with the other eight people in the room. “That’s what we’ve been afraid of,” he affirms, bumping his shoulder gently into yours, the same thing your dad always did when he wanted to include you. You let your stature relax, leaning in to examine the pulsing of the hologram on the table. “After we defeated the Empire, most people left the Alliance. It seemed like the natural thing to do when there wasn’t active, visible evil to fight off anymore. People wanted to get on with their lives.” He inhales, deeply. You can see worry lines chiseled into places they weren’t before, the last time you saw him. “Luke, though.” He stares at the rotating disillusion of his friend as he exhales, “Luke knew it wasn’t over. He’s been all over the place,” Wedge says, and this part sounds like it’s just for you, “trying to find people who can use the Force like he can, and like you can too. Trying to rebuild the Jedi Order.”

You swallow, looking up at him. “What does the hologram say?” Your voice comes out shaky and small.

Wedge sighs, pressing the button to play the message.

“Wedge,” Luke says, voice tinny but full of relief. “It’s been a long time, and I know you’re busy, but I need your help.” You watch, transfixed, at the blue, flickering image of the greatest Jedi in the galaxy. You swallow. “I think I’ve found someone. Maybe two people, I can’t be sure. I felt it through the Force.” He pauses again, giving Wedge a look that feels private, intimate, like something only for him to see. You avert your eyes. “I’m headed to the planet Tython. Then—then I’d like your help, and the Alliance’s, to help safeguard whoever I find.” You look at Wedge. “I know it isn’t fair to ask. I know I’ve been distant for a long time. But I need you to know that the galaxy is still in danger. I feel it, Wedge, and I know you can too. I’ll see you soon.” And with that, the holotable flicks off, the rotating, grainy, blue image of Luke Skywalker himself turned to dust.

“He found you,” Wedge says, but it sounds more like a question.

“No,” you whisper, voice small. “No—I saw him, but it was a premonition. I didn’t call out to him.” Your eyelids flutter, because you’re trying to hold back tears. “Grogu,” you say, voice even smaller than it was before. “Gideon has Grogu.”

Wedge exchanges looks with the others in the room, then looks back at you. You’re exhausted, and you rub your hands over your tired eyes, pressing until you see stars. “So Luke is going after Moff Gideon?”

“Yes.”

“So we need to help him.”

You spin around, back to Wedge and the generals. “No,” you enunciate, trying to stress just how bad that idea is with a single syllable. Then your words come flooding back. “No. We—you, any of you—cannot go after Gideon. I know you want to, and I know you’ve taken down plenty of the Empire, so I know you’re capable, but you can’t.” You look back at Wedge. “You can’t,” you whisper again. “I’ve seen him. He’s flattened entire cities in his destroyers, and he’s ruthless. He’s power-hungry, and anyone or anything that stands in the way of that is something that will soon be dead. I held him off once,” you say, projecting this part to the rest of the room, “once, and I barely got out of there in time, and it drained me for days. I still feel that exhaustion here. You can’t help Luke with this. Protecting me, and whoever the other Jedi are—that’s what you need to do. I know this is horrible. I know you probably feel helpless.” You swallow, fingers grasping around open air around your throat where your necklace used to be. “But you can’t take on Gideon. Not alone. And not even with all of you. I’ve seen how that story ends. It cost me my family.”

Wedge stares at you. “So you’re suggesting we do nothing? To help Luke Skywalker? To get your kids and fiancé back?”

The question burns. You meet his gaze. “No,” you answer, finally, “I’m suggesting we strategize before we attack.”

There’s rumblings from the generals in the background, but Wedge holds up a hand, and the low voices cease. You swallow, trying to push your shoulders back, give off confidence, but you’re not sure if it’s working. Wedge nods at you, and you feel relief spread through your whole body as he turns back to the generals. “Nova’s right,” he says. “There’s not enough of us left to adequately fight off Gideon and the troops he has.”

“He has a weapon, an awful one,” you say, stepping forward. “It’s called the Darksaber.”

No one seems to blink an eye at that one, but Wedge looks at you. “Is Gideon Force sensitive, too?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“No,” you answer, softly, “but this weapon isn’t like a lightsaber. It’s cruel, and ruthless, and its blade is black, vibrating with a ring of white around it. He can use it, and he has, and he’ll continue to until he’s been stopped—”

Suddenly, all the lights start blinking, sirens blaring. You jump back in panic as everyone immediately mobilizes, starts pulling weapons out of hidden places, running out of the room. Wedge beckons for you to follow him, so you do, and your legs scream with the soreness of trying to climb to the top of the seeing stone back on Tython.

“What’s happening?” you yell, following Wedge into another control room.

“We’re under attack,” he answers, grimly, his face paling. “You need to go.”

You blink, coming to an abrupt halt. “What?”

“It’s Gideon’s men,” Wedge says, turning around to face you. “It’s not Gideon himself. But he’s sent in three fighters, and they’re big ones. I assume they’re after you?” he asks, and your stomach twists. Wedge starts striding towards the hangar, and you follow him, immediately getting blasted in the face with Hoth’s frozen air.

“It’s three fighters,” you say, urgently, “I’ve taken out six of them before, Wedge, singlehandedly, let me get in the air and I can shoot them down—”

“No,” he interrupts, “we’ve got it. I promise. You have to go. There will be a decoy ship alongside you, one that looks enough like yours so they’ll follow it. Only when that ship is clear do you leave the atmosphere, and then you immediately jump into hyperspace.”

You’re frozen.

“Do you understand?” Wedge asks, and you exhale, letting go of all the seizing stress in the pit of your stomach.

“Yes,” you answer, and he nods. You’re at Kicker, so you grab the parka out of Wedge’s outstretched hand, starting to climb.

“Rebel girl,” he calls, and you go back a step to catch his face. There’s so much there. You can feel it the same way you see how worn his worry lines were when you were reunited back on Dantooine. It’s longing, loss, and, somewhere hidden, hope. You see the way he’s trying to convey everything—condolences for your parents, plans to get Din and the baby back to you, whatever was going on between him and Luke—but he can’t vocalize it. You nod at him, smiling softly. “Fly safe,” Wedge says finally, “and let me know where you land. No matter what,” he tacks on, at the last minute, and you see for a split second how concerned he is, “do not turn around. Do you understand me?”

You want to defy him. You want to say no. You don’t want to leave, you want to stay and fight. You promised Din all that time ago that you wouldn’t run, and here you are, deserting the people that you’re supposed to protect. Finally, though, because of the look in his eyes, you nod. “Don’t you dare let them touch you,” you manage, and your voice only cracks on the last word, which is an improvement. Wedge nods back, and then he’s gone, running through the hangar to his X-Wing. You watch him take off, and your eyes track the decoy ship that’s supposed to be yours, and as the three fighters go after it, you exhale and punch it. You’re moving fast, too fast, and your takeoff is sloppy, but you know Wedge wouldn’t tell you to book it if he didn’t mean it, so you fly recklessly and you fly fast.

When you hurtle out of the atmosphere, you catch one of the fighters diverting from the group to chase after you, so you don’t even bother punching in coordinates. You just floor it. “C’mon, Kicker,” you whisper, voice low and desperate, as she shudders and groans to hop into warp. “I know you want to go slow, but now is really not the time—”

And, like the rebel she is, she sputters down to nothing.

“Fuck!” you scream, loud, too loud, it hurts your own ears, but you get up and start pounding on the dashboard while the fighter’s getting closer and closer. You look out the window as you flip switches and slam on buttons, and now you’ve got their attention, too, and you watch in panic as the ships flock to you, firing, trying to hail you on your comm.

“This is an order from Moff Gideon. Turn of your shields and lower your blasters.”

“Like hell,” you spit, “Kicker, I’m serious, I need you to work now—”

“This is an order from Moff Gideon. You have been warned once.”

“Warn me again, then,” you seethe, closing your eyes as you disconnect one of the wires and try to spark it with the other.

“This is an order from Moff Gideon. You are resisting capture. If you disobey one more time, we will fire on you instead of taking you prisoner.”

You ignore them. If this works, the ship will finally hop into warp, and you’ll be in the clear not only to evade, but to shoot back at them. If it doesn’t, you’re about to die in a fiery explosion, and all of your promises to Wedge would go—very quickly—down the drain. You cross your heart and pray to the Maker that you did the right thing, and then there’s nothing, just three very large—and very scary—TIE fighters about to surround you and take you prisoner at best, and then, finally, the glorious rebel she is, Kicker thunders to life. “Yes!” you scream, buckling in, cracking your neck, putting one hand on the accelerator and one thumb over your blasters. You have a second to do this, and you need to do it right.

“This is your final warning. Either board our ship or die.”

“Die,” you answer, your voice calm and not much like yours. As you speak, you push the accelerator forward, hit warp, and fire. You catch the biggest fighter right on the wing, not a hard hit, but enough to knock it back into the other two.

“Get back here, scum—” the pilot shouts, but you’re already in hyperspace.

“That’s Rebel scum to you,” you say, and the grin that swallows up your whole face is worth every bit of the close call.

You don’t know where to go. You don’t really care, because the farther you get away from the Alliance, the safer they’ll be, so you just set Kicker to coast through warp and lean back, seeing how far she’ll take you. Maybe she’ll dump you on a desert planet, or maybe she’ll crash land you on Nevarro again. Your heart feels daggered, impaled. There’s no way you could go back there. Sure, maybe Din wouldn’t be there, but Cara would be, and Greef Karga, and all the other people you met in the Guild. They’d ask questions, for starters, and Cara might go after Din and kick the shit out of him, and it would just leave you on the verge of tears. You want to go somewhere populated, you think, like Dantooine was, even though you know you can’t go back there yet. It’s too fresh, and Gideon’s men might come looking, and, besides, if Din wants you back, he’s going to have to chase you a little.

“Novalise,” you whisper to yourself, echoing the time almost a decade ago where you only had your name out here to hold onto, to bring you back to life. It still sounds like yours—no matter Din knowing it, no matter how you shared it with Arlen, no matter that it’s what everyone in the Alliance calls you now, after you told Wedge you prefer it to your original name. It’s yours, and right now, your own self feels like home.

So you coast. You hop out of warp every few hours to make sure that no one’s after you, but no one seems to have tracked you anywhere. It’s quiet out here, but it’s not the kind of shattering silence that it used to be. You sleep sometimes, huddling under the next of blankets for warmth, and then you go back to your chair to spin and look out at the stars.

You’re not sure how long it takes, but it feels like a few days when you finally decide to hop out of warp for good. You’re not sure exactly where you are, but you need food, and you need fuel, and you don’t think you drifted into the Mid Rim. It takes a little searching for anywhere that looks populated, but when you drift into the middle of an asteroid field, you realize you’re in Polis Massa. You’ve never been here. It’s not as filled with people as it used to be, once you break through the atmosphere on the rock that holds the research base, but it’s large and it has food and fuel. This is where your dad would go, before he joined the Alliance. Here and Coruscant, or what was left of it, had the most history about language and linguistics, and he’d take day trips from Yavin to collect as much research as he could to bring back and share with you.

It feels familiar here. Even though it’s not home, or anything close to it, you know that there’s something pulling you here, and something anchoring you too. The city is dense, but there aren’t a lot of people out and about. It’s dark here, darker than you imagined, so when you park Kicker in a landing bay, you bring a small flashlight with you. People don’t pay you much mind out on the street, even while you’re dressed in glaring orange, which is comforting after the close call you just had back on Hoth.

You wander. For a while, until the city starts getting lighter on the horizon line. Soon, the cafes and small markets on the street open up, and you sit outside, still wrapped up in your parka, glad to not be shivering. You eat, eventually, and have a steaming mug of caf, which helps. You don’t live the way it makes you feel, all jittery and nervous, and you don’t love the taste, either, but you’re happy for the warmth. Eventually, people filter in and out of the streets and you start to make your way deeper into the heart of the city.

You trip over the cobblestones at one point, practically launching yourself into the person ahead of you. You wince at his dirty look. “Sorry!” you call after him, and you hear him grumbling, but he acknowledges you with a nod. When you stand back up, you see where you are—the research institute your dad always talked about, where he’d go and spend hours reading about the different languages in the galaxy, to write them down and bring them back to you. You hesitate, for a second, and then you’re climbing the stone steps, driven by ache and longing.

It’s massive in here. It’s gorgeous, but huge, and the shelves are stacked all the way up to the ceiling. You have no idea where to start, but you pick an aisle at random and start browsing. You’re not sure what you’re looking for, if it’s something to connect you with your family or to connect you to this new life you’re haphazardly building for yourself, but you stumble again and nearly knock over the librarian.

“I’m so sorry,” you manage, seeing how tiny she is, how frail. “I’m sorry. I—”

“It’s quite all right, dear,” she answers, kindly, adjusting the wire-rimmed glasses on her face. “Can I hep you find anything?”

“The…language section,” you say, decidedly, eyes still caught on how many books there are here, how many years it would take you to read every one. “Linguistics.”

You follow her deeper into the labyrinth of bookcases, and when she shows you where the linguistics shelves are, you thank her excessively, your gaze buried deep on the titles on the spines. Most of them are in Basic, likely for inclusive access to anyone who ventures here, but there’s so many that have unfamiliar letters, the way they jut out and curl around themselves, and when your finger finds one, it falls open.

You don’t know what it is at first. You just feel called to it, opening it up and poring over the pages, and then a familiar word catches your eye. Kar’taylir. To know. To hold in the heart. Your own heart catches in your throat, stomach twisting itself over in impossible knots. You slam the cover closed to look closer at the text, and you realize it’s a dictionary of Mando’a, and all its translations.

There are tears in your eyes. You came here, to be closer to your father, sure, but also because you wanted to build something new. And you walked through these doors that held millions of books, and the one you picked out was a dictionary of language that your fiancé shared with you. It’s too much. You choke back a quiet sob, hoping everyone else here for research can’t hear your silenced wailing. Against your better judgement, you tear through the pages, looking for the familiar syllables, and when your finger finds the word cyar’ika, you have to close your eyes and desperately beg your heart to stop beating so horrifically, to slow the pulse down.

You follow the word over to its translation in Basic. Cyar’ika, it reads, sweetheart, beloved.

Beloved. Beloved. It says beloved, it doesn’t just mean sweet thing, it doesn’t mean that you’re kind and close to his heart. Din had been calling you his beloved for months, and then he fucking left you.

It’s too much. Everything is hot and fuzzy. You slam the book shut, heart pounding a staccato in your chest. Immediately, you get up and run. You don’t know where you’re going. In hindsight, you should have put the book back, but you didn’t. You’re running. You promised Din you’d never run, but he promised you forever and then stole it away, so you don’t owe him a damn thing anymore. You’re crying, loudly, openly, and when you rush by the same librarian you toss her a halfhearted apology.

You trip going down the steps, bang your knee up something horrible. It makes your eyes flash white hot for a second, but you pick yourself up and just keep going. You only have a vague idea where Kicker is, but you run in that general direction, blood dripping down your scraped knee, and then you’ve found the landing slot. You hurry up the ladder, not even bothering to get out the bacta kit that you stowed in the hull of the ship, just desperate to get out of here, to go somewhere else. It doesn’t matter.

You have history with Din on so many planets, it’s impossible to pick one where he won’t be hanging in the air. But something feels horribly right about heading to Tatooine, considering he hates desert planets and you can hide in plain sight. Maybe you’ll go to Mos Eisley and pick up bartending, maybe you’ll be a hermit that lives in the sand, maybe you’ll learn to speak Tusken and really never be seen from again. But before you breach the atmosphere, you call Wedge.

“Rebel girl,” he sighs, coming in almost immediately. “I was worried. You didn’t respond earlier.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. That seems to be the only thing you can utter today. “I—I went into warp for a while, turned off my comm. I was just on Polis Massa, just for the day, but it’s not—”

“Safe there,” Wedge interrupts, and you want to tell him that’s not what you meant, but he’s still talking. “We intercepted the comms of some of the people sticking close to the Empire. There’s enemies there, I’m glad you got out.”

“Me too,” you say quietly. “I’m going to Tatooine. Not forever, just for a bit. I figure I can ditch Kicker—the ship—somewhere safe and get some sort of job for a few weeks, throw people off my trail.”

“Good call,” Wedge says, then he sighs. “Luke’s from there, you know.”

You swallow. “I know. Listen, don’t tell anyone else where I am, but if he asks—”

“I’ll tell him where you are,” Wedge assures you. “Can you get word out to your fiancé?”

You gulp, slowly coating towards the atmosphere line, watching how your whole vision fills up with sun and sand. “I’m not sure,” you say, barely anything at all. “Listen, Wedge, I gotta go. Thank you for checking in on me. I’ll tell you if I’m headed anywhere else.”

“Do that,” he agrees. “Lay low. Unless you need to go after Gideon. But if that happens, you call me. You have to promise you’ll let me help. Not the full Alliance, if you don’t want our guns and ships. But you have to call me. I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

Your eyes fill up with tears. You don’t have the energy to argue, really, so you don’t. You just nod, slowly, finding a safe place to land. “I promise,” you say eventually.

“Nova?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.” You hear the line go dead, but you nod again against your own company in the cockpit. “

“I will,” you manage, low and deliberate.

It’s hot out here. It’s a no-brainer, you know how relentless Tatooine’s suns are, but it’s even worse than you imagined. You shed the parka, most of the jumpsuit, and tie your hair up on the top of your head before you step out into the sand, but even then, in just your tank top and light pants, it’s ridiculously hot. You struggle for the first few klicks, and then the suns slowly start to go over the horizon, and it’s a bit more bearable. You drink the last of your water, and keep stumbling closer and closer to a settlement.

It’s not Mos Eisley, but it’s a cantina. Smaller, probably lower profile, and you stagger in with your empty water canteen and your bag full of the few credits you have left, and you pick a small table out of the way to sit down upon. The wall is cool, and you press yourself up against it as you signal the waitress.

She’s definitely not human, but you’re not sure what race she is, because the dark in here is such a stark contrast against how blinding the light was outside, and your eyes haven’t fully adjusted. “Hi,” you say, your voice coming out cracked. “Can I please get some water, and—and something to eat?”

“What would you like?” she asks, and you balk at the menu, all of which has meat on it. The thought of putting anything made out of mat in your mouth makes your stomach roil, so you shake your head.

“Is there anything you offer—um, that doesn’t have meat?” you ask, and your words come out small.

“We have a plate of vegetables,” she answers, “but they’re not the freshest—”

“I don’t care,” you interrupt, warmly, “that’s fine, thank you.”

She gives you a soft smile and offers you a whole pitcher of water. You should pour some in your canteen, but you just start drinking straight from the jug, gulping it down as fast as you can, trying to get rid of the dry heat in the back of your throat. When she comes back with your food, the water it totally drained, and you ask for a refill as your stomach grumbles.

“Can I get anything else for you?” she asks, and you shake your head, and she starts walking away.

“Wait,” you call after her, mouth full of food, “wait—uh, do you happen to have any positions open? For a job? I can’t offer much, but I’m a good cook, or I could clean, I’m good at that too—”

“What’s your name?”

You swallow around your mouth of food. “Novalise. And I usually have much better manners than this, I’m sorry.”

She smiles. “I’m Kuna,” she answers. “We only have pick-up jobs available around here right now, I’m afraid. It’s not steady pay, but it’s something, and at least it’s out of the heat.”

“Yes,” you say immediately, “yes, I would love that, whatever you have for me. Thank you.”

Kuna nods. “Dinner’s on the house,” she says, voice still lowered, “and you can come back sometime tomorrow to start, if that works.”

“Yes,” you nod. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you so much.”

You sleep better that night than you have in the last week, which isn’t saying much, but at least the hulking silence of being alone in the ship is satiated with the knowledge that you’re not going to be easily accessible to anyone that doesn’t wander into the cantina, and after you hike back to Kicker, you fly her closer to the hangar on the edge of town and cover most of the ship with a tarp you find rolled up in the hull. As long as stormtroopers or anyone associated with Gideon doesn’t stop in the hangar on the outskirts of town, you’re safe.

The work is hard, and slow, but it’s rewarding. It gives you that same distracted feeling that working with Arlen at the hostel did, and something to show for it. You mostly clean, sweeping out the freshers and scrubbing down the bar, but you get the stools spotless and you’re able to polish the backs and seats of some of the other cluttered chairs, moving tables back and forth to best optimize the space. After a few weeks of working a handful of days, Kuna lets you back behind the bar. Mostly, you’re making small drinks, no big cocktails or anything fancy, but you like it. It’s nice to interact with people, even if you don’t share a language with them, and it keeps your mind off the book of Mando’a and Din stranding you on Dantooine after promising you an eternity.

You don’t care that it’s temporary. There’s nothing momentary about heartbreak, nothing compartmentalized enough for you to simply forgive him. Not now. And maybe not ever. But your heart yearns for Grogu. Whenever you let your mind wander, you tap into the Force as much as you can, searching for him, or searching for Luke Skywalker, trying to figure out if they’re okay, if Grogu is still under Gideon’s grasp, and in the corners of your visions, you look for Din.

It’s involuntary. It hurts, and it leaves you reeling, heart spinning out into an abyss you can’t cartograph your way back from. So you try to stay distracted, try to keep busy. Days pass, and you’re not sure for how long, but they’re filled with work and you sleep at the end of them, restless, with nightmares, but you’re still getting sleep, and that’s all that matters right now.

Kuna lets you start serving drinks unsupervised, which isn’t much, but it makes you feel accomplished. The whole cantina looks better every day you’re here, and it’s something to be proud of, especially since you haven’t done anything to call attention to yourself other than being a woman in the middle of a skeevy bar in the desert, which just means you attract creeps instead of stormtroopers. It’s a good bargain. One night, you serve a regular, a Twi’lek with green skin, not purple, and you can look at her without seeing Xi’an, her dead body, or Din. She’s kind, and she asks about you as much as you ask about her, and you walk out of the bar to clean up the mess one group of people left behind, letting the rest of the people filter out for closing time.

When you hear your name, you think you’re hallucinating it. It comes out of nowhere, and the voice that it comes from is familiar, trusting, warm. And there’s the kicker: it’s unmodulated. You’re pretty sure you’re imagining it, because you’ve spent so many nights playing over Din’s voice in your mind, his promises, the way he broke them. And still, you freeze, turning around, feeling completely suspended on the space-time continuum.

Standing there, unmasked, heartbreak written all over his face, is your Mandalorian.

as always, reply here or send me a message to be added to the taglist!!!

I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!! thank you all for being patient and bearing with me these past few weeks!! i promise more is coming, and we still have the whole last arc to go, so SM isn't ending soon ;) and when it does? i already have plans for a sequel in the works!

so sorry again that this is a day late!!! i hope you loved it anyway <3

xoxo, amelie

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meesa-hoe · 4 years ago

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An Angel In Beskar

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader x Paz Vizsla

Summary: Two Mandalorians find you near death in the middle of a desert on Tatooine and while you’re quick to warm up to the one in the mismatched blue armor, his silver companion is much colder towards you.

Rating: M but later chapters will probably be rated E for sexual content.

Word Count: 4,500

Warnings: Descriptions of hopelessness, violence, trauma, and minor injuries.

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! I’ve been working on this for a while and finally decided to post it here since I noticed there’s not a whole lot of Paz x Reader x Din stories and I absolutely love the ones that I have read. I’m hoping to have the next chapter up in the next week!

There is an established relationship between Paz and Din prior to them finding the reader.

‘May the Maker have mercy on my soul.’

There’s no point in you praying when you’re certain death is about to wrap it’s cold arms around your weak body. After traveling through the unforgiving Tatooine desert for days without water, your body is beginning to shut down and you fear that this will be your last night spent alive on such a cruel planet. Your thin dress and the scarf you had used to cover your face in an attempt to protect yourself from the scorching hot suns is your only source of warmth as you lifelessly lay on the sand and you wonder how long it will take for you to be buried deep underneath the soft granules.

You will soon end up like the ones who had perished in your village after it had been brutally attacked by bandits and raiders just days ago. Though you had barely escaped in one piece, you suddenly wished you had stayed so you could have at least had a quicker death, rather than slowly dying in the middle of nowhere. You had been foolish to think there would be another village nearby and tears finally trickle down your cheeks as you peer up at the moon, an intense feeling of despair seeping all the way down to your heart.

You miss your family.

The silence that surrounds you only makes you sob harder, loneliness eating away at you as you simply long for your family. Despite not living a luxurious life in the tiny village, it never diminished the love you had for the ones close to you. The images play on a loop in your mind--bodies covered in blood and lifeless eyes staring into your soul as you hid from the bandits--and you finally allow the physical and emotional pain to consume you.

In a way, it’s cathartic to let it all out without others being around to judge you, though it also has you longing for a comforting touch, whether that be a firm hug or someone just holding your hand. You’re reminded of the way your parents would comfort you and your siblings when you were younger, their voices always like soothing, cold water during the hottest days of summer and it only has you crying harder.

Once it feels like you can’t cry anymore and you’ve accepted your fate, you rest for the final time.

Hours pass--at least you think that as you barely cling onto life.

You don’t even realize you’re not dead until a quiet, filtered rasp manages to break through the darkness and silence that surrounds you, though your eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand pounds and are nearly impossible to crack open. It’s morning now, or maybe even the afternoon, judging by the way the suns ruthlessly beat down on you.

“How did she manage to get all of the way out here?” That hushed, soothing voice sounds a little further away and you wonder who he’s talking to until two leather digits press against the pulse on your neck. “The nearest village is days away on foot,” The person taking your pulse simply grunts in response and you finally manage to pry your eyes open when your curiosity threatens to overwhelm you.

Who would be insane enough to trek through a desert on Tatooine?

Your vision is blurred, black dots floating around as you blink several times before it finally clears.

Instantly, you’re face to face with a t-shaped visor and--

A Mandalorian!

Not just one, but two.

You think the lack of water and the intense heat has you hallucinating.

You had grown up hearing stories of the warriors, your oldest brother telling you how they were the strongest beings in the galaxy and typically not cruel to strangers who were innocent. There had been rumors of one living on Tatooine and as a little girl, you remember praying to the Maker that they would show up and rid your village of all the bandits that would terrorize your family and neighbors.

Even the Gods don’t want anything to do with Tatooine.

If you weren’t so exhausted and weak, you could have cried from relief and begged the two Mandalorians in front of you to save you, though your throat is far too dry and your mouth feels like cotton.

“What are you doing all the way out here, little one?” The blue Mando closest to you questions when he realizes you’re awake and you find that his voice is far more rough and brusque than his companion’s, though it’s not unpleasant in the slightest. After going days with nothing but your own thoughts to keep you company, you’re just happy and relieved to not be be alone

“P-Please... Help,” You manage to speak in a hoarse plea, tears spilling from your eyes as you clutch at the material covering the warrior’s ribs as tightly as you can, afraid that he’s simply going to stand up and leave you there to die. The way he leans in a little closer instantly fills you with hope and even though your face is mostly covered, you pray that he can see the desperation in your eyes and that he’s able to sympathize with you.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

He’s massive and wears scuffed up, dull blue and yellow armor that you think has seen several battles since it was forged; he’s all mismatched and terrifying, but in that moment, you see him as some sort of Beskar angel.

His armor looks far more worn than his companion’s as you lift your gaze to peer at him, though it only has you squinting your eyes in pain as the impossibly bright suns reflect off of the silver Beskar and you simply let your eyelids slip shut once again. You feel a hand touch the thick cloth that covers your cheekbone, your Beskar angel letting out a low hum as he assesses your injuries as much as he can with all of the fabric in the way.

“What are you doing?” The silver warrior questions, his tone now cold and your heart instantly shatters when he continues, “We don’t even know who she is and you want to bring her with us?”

“We can’t just leave her out here to die,” The Mandalorian crouched down next to you doesn’t hesitate to admonish him, his voice filled with sympathy and conviction, “The ship isn’t too far from here and I don’t mind carrying her. Who knows how long she’s been walking through this desert on foot.”

“We can’t just take in every stray you stumble upon. Besides, we don’t know her--what if she’s just another criminal? Tatooine is filled with scum.”

“Look at her!” The blue warrior instantly snaps, his voice tinged with anger towards his companion and you nearly cry upon realizing he’s willing to fight for your survival, “She’s so weak that she can’t even keep her eyes open and she looks injured. Who’s to say she wasn’t running away from a bad situation? Besides, if she does try anything, do you think she could really get the upper hand on two Mandalorians in her condition? She doesn’t even have a single weapon on her!”

You hear an exasperated sigh and before the shiny Mando can put up anymore of a fight, you feel clunky Beskar sliding under your knees while his other arm winds around your shoulders, bringing you off of the hot sand with ease. If your mind wasn’t so hazy, you would have marveled at his sheer strength, but you feel your body relax against his Beskar that has been warmed from the suns.

“If she tries anything, I’m putting her in carbonite.”

Instead of praying to the Maker for mercy like you had hours ago, you find yourself praying that the stories your brother had told you of Mandalorian are true and that these two strangers don’t have cruel intentions with you. The blue one carrying you seems nice enough, but the silver Mando with the quiet voice still has you on edge and you immediately tense up at the thought of essentially being frozen.

“You don’t have any slabs left available because you’re an impatient di’kut,” The blue warrior reminds him, sounding more amused than agitated and you hear a hint of fondness in his gruff voice, “Let’s just get her back to the ship and we’ll find out what happened to her.”

“Fine, but I’m putting the cuffs on her.”

The one carrying you is quick to shoot down that idea, “Unless you want me to give you a concussion, you’re not putting cuffs on her.”

Using all of your strength, you manage to curl your arms around your savior’s neck, your fingers pressing into the soft fabric covering his nape as you whisper out a meek ‘thank you’. It hurts your dry throat but you hope he can detect the genuine gratitude in your hoarse voice, tears filling your eyes as they crack open to peer at the silver Mando who’s trailing behind your savior.

His tilted visor is trained solely on your face, despite the fact that most of your features are covered by your white scarf and you can tell he’s still wary about your presence. For a moment, he fiddles with his cuffs before giving up with a tired sigh and you let your eyelids slip shut when you realize he’s no going to restrain you.

“Shh, little one,” The Mando carrying you intones, his rough voice soothing the ache in your heart as you sniffle, tears soaking your scarf, “It is safe to rest your eyes now. Once we get back to the ship, we’ll get some water and food in your belly again.”

That’s all he has to say for you to slump against his cuirass before you’re being tugged back into unconsciousness once again. You’re in and out of it for most of the journey and every single time you manage to pry your eyes open, the silver Mandalorian’s visor is fixated on you, putting you even more on edge until you fall back asleep again. Even with his gauntlets digging into your knees and shoulders, you find comfort in knowing that you have the protection of at least one Mandalorian and it’s the only thing that lets you rest as peacefully as your hectic mind will allow.

The next time you regain consciousness, it’s to the sounds of the warriors conversing with one another in hushed tones, perhaps in an attempt to not wake you up.

“Do you think it’s okay to take off her face coverings?” Your savior sounds hesitant as fingers graze along the material covering your jaw and something about it is endearing, “What if she has it on for a reason?”

He thinks your culture is similar to his--that you have to keep your identity concealed just like a Mandalorian--and if you weren’t so exhausted and in so much pain, you would have found this amusing. “Not everyone who covers their face does it because they’re sworn to a creed,” The silver Mando sounds just as entertained as you are, the terseness from earlier no longer lingering in his filtered rasp and when you finally open your eyes, you’re surprised to find how relaxed he appears as he sits on a crate adjacent from the cot you are laying on.

Your savior has his back to you as he stares at his companion, “I just don’t want to invade her privacy.”

“She’s probably wearing it to protect her skin from the suns.”

“You think so?”

“Ask her yourself.”

The blue warrior instantly turns to you, his visor tilted to the side as you stare back up at him with wide eyes, suddenly feeling sheepish and shy. Slowly, you manage to sit up on the cot with a pained whimper and reach up to remove your white scarf that is stained with splotches of blood. As soon as the cold air cycling through the ship kisses your warm cheeks, you let your eyelids slip shut with a relieved sigh, the stained fabric that had protected you from the unforgiving suns falling to the metal floor next to your feet.

“You must be thirsty,” The blue Mandalorian’s rough voice has you opening your eyes and you nearly let out with a loud gasp when he offers you his canteen, “Here.”

The water could have been tainted with poison and you wouldn’t have even noticed as you chugged the cold liquid, a few tears escaping your eyes at the immense relief that instantly floods you after going days without a drop of liquid. “What is your name?” He inquires once you’ve sadly finished off all the water, though the one in silver approaches the two of you and retrieves the leather canteen, wandering off to perhaps refill it.

You hesitate to give the stranger an answer, especially after all you’ve been through these past few rotations, but you think if he wanted to hurt you, he would have done it by now and you eventually whisper your name after a pregnant pause. His visor tilts further to the side as you stare at his scuffed up cuirass rather than his helmet, tears filling your eyes when he asks how you ended up in the desert.

“It is okay, little one,” He soothes your pain with that gruff voice as he towers over you, “You’re safe now.”

“M-My village, it--” The blue warrior places a heavy hand on your shoulder as the terrifying memories of your home being burned to the ground play on repeat in your head and something about his firm touch is incredibly comforting, “The raiders they… They killed everyone and burned down all the buildings. My whole f-family--”

You don’t realize the shiny Mandalorian is within earshot until he says something in a foreign language that you don’t recognize, though you think he must have asked about you when your savior repeats your name in a terse voice, along with a few other words.

“Dank farrik,” The smaller of the two sighs before angrily shoving the canteen into your hands and they continue to speak in their mother tongue, sounding as though they’re arguing.

“D-Did I do something wrong?” You meekly question them after you take several swigs of the cold water, tears still drying on your cheeks as they both gaze at you long enough to cause your nerves to spike even more. Anxiously, you pluck at the loose threads on the hem of your skirts, feeling anxious underneath the intense stares of such strong warriors when you feel the weakest you ever have in your life. The blue warrior angrily shakes his scuffed up helmet before hastily stomping off of the small ship, leaving you alone with the silver, brooding Mandalorian that seems far more awkward around you than his companion.

The ruddy, orange tips of his leather gloves curl against his sides as he silently regards you for a few more moments.

“Come with me,” He eventually orders with a slight tilt of his helmet, urging you to follow him as you scramble to your bare feet to obey his gentle command. He leads you to the hull of the ship and you nearly cower away from him as he leads you through a small walkway that’s lined with several slabs of carbonite, afraid that you’ve done something wrong. With the blue Mandalorian gone, your mind runs rampant of all the horrible things this stranger can do to you and your gaze lifts to the huge rifle strapped to his back.

You freeze as you wonder how many people he’s killed with it, or if he prefers to use the smaller blaster holstered against his hip.

Upon noticing that you’re not following him, he turns to face you.

“I’m... I’m not going to hurt you,” He quietly promises when he notices your hesitation, his visor lingering on you as you eventually trail right behind him again, still clutching the leather canteen between your clammy palms, “I just want to see if you recognize someone.”

The stranger comes to a stop in front of one of the slabs of carbonite and confusion floods you as he gestures to it like one would offer a prize, though fear and horror immediately has your heart in a frenzy when you recognize the Zabrak frozen in time.

He had been among the many that had terrorized your village for so long.

“W-What is he doing here?!”

“He’s the leader of the group of bandits that burned down your village and he is also a quarry of ours,” He quietly explains in an oddly gentle voice, watching as the canteen slips from your palms and onto the floor of the ship, “We managed to track him down the day after the attack. I am... sorry we were too late.”

The shiny Mandalorian holds a hand up in an attempt to calm you as panic tugs at your heart to the point where it’s difficult to breathe properly and you quickly back away from the hunter, fleeing further into the ship until you manage to find the refresher. You’re grateful there’s a lock on the door as you sink to the floor, the hunter’s voice calling out to you on the other side of the door, though there’s a sharp ringing noise blaring in your ears that makes it damn near impossible to hear even your own thoughts.

The Mandalorian eventually gives up on trying to get you to exit the refresher and leaves with a defeated sigh. You’re shaking with fear as you keep reminding yourself that the you’re on the same ship with the cruel monster that orchestrated the attack on your little village.

That Zabrak is the reason why your entire family was slaughtered.

And he’s on the same ship with you.

You sit there in solitude for quite some time, listening to the two Mandalorians as they quietly talk to one another in the hull of the ship. The larger of the two must have a naturally loud voice and you can’t stop yourself from smiling when his silver companion occasionally shushes him when he speaks your name. It sounds like they might be arguing about something and you hope it’s not about you, but judging by the irritation in both of their voices, you’re certain they’re trying to figure out what to do with you.

Especially now that you have no home to go back to.

A deep sigh pushes past your lips you as you finally stand, the warriors’ argument ceasing when you move to the sink and turn the water on to splash some of the cool liquid on your face. The stark contrast between the cold water compared to the sonic shower in your home is lovely and cathartic after having gone so long with only ever really having warm water.

There’s a firm knock on the door, the blue warrior calmly reciting your name in an effort to get you to come out, “It’s okay, I just want to talk with you.”

Dread floods your frantic heart as you dry your face off with the sleeve of your dress before hesitantly cracking the door open to stare at his scuffed up cuirass, too afraid that if you look at his helmet, you’ll only breakdown again.

“I am sorry for your losses, little one,” The Mandalorian sighs, holding his hand out for you to take in a friendly gesture that has you opening the door all the way. “I know all too well the grief of losing loved ones,” You take hold of his hand and he immediately strokes a firm thumb along your knuckles, the foreign touch comforting as he guides you out of the refresher and to one of the crates so you can sit down.

“Are...” You hesitate as you finally peer up at his tilted visor, fear wrapping around you like a vice, “Are you two going to leave me here?”

A sigh escapes him and your eyes widen when he rests a leather palm on the side of your neck, his thumb grazing along your jaw as he takes in your appearance for several moments. Though you’ve only been in the presence of the two warriors for a couple hours, you realize just how different their personalities are. Your Beskar-clad angel is massive, loud, and rough around the edges, yet somehow so gentle around you, while the silver warrior is placid, quiet, and constantly brooding, wanting nothing to do with you.

You can’t help but to wonder what their relationship to one another is, if they’re simply close friends or something more, given how they’re simultaneously comfortable and dysfunctional around each other.

“No, we’re not just going to leave you in the middle of nowhere,” He sounds oddly sad as he pulls you from your thoughts, his voice the quietest you’ve heard from him so far, “We can either drop you off somewhere safer or you can stay with us for a little while and help out with certain things on the ship.”

You don’t hear the silver Mandalorian descending from the cockpit, his visor on the two of you as shock courses through you. “Y-You would let me stay?” His fingers twitch against your neck upon hearing the way your voice shakes, your eyes burning at the kindness he’s displaying, “But... I don’t think the other Mandalorian really wants me here. He doesn’t trust me.”

His blue pauldrons slump and you resist the urge to reach out and trace a silver indentation on the worn armor, “It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, we’re just not used to being around people who don’t want to kill us.”

You contemplate his words thoroughly as his thumb continues to stroke your jawline and after going several days without anyone to talk to or share your fear with, the touch is a warm welcome. “Well, after everything that happened to my village, I don’t think I have it in me to hurt anyone, let alone kill,” Your own shoulders slump, eyelids slipping shut as you remember how scared you had been as you hid yourself from the bandits underneath a pile of bloody, lifeless bodies.

You don’t realize you’re shaking until the silver Mandalorian makes his presence known by softly saying a word in what you think is their mother tongue, instantly earning his companion’s unwavering attention.

“Vizsla.”

You quickly pull away and wipe the tears from your flushed cheeks, a heavy hand lingering on your shoulder as the quiet Mandalorian speaks in that gentle rasp that sounds softer than usual and you feel bashful when his visor lowers to regard you.

“I set the coordinates for the next stop,” He appears awkward as his fingers flex against his thighs, his visor still fixated on you as he offers you a sharp nod. The blue warrior chuckles, though you’re not sure why as his companion approaches the two of you, seeming to tense up a little more and you’re certain that the silver Mando hates you already.

“This is your last chance for us to drop you off at the nearest village,” He warns you as the heavy-infantry warrior gives your shoulder a firm squeeze, as if trying to give you some of his strength even though you feel devastatingly weak, “Otherwise you’re stuck with us until further notice. We can’t guarantee your safety.”

You try your hardest to appear tough in front of the hunter, though his helmet tilts to the side with what feels like amusement as you awkwardly shift on your feet, “I… I have no family left and nowhere else to go. I would rather be with you two than have to suffer alone in an unfamiliar village that may or may not be attacked by cruel people again.”

He hesitates, visor shifting between you and the Mandalorian at your side, before nodding and making his way back to the cockpit without another word, pulling a sigh from the blue warrior as he turns back to you, tilting his helmet in the direction of the ladder. “Come on, little one,” He helps you off the crate before guiding you to the cockpit, following close behind as you push yourself up the ladder. Before you can say anything else, you’re interrupted by an intense rumble coming from your empty stomach and you pray that he didn’t hear it, though judging by his snort of laughter, your prayers were unanswered.

“Once we make the jump into hyperspace we’ll get you some food. Flying can be a lot if you’re not used to it and I don’t want you throwing up all over the cockpit.”

A warmth blossoms across your cheeks as the metal doors slide open, his palm still covering the small of your back as he urges you to sit in one of the unoccupied co-pilot chairs. You quickly buckle in as the brooding hunter flicks some switches on the console, seeming completely at ease as his blue companion lazily plops down in the chair next to you, the two of them not bothering with their seatbelts. Briefly, you wonder how long they’ve been doing this--traveling with one another--and with how sure of himself the silver Mando appears as he easily guides the ship off the sandy ground, you think it’s been quite a while.

“Have you ever been off Tatooine before?” The blue warrior asks you when he notices how tightly you’re clutching your seatbelt the further the ship ascends and you force yourself to relax your stiff fingers. “N-No,” You quietly inform him, tearing your gaze away from the windows to peer at him instead, “I lived in that village for all my life. When... When everything happened with the bandits, I wasn’t sure where to go, so I just ran.”

His visor tilts to the side and as he continues to speak, you can’t stop yourself from wondering if he’s doing it to distract you as the ship breaks the atmosphere of the sandy planet. “Well, it’s a good thing we happened to be close by since the nearest city was at least four more cycles away on foot,” This information makes you shudder and instantly, you grow quiet, knowing that there was no way you would have ever made it if they hadn’t shown up when they did.

He seems to notice your melancholic disposition and is quick to change the subject, his filtered voice melting into something more lighthearted that has you weakly smiling at his visor. “Maybe it’s a good thing you’re here,” He tilts his helmet to where his silver companion is piloting the ship into space, “He doesn’t exactly make for the best company sometimes, always brooding and complaining. Besides, you’re far prettier to look at.”

Your cheeks immediately grow warm at his sudden coyness, though it only seems to exasperate the other Mandalorian as he sighs, his silver helmet shaking as starlight reflects off of the pretty Beskar.

As the old, rickety ship makes the jump to hyperspace, causing a queasy sensation in the pit of your belly, you think that maybe the two of them don’t make for bad company at all.

Perhaps there is some force in the galaxy that took mercy on your soul after all.

#I hope whoever reads this enjoys #and feedback is always welcome!#din djarin x reader x paz vizsla #Din Djarin x reader #Paz Vizsla x reader #Paz Vizsla x Din Djarin #the mandalorian #my stuff #let's be real #I'm just sharing this in case anyone wants to be a hoe with me

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bbrandy2002 · 4 years ago

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Fools Rush In

Part 4

Series: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x OC (Riley)

Previous chapters can be found here.

Series Premise: With two weeks until Liam is to marry Madeleine, the guys throw him a bachelor party in Vegas. As a drunken night, he finds himself with way more than he bargained for.

MC did not exist in Liam’s social season. OC Riley Brooks lives in Las Vegas.

A/N: No wacky drabble for this one. Went a wee bit over and couldn’t cut. Oh well...there’s always next time. This is an 18+ series.

A/N: The lyrics to the song Maxwell sings comes from a Tik Tok video that was shared with me and the idea to include it in this is not my own hahahaha I will post the link to the video in comments to give the maker proper credit and just in case anyone wants to actually watch it. I thought it was funny..

Thanks @burnsoslow for beta reading and all of my lovely pre-readers.

Warning: Mention of STD’s

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____________

All Riley wanted to do was go home, take a hot shower, snuggle up in a blanket on the couch with a Lifetime movie, and carry on with the rest of her life.

She'd had this crazy but exciting night out with a fantastic guy. They had a little too much to drink and woke up the next morning to find they were married to each other.

And she wasn't just married to anyone. No, it had to be the King of a small European country she'd never heard of before.

That's not something that just happened to everyone.

Depending on how one viewed her circumstances she was either the luckiest or unluckiest woman in all of Vegas.

If she were a betting person, she'd place money on the latter.

Riley stood at the penthouse door, engaged in a stare down with the blonde-haired obstacle blocking the exit.

In front of her was a woman wearing a black and white fur coat, a strand of pearls that hung loosely around her neck, and an impudent scowl.

If evil were a lady, Riley surmised she was looking at her.

Madeleine's green eyes bore agitation and scorn as she studied the petite figure she recognized from the dozens of photos that bombarded her text messages.

"You must be the bimbo who thinks she will steal my crown and title."

"Excuse me?" Riley's eyes narrowed, not knowing who she was speaking to, but could already tell she didn’t care to know.

Leo stepped up protectively behind Riley and growled at the countess. "Go away, Madeleine! How many times do we have to tell you the dalmatians aren't for sale?"

"You wish I were here for dalmatians," Madeleine sneered. "Now, out of my way, heathens."

She pushed her way past the two and stalked inside while Mara shuffled behind. She removed her cashmere gloves and took notice of her fiance with his back pressed against the bar top, one legs crossed over the other, and sipping casually on his scotch.

Liam tipped the glass to his lips as if he didn't have a care in the world and swallowed. "Can I offer you a glass of wine, dear? Or a cronut? Perhaps a ride to the middle of the desert to be left for dead?"

"That's quite alright," Madeleine quipped as she ripped the glass out of Liam's hand and slammed it down on the bar. "But maybe you'd like to first explain why I have been inundated with one message after the next telling me you were married to this ..." She motioned her hand toward Riley with derision. "This ... bitch?"

Liam paused as if he were thinking about it, then shook his head. "No. Not really." She's not a bitch ... she's amazing. He wondered why he couldn't say that out loud.

Stunned, Riley looked up at Leo in disbelief. "Did she really just call me a bitch? She doesn't even know me."

Leo nodded with a compassionate smile on his face, then pulled her further inside and shut the door.

He wasn't about to let her go now.

Liam grabbed his drink, pushed himself off the bar, and strolled to the center of the room. He could feel Madeleine's icy glare following his every movement. The King hoped his flippant attitude was enough to penetrate deep into her frozen exterior and piss her off even more. "I thought you were in New York, Mads. 8 million people in that city for you to torment, and you still make time to hop on your broomstick and find me. I have to say … I'm touched."

Madeleine shot him a dirty look. "Do you have any idea what I've been through because of what you did last night?"

He shrugged. "Nope, and I don't care."

"Well, you're going to care when I tell you everything that happened." She disregarded the audible groan and eye roll from him as she began her diatribe of offenses. "I had just settled in for the night when I get a message from that simpleton, Penelope, telling me what you did. I tried to call you, but apparently, you and the rest of your entourage of losers blocked my number. So I had this incompetent boob of a guard you hired for me book the first flight out here.

“When I got to JFK, I was detained and strip-searched because someone falsely alerted authorities claiming I was a Colombian drug lord, only in the U.S. to sell cocaine and hypodermic needles to children --"

Leo snorted.

Liam curled his lips into a devilish grin, knowing exactly who did it. He glanced subtly to Mara, who winked back at him.

"Are you even listening to me, Liam? As if that nightmare wasn't horrid enough, I find out Mara booked coach class … COACH! Coach is so beneath someone like me. There were babies and old people and sodas. But the worst was when we finally arrived here; they strip-searched me again. I had to get my own baggage and ride in one of those god-awful smelly shuttle vans to this hotel. And do you know why I had to do all of that? Because you're a complete moron, Liam. The people of Cordonia are laughing at you; you know that, right? I always knew you would be a total embarrassment and fuck up, but this is beyond anything I imagined."

A downcast expression was plastered on Liam's face as he stared down at the drink in his shaky hand. Those words stung -- “a total embarrassment and fuck up.” In his mind, he felt she was right. He had let down even his own expectation of himself and the reputation of the monarchy.

There was nothing to do but stand there and stew in silence.

But Riley wouldn’t.

She shrugged Leo's hand from her shoulder and spun Madeleine around by the arm to face her. "Is this what you do? You go around insulting everyone and being a first-class bitch? I will have you know, Liam is not any of those things. He's the kindest, sweetest man I've ever met. And it's no wonder he looked so miserable last night at the club. I couldn't understand why at first, but now ... now it all makes sense. Did you ever stop to think that maybe if you weren't such a fucking cunt, he wouldn't have been drinking so much and been so willing to accept the company of another woman?"

Liam felt his heart twinge. Riley had every right to be upset with him, and he felt guilty for putting her in this situation. But there she was, defending him. God, she was hot.

Madeleine guffawed. "How cute. You've got your little whore taking up for you now."

"That's enough!" Liam's eyes landed sharply on her. Before he could stop himself, the next few words sprang from his lips as naturally as his breath. "You will not speak to my wife -- your Queen -- like that again, or so help me I will charge you where you stand for treason against the Crown. Do I make myself clear?"

Riley's eyes rounded, unsure of what to say or do at that moment.

Leo loudly cheered and pumped his fist in the air.

Liam stood his ground as he glowered back at his slack-jawed, now ex-fiancee.

Madeleine couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You can't be serious? We are getting married in two weeks. I'm going to be the Queen!" Her tone was one of anger and desperation.

He laughed wryly in her face. "Not anymore."

He looked past a stunned Madeleine to the heedless guard smirking behind her. "Mara, please see to it that the countess returns to the airport and doesn't disturb us again."

She agreed and led a vociferously-protesting Madeleine toward the doorway.

"You'll regret this, Liam. You'll both pay for this travesty!"

"Use the taser on her, Mara!" Leo bounced with excitement as he followed them and opened the door. He handed the guard a $100 bill as she walked by and whispered, "Make sure they strip search her again. A bonus if they need double gloves and lube."

"You got it, boss."

Leo slammed the door and clapped. "Ding-dong, the witch is gone! So. Do you need help packing, sis? We still have a couple of hours before we go back to Cordonia. That should be enough time to gather some things."

Riley stammered, looking between the two men, completely dumbfounded by what just took place.

Liam noticed. He knew what he said to Madeleine about her being his wife and Queen was most likely awkward for her.

They didn't know each other; it was a fact, he continued to remind himself.

Liam rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of what to say. "Uh, Riley ... I just want you to know ... I only said that stuff because of Madeleine ..."

"Oh, yes. Of course. I knew that." She chuckled nervously and waved her hand. "But what about your engagement?"

"Yeah, Liam. You gotta have a queen." Leo clapped the back of one hand against the palm of the other and exclaimed, "Dem's da rules."

Liam shook his head and carried his empty glass to the open kitchen. "I know that, Leo. But I will not ask Riley to give up her life here just to help me clean up my mess. She deserves better than that."

Riley crossed her arms on the counter that looked into the kitchen, watching Liam get a bottled water from the fridge. "What happens if you don't have a Queen?"

Liam twisted the cap and gave a half-shrug. "I don't have a choice. I'll have to marry Madeleine." The words stung his lips.

"But she's so pissed at you right now."

He chuckled. "That won't stop her. She wants the crown, and that's it."

Riley could see the sadness in his eyes, the same sadness she saw last night in the club where they first met. "You'll be miserable with her, though," she muttered wistfully.

He nodded, regret written on his face. "Yeah."

Riley stood silent; she weighed the pros and cons of such a massive uprooting. Her life had been slightly stalled and bland for the last few years. Las Vegas was her getaway to a new life from New York, where she left behind both regrets and failed relationships. And yet ... this new place wasn't everything she told herself it would be.

She looked at Liam and felt her heart break. She understood him more than he realized.

But ... to be a Queen?

Riley inhaled deeply and prepared to speak up when Liam's phone rang.

He placed the cap on his water, sat it on the counter, and lifted his phone from the pocket of his shorts. "It's Maxwell," he called out.

Leo rushed to him. "Put it on speaker, Li!"

"Maxwell, I have you on speaker. Leo and Riley are with me. How's Drake?"

"He's in the pharmacy, and I'm standing outside getting air. It's going to take a while to amass all the medication and creams he needs."

The brothers looked at each other with wide eyes. Riley covered her mouth to prevent the chuckle that threatened to escape. "I think I'll give you guys some privacy. I'll just be in the bathroom."

Liam nodded and turned his attention back to the call. "Is it really that bad, Max? I mean, I think we know what he has."

"Dudes, I don't think you can even begin to guess half the shit Drake's got."

"You gotta tell us what the Drakester has, Max."

"I'm not really supposed to say."

They could hear the hesitation in his voice. It was almost like he wanted to tell them, but needed a little more coaxing.

"Maxwell," Liam spoke. "If Drake doesn't want us to know, then you should probably keep it to yourself ... for now."

"I did kind of write a song about everything he was diagnosed with for a TikTok video. Drake only said not to tell anyone. He never said I couldn't sing about it."

Leo nodded his head. "Agreed. Sing that song, Beaumont."

They could hear Maxwell shuffle further away from what sounded like a crowded street.

"Okay, the coast is clear," Maxwell said as he took a deep breath. The boys hugged their ears against Liam's cell phone.

"Drake just left the clinic, and I'm afraid its bad news.

So now I'm singing this song about it hoping it gets views.

Don't know how he's still alive.

Or how he survived.

The doctor said he's got five ... nasty STIs.

He's got some in his balls … got some in his ass.

And what's worse is his curly pubes are crawling with crabs.

He's got herpes! From a booty call!

He's got syphilis …now his dick is raw.

He's got chlamydia … And it's so sore.

And he doesn't even know where he got genital warts."

Liam pressed two fingers into both sides of his temples while he stared blankly at his phone. "Un - believable."

Leo swiped the tears from his eyes and made no attempts to hide the giant smile curling his lips or his overwhelming giddiness. "I've never been more proud of the Drakester than I am at this moment. He actually beat me out on this one. Gotta say ... I don't mind losing to him this time."

“Liam. Leo. I gotta go; Drake’s on his way out. See ya back at the hotel.”

Leo went to the refrigerator to search for a snack, pulling out a leftover pizza. “Ya know, we should probably warn the maid she may need to get a haz-mat team before cleaning Drake’s room.”

Riley rounded the corner. “I hope everything is okay with your friend.”

Liam smiled. “That’s very kind of you say. He’ll be fine … I think.”

She fidgeted with her bracelet and glanced over at Leo placing a slice of cold pizza on top of another slice and taking a large bite. “Leo, I hate to ask while you’re eating … again. But would you mind if I spoke to your brother for a moment? Privately.”

Leo chewed quickly while shaking his head. He swallowed hard. “Sure. I needed to use the shitter, anyway. Pinquee Kittee’s casserole isn’t sitting too well in the Leo tummy.” He grabbed the pizza box and headed for the bathroom.

Liam looked curiously at Riley, not able to read her expression or have any clue what she would want to talk about. “You needed to speak with me?”

She nodded. “Yeah. About our marriage ...”

#the royal romance #king liam #choices liam x mc #king Liam x mc #liam x mc #choices fanfiction #trr #trr au fanfic #choices trr #Fools Rush In #bbrandy2002 #tw: std #a lot of stds

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fangirlingincamouflage · 4 years ago

Text

Blind Hope: Chapter 7

Title: Blind Hope Author: Rosie Dayze Word Count: 1,232 Pairing: Nick Jakoby x Reader Chapter Rating: PG-13 Themes: Angst, Plot, affectionate frustration Disclaimer I do not own Nick Jakoby, he is the intellectual property of Netflix Originals, I make no money from this fanfiction. Dedication: @14readwritedraw96 and @thezucchini (For being so wonderfully enthusiastic) TW/CW Descriptions of pain, long term hospital stay

Previous chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 <~ You are Here

You are standing in the middle of the pasta isle at the grocery store when your cell phone goes off. It's that distinctive ping of an unknown number texting you. You sigh, roll your eyes, and wonder what is the easiest possible thing that you can make for dinner that night. In the past six days your workload has tripled. June and Em are on a much needed vacation and Nick is still unconscious at the hospital.

You know that because you called right before you left to go grocery shopping. You also called first thing this morning, and last night, and the morning before, and the night before that. You have called the hospital at least twice a day for the past thirty-seven days. You got the exact same information.

“Officer Jakoby is still in an induced coma, and he is not ready to be seen by friends or family.”

It was maddening.

Your phone goes off again and you set a jar of premade sauce back on the shelf. Your stomach isn't feeling red sauce. It isn't feeling pasta. Or oranges. Or any one of a thousand other things you were totally down for eating. You hadn't been hungry since the night part of LA went up in magical flames. Since Nick had been hospitalized.

With a sigh you eased into the snack isle. Is a bag of chips an acceptable replacement for dinner? Probably not, but you've had take out for the past two weeks and absolutely none of it has filled the steady, continuing ache in your heart.

Your phone goes off again.

“What?” you snarl loud enough to make the old lady with a basket full of frozen dinners blink with bewilderment. “Sorry. Not you.”

You pull your phone out and waive it at her. She doesn't look convinced, and doubles her speed to get into the next isle.

With a few swipes you bring up your new messages.

“This is Jessica, the Head Nurse at the Intensive Care Unit at the UCLA Medical Center.” The first message reads.

Your heard pounds so hard in your chest that your vision goes a little hazy. You grip your phone tightly enough to make the screen rainbow with protest.

“Nick Jakoby has achieved a state of continuing consciousness. One of my nurses made the mistake of telling him that you had stopped by.”

That hazy feeling turns to ash. You had wanted to see him yourself, to let him know what had gone on, and why you hadn't talked to him in six, not seven, months. He must be angry, furious.

The third message is brief, and comes across as a little mad. “In order to keep him in bed, I promised him you would come see him tonight. Do not make me a liar.”

You desert your cart, and take the shortest possible trip to the hospital that you have ever taken. Which is impressive, considering all the times you driven up there in the past month, just in case something had happened between your morning and evening check-ins.

You don't stop at the front desk, you know where you are going. The elevator doors close as you turn the corner, and the wait for the next ones seems like an eternity. The moment the doors whoosh open, you surge inside hitting the buttons for the ICU floor. You don't even wait. You ht the close-door button and watch your reflection stare back at you as the lift starts to rise.

What are you going to say? Should you have gotten balloons? Flowers? A stuffed animal? Would he even be allowed those things? Did he want them from you? Did he want to see you to make up or to have a final talk? In the twenty-eight seconds that it takes to get to your floor, your mind plays out you greatest hopes and worst fears in a strange, overlapping loop that leaves you feeling a little lightheaded.

Though maybe that has something to do with the fact that you haven't eaten well in a month.

Your clothes don't fit right, you think as you tug at the fabric. You should have gone home to change. You were wearing your comfy clothes to go shopping. The fabric weird. Then you realize its not the fabric, its your own skin. You are so nervous that your skin feels like an electric current is running through it. With a huff you roll your shoulders, trying to settle your nerves. It doesn't help.

The doors slide open and as fast as you got into the elevator, you hesitate to get out. This could go wrong. What if his mother is there? His partner? What about Johnassen, the jerk who broke his phone so long ago?

It doesn't matter you tell yourself as you take that first step off the elevator. All that matters is he's awake. You'll be able to see him with your own eyes.

A stern looking woman with stark gray curls looks up from a desk as you approach. She tilts her head and inspects you.

“For Jakoby?” she asks like she already knows the answer. “Follow me.”

Your heart is in your ears as you follow in the steps of her worn out shoes. She swipes her badge, taking you through a set of secure double doors. The sounds of the hospital change. The ICU is bereft of human noises, but it isn't quiet. You can hear televisions on a half a dozen channels turned down low, doing what they could to preoccupy patients who were in layers of pain. The sound of breathing machines hiss and whirl. A man in green scrubs wheels supplies down the hall. There's no happy, warm chatter. Just a strange sense of desolation and pain.

You do not like it here, and you can't imagine Nick here. Nick, with his warm laugh and kindness. Nick who kisses you like the universe exists in your lips. You want to scoop him up and take him away.

The nurse stops outside of a door at the end of the hall.

“They are quarantined behind a see through partition,” she tells you in the kind of no-nonsense voice that must come from years in her work. “Do not attempt to breech this partition.”

She holds out a long medical gown. Confused, you shoved your arms into the sleeves. She spins you, and starts to tie it up, and then she puts another one on your back, spinning you again so she can tie it in the front. She hands you a cap, and a mask, and you put them both on as she helps your feet into medical grade booties.

“How dangerous is it?” You ask as she holds up a pair of gloves to slip on your hands.

“Unknown,” she tucks the end of the gloves over the wristband of the double set of gowns. “But you saw the news, you know where they were. Better safe than sorry.”

She types a number into the key pad. “You get ten minutes. No more, no less. I'm not being mean, but we need to minimize any chance of exposure.”

You nod your understanding. Ten minutes isn't much time, but you'll make the most of it.

“There are armed men in there,” she finally says. “Don't do anything to make them think you are a threat.”

It's the last bit of advice she gives you before the pad turns green and the door is opened.

The room is long, white, and empty save for what looks like a box made out of hanging plastic. Only a few of the lights are on, casting half the room in evening darkness. There are several beds, but only one of them is occupied. The long, lean body of a black male is visible beneath the harsh lighting. Three other people stand guard, dressed from head to toe, AR-15 clutched in their hands. The door closes behind you.

For a moment you stand there, frozen and unsure. A little, ugly thought makes you wonder if this is some weird trick. Then you hear your name.

Your eyes are drown to the shape of a man sitting in a chair. You hadn't noticed him at first because the dark lines of his body blend a little too easily with the pseudo darkness on that side of the room. But now that you've seen him, you can't pull your gaze away.

Nick. You'd know the shape of him anywhere. The broad, strong line of his shoulders stands guardian against the pitch black behind him. There's a blanket across his legs, and an IV in his arm.

“It's you,” he says softly, disbelieving.

“Nick.” You take one step, and then another, and before you know it your legs are carrying you across the room. You almost forget the plastic. When you foot hits it, you're startled. The guards watch you with cold glares. “Sorry.”

And once you start saying it, you can't stop. Over and over again you apologize. You don't realize you are crying until you taste the hot salt of your own tears. You are sorry you didn't call him. You are sorry you left. You are sorry you didn't answer him back. You are sorry for everything you ever did in the last six months because none of those things was going to him. You sink to your knees at the edge of the partition, the tears making it impossible to speak.

He says your name again, so soft you wonder if you dreamed it. You look up, and he's shaking his head.

“Please, don't cry.”

Slowly, unsteadily, he gets up. He doesn't look at you as he pulls the chair from one side of the plastic sheet box to the other. Right in front of you, he plops the chair down, and then lowers himself into it. His staccato motions belie how hurt he must still be.

The pair of you are silent as you look one another over. You see the bruises beneath his woad blue spots; purple and yellow and, in some places, black. You see the stitches in his arm, the thick swelling of his hands. The skin around his cheeks is slack with the lack of food he's gotten in the past month. But his eyes, those gorgeous eyes that are yellow and red and orange all at once, they are filled with pain that has nothing to do with being thrown half a football field by a magical explosion.

“You're here,” he says, his voice soft. “I thought-” He stop short, shrugging, and then wincing.

“I know,” you tell him. While you aren't sure of the exact words he must have thought, you know that it couldn't have been good.

“Why?” he asks.

You open your mouth to tell him, but the words wont come. You remember Elizabeth, his mother, and the way she had looked at you. You could tell him everything, but what good would that do? He might get angry at his mother, it might cause some kind of rift between them and how many people did Nick really have who cared that much for his safety? Not nearly enough, you think as you take in injuries you hadn't noticed before.

Instead you shrug. You can't bring yourself to lie, but you can't bring yourself to tell him the truth either, no matter how much it's burned inside of you. You turn the words that she said over in your mind, pulling an answer from them without revealing their source.

“You got hurt because you were with me.” Your voice cracks as you say it.

His eyes close and his shoulders sag. His body leans forward. You think he's about to slide out of the chair. The pair of you kneel on the floor, staring at one another. Emotions that you don't think have ever been named whirl through you. You want to touch him, you want to hold him, you want to vanish together into the night.

“No,” he said shaking his head. “No. You were just the excuse. When they saw me-” he cuts off, coughs, and shakes. “They'd already decided what they were going to do.”

He looks away. You can tell that there's more to say, that he's struggling. Rather than push you give him a moment. He deserves that at the very least.

“It wont happen again,” he says.

“Why not?”

He opens his palm, I can't see anything there, but he must because he's staring down at it like it's something special.

“I can't talk about a lot that happened that night,” he says. “I want to, I want to tell you everything but...I can't.”

You shake your head. “I just need to know you are safe.”

“I think I am. I mean-I gotta tell you, it was not a normal night. I was...I was blooded.”

Your eyes go wide. You can't help but stare at his lips. He smirks.

“It'll take a while for the tusks to grow. But I don't need to file them anymore.”

You sit back on your heels. “Are you okay with that?”

He shrugs. “I guess that depends.”

“On what?” you ask.

He takes a deep breath and looks at you. It's a long look, a scared and hopeful one. It's like he's weighing a thousand dreams as he watches you and all you can do is wait.

“I thought I was getting over you,” he finally says. “It'd been months. Long months. Really, really long months. My mom even set me up on a couple dates with some unblooded girls from other states.”

Your stomach twists.

“Yeah?” you say, hoping that he's not about to tell you that he has moved on and this whole thing was about him saying goodbye.

“They were nice, but they...they didn't understand me. They didn't like what I do. They didn't like my jokes and they all thought Alaska is stupid.” The two of you laugh and it feels so good. He shifts his position until the two of you are nearly the same height. “I wasn't falling for someone else but I was pretending really hard like I was getting over you.”

You nod, you know what he means. You'd been going through all the motions, acting like you were moving forward when all you were doing was playing the role and hoping.

“I was going to come see you,” he said. “As soon as my shift was over that night. I was going to go right to your apartment. Everyone said I shouldn't because I'd just get hurt, but I thought that it would be worth it. I just..”

Slowly he reached into the blanket still twisted around his legs. His thick, injured fingers shook with pain as he pushed the fabric around.

“Where-hold on-it's here, I swear.”

Your heart, which has already gone through far too much, pounds all over again. Your mouth goes dry.

“Nick...”

“I almost died you know,” he says as he lifts a corner, continues to look. There's a little wetness on his brow, and you wonder if it's fear, nerves, or pain that's put it there. “And not just once. I almost died like four times.”

One of the guards cleared their throats.

“I know,” Nick said, holding up his free hand. “I know. I can't tell her anything. But you only have to look at me to see that it happened.” He went still, and bowed his head. “I did die.”

It's not even a whisper, there's no sound. It's a breath of words that you are sure the guards couldn't hear. You pounding heart turns to ice in your chest.

“What?”

But he doesn't say it again. Instead he looks up at you and his eyes are bright with a hundred emotions. “And all I could think about, was you.”

He holds out his hand. Nested there is a black velvet box. Carefully, he opens it, revealing a ring. It's made of two metals, platinum and rose gold, twisted around one another to form a very simple braid, and right there at the center is a stone in the exact same shade of blue as his spots.

“All I thought about every day has been you,” he is saying when your ears start to work again. “And I don't want to ever have to worry again.”

You swallow twice before you can speak. “Are you proposing?”

You aren't sure if he's blushing, but his ears twitch. “Only if you're saying yes.”

“You have to ask,” you say. “You have to...ask.”

“Is it a spell? A human thing?” he says.

You shrug, because it kind of is, but mostly you just need to time to stop your thoughts from making such a commotion in your head. There are a hundred ways this could go wrong, a thousand even, but even so-

He says your name and you find that he's shifted yet again, down on one knee in front of you. “Will you marry me?”

#nick jakoby fanfiction #nick jakoby x reader #nick jakoby #proposal #cute #sweet fanfiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 years ago

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Silent Night

Based on this: “You aren’t a big fan of Christmas and just want to get out of the city and away from the hustle and bustle. However the one and only Captain America has had his eyes on you and wants to spend a perfect Christmas with you whether you like it or not."requested by anonymous.

Warnings: noncon sex (fingering, intercourse)

Note: Okay, so I’ll be working on holiday drabbles over the next few days. Hopefully one or two a day if I can manage! Thanks for all the requests so far and I’m working at keeping up.

Hope y’all enjoy. Like and/or reblog!! <3 Reblogs really help especially since I haven’t been getting many.

A quiet Christmas. A once in a lifetime occasion. Convincing your parents to let you skip the family dinner had been a task in itself, only exchangeable for your labour. The old cabin your aunt hadn’t visited since her fall down the stairs a year ago was far away that it guaranteed a holiday undisturbed. A favour, you negotiated, a gift for your aunt who would soon be in shape to once more respite to the northern forests. The place must be dusty, it would need a cleaning before that. Your selfish reclusivity disguised as generosity.

More difficult had been your departure from work for the two weeks that encapsulated both Christmas and New Years Eve. Stark was the festive sort and Nat was the talkative sort. She’d let slip just as you informed your boss you’d be away and unable to attend his respective holiday parties that you hated the time of year. You cringed and it told Tony all he needed to know. But, begrudging and with a vow you’d attend the next year, he approved the time away. You scowled at Nat and promised her payback.

The drive was peaceful. The further you drove along the single lane highway, the deeper the snows grew, the quieter the air. You thought of how nice it would be to be alone. Somewhere where even the howls of wolves were muted in the sheets of snow, completely serene.

Not hiding in the corner of the room as others drank and made merry in the false spirit of the season. Not putting on a smile to assuage propriety. Not lying about your plans for the days of cheer. Only you and nature and silence. Well, maybe some non-Christmassy music too.

Then your mind strayed. You had tried to be covert. Tried not to let on your pending absence. FOMA was not an emotion for you, in fact you feared having to partake. You made Nat swear not to tell anyone else; not to let Wanda know until it was too late, not to goad Pepper into her nagging, not to allude to Peter that his “second aunt” would be miles away.

It had almost gone to plan. You woke up early to leave. You lifted your bag, afraid the wheels would give away your escape. You crept to the elevator but when the doors opened, Steve was there. He didn’t miss the guilty frown or the suitcase. He stayed on the elevator, though he’d only just taken it up, and made the descent with you.

“You’re leaving us?” He wondered. “Without a goodbye?”

“I’ll be back. I just didn’t want a whole...thing,” You gripped your suitcase and his hand settled next to yours.

“Let me help you with your bag at least,” He offered. “A Christmas present since you won’t get mine until you return.”

“Present? You didn’t have to--don’t have to--”

“What is it? You hate us, don’t you? Just put up with us for the paycheck?” He kidded.

“Steve,” You rebuked and he subtly tugged the bag away from you. “You know that’s not it.”

“Family?” He asked.

“Well...not exactly.” You admitted as the doors opened and he waved you out ahead of him.

“Not exactly?”

“I’m doing a favour for my aunt. Cleaning out her old summer cabin.” You explained as he followed you across the lobby. “A nice solitary reprieve.”

“Oh, are we that chaotic?”

“Not what I meant,” You grumbled as you passed into the parking garage. “Really. I’ll see you after when the city isn’t so...shiny.”

“Alright.” He wheeled your bag to your car as you popped the trunk. “But I don’t think you realize how much we’ll miss you.”

“You’ll survive,” You scoffed as he lifted your suitcase into the car.

“Mmhmm,” He nodded and you closed the trunk.

“Don’t,” You warned him. “I already got the guilt trip from Tony. You’re better than him.”

“Sure I am,” He shrugged and you shook your head.

“Alright, enough. I gotta go.”

Your farewell was more than that. Steve was persistent, as always. You’d finally managed to get a final goodbye as you were halfway in the car and he blocked you from closing the door. Maybe he didn’t realize how often he was in your way. How often he was at your desk gabbing away as you tried to concentrate on Tony’s chicken scratch or how he always found you on your lunch and kept you from listening to the latest episode of that one podcast. Maybe he didn’t, or maybe he did. Maybe the golden boy was a bit more tarnished than he let on. Or maybe he was as oblivious as he seemed.

You tore your mind back to the road. To the dull lights that shone in your rear view. When had they shown up? You were the only car for the last little stretch, not many ventured into this area later than September. You squinted at the car, the specks of snow obscuring it enough to be just discernible, and looked back to the road ahead.

You were almost there, hopefully before the snow made the way impassable. Before you were forced to park your car in the forest and trek the rest on foot. You’d done it once before, but without the feet of snow to slow you. You wondered if you’d even make it should it come to that.

You made it though. The headlights disappeared from your mind and when you turned off they passed smoothly. You continued up the winding path, just wide enough for your car. Slow, steady, safe. When you pulled up to the side of the cabin you sighed. You’d have to shovel your way in, and maybe out when all was said and done.

You awkwardly pulled on your snow pants in the cramped interior of your car. You hit your head and elbows several times before you were left out of breath but protected. You had to push your way through the snow and into the garage. The shovel was covered in frozen cobwebs, the dusty and undisturbed space smelled like snow and isolation.

You grabbed the shovel and turned back. The snow continued to fall, adding to your chore. A few paths, to the door, to the car, around the back. It’d tire you out and see you til the morning when the real work began.

Your first day was spent dusty and wiping down the tables and walls. The work carried over into the second when at last you managed to sit still for more than a couple minutes. There was wood left in the shed but you were nervous you’d be out in the drifts, almost taller than yourself now, chopping more. You didn’t use much in the summertime when it was reserved for evening fires. Now it was shoved in the stove to heat the front room where you huddled under a blanket and shivered.

The generator powered the 70s style fridge but little else. You were left to flashlights and even an old oil lamp your aunt had bought at a yard sale. It was close to evening, the sky a pale blue threatening to turn pitch black. You sat with a book open in front of you, the words bolder in the reserved quiet of the cabin.

Your cell held the pages down, lifeless and without signal. Your mom couldn’t remind you of your desertion, Tony couldn’t try to guilt you, Nat couldn’t send those weird memes that were frighteningly dark. You were entirely unbothered by the winter owls and the distant snowy creatures of the trees. Christmas Eve had never been so perfect.

The date was in the back of your mind. You’d barely take note of it if it wasn’t on the lock screen. You moved to the sofa and reclined to read another chapter, yawning and curling into a ball. You’d been sleeping there to stay close to the stove and feed it in the early hours to keep it from dying.

Another half chapter and your eyes were closing against your will. You closed the book around your phone and set it on the floor beside the couch. You pulled the blanket to your chin and clicked off the flashlight. You nestled into the cushions, the fire crackling and coaxing you deeper. You fell asleep, a slumber unusually rapt on the night before Christmas.

You didn’t wake to stoke the fire though, not that you realized in your sleep. Undisturbed, unworried. Until you did wake and not of your own accord.

The old cabin was known for its creaks and cracks. First built in the thirties and renovated in the seventies, it was expected. But this wasn’t a groan of aged wood, or the wind battering the old shingles, it was a footstep, and then another, and another. Soft against the hardwood, the clink of dishes, the sound of living.

Your eyes opened and you saw the stove glowing amber; finely stocked and burning boldly. Your heart seized and you sat up so suddenly you had to keep yourself from toppling to the thin carpet below. Surely a bear wouldn’t be so tactful, so careful.

You turned and looked into the kitchen. You recognized the golden head, the broad shoulders as the intruder stood at the kitchen stove. The smell of pancakes filled the cabin and you shivered as the blanket fell from your shoulders. You stood but he didn’t seem to notice.

You tiptoed to the fireplace and grabbed a log from the stack. Surely a meagre weapon against him but what the fuck was he doing here? Steve Rogers in your aunt’s cabin, uninvited and quite possibly, unhinged.

You neared the door of the kitchen and he turned back to you. You held the log at the ready to swing. He held a spatula and was entirely unfazed by your fearful approach.

“Did I wake you?” He asked as if all was as it should be.

“What--What the hell are you doing here?” You clung to the log as he stepped closer.

“You can’t spend Christmas alone,” He said coolly. “I couldn’t let you.”

“Better yet, h-how did you even--did you follow me here?” You pointed the log at him as he tried to step closer. “No. Don’t. Steve, this is weird.”

“It’s dangerous here. All the snow. Out here alone. You need someone.” He replied as he turned back and flipped the pancakes. “Go on and grab a plate, these are almost done.”

You flinched. What was wrong with him? This wasn’t the Steve you knew. Well, it was in that he was sweetly making you breakfast but he was also intruding on your privacy. You stepped closer with the log and poked him.

“Steve, you need to go,” You said. “Now.”

“Now that’s not very grateful, is it?” He ignored the log and went to the cupboard. He pulled out two plates onto the counter and switched off the stove. He piled the flapjacks on them and went to the fridge to find the syrup. “I’ve come here to keep you company, to keep you safe, and I’ve even made you breakfast.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” You kept the wood in front of you as he opened the silver drawer. “You’re really freaking me out.”

“And you want me to go out? Into the storm?” He nodded to the window, white with the whirl of the blizzard just outside. “I barely made it here.”

“Steve,” You whined. “Steve, stop.” You jabbed him harder with the log. He dropped the cutlery on the counter and turned to you slowly. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing is--” He grabbed the log and wrenched it from your grip. “Wrong with me.” He broke it in half easily and dropped it. “What is wrong with you?”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” You insisted as you backed away.

“Will you just sit down and eat your breakfast?”

“I don’t want to. I want you to go.” You said.

“Jesus,” He breathed and wiped his hands on his jeans. “You always do this. You’re such a little tease.”

“What are you talking about?” You felt around as you passed through the doorway backward and he neared slowly.

“I might be born last century but I’m not stupid,” He said. “Your blouses, that smile, the way you chew on your pen when we talk, that fake laugh you put on.”

“Steve, you’re wrong, I never--”

“I just want you to have a Christmas to remember. For us to make our first Christmas special.”

You gulped and peered around. You looked back to him and lunged for the poker leaned against the wall. He grabbed it before you and tossed it away just as he pulled you back. He spun you around and threw you against the sofa. You fell onto it with a painful bounce and tried to push yourself back up. He was on you in and instant.

“Steve!” You yelped. “Steve, please stop!”

You beat on his chest as he wrestled with you. You had to be dreaming. This was some sick nightmare. He was so strong, so decisive. You tried to wake up, hit him hoping you would suddenly jolt up and find the cabin empty, but your eyes were already open and this was just as real as it felt.

He soon had you beneath him, straddled and squirming as he held your hands beside your head. You kicked your legs helplessly and he squeezed your hips between his thick thighs. His blue eyes were dilated and sinister as he pinned you down.

“Shhh, calm down. Please,” He tried to soothe you. “Honey, you can’t open your presents if you’re bad.”

“Honey? Don’t call me honey!” You spat. “Get off of me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” He said. “Please, don’t make me.”

You stilled suddenly. You stared up at him, shocked. Was that a threat? From Steve Rogers? Well, he was on top of you and you felt the twitch in his jeans as he stared down at you.

“You wouldn’t,” You gasped.

“Only if you make me,” His voice was low and grimy. “Don’t make me.”

“Steve,” You pleaded in a whisper. “Please,” You tried to move and barely jostled him. “Let me go.”

He closed his eyes and huffed. He lowered his head and squeezed your wrists. He was angry, frustrated. You were terrified.

“You’ve already let our breakfast go cold,” His words were measured though his tone trembled. “You better start listening, honey, or you’ll ruin the whole day for us.”

“Steve, please…”

“Don’t.”

“Steve.”

“No. Don’t make me.”

“Steve, please, you’re scaring me.”

He let go of your wrists and for a moment, you thought he would get off of you. But he didn’t. Instead, he grabbed the neck of your loose sweatshirt and the tear of fabric was like a crack of lightning. The thin tank top beneath showed your nipples, hard from chill air, and he ripped it just as swiftly.

“No,” You tried to bat his hands away, tried to keep them from your bare chest.

He pushed past your struggles and ground his pelvis into you. “You have to be good.” He hissed. “Or I’ll be bad.”

“Stop,” You sobbed. “Steve.”

You tried to shove him away but he didn’t relent. He bent over you, sliding back just slightly. He held your chin in his large hand as his other tweaked your nippled painfully. “Shhh,” He pressed his lips to yours and muffled your pleas.

His hand continued to toy with you, kneading and pinching painfully. He groaned into your mouth and rocked his hips against you. His hand moved lower as his other threatened to break your jaw. You were forced to open your mouth and he quickly devoured you.

He tugged at the elastic of your sweatpants, hooked his fingers under your cotton panties as he pulled them lower. You reached down to keep them at your waist but he yanked them sharply from your grasp. He lifted his pelvis as he edge them down your thighs.

He withdrew from your lip and held you down with a hand on your chest as his other worked at your pants. You grabbed his wrist, unable to budge him as your pants reached your knees. He got to his knees and you wriggled to get away.

He caught you and pulled your legs out from beneath him. He leaned them against his torso, your feet at his shoulders. He pressed his thighs around your ass as he reached down between your legs. You squirmed and pushed at his hand. Kicked your tangled legs against him. He grabbed your ankles in one hand and held them to his left shoulder.

He shoved his fingers between your thighs and forced them between your folds. He shuddered and pulled his hand away. Your eyes widened, hopeful again. You tried to move your legs but he kept them firm against him. You looked down as he unbuttoned his fly.

“Steve.” You begged. “Steve, I’ll be good.”

“Too late,” He warned. “All you had to do was listen, honey. But you wouldn’t.”

You wheezed as he unzipped his jeans and you looked away as he revealed the head of his swollen cock. You felt him pull himself out entirely and you closed your eyes. You reached down to shove him away with just your fingertips. He ignored you, if he noticed your pathetic resistance at all.

He moved your legs. Pulled them as wide as they would go still caught in your sweats. Not much but enough. He held your left knee and guided himself along your most tender spot. You tried again to draw away but he had you trapped. He leaned over you, bending your legs just slightly as he rubbed his tip against your pussy.

He pushed inside just a little. You were too tight and too dry. You exclaimed and he pulled out. He sighed and you opened your eyes to watch him lick his fingers. You grunted desperately. “Please, don’t.”

He rubbed his slick fingers along you, wetted them again and forced them inside of you. He pressed his thumb to your clit and your body stiffened. Despite your fear, your body responded. He licked his fingers a third time, to taste, to add a little more, and shoved them even deeper.

He played with you a bit and then pulled his fingers out to spread your juices along his cock. He pressed his tip to you again, this time he slid in easily but not painlessly. He didn’t ease himself in. He pushed himself to his limit and past yours and you cried out.

“Ow! Ow! Steve, it hurts. Get off! You’re hurting me, please!”

“I told you,” He thrust once, sharply. “To be good.” He thrust again and you writhed in agony.

You gritted your teeth as you tried to hold back your yelps. He rocked against you steadily, each time you winced at the strain. His hands went to your thighs as he brought himself as deep as he could go. He leaned over you, your back curved as he curled your body beneath him.

He planted his hands beside you as he raised himself over you. He lifted his pelvis and slammed it down, each time adding to the reverberations along your spine. He hammered you into the cushions as you whined. He watched your face as he worked against you, his pupils dark and wide. You grabbed his biceps and dug your nails into his skin.

“It really h--” Your breath caught. Surprised by the sudden tickle that crested the pain. “St-op...It--no.”

You covered your face with your hands as the coil wound tighter. You were ashamed and shocked at your response. The suddenness of the rise. The sounds of his cock gliding in and out of you added to the heat. Filled your head lewdly and carried you higher. You grunted as you were drawn thin and then the release washed over you.

He kept a hand beside you and pulled away your hands as you came. You closed your eyes and he carried on. Never wavered, only sped up. Didn’t let up as he chased another hill and you were forced over the edge again. You could feel his eyes on you, could feel his pleasure at stealing yours.

His groans grew louder and mingled with the sound of his body against yours. They sickening symphony reached its climax and you felt his release. Felt the gush within you as his hips jerked wildly. He emptied in himself inside you. Let forth all that he’d repressed. Anger, longing, resent; every ounce of it spilled out. He was left panting and weak, crushing your legs beneath him as he barely kept himself from slumping over you entirely.

He pushed himself back onto his knees. He pulled out and let your legs fall. Your body twisted as your knees hinged over the edge of the couch. You were shaking as you pulled your sweatshirt over your chest and his large hand settled on your ass. He caressed you, as if he cared, as if he had been sweet.

“We should eat,” He said as he drew away. The couch shifted as he stood and you heard his zipper. “Then we can start opening presents.”

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cxptain-carol · 4 years ago

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𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 | 𝐤𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚

◬ summary: you find yourself on your own in the desert for the first time and that’s when you find him. he’s cold and concentrated, and the last thing you want is to stick with him. but he might just be your only hope of surviving.

◬ pairing: kageyama tobio x reader

◬ word count: 1.1k

◬ warnings: kidnapping, sibling in danger, guns, knives, and zombies of course

◬ genre: angst, suspense/thriller

◬ gender-neutral and racially inclusive reader

◬ zombie apocalypse!au

◬ a/n: basically i wrote this weeks ago and decided i might as well post it! i was planning on making it a somewhat lengthy fic (i have another chapter written rn) so there’s a whole backstory for the reader and whatnot. i may or may not continue writing this but i figured it can’t hurt to post just this first part. this is probably ooc but honestly i’m just using kageyama as a face & a name for this story lol

Dust swirled in the air around you as you looked for any sign of movement through the grimy glass door. The contents of the mall were dark and disfigured from what you could see, like ghosts lit only by patches of the sky’s yellow light as it seeped in through the dirty skylights.

You held your breath and pushed open the door, never taking your eyes off of the room as you stepped inside. It was cooler in here and eerily quiet. Your thick black boots padded lightly on the worn carpet in tentative steps.

It hadn’t always been like this.

When the apocalypse came, roughly three months ago, you were never alone. Your sister had been with you the entire time and you survived by protecting each other, forming strategies, and refusing to give up even though you both had been separated from everyone else you loved along the way.

You two had been going through one of the last stocked grocery stores in your area when you made your first mistake. It had been many days since you’d had a run-in with any of the undead so you thought nothing of letting your guard down a bit.

You were ambushed by them, and in your confusion, you were separated from your sister for the first time. You wouldn’t dare scream for her but you shot every last zombie in the vicinity before frantically searching each inch of the grocery store and the entire town around it. You didn’t find her.

That was last week.

You still refused to give up hope, though. There was no doubt in your mind that she wasn’t dead and you were thankful for that, but all that was left to do was keep yourself alive and hope she would too. It’s not like you weren’t at all terrified, however. Maybe you two kept each other safe but deep down you knew that she was the one protecting you. Now that you were on your own, you kept yourself armed at all times and barely slept, just to make sure you couldn’t be sneaked up on. Despite your composure on the outside, you couldn’t hide that you felt much weaker now.

Quiet sounds echoed off the glass in the mall’s windows and you approached a dry fountain in the center of a circle of dust-caked wooden benches. A few coins lay flat against the tiled surface and you picked them up, tucking them into your pocket without taking a hand off of the knife in your belt.

On the wall opposite you sat the entrance to what looked like a department store. The mannequins’ clothes had already been ripped off of them and a few disconnected heads lay on the floor of the display. There was a faded poster on the wall beside the store and you walked over to get a closer look.

The two little girls in the picture were holding hands in a bright green field. You ignored the text on the bottom half of the poster and stared at the two girls in matching yellow dresses, their laughter frozen on their faces.

Clink.

You pulled your knife completely out and turned your head. Obviously, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

Trying not to lose the source of the noise, you followed it slowly, slinking in the shadows before you stopped and hid behind a wall. You knew it was right there: on the other side of the corner. You wouldn’t dare peek but you weren’t about to let this one go, not when you were so ready to kill another one of those wretched creatures.

With your shiny knife in hand, you took one step towards the corner before you felt a tug on the back of your jacket.

You didn’t even get a moment to see who it was before you found yourself trapped in a pair of strong arms and your mouth was covered tightly by a firm hand.

“Don’t move. There’s more of them than you think.”

So it was a guy.

He had leaned down and whispered so softly you wouldn’t have been able to hear it if his lips weren’t so close to your ear. You were breathing heavily and your heart hammered in your chest, but you were still being muffled by his hand.

He kept you in a death grip, your back pressed flush against him—the heat radiating off of him and that fact that you hadn’t been this close to a human for days was making your head spin. You barely cared that he stopped you from killing what you thought would only be one zombie. You had gone so long without warmth that you already trusted him.

“Stay here,” he whispered, again in that almost-silent voice. It was deeper, you noticed, but maybe you hadn’t paid too much attention to his voice when he first pulled you into his arms.

He let go of you and your face suddenly felt cold at the absence of his hand. You quickly pressed yourself against the wall and tried to get a good look at him despite the minimal light. He was taller than you, dark-haired and holding a gun in his right hand. You could barely see his face but you just guessed that he wasn’t very handsome; he wore a scowl as he turned away from you and stepped out from behind the wall.

The unmistakable groans of the horde sounded for only a moment before he was finished firing. You heard five gunshots and a few more thuds before he kicked aside one of their limp arms and brushed past you, making his way towards the door. Still a bit shocked, you weren’t following him and after he reached a few paces in front of you, he stopped in his tracks and turned around.

He was in a patch of golden light now and you could finally see him well. He was in head-to-toe black and he had a bag swung over his left shoulder. He was slightly tanned from what you assumed was the sun that sweltered outside and his arms bore blood and scars. But you were drawn to his face, his dark hair falling into his eyes and the small cuts on his cheek and bottom lip. You had guessed completely wrong: he was in fact good-looking and you froze on the spot as you realized that he had pretty much just saved your ass. But he didn’t look at all pleased.

“Hey, you,” he said, breaking your concentration. “Are you coming or what?”

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epochofbelief · 4 years ago

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Breath Control, Chapter Twelve

An A Court of Mist and Fury College Swim Team AU

All characters etc belong to SJ Maas!

Feysand and Elriel

Author’s Note: I promise we’re getting there ;) This chapter is a bridge to... other things...

Enjoy!

LINK TO FULL FIC

TWELVE

“Please. There’s got to be something you can do.”

It was Monday morning. I’d come to the leasing office as soon as it had opened, harboring fruitless hopes that I would somehow be allowed to rid myself of Ianthe and my unfortunate living situation.

The agent looked up at me through long lashes. “I’m sorry Ms. Archeron,” she said slowly, as though I was too dumb to understand that fixing my problem was an uphill battle, “but there’s nothing I can do.”

I sighed, my forearms resting on the tall desk in front of me, and pressed my forehead to the dark wooden surface.

“Ms. Archeron?”

“No.” I said.

“Excuse me.”

“Don’t speak to me unless it’s to tell me I can transfer my lease to another, emptier, house.”

Surprisingly, the leasing agent didn’t say a word. I raised my head an inch. “So I have to leave now?”

She nodded. I sighed. Trudged out. Climbed in my car and screamed.

Then I shifted into drive and headed to class.

-----

I met Cassian for lunch. We sat at one of the tables in the Student Union, discussing that morning’s practice. It had been Rhys’s first day back in the water. Surprisingly, he hadn’t eaten shit. He’d been a little behind but kept up fairly well. I still hadn’t spoken to him.

I was in the middle of telling Cassian about Coach King coming to me that morning and telling me he liked my progress when he suddenly set down his sandwich.

“Feyre, why won’t you just talk to Rhys?”

“The same reason he won’t talk to me. He’s guilty, there’s no changing that.”

Cassian shifted in his seat. “I just… I’ve been close with Rhys for longer than you. He would never treat a girl like that unless there was a reason. God knows I’ve tried to get him to explain what happened between you two and why, but he won’t say a word. He’s hiding something. If he fucked up and cheated, which is what I’ve gathered from vague things Mor had said, he would admit it to me. I know he would. There’s something else going on here.”

I put my elbows on the table. “Cassian. He did the same thing to me that Tamlin did, if you would be so kind as to remember. He’s obviously not over his ex, and--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. His ex? You’re not talking about Amarantha, are you?”

I nodded.

“Shit. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me. What the hell were you two doing with Amarantha around?”

I explained what had happened when we had arrived at Rhys’s father's house and how Amarantha had turned up at the club. And because it felt good to talk about it, I ended up explaining the whole story. Cassian paid attention to my every word, his frown growing deeper and deeper as I went on.

I sat back in my chair when I finished.

“Feyre, I’ve got to tell you. Amarantha was--is--messed up. She’s toxic. She never cared for Rhys. She liked that he was attractive, successful, and that his dad had money. I’ve known Rhys since our freshman year of high school and never understood why he dated her. Something’s going on that we don’t know about.”

I nodded slowly. Whatever Cassian said might be true, but if she was so ridiculous, why had Rhys gone back to her? I certainly wasn’t going to beg for him back. Even though I missed him. A lot. His sudden absence from my life had left a hole in my days, my head, my heart. He’d helped me heal and make friends after everything with Tamlin had gone down. He’d never pushed the fact that my training needed to improve immensely if I wanted to stand a chance on the team. He’d simply been there when I needed him and that had been enough. If he’d tried to come talk to me once in the past week and a half, I might have listened. But he’d kept his distance and I just couldn’t see that as anything other than a sign that there was no explanation for what he’d done.

“Thanks for the info, Cassian,” I said. “But I’m not going to beg him to explain himself. Besides, I’ve got bigger issues on my hands.” I didn’t mention that even though my living situation and now-recovering position on the team might appear like more dire problems, my separation from Rhys hurt more.

“I wish there was something I could do. I’d tell you to come stay with Az and me for free but we really don’t have any space in the house.”

I shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. And thanks for hanging out with me, even after everything that’s happened.”

He leaned forward in his chair, eyes locking with mine. “Just because you and Rhys are on the outs doesn’t mean anything changes between us. We’re friends, Feyre. And teammates. I’ve got your back. If Rhys really did cheat, he’s an asshole for what he did. I just can’t help thinking that it’s possible there’s something going on with him that no one knows about.”

I smiled, despite the state of my life. “That means a lot, Cassian.”

------

~~~Elain~~~

Finals started a week from today--next Monday. I was not looking forward to it. But after finals came Christmas break! I tried to focus on that as I blinked my eyes to keep them focused. It was eleven o’clock, the library was nearly deserted, and I had just dozed off for the third time since I’d arrived. I’d had a long day and had been holed up in a corner surrounded by bookshelves for the past four hours.

I stifled another yawn. Yep, definitely time to go.

I packed up my things and made my way down the three flights of stairs and out the front doors of the library. Campus after midnight was quiet, empty. Eerie. I hustled to my car, tossing my bag in and jumping into the front seat.

I started my car, making sure to lock the doors, when my phone pinged with a message from Azriel.

Az: EMERGENCY. I’m taking an online anatomy test and I need help, Oh Goddes of Nursing School. What are you doing right now?

Me: Why are you taking this test now, may I ask?

Az: It’s due at midnight and I kind of forgot about it until right now…

Me: I’m on my way

Az: Angel

I didn’t question my decision to drive straight over to Azriel’s house. I’d never been inside before. I’d dropped Az off once and left directly after. But I hadn’t seen him all day. Plus, if he was taking an anatomy test the best way for me to help him would be if I was there. Five minutes later, I pulled up outside his house.

After a brief five minutes of sitting frozen in the front seat in a blind panic, I opened the door and stepped out onto the quiet street. You can do this, I repeated to myself for the thousandth time since getting into my car fifteen minutes ago. All Az wanted was help on a test. Right?

I marched up to the front door before I could think of an excuse to bolt. It swung open before I could knock and I realized that my five minutes of anxious deliberation had been witnessed by Cassian. He held the door for me as I entered. I glanced at him and he grinned. “Az is in his room.”

I breathed a sigh of relief that Azriel hadn’t seen me panicking in the street. I headed in the direction that Cassian had pointed and knocked softly on a door at the end of their small hallway.

It swung open. “I can’t thank you enough for this,” Azriel said, grabbing my arm and pulling me inside. His hair was a mess, his eyes wide and bloodshot. His room was fairly clean, besides the desk right next to the bed, both of which were covered with printouts that appeared to have anatomical diagrams covering them. “I have forty minutes left on this quiz and some help would be greatly appreciated. It’s open book and note, so it’s okay if you help me. I know absolutely nothing because I’m really behind in this class.”

I nodded as he led me over to his desk, gesturing for me to take a seat. I forced him to sit instead. “You’re still gonna be the one to take the quiz, Az! I’m just here to help.”

“So you’re going to hover over my shoulder this whole time?” He glanced at me from the corner of his eye as he slid out the chair and placed himself in front of his open computer, a timer ticking away in the corner of the screen.

When I didn’t answer, he turned to roll his eyes at me.

“Just sit on the bed, Elain."

I couldn’t come up with a sarcastic retort. So I did my best to appear nonchalant and plopped down on the bed.

Approximately 39 and a half minutes later, I was half asleep, my head at the foot of the bed. I stared at the ceiling as Azriel, seated about a foot away at the desk right next to the bed, submitted the quiz.

“Done.”

I nodded, unwilling to open my eyes.

I heard his laptop shut. The legs of the chair scraped across the wood floor. Then I felt the bed next to my hip sink as he sat next to me. “Elain.”

“Mmhm?”

“It’s late.”

“Mmhm.”

“I don’t want you driving home this tired… And I have practice tomorrow morning so I can’t drop you off with my car because you won’t be able to get yours back for a while… Why don’t you just stay here?”

I was so tired it was like I was watching myself agree from a thousand miles away. “Okay. Bathroom,” I said and pulled myself up using all the strength I could muster.

I washed my face as best as I could, rifled through drawers in order to locate a hairbrush, scrubbed my teeth with my finger and Az’s toothpaste. Then I returned to the room. Azriel turned to me as I entered. “You can wear this, if it’s more comfortable than your jeans.” He handed me an extremely soft grey t-shirt.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be right back,” he said, giving me a kiss on the forehead and then shutting himself in the bathroom.

I stripped out of my jeans, bra, and t-shirt. I pulled his shirt over me, breathing in his scent as I did so. Then I sat down on the bed, twiddling my thumbs and trying not to fidget.

He came out a moment later. And stopped in his tracks in the doorway.

“Wow.”

I froze as well. He wore nothing but boxer shorts, nearly every tanned muscle he had on display.

“Sorry, it’s just...” He glanced down, and then back up.

I blushed. Then mimicked him, my gaze sliding all the way down his body and back up.

And then he was striding across the room, grabbing my waist and pulling me up against him. I stumbled a bit, my hands coming up to rest against his chest.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hey.”

He smiled and didn’t waste another moment before he kissed me. It was soft, the kind of kiss that told me this wasn’t going anywhere. But still… I reveled in the fact that he was mine, even if he hadn’t been so for very long.

With one movement he swept me off my feet, not breaking the kiss, and carried me over to the bed. His lips moved from mine to my cheeks, nose, eyelids, forehead. I pulled him as close to me as possible, and it still didn’t feel like enough.

“Go to sleep, Elain,” he laughed.

I pulled back a little to look at him.

“I’m serious. You were passed out not ten minutes ago. We can continue this later.”

And before I could object--because I knew he was right--he turned me over, wrapped his arm over my hip and around my stomach, and pulled me close.

---------

~~~Feyre~~~

My week had been shit in some ways, great in others. I had made the travel team for next weekend! I had spent some more time with Mor, studying for finals constantly. I’d even managed to grab lunch with Elain and Azriel on Tuesday afternoon. They’d barely been able to keep their eyes off of each other, in a way that was different from when I’d seen them last Saturday. I was so happy for Elain.

And I hated myself for envying her her luck in finding someone who wasn’t a cheating asshole. Azriel and Elain’s official relationship had already outlasted mine with Rhys by more than a week. Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful.

It was Saturday evening, 5:46 pm, to be exact, when I received a phone call from a local number I didn’t recognize. I was locked in my bedroom, fairly certain Ianthe had left the house with Tamlin about thirty minutes before for a night of eating, drinking, and dancing. I just hoped they’d end up at his place for the night.

“Hello?”

“Feyre Archeron?”

“This is she.”

“Hi, I’m Evelyn from Astrid Oaks leasing office. I’m calling to let you know that you have been cleared to move out of your unit, number 33, and into the vacant room at number 101. Please be moved in before the beginning of the Spring Semester on January 8th. We’ll need you to stop by our office to sign some paperwork and return your key, but other than that you are good to go.”

Was I dreaming? They’d told me moving houses was impossible… I’d given up the cause when the lady had rejected me on Monday. Had they changed their minds, reconsidered without telling me?

I realized the leasing agent was waiting for me to say something.

“Oh! Uh, thank you. I’ll come by your office as soon as I can. Thanks.”

I hung up. Laid back on my bed. Who had done this? Had Mor made a call and talked them into it? It could have been Ianthe calling in order to get rid of me as fast as humanly possible.

I called Mor to tell her the good news and ask her about it.

“No way!” She screeched when I explained what had happened, and after a few moments of elated screaming, she asked, “How did you convince them?”

“I thought maybe you would be able to explain that to me.”

“Sorry, Feyre. I have no idea. Maybe they just changed their minds…”

“Maybe… So you’re still okay with me moving in?”

“Of course. We can move you in over Christmas training.”

“Perfect.”

-------

On Monday morning, my first day of finals and the last week of the term, I headed to the leasing office to make sure all the paperwork was squared away. Bundled up in several layers of coats, I was unwinding my scarf from around my neck in the lobby of the office when I saw him.

Rhys was standing at the unnecessarily tall front desk, his head bent over the surface in order to look at something. Hating myself for admiring the lovely view I had of his backside, I glanced around, trying to find somewhere to hide until he left.

But then he turned slightly, sliding the paper he had been reading toward the woman behind the desk. “Feyre,” he said from across the room. He shut his mouth as though saying my name had been a mistake.

“Hi,” I said. So articulate. Good going, Feyre. “What are you doing here?” I asked him, casting around for anything to say to keep this from being awkward.

“Uh…” He seemed unwilling to make eye contact with me. His eyes darted from my feet, to the wall behind my head, to his hands. “Just double checking my renter’s insurance.”

“Mr. Night, here’s your copy of the transfer paperwork.”

He cringed as the woman spoke up from behind him. Still avoiding my eyes, he turned around, retrieved the stack of paper from the woman, and then strode for the door, and consequently, for me. I moved aside, but couldn’t prevent myself from reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “What did she mean, transfer paperwork?”

His eyes cut to where my hand rested on his wrist. I pulled away slowly and he jerked backward as though I’d burned him. “She must have gotten the name wrong.” He still wouldn’t look at me.

“Rhysand…. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.” And now I had a feeling that he had been the one to somehow get me out of my lease. “You did this,” I said quietly.

He reached out to brush my cheek. “I know you hate me… And I wish I could explain. But I still want you to be happy. I promise I’ll stay out of your way when you move in.” He finally met my eyes, and the sadness I saw there nearly broke my heart all over again.

He left before I could say another word.

-------------------------

TAGS

@queen-of-glass @aknymph @sleeping-and-books @fabfire

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buirbaby · 4 years ago

Text

The Wardens: The First Trial

Rating : M + Mature content, language, and violence

Masterlist | First | Next

The only thing that had been instant in this world was her rebirth alongside Balerion. Otherwise, learning anything was an atrocious, long winded affair. Tabitha knew a few things, like how to tell differences between plants and combine them into salves, but there were a plethora of other flora that Fang warned her about, vegetation that didn't exist in her world. Additionally, given their sub-zero location within a mountain, there were little to no plants that grew amongst the permafrost. Thus, one of her skills was rendered nearly useless, paled in comparison to all that she didn't know, in addition to the fact that she'd lived a rather lofty life after leaving her job in the military. She'd been decent with a rifle, but there were no guns here and a bow could only get her so far. The weapon chosen for her was Fate, the Valyrian steel legacy sword of the Wardens.

Now, Tabitha wasn't out of shape. She climbed and hiked mountains for fun, her muscles honed from suspending herself on cliffaces, her tactile grip strength surpassing most humans. However, given that she now had a griffin, climbing wasn't particularly necessary unless she had to keep Balerion at a distance. Still, the fact she was athletic and tall for a woman did aid in the training that Fang billeted her with. She had to learn how to use the sword or she'd die with it in her inexperienced palm.

Never had she thought there'd be so much to surviving in a medieval world, taking for granted everything she had back home. From the gross pit she had to utilize to go to the bathroom-which froze her ass off when she did pull down her pants-to the fact that they didn't have food readily available, she had to relearn everything. How to hunt, how to track, how to map topography, how to tell the time by the position of the sun in the sky which was also dependent on where she was and what time of year it was. There was so much. Riding Balerion was no easy feat either. While her partner had a perfect nook to slide into to ride between his shoulder blades, the lack of a saddle meant that she rode bareback. Only, unlike a horse, a griffin was a much more perilous ride. By the end of their first ride, her legs were throbbing from being clenched so tightly, Fang bemused by her harrowed expression and near fainting from when Balerion had turned 90 degrees to sail up a current in the wind flanking the mountain.

The north was cold. There had been placed where Tabitha had been nearly frostbitten, but she'd never embarked on a journey into the tundra, which was basically what she'd compare the Frostfangs. Unironically, there was more territory to the North East that hadn't been officially mapped by men, but Tabitha knew what laid there: a desolate icescape with few living creatures roaming the white, featureless plains. She wondered if the Night King would come from there or further north, descending from the Thenn. Either way, she suspected she had time, but the wind continued to nip at her in a reminder that it could become much colder.

She remembered a rough quote about the place that had become her home, that there were giants, wargs, and worse things in the Frostfangs. That's what she was, wasn't it? Warden was a fancy title, but truthfully, she was a warg.

The abilities seemed complicated at first and she drew upon her knowledge from the books and chapters in Bran's perspective. Even with that as a guideline, she found her expectations were a mere shadow of what it truly meant to be bonded to an animal. She had known Balerion since he had been a kitten, raising him, taking him everywhere with her until their paths became this and he was no longer just feline in nature. There was an innate bond, the ability to sense each other's emotions without making much effort, their beings interlaced together like fingers holding one another. She always could sense how he felt, just as in turn, he could sense her disquiet or a ripple of emotion.

Sometimes, she would dream of his midnight hunts, viewing the world from above as he went in search of large game to sate his hunger. Under the cover of night, his dark feathers and fur made him a shadow against the sky, nearly impossible to see when the stars were blotted out by clouds.

Under Fang's guidance, there had been a few instances where she had forced the switch, taking control of Balerion. However, she found that she did not like the feeling, thrusting his own sentience to the side, when she trusted the griffin's judgement just as much as her own. While there would undoubtedly be benefits to this ability, she found no use in it now.

Days bled into one another, becoming weeks and months under the tutelage of Fang. Daily sword practice, bi-weekly hunts and trapping, lessons in the True Language and of the intricacies of the Others, Fang knew not where she would be needed first, but he wanted to be certain that she would not get herself killed and could survive even in the most inhospitable of environments.

"I've been to a lot of places," Tabitha told him, savoring the fresh venison from the successful hunt that morning. Dressing the beast had become second nature and the rest had been preserved, some being smoked now to turn to jerky. Thankfully, given the frigid temperatures, she could utilize it to save the meat for later. "Mountains, oceans, jungles, deserts. Of course, I had more supplies and equipment than I do here, but I did manage to survive out there."

"If you can survive in the two extremes the world has to throw at you, you're well off," Fang commented.

"Mm, but I'll need to go into cities, mingle with people..." It had been a long time since Tabitha had any company aside from just Fang and Balerion. The idea of trying not to stick out like a sore thumb in a major city made her heart flutter, stomach churning as she thought of high society and how ill prepared she was to face any sort of nobility or royalty. She had a callous mouth, cursed worse than a sailor, and knew that while she had a sharp enough tongue to elicit chuckles at her quips, that might as well get her killed for being impudent with the wrong person.

"That was always a possibility," Fang shrugged, wrapped in a thick shadowskin where he sat against the wall. "But at least you can carry that sword well enough now to fend for yourself. A couple of years ago?" He let her oafish swinging come back to the forefront.

"Hey, I didn't know how to use those muscles. I told you I'd never lifted a sword in my life," Tabitha snorted indignantly, jabbing a gloved finger in his direction. "And for as good as I 'might' be with it, I've yet to fight anyone other than you, pipsqueak. If I were to come face to face with someone like Jaime Lannister, I know I'm like to get myself killed. A few years of steadfast practice doesn't make a master."

"At least you're not arrogant enough to think so," Fang pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I'd like to not die," she huffed. Not die, again. With her luck, she'd go on the first task laid out before her and get murdered. She had a rather cynical outlook on life, given that her second chance was albeit shoddy, riddled with clauses, and was forcing her to play a role she'd rather neglect. Honestly, she could've flown out to Essos and found a city to explore and enjoy or other natural features she could witness with Balerion beside her, but somehow she knew that the magic that had brought her here wouldn't allow it. She was bound by it, a fiery contract that she had not willingly signed. She knew not the details of the contract, only that Fang insisted that she had to do what she was told to.

A good soldier could take orders, but Tabitha had left those years in the army behind her, and it wasn't as if she had great rapport with her commander--which she was beginning to suspect more and more was somehow tied with the Lord of Light.

A west wind blew, biting through the layers that she wore. Despite the thick bundles in which she was swaddled in, there were some chills she could not chase. Groaning, Tabitha drew her cloak in and continued to trudge through the snow. A new blanket had fallen, making it a bit more difficult to traverse through the woods to check her snares. Better to be overprepared with food in the case there was a dry spell of hunting, but she hated leaving the warmth of the forge behind. She hoped her first task was someplace south and warm, not amongst the ice and stone.

Throwing back her cloak as she dug through the snow to check the snare, she heard a soft scittering beneath the white blanket. Had a scavenger gotten to whatever had been frozen beneath? Sighing, she removed her dagger and began to peel away the layers. What she hadn't been expecting was the rabbit to still be alive.

No, it was not alive, but it continued to move. Lashing at the rope snare that had snapped its neck, the head cocked at an unnatural angle as it twisted around. The eyes were a piercing blue, burning around the edges of the fur as it set those blazing irises on her and tried to pounce on her. This was the first creature she'd seen that had been turned into a wight and the implications disturbed her. Didn't an Other need to be within a certain proximity for the wighting to happen? They were coming and still, she had yet to be given a task. What had already occurred in the books that she could have prevented?

She drew her sword, killing the undead rabbit a second time, aware that the steel would stop it from rising again. No longer would traps suffice if they'd just rise again and she wasn't keen on trying wight meat or discovering its side effects. There was enough meat back in the Roost for her to wait for another big hunt. With Balerion to take it back up into the mountain, she wouldn't need to worry about it coming back to life, especially if she finished it with her sword.

The Haunted Forest was a bit of a flight from the mountains where the Roost was situated, but it was the biggest range for food. The Frostfangs had more shadowcats than worthy game. Laden with snow and icicles, the trees were depressed beneath the weight of the world around them. Daylight was fading and she knew she ought to call Balerion to head back to the safety of their home. But she was drawn in by the winter wonderland around her, to include a white mist, her steaming breath more noticable behind the thick fold of her fabric of her scarf that helped keep her face warm.

A warning flag raised in her head, recalling Fang's warnings, in tandem with the rabbit she'd found. It was time to go. It was time to-

"Who goes there?" A gruff voice asked, the audible crunching of noise taking her aback.

She swung toward the nearest tree, pinning her back to it, fingers grazing the hilt of her sword. Straining, she could hear men nearby, but couldn't say if they were wildling or Crows, she hadn't seen them. Of course there might be rangers. Thus far she'd not crossed anyone, but nor had she been exceptionally careful aside from being wary of the Others. Regardless of who it was, they probably wouldn't care for her.

Two, three, four... five? No, there were more. Call Balerion and risk him getting hurt or make a dash for it?

"You!"

But the voice that called wasn't gesturing toward her, she saw the mangled furs bundling up a figure and wondered what a lone wildling was doing. From their lumbering gait, she didn't have to puzzle for long. Just as there had been an undead rabbit, the wildling was definitely not alive. Rooted to her spot, metal sang out of scabbards.

"They don't look right," a different voice commented.

"There's another over there."

"And there. What's with their eyes?"

Crows. They learn the hard way that these bastards wouldn't go down easy, but it was not her job to help them. Until this point, she'd not been given any guidance on what to do. Hopefully, they'd survive and escape back toward the Wall. Time to go. While they were distracted she could escape whence she had come and pretend this had never happened.

Yet, as Tabitha rounded, her stomach dropped and she noticed that there were many wights lumbering from out of the fog that had thickened to a dense wall that was nearly impenetrable. They cared naught if she was a brother of the Watch of a wildling. She was alive and thus, a target. Her movement caught their attention and she had no choice but to rip her own sword out from where she'd sheathed it.

"Fine, bout time I killed a few wights," Tabitha commented to no one in particular. Originally, she had thought they'd be slow, but the ice zombies were feral and quick if their limbs were intact. Despite the encumbering snow, they lurched forward like a pack of wild dogs and she raised Fate to cut down the first attacker. The vibrant blue eyes flickered like a light switch being turned on and off, before fading entirely. There was no time to admire the success of her blow as she turned the sword, taking a step back and rooting herself before parrying the next and hacking down upon the neck, severing the head clean off. "Fuck," there were too many. She was forced back, step by step, toward the Night's Watch men that she did not want to encounter.

If they cared who she was, they did not voice it, because she was another sword amongst the horde and her sword seemed to be putting them down. Tabitha suspected it had to do with how she was dressed, in midnight blue and grey, obviously not a wildling. Perhaps they even mistook her for one of their own, her face obscured so they could not see she was a woman. Given her lean, tall stature, she could have easily passed for a man if she did not speak.

"First Ranger, what do we do? There's no end to them-ERG!" Beside her, one of the Crows was staked through with a roughly hewn spear, the undead wildling twisting the stone deeper, blood frothing to the man's lips.

Tabitha hissed and darted forward, but it was no use. Even as she killed the wight, the man would die from the wound in his chest. The light was fading and she knew that he too would turn. Rather, she spared him a pitiful glance before taking her sword and driving it down to deliver him quick mercy.

"What are you doing?!" A hand gripped her bicep, tightening painfully, as she was forced to gaze up into slate grey eyes.

"He'll turn! He was dead anyways," she snarled, ripping her arm away and glancing amidst the crowd drawing in.

"A woman-"

She'd betrayed herself, but didn't care at that moment. Two of the seven Crows were dead, but the strangest bit was that the wights had paused, forming a semi-circle around them where they panted, steaming hot breath in front of them. With the pause in the slaughter, two of the men exchanged tremulous glances and before anyone had so much as lowered their weapons, they turned heel and ran, cutting through the small gap between the wights and plunging into the wilderness to abandon the other three of their brothers that had survived.

The man that he gripped her snarled, his brows furrowing in frustration, but he did not call after them, too preoccupied with what was going on.

"Why have they stopped?" The question hung open in the air and Tabitha had a very bad feeling, her stomach nearly in her toes as she licked her lips.

"They were commanded to," she answered, the only logical explanation as to why the mindless hive would relent their assault.

"By what?" Tension was high, a stodgier Crow snapping at her, his eyes wide with terror.

"What do you think, chuckle-fuck? What controls wights?" Tabitha snapped back.

"The Others," the ranger beside him was quiet, voice barely above a whisper as the four of them contemplated their options.

"We need to get out of here. We can't fight them," Tabitha told them, her hands shaking. The Others were expert swordsmen, where she was just a novice. Even with three years beneath her belt, she didn't think she was even close to a match for them. "They had the right idea. We need to run-"

But the horses they'd come with had fled and the gap that once existed had closed. Tabitha knew she could flee, but not without condemning these men. Despite owing them nothing, she couldn't help but think 'no soldier left behind'. She was not their friend, perhaps they would have simply killed her had the wights not interrupted, but in this moment they were temporary allies.

Before them, the wights parted and an ethereal figure stepped out. Tabitha was shocked, finding not the zombie-esc being depicted in the show, but a strangely elegant, alien creature. He was made entirely of ice, glistening in the low light of dusk from the greyed sky. Eyes brilliantly, devilishly blue, another flaming pair dancing amongst the crowd that followed him. Each step refracted off his armor, which picked up the images around it, appearing see through. Gripped fast in its hand was a pale, wicked sword of crystal that would shatter any steel aside from that forged by dragon fire.

There was no moment for her to warn them, to say not to attack, but all logic had been tossed out the window. The stout ranger roared and charged forward before she could open her mouth. If they killed the Other, then the wights would stop, wouldn't they? No, not unless this was the Night King. But he did not know this and Tabitha's words were lost amongst the screeching of the crystal sword as it collided effortlessly with the ranger's. Her ears balked, the high pitched wailing of crystal to steel sounding like an animal being tortured. Then it stopped, all time ceasing as the steel shattered into a rain of silver fragments and the ranger's eyes widened in astonishment.

All of them stared in horror as the Other spoke, no one could comprehend the noises, akin to the cracking of ice in a winter lake. Even Tabitha, who knew the True Tongue, had no idea what he said. Given the mocking tone of it, she suspected he was condemning them all to death or challenging them to be as foolish as the first.

"Will killing it save us?" the man who'd grabbed her earlier asked.

"If we can kill it? No, probably not," she conceded.

The moment the sinewy ranger heard this, his fingers tightened on his sword and he spun on his heel, cloak flapping like a bird's wing as he tried to run toward the largest gap he could find. But they had all closed, thus he tried to force his way through, hacking and slashing, until the wights stirred and fought back. The flurry of activity halted, the man falling to his knees as he was punched through the stomach with an axe, cold hands tearing him apart.

"What's your name?" the man asked her, expecting that these fleeting moments might very well be their last.

"Tabitha Flores," she answered, calling for Balerion, wondering if they could escape into the sky without him being injured.

"I wish I could say it's an honor to meet you, but at least it was an honor to fight beside you. I am Benjen Stark, First Ranger to Castle Black of the Night's Watch," he introduced, a sad, but whimsical edge to his tone.

"Hey, don't be counting the daisies you'll be pushing before you've stopped breathing," Tabitha muttered, realizing now what she'd ignored at first. First Ranger. This was where Benjen disappeared and never returned. He was supposed to die here. Or maybe he wasn't. "Who knows, maybe killing this fucker will solve our problems." Hopeful thinking, but she was the one with the Valyrian steel. She needed to at least distract him enough that Balerion could sweep in unimpeded.

Her body screamed against it, instinct telling her to turn tail and run, dash herself to death into the wights just as the other ranger had done. Instead, she leveled her sword and prepared herself. A few minutes. If she could survive just a few minutes.

The chilling laughter of the Other ripped through her, clenching her heart, as he entertained her. Until this point, she'd not traded blades with anyone other than Fang. The wights were clumsy and unskilled, despite how fast they could be. But the Other was fluid, graceful, and did not strike without fully intending on killing. The first blow jarred her shoulder, her nerves twinging as she wondered if her sword would break beneath the crystal, but it held true. The Other noticed this, gaunt face drawing pensively, as her muscles quivered from holding the parry.

He shoved off, sending her a few feet back. Catching her balance, Tabitha raised her sword in the nick of time, struggling to keep up with the relentless hail of blows. Until she couldn't. Her slowing down had left an opening, the crystal blade cutting as true as any steel would, slicing into the meat of her left hand. She jerked back, her spasming hand tossing the sword behind her and into the snow, droplets of crimson splattering in the white to create a blooming of tiny bloody buds. He raised the sword, intending on spearing her through, but she had enough energy to roll out of the way, panting as she clutched her injured hand.

The sword had plunged into the earth where she had once been, her eyes widening as she scrambled back trying to find her feet and the only sword that would protect them against the Other. Rounding on her again, Tabitha still scrambled, unable to get back up as she pressed her palm to her chest and tried to stand. Again, he aimed for her and this time she knew she had nowhere to roll, lest she wanted to tuck right into a throng of wights.

Her eyes scrunched shut, but there was no pain, only the high pitched wailing of steel against crystal. When she peeked from out of her narrowed eyes, she saw that Benjen stood above her with Fate in his hands, holding back the swing that should have killed her. He forced the Other back, the harkening of Balerion above the trees reminding her that they needed to flee. Her hand was throbbing, blood staining her doublet as she managed to finally get up and whip her head towards the sky. Her eyes came back down and she saw Benjen continue to fight the Other, his own skill with the sword out matching her own as he was a more formidable match for the creature.

But it would not be an easy victory. The Valyrian steel bit against the Other's arm, hissing as it marred the brittle flesh. For that, he snaked past Benjen's defenses and caught him hard along his left side before he could turn the blade.

" No !" Tabitha knew that it had cut deep, even if the black fabric betrayed nothing.

He still stood, parrying the next and staggering back as he clutched at his flank. The Other was smug in his supposed victory, snatched only when Balerion bellowed again and nose dived between the branches, seeping from the night sky like a shadowed hellion. Talons outstretched, he caught the Other by its armor and flung it across the field and into a tree. It was not dead, but stunned, leaving them with a few fleeting seconds as Benjen crumpled to his knees, leaning upon the pommel of Fate as he panted.

Tabitha ran, the griffin encircling them and expressing his dismay loudly and with reproach, as if to challenge her. Why hadn't she called him sooner? "Get up, we need to go," Tabitha told Benjen, uncertain if Balerion could fly the entire distance back to the Roost with the both of them. She had to hope that he could. Her own injury seemed trivial in light of the Stark's, her hand flying to the gash to apply additional pressure.

Balerion knelt as she helped her charge onto his back, mounting behind him and keeping her arm pressed into his wound. No words needed to be spoken between them, onyx wings beating as he launched them off the forest floor and into the sky. He was dead weight, sagging slightly in front of her, threatening to slide right off. Balerion steadied himself, trying to keep as even as possible as Tabitha fought to keep him up.

"Stay awake. Stark!"

#game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #a song of ice and fire fanfic #asoiaf fanfiction #asoiaf fanfic #reincarnation insert #added lore #freeform #the ability to change the future but with a twist #romance is not the main theme #BAMF female OC #benjen stark #buirbaby writes #the wardens

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olliethealright · 4 years ago

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Three Steps From Home - Update #3

Hey everyone, I guess I’m back again. Today, I’m gonna update on the next two chapters of my current WIP. This will be about chapters nine and ten, AKA 3558 words of an honestly stupid amount of food description, Jude being emo, and Aaron deciding if he’s amused or horrified. This is a long one, so the update is under the break.

TRIGGER WARNING: homophobia, emotional abuse, religious content, mentions of conversion therapy

ALSO: these are all my personal words, characters and ideas, please do not use without my consent.

chapter nine - how you met my mother - 1944 words

theme song - let you down - NF

Okay so this chapter is kind of emo and every much a mess, sorry in advance. I’m going to rework this chapter because Aaron is just kind of there and he doesn’t pull his weight (or literally any weight oops), so keep that in mind.

Summary: Aaron and Jude meet Jude’s mom for brunch, and this chapter is basically just the drama that goes down at the brunch and then the fallout that happens afterwards.

excerpts:

Jude VS his mother feat. Aaron just trying to be nice

Maybe once a month, my mother remembered she was a competent cook and there’s more food to be eaten than microwave dinners and cheap takeout. She had recalled her cooking skills that day, and apart from her eggs, which were notoriously near-poisonous, the meal was almost enjoyable.

My mother sat on one side of the table and we occupied the other, she served beans, fried potatoes, corn tortillas, and those damn eggs. We held a casual enough conversation, but your knee was already pressed into mine in case things went off the deep end. You wanted to feel my muscles contract, you wanted to drag me out before I said anything I would regret.

“Why him?” my mother finally asked in Spanish when she had enough of our bullshit and pleasantries.

“Because,” I answered in English. “He’s a good guy, he looks out for me. We’re a good match, Ma, he makes me happy.”

You beamed at me as I avoided my mother’s gaze, and for a moment, I thought that would be the end of it. Across the table, she sighed as if I was the nurse who told her that her only son died. To be fair, I may have done the equivalent; in her universe, you weren’t supposed to make me happy, and nothing would have shattered that world, not even my smile when I looked at you.

and... Jude’s mom bringing up his MAJOR daddy issues

“Get rid of him, before he abandons you like your father did,” she hissed in Spanish the second you were gone. “No one can love you when you are like this, especially not that boy, and especially not me.”

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted blood and tried not to look like a kicked animal. “You don’t know Aaron, Ma,” I said carefully, finally answering her Spanish with my own. “He’s not Dad. He likes me as I am, just like you should.”

Her eyes shone, and I knew I had set her up to say exactly what she wanted, I had given her the perfect setup, the gasoline for her fire. “He’s worse than your father. He will always make you feel like an outsider, you will never know how he really feels. But, if you go now, the pastor will still take you. He agreed that you’d be a tough case, that you’re almost beyond help, but he can help you, Jude.”

The way she said it, the proposal almost sounded fair. Thankfully, you cut her off with desert balanced on your arms in a way that only a barista would know how. You set cups of caramel custard in front of us and I dug into mine before I said anything I shouldn’t have.

I’m not going to share anymore because I don’t really like this chapter, but essentially what happens is Jude’s mom is unpleasant, Jude and Aaron leave and Aaron almost talks about his mother, but doesn't (and no one is surprised).

chapter ten - x (I cannot figure out what to call this one haha) - 1606 words

theme song - TALK ME DOWN - troye sivan

I actually don’t mind how this chapter turned out. I love the dynamic between Jude and Aaron in this one, it makes me strangely happy even though it’s not necessarily a happy chapter.

Summary: This one takes place a few months after the last one, Jude and his mother haven’t really talked and he’s finally starting to feel more free of her. Aaron surprises Jude on his birthday with breakfast and fake Amtrak tickets, and the two decide to move to Seattle together. There is a small flashback of the boys after the events of chapter ten where Aaron gets upset.

excerpts:

Aaron and Jude joking about the brunch with Jude’s mom (featuring my favorite piece of Aaron dialogue because he would totally become Gordon Ramsey if he thought he could pull it off)

Your breakfast was excellent. The pancakes were fluffy and sweat, they carried the telltale taste of Krusteaz mix, the kind my dad had made on special occasions. The sausages were as good as frozen supermarket sausages could get, and your eggs were miles better than my Mother’s, which were essentially my only point of reference.

“These might be the best eggs I’ve ever had,” I said.

“That’s only because your Mother’s eggs are, no offense, horrible. I think I saw her put cinnamon in those things. Cinnamon! That’s like the first rule they teach you at cooking school: don’t put cinnamon in your fucking eggs.”

A week later, it was decided. You wanted a place we could discover together. I wanted to get away from churchgoers who talked about Jesus like a cult leader and called me a sinner when they passed on the street, just loud enough for me to hear. I wanted to hold your hand without looking over my shoulder.

I insisted on buying the cardboard moving boxes, but you stole my computer when you saw the Amtrak website open in my browser, refusing to let me buy my own birthday present. We decided on Seattle because you wanted to smell the sea breeze wafting from the Pacific, the only ocean you’d never seen. Seattle because I had never seen an ocean or a big city, because I wanted to go to the top of the Space Needle every weekend, because it was far away from nowhere, Montana.

Our apartment was packed within a week, we didn’t have many possessions to speak of; most of yours were books that stacked neatly into boxes, and I barely had a trash bag’s worth of clothing to call my own. We surfed the internet until we could find an apartment we didn’t hate on a street that wasn’t claustrophobic, but was still close enough to the bustle of the city that we would still be able to hear the noise and taste the gasoline on every street corner. In another week, we would be gone, in a month, we would be forgotten altogether.

Okay, well there it is! At this point, updates will probably all be 1-2 chapters each because I’ve almost caught up with myself. I hope you enjoyed this update, send me an ask if you have questions! Thanks for reading if you’ve gotten this far, and remember: don’t put cinnamon on your fucking eggs.

-ollie

#book #threestepsfromhome #novel #author #writing #writer #writblr #story #sad #fun

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nah-she-didnt · 4 years ago

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Spirits And Bones Chapter 2: New Wounds

Okay, so I am definitely learning on the job here. This story is going to require a lot more world-building than I'm used to, so please be patient with me! Thank you all for your kind reviews so far, and enjoy chapter 2!

Read on AO3!

It soon became clear that Lily was a hopeless cook. She never had to cook for herself at her father’s house. Even after he had lost his money they still had at least one servant to cook for the family. Plus, her mother certainly never taught her how to fry an egg or bake bread. She never wasted her time on such domestic duties. So, after Lily burned yet another roast in the kitchen’s large iron oven, Severus decided to procure a maid.

She came to them during Lily’s first week at the new house. Lily recognized the small girl from the day of her engagement at Tobias Snape’s house. She introduced herself as Mary Macdonald, a local girl from the village down the road.

Severus also hired a local boy as a farmhand for the property’s sprawling fields. His name was Remus, and to Lily’s dismay, he slept in the barn loft a hundred paces from the house.

“Surely he’ll freeze out there,” she had pleaded with Severus when the boy came to work for them.

Severus smirked. “Nonsense. He’s just a poor boy from the village, I should think he’d be used to such conditions. Won’t you, boy?”

Remus nodded curtly, not meeting Severus’ eyes. Lily surveyed the boy curiously. He looked lean but strong, with sandy brown hair and a large scar that sliced his right cheek She wondered how a poor farm boy had come to have such a prominent mark.

“Anyway,” Severus continued, turning back to Lily, “I hired him in part to guard my affairs when I am away from my home, but I do not think it would be proper for him to sleep here in the same house as my wife. Although look at him, it’s not as if he’s much of a threat.” He smirked again. His dull teeth looked yellow against his pale skin. “You don’t seem like much of a ladies’ man, boy.”

Remus shook his head once. Lily frowned. “I don’t think there’s any need for talk like that.”

Severus jerked his head around to face her, surprise and anger etched into his face. “I don’t believe my talk is any of your concern, wife.”

Lily said nothing but did not break Severus’ gaze. He often spoke to her like this, reminding her of her place as his wife, not his partner. But she had not yet found Severus to be a cruel man. He even showed her a few kindnesses. One evening he even brought her a new cloak from his father’s inventory. The cloak was fine quality and kept the heat from her body close to her skin as she traipsed through the snowy forest.

However, Severus was also sullen and mirthless. He rarely laughed, and when he did it was a humorless sound. He smirked when she did not know the name of some lord he had visited that day for work or sneered when he heard that a rival trader had died of old age.

Fortunately, Lily did not have to speak with her husband often. She spent her days exploring the land, weaving in between the trees and tracing paths along the stream that ran through the forest. Soon she was able to map the land in her head. She knew what short cuts would get her to the forest the quickest and that the stream flowed in the opposite direction of her house.

Severus still spent most of his days at his father’s house learning his trade and Lily was free to roam the forest just as she had the day she found the hawthorn.

Weeks had passed and she had not been able to find the tree again. She tried to retrace the magic in the earth but the ground grew frozen and dead once more. When she removed her shoes and placed her feet upon the snow it was bitterly cold and burned the soft skin under her toes. Still, she walked for as long as she could stand barefoot, hoping to feel the snow grow warm beneath her once more.

One day, as she walked through the forest barefoot, she cut her foot open on a large jagged rock. “Shit,” she muttered and shuffled across the path to a tree stump. There she sat and examined the damage.

The cut was long, but not deep. A thin trail of blood snaked down her heel and dropped into tiny pinpricks of crimson against the snow. Nothing she couldn’t manage.

Lily closed her eyes, trying to block out all sound, thoughts, or emotions surrounding her. When she felt her mind clear and her body vibrate with energy, she pressed her palm against the bloody cut. She held her hand there for a few moments, then pulled away to examine her work. The skin began to knit itself back together slowly. Soon there was no sign of the cut at all.

She glanced around quickly but saw no one. The woods were always deserted, but she still felt better knowing for sure that no one had seen her heal. The villagers did not trust magic, and she was sure that her husband would be livid if he witnessed what she had just done.

Lily sighed and began to lace her feet back into her boots. She knew that she must begin her long walk back to the house. It was nearly dark, and Severus often grew suspicious when she returned late. She stood up and smoothed her long cloak, disappointed that she had been unable to locate the hawthorn yet again.

The walk back to the house was slow work. She often had to stop and wrestle her cloak back from the thistles that grew between the large oak trees. The sun began to dip below the horizon just as she reached the edge of the woods. She stood panting for a moment, pulling a twig from her long braid, and gazed towards the cottage. She saw smoke rising from the chimney and silently thanked Mary for the warm fire that she must have built. Suddenly, Lily heard rustling leaves behind her and whirled around.

The stag stood across a clearing from her and was partially obscured behind a thick tree trunk. His eyes always startled her a bit. They were huge, deep brown, and vaguely familiar.

Lily let out a deep breath and fixed the stag with a bemused expression. “You again,” she called out to him across the clearing, “I’m never quite able to get rid of you, am I?”

The stag cocked his head to the side in response. She often found herself wondering if the animal could understand her speech. This was the fourth time she had run into the beast in the forest. The second time she had still been afraid of his powerful form and sharp antlers. The third time she had stroked the soft fur on his face once more. This time, she was not afraid in the slightest. If the stag wanted to hurt her he would have done so already.

The next afternoon found Lily sitting by the fireside attempting to embroider a scrap of fabric. She’d picked up this new hobby out of sheer boredom. Outside the snow fell so thickly that she couldn’t quite bring herself to leave the comfort of the fireside to explore the woods today. She paused her needle and examined her work so far. Her first attempt at art was a bright yellow daisy, except it looked more like a bright yellow worm.

Lily threw down the embroidery hoop and stretched, frustrated at how cooped up she felt. As she stretched she glanced out the window. A hooded figure walked down the lane in front of the house. She wore thick woolen mittens and carried a basket of what looked like holly branches.

At that moment, Mary entered the sitting room. She shuffled over to the fire and placed another log on top of the dying flames.

“Mary, I wish you would let me do that,” Lily called to her, “I’m perfectly capable.”

Mary smiled sweetly at her. “Master Severus would not like it, ma’am. I’m to make sure you are well taken care of while he’s away.”

Lily gestured around the room. “Look at me. I’m warm, I’m fed, I’m content. I’d say your job is done.”

Mary looked as if she didn’t know what to say to that. Lily sighed. She hadn’t quite been able to break through Mary’s sweet exterior to see who lay beneath, but perhaps she would with time.

“Mary,” she called before the girl could leave the room, “do you see that woman outside?”

Mary glanced out the window. She blanched when her gaze fell upon the old woman.

“Oh, you’d best keep your distance, ma’am. ‘Tis a witch.”

“A witch?” Lily glanced back at the woman. The woman looked perfectly ordinary. “What makes you say she is a witch?”

Mary shrugged. “It’s known in the village, ma’am. She gathers herbs and plants in the forest and uses them to curse all who cross her.”

Lily laughed. “Herbs and plants aren’t dangerous, they’re useful. Perhaps this woman uses her concoctions to help people.”

This was the wrong thing to say. Mary sniffed and smoothed out her skirts. “Is that all, ma’am?”

“Yes,” Lily smiled sadly, “of course. Thank you, Mary. You may take for the rest of the afternoon for yourself.” Mary curtsied, looking confused, and backed out of the room.

Lily eyed her needlework. Her craftsmanship was pathetic, but there was nothing else to do, so she resumed her work. An hour later her fingertips were red raw and covered in small spots of blood where she had pricked herself.

The kitchen door, visible to Lily from her spot in the sitting room, banged open, letting in a thick cloud of snowflakes. Remus did his best to stamp his boots on the landing before trudging into the house, but he still tracked large snowy footprints across the floor. Another man carrying firewood trailed behind. He had shoulder-length black hair that was flecked with snow and he wore a coat made of shaggy, black animal fur. He was also laughing.

“Blimey,” he chuckled, “that master of yours, he’s a riot. Did you see him trip over that snowbank out back? What a tosser.”

Remus cleared his throat loudly. “This is my mistress, Lady Lily. M’lady, please excuse the interruption. My master hired these men for labor and told us to replenish your firewood.”

“Thank you, Remus, but you are interrupting nothing.” Lily faced the newcomer, “welcome, sir. What is your name?”

The man grinned broadly. He was quite handsome. “Sirius, m’lady. I’m sorry that I spoke freely about your husband. He is a… fine man.”

Lily hid her smile. “I think you’ll find that you may speak freely in front of me, Sirius. Please, have a seat, warm yourself.”

Sirius’ face broke into a wide smile. “Much obliged,” he said, collapsing onto the couch across from Lily and put his feet up on the sitting-room table. Remus paled.

“My lady,” he said, his voice pleading, “I do not think Master Severus would approve-”

“Nonsense,” Lily smiled, “he said himself that I have run of the house while he is gone. Besides, I’ve been bored all day, and a new face is a rare treat. Please, Remus, sit if you wish.”

Remus looked unsure. He compromised by standing awkwardly between Sirius and Lily, his hands outstretched to warm in the fire’s glow.

“So, Sirius,” Lily turned to face her guest, “tell me about yourself. Do you live in the village?”

Sirius laughed. “No, lady, I do not. I live in the forest.”

“The forest?” she frowned slightly. She’d never seen another soul in the forest during her many daytime walks.

“Yes, I live there with my brother. We often hunt and forage for food, but some necessities require common money, so we take odd jobs to make ends meet. That is how I came to your house today. I was just telling Ja-”

The door banged open once more. Severus’ gaze fell upon the scene, Remus warming himself by the fire and Sirius sitting on the couch with his feet up. Anger sparked in his face.

“Black,” he hissed dangerously, “what do you think you are doing?”

Sirius quickly swung his feet off the table and to the floor. “Apologies, Severus, your wife invited me to sit with her.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “That’s ‘Master Severus,’ boy. Know your place. How dare you sit in my home in your filthy pelts, how dare you speak to my wife.”

“Severus,” Lily said angrily, “I hardly think that’s neces-”

“Quiet,” Severus snapped at her. Lily opened her mouth to retaliate but instead gasped.

Another man entered the house behind her husband. He had untidy black hair, dark skin, and deep brown eyes. It was his eyes that startled her. She was sure she’d seen them before.

Lily stared at the new man, and the man stared back at her nervously. “Erm,” he stuttered, blinking rapidly, “Hello, I’m James, er, m’lady.”

Lily realized too late that she was staring at James. Severus’ eyes had grown dark with malice as he watched his wife. He glanced between Lily and the new man, recognition dawning in his face. Then, he spun around to face Sirius again.

“You,” he spat, “get out of my house. You and your brother have exactly one minute to get as far away from this property as possible, is that clear? There will be no payment for you, either of you, today.”

Sirius stood from the couch. He was shorter than Severus by a few inches, but his gaze was still threatening enough to make her husband tremble slightly. “Look mate, fire us if you want, but at least pay us for our work as an honest man would.”

Severus took a step back from Sirius and pointed toward the door. “Go. Take him,” Severus pointed at the man with the deep brown eyes, “with you. Never darken my doorstep again if you know what’s good for you.”

Sirius chuckled mirthlessly. “Is that a threat, ‘my lord’?”

“Sirius,” James crossed the room and grabbed Sirius by the upper arm, “come on, it’s not worth it.”

“I disagree,” Sirius smirked Severus.

“Sirius,” James said, his voice low and dangerous, “now.”

Sirius relented and made to leave with James. Then, as though he suddenly changed his mind, he turned back and spat on the floor at Severus’ feet. “We will remember this.”

Severus looked ashen. He watched the men leave, his chest heaving as though he had run a long distance. Sirius walked out the door but James looked back once, smiled at Lily, then followed his brother out into the winter storm.

Severus strode across the room and grabbed Lily by the arm. “Do you know that man?”

Lily struggled but his grip tightened vice-like on her elbow. “No, Severus, I swear I do not!”

“Do not lie to me!” he roared, eyes wild with rage, “You’ve seen him before, I know it. Does he come here when I am away?”

“No!” Lily yanked her arm out of his grip, “I’ve never seen that man in my life. Control yourself.”

Severus looked livid. He raised his hand as if to strike. Lily closed her eyes and raised her arms to cover herself.

Suddenly, a burst of energy seemed to shoot from her fingertips. Lily startled and dropped her arms as Severus cried out in pain. A long scratch had appeared along the hand he had raised against her. She stared at the new wound, shocked. Surely she could not have caused the cut, could she?

He looked at her wildly. “What did you do to me, woman?” He hissed, clutching his bleeding hand.

“N-nothing,” she stammered, still flexing her fingers where the energy had been a minute before, “it must have happened before, perhaps when you carried the firewood.”

Severus stood still, breathing heavily. His eyes whipped wildly from Lily to Remus, to the back door, then back to Lily. After a moment of silence, he seemed to calm down. He spun on his heel and stormed to the kitchen.

“Come,” he barked over his shoulder, “help me bandage this hand.”

Lily’s hand curled into a fist behind her back. “I’m sorry, my lord,” she called after him, “you should ask Mary. I’m afraid I have no skills for healing.”

He strode out of the room without another word. Remus, who still stood next to the fireplace, leapt out of Severus’ warpath. He gaped at Lily.

“What did you just do?” he whispered. Lily unclenched her fist and rubbed her eyes.

“Nothing he didn’t deserve. But Remus,” she fixed him with an intense gaze, “you must never tell. Anyone. Please, Remus.”

Remus placed his hand over his heart. “You have my word, lady.”

She laughed weakly and lowered herself back into her seat next to the fire. “Call me Lily, please.”

He smiled slightly. “We’ll see about that.” Then he turned from the room and left her alone.

Lily sank further into the chair’s cushions. Her thoughts were still fixed on that man, James. She was sure she knew him, sure she had spoken to him before. His eyes were as familiar to her as if she had stared into them all her life.

#spirits and bones #multichapter #jily #nina writes #jily fairytale au #chapter 2: new wounds

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alounuitte · 4 years ago

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cactus blossoms

(or, some can only bloom with water from a desert sky.)

Adam needs some support while he recovers from a surgery, and Shiro volunteers to be his best friend's roommate for the summer after their first year in the Garrison. Somehow, it turns out he's not the only one Adam gets a chance to get closer to, and an operation isn't the only thing he's recovering from. (pre-relationship, but no romance will be in this.)

Chapter 3.

Adam could be a statue he’s standing so still, staring at the floor outside of Lauren Montgomery’s office, his feet together and his shoulders set.

“Think you gotta put your chin up if you’re trying to stand at attention,” Shiro says lightly as he approaches. His head snaps up, his hand jerking as if to salute, and he lets a slow breath out through his teeth when their eyes meet.

“Asshole,” he hisses. “Don’t scare me, I’m already on edge.”

“Why?” Shiro asks, bemused. “Montgomery’s cool. She hardly yells or anything.”

“I’m not scared of people yelling at me!” Adam snaps, adjusting his glasses. “Are you here to help me, or just make fun of me?”

“Sorry,” Shiro says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to make fun. You ready?”

Adam shrugs almost imperceptibly, his mouth twitching at the corner. “As much as I can be,” he says, and steps forward to knock on the door.

“Just a minute,” Montgomery calls, and the door opens a moment later. “Hi, Weismann,” she says, smiling, and glances over at Shiro. “Shirogane. How can I help you boys?”

“Um,” Adam says, quailing visibly. “I - I wanted to ask - if there’s, um - can I, we, can we come in?”

“Of course,” she says, frowning slightly, and steps back from the door. “Have a seat, both of you, make yourselves comfortable.”

Adam doesn’t look comfortable at all as he sits down at the edge of the chair, his spine rigid and his head down. Shiro takes the chair next to him and almost reaches to put a hand on his shoulder, but thinks better of it.

“So, what did you need to ask me, Weismann?” she asks, surveying them both over the rims of her glasses. “I’m here to help.”

“I was —“ Adam begins, and his voice breaks; he swallows hard and clears his throat. “I was hoping you would...do me a favor.”

“Well, I’ll see what I can do,” she says cautiously, her frown deepening. “What is it?”

Come on, Shiro thinks desperately, hoping that if he wills it hard enough Adam will remember that they went over this, he knows what to say already, he practiced for it all last night.

Adam takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“I’m supposed to be having a procedure done this summer, but I wanted to stay on base for extended education,” he says, as if he’s reading it from a textbook. “The recovery is short, but intensive, so I’m required to have a temporary medical assistance form signed. Shirogane already volunteered and we submitted the form, but it was rejected because he doesn’t have summer residency yet, and I can’t wait for his petition to clear.”

He swallows hard again and lifts his head to look up at her, his shoulders trembling slightly.

“I was wondering if you would be able to co-sign,” he finishes. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but we can work out housing in the meantime so you won’t have to be involved at all, I just need a signature this week so I can schedule the operation.”

Montgomery blinks at him and he quickly ducks his head again.

“If that’s okay, ma’am,” he adds, very quietly.

“I could do that,” she agrees, pushing her glasses up. “I know if you can’t get a procedure in over the summer, recovery might cut into your training next year, and I’d hate to see a young man as bright as you falling behind.”

“Really?” Adam asks, looking up slowly. “You - you’ll really do it?”

She nods. “I’ll see what I can do to help sort out your housing, too,” she says. “For that matter, I don’t live on base myself; if I apply for quarters this summer for the purpose of your medical assistance I’m happy to let you boys stay there.”

“Oh, nice,” Shiro says, grinning.

“You’ll still have to petition for summer residency so your keycard stays active, and commissary knows they have to feed you, Shirogane,” she says. “I’d do it today, if I were you, God only knows those papers take time to review.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he agrees.

“You have your form, Weismann?” she asks.

Adam is still staring at her mutely, open-mouthed, but when he hears his name he seems to shake himself a little and nods. “Here,” he says, digging his tablet out of his bag, and pulls up the blank form again.

“Excellent,” she says warmly, and takes the tablet to sign. Shiro finally reaches over to put his hand on Adam’s shoulder, beaming at him, and Adam manages a faint, shaky smile in return. Montgomery offers his tablet back to him, and he takes it.

“Thank you, Commander,” he says, looking dazed.

“Don’t do that,” Montgomery replies, giving him a stern look over her glasses. “If you have to be formal, Professor is just fine.”

He nods, swallows hard as he signs his name under hers. “Yes, ma’am. I appreciate your help.”

“Well, if you really want to thank me, take care of yourself so you’re in top form by the fall,” she says with a wry smile. “Is there anything else I can help you with right now? If not, I guess I’d better get in touch with residence management.”

“No, ma’am, that’s all, thank you,” Adam says, getting to his feet, and salutes sharply before leaving her office, Shiro following on his heels.

“I told you we could figure something out,” he says as soon as the door closes, bouncing on his toes in his excitement. “We’re even gonna get to stay in officer’s quarters, how cool is that?”

“I - I can't believe…” Adam says, and laughs breathlessly, passing a hand through his hair. “She actually agreed to that? She wanted to help?”

“Uh, yeah,” Shiro says. “Plenty of people want to help if you just ask them.”

He laughs again, sounding a little hysterical. “Wow,” he manages. “This is actually happening.”

“Yeah!” Shiro agrees. “I’m gonna go get the residency petition forms so I can—Adam?”

His heart drops like a stone in still water as he sees Adam slump back against the wall and realizes how pale he looks, his face still frozen in an awkward half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I - I -“ he stammers, and swallows, his shoulders drawing in.

“Whoa, hey,” Shiro says, rushing to his side. “You need to sit down?”

He nods, and from right next to him Shiro can hear his breath coming quick and uneven.

“Okay, you’re okay,” Shiro says. “I’m gonna grab your arm, okay? You think you can make it to the back steps? It’s just around the corner from here, that way no one’s gonna bother us.”

Adam nods again and lets him pull one arm around his shoulders, leaning against him slightly as he heads down the hall and ducks into the stairwell. He can feel how badly Adam is shaking, hear the hitch in his breath when he chokes back sobs, and his chest aches with sympathy.

“Alright, here you go,” he says, sitting down carefully on the top stair and ducking out from under Adam’s arm. “Take a couple deep breaths for me, can you do that?”

Adam shakes his head and wraps his arms around himself, pressing his face against his knees. “I - I’m sorry,” he manages, his voice a whimper. “I don’t know why - why I’m -“

“Hey, it’s okay,” Shiro tells him, careful to keep his tone calm and steady. “You don’t have to apologize, just try to breathe.”

His breath catches and he sobs softly, curling up tighter. “Stupid,” he whispers, his voice muffled. “I shouldn’t - I shouldn’t -“

“It’s not stupid,” Shiro says. “What makes you think that?”

Adam shakes his head again, unable to answer. Shiro closes his eyes, focusing on his own breathing, and gradually Adam’s slows to match with his.

“You okay now?” he asks after a few moments, glancing over at him.

“Yeah,” Adam manages, sitting up, and takes off his glasses to rub his eyes with the back of one hand. “Sorry about that.”

“Hey, cut that out,” Shiro tells him. “Nothing you need to be sorry for.”

He laughs weakly, cleans the lenses of his glasses with the cuff of his jacket before putting them back on. “Pretty silly to have a panic attack after I already know everything’s gonna be okay, though,” he says.

Shiro shakes his head. “I mean, you were already kind of having a panic attack before we talked to her, right?” he points out. “Just because you pushed through it to get something done, doesn’t make it go away.”

Adam stares at him as if he’s speaking another language.

“Anyways, um,” he says, fumbling for something else reassuring to say. “I think you handled it great. And it sounds like everything’s gonna work out okay, right?”

“Yeah,” Adam agrees, and finally starts to smile again. “I guess you’re right.”

Shiro grins and pulls himself to his feet, offering Adam a hand to get up. “What do you think about getting some dinner?” he says. “I can start filling out my petition forms while we eat.”

“Sounds great,” Adam says, and takes his outstretched hand.

“How long do you think it’ll take for them to approve Montgomery’s signature on your thing?” Shiro asks. “Are they going to schedule you for surgery right away, you think?”

“God willing,” he says fervently, and laughs. “I kind of can’t believe it’s going to happen.” His hands flutter at his sides, frantically joyful, before he shoves them in his pockets.

“It’s gonna be great,” Shiro says, beaming. His own hands move restlessly in front of his chest, and he doesn’t bother trying to still them. They’re done with classes for the day, and he doesn’t need to look professional now, so he doesn’t care if the whole world can see his excitement.

#voltron legendary defender #voltron adam #voltron shiro #takashi shirogane #vld #willwrites #belong to the sky verse

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pepperidgefarmremembers · 4 years ago

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Chapter 5

Expression

Cerulean eyes struggle to be known to the world between rapid blinking. Swirling, sparkling pools of sky blue attempt to pierce through the darkness of the room. A near silent groan made by Katara almost ruined her son's long awaited rest. That was a close one, I don't know what I would've done if Bumi woke up, she thought. She swayed in effortless waves while cradling Bumi to her chest. She was hopeful that her 5 month-old son would finally fall asleep. After noticing the child's slowed breathing, she carefully laid him down in his crib. Taking a cue from her husband, she fluidly walked out of the nursery nearly light as air.

She continued these silent footsteps until she reached her bed with her adorably sleeping husband. She moved swiftly under the covers making sure to not wake Aang. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she cursed her husband's ability to notice the shifts in weight in their bed. "Mmm...Katara….sweetie, did you get up again? Why didn't you wake me?", he asked amidst his yawns. Katara forced a tired smile, "It's fine, you have a big meeting tomorrow and you need your rest. Don't worry, it's all a part of the job." His face has a confused look. He wasn't sure if she was lying to herself or to him. He decided to not press the issue so he could let his beautiful wife rest, but wanted to bring it up tomorrow. "Okay...but I'm serious, next time,", he yawned, "Please wake me! I want to help."

She could see the earnest and compassionate expression in her husband's face. She asked herself, I know he has the best intentions, but how could I tell him how I really feel? She couldn't do that to him, not when he has the whole world on his shoulders. It will just be a few months until Bumi's sleep schedule becomes more consistent and this will be over, she reassured herself. She could handle it but she knew she would have to placate him to make him drop it. "Okay, sweetie. You're right. I'll ask you next time." Aang didn't feel completely convinced by her answer, but they were both exhausted, so he let it go. They were undisturbed for the rest of the night and both parents were extremely grateful.

As the sun rose and illuminated the house on Air Temple Island, Aang was up meditating in the grass behind their home. After feeling lighter than air from the meditation, he strutted and hummed his way into the kitchen, not feeling this refreshed since before the baby came. He made some jasmine tea, seaweed soup, and cut up fresh melon for himself and his wife. Having a thought of bringing breakfast to his wife in bed, he darted around the kitchen placing all of the items on a tray. He glided into their bedroom only to find the bed empty. He frowned but figured she was with Bumi. Quickly turning on his heels, he zipped to the nursery. As he walked in, he stood frozen at the sight before him. His wife in their rocking chair while cradling their son against her chest. It would have been a perfect memory to capture except for the tears running down his wife's face.

Katara was restful but not quite asleep. Aang softly placed her breakfast tray on the nightstand and walked over to his wife. He lightly kissed her forehead, startling her. "Oh! Oh, Aang, I must have dozed off rocking him back to sleep after his feeding," she stated with a raspy voice. Upon closer inspection, he became aware of the dark circles under her eyes. She didn't look like herself and he didn't like it. "Sweetie...are you okay?" After a few uneasy moments, she decided to speak with a dismissive statement, but a loud sob came through instead. This wasn't a cry that manifested from a poor night's rest or even having a bad day, this was something more pervasive. He felt a punch to his gut when his wife began to sob. It was loud, messy, and couldn't be stopped as much as she wished it could. He recognized this couldn't be mended with breakfast in bed, this was depression.

Aang became relieved briefly at Bumi's remarkably deep sleep and swiftly placed him in the crib. It was now Katara's turn to be held. Picking her up bridal style, he carried her to their room and gently placed her on the bed. He laid down next to his crying wife, cradling her, with her head on his chest. He cleared his throat as he stroked her hair, "Please tell me what's wrong. I want to help. I know something is wrong. I wish you would just tell me. I don't care how bad it hurts, I want the truth." Her crying stopped on the word "truth". Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself down enough to force words out into the air. "Aang...I'm so sorry. I thought I could do all of this on my own. I told myself that I would take care of Bumi so you could focus on the world and Avatar duties. I didn't want that burden on you." She sighed and looked at her husband. She saw her husband looking at her with softened eyes, hinting for her to continue. "At first it wasn't too bad. I was enjoying spending time with him and I felt so happy. But then I started to feel lonely, like really lonely. It didn't make any sense. Why did I feel so lonely when I had a baby? How can a mother feel lonely? I...I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to see me as a bad mother."

Another gut punch in Aang's stomach. He couldn't believe it. He did not understand how she could possibly think she was a bad mother. He started to feel guilty for not seeing the signs earlier. He knew she was off but thought she was just tired. "Katara, you are not a bad mother! I see your hard work every day and I love you so much. I feel like chopped liver when I try to play with Bumi, all he wants is you. You are one of the most selfless and caring people I have ever met. I remember how you took care of us in the desert and I don't think you drank any water at all. I don't want you to do that anymore. Don't set yourself on fire to keep others warm." Her tears stopped and breathing returned to normal. She smiled at her husband, "I'm glad you don't think that. It really does make me feel better, but...what happens now? You'll have to go away today and sometimes for weeks at a time. We both have our responsibilities to uphold."

Aang reached his hand to her cheek, stroking her face with his thumb. "I was born to have the whole world on my shoulders but that doesn't mean that you feel that responsibility, too. No one raises a child alone, Katara, and I would never ask that of you. Part of me blames myself for not asking more questions or being more decisive about when I wanted to take him." Katara reached her hand up to meet his, "You were asking the right questions and I know you care, don't blame yourself. I should've been more open about what I needed, though. I just felt this guilt every time I fantasized about being alone. I never want to turn my back on people who need me."

Aang removed his hand and brought Katara back into his arms with her head on his chest. "Oh, Katara," he stroked her hair, "I think a lot of parents fantasize about being alone sometimes. Asking for help doesn't mean you're failing. We can find someone to come over to help if I'm ever gonna for more than a day. Suki is always offering to babysit. I still have connections in Ba Sing Se, how about a spa day?" She laughed into his chest, "You have connections everywhere you go, Mr. Avatar!" His heart fluttered as his wife's laugh. He didn't realize until that moment that her laugh has been gone for much too long. "Sure, a spa day would be great. Maybe I can get Toph to come, I'm sure she would love another pedicure," she said with a laugh. He laughed brightly, "Oh, man, I need to sneak by just to hear Toph's reaction when you tell her!"

She continued to tell him about Toph on their spa day Ba Sing Se where more than a few people got bodily injured by the earthbending master. After their laughter subsided, the couple sighed blissfully. Katara absentmindedly stroked Aang's arm and looked up into his stormy gray eyes, "Again, I'm sorry. I promise to try sharing what I need with you more often. It's hard, you know, taking care of everyone. I forget I need to take care of myself as well." He leaned down to kiss her just as Bumi began to cry loudly down the hall. Before she could move an inch, he airbended out of the bed with a grin on his face. "A-ha! I'll get him and your breakfast, too. Rest!" His wife smiled at her thoughtful husband. Her mind began to imagine what he made for breakfast as he exited the room but all too quickly she was falling asleep. This time she didn't fight it.

#katara x aang #katara #aang #kataang #atla fanfic #atla #avatar the last airbender

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imperiuswrecked · 5 years ago

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Fanfic Authors Tag Game

Tagged by: @marblesarelost Tagging: @veliseraptor @traincat

AO3 Name: ImperiusRex

Fandoms: Marvel & DC (comics mostly but I enjoy other stuff too like cartoons and movies), Mercy Thompson book series, Dresden Files book series, Black Sails, Star Trek, early seasons of Vikings.

Number of fics: 66 trying to get to 100 before the end of the year hopefully!

1. Fic you spent the most time on: I really can’t say, because a lot of my fics are ones that I start and then put on pause for a time until I find the muse to start/finish them again, which takes anywhere from one day to years. However the longest ongoing wip I have is: To Find my Soul a Home; very long fic about Namor’s life and has slow burn Jim/Namor as the endgame. I have been working on it on and off for about 3 years. Still working on it.

2. Fic you spent the least time on: Strange Customs; short Jim/Namor fluff fic set during the Oracle Inc holiday party.

3. Longest fic: Catching Quicksilver; 61,858 word fic (26 chapters) featuring Remy/Pietro. It’s my first published fic too.

4. Shortest fic: Mister Dibbles; 556 word fic about Pietro learning more about his new pet.

5. Most hits: Catching Quicksilver ; currently at 4,422 hits

6. Most kudos: The Thief's Heart (Remy/Pietro fic) ; currently at 214 kudos

7. Most comment thread: Strength & Weakness (Namor/Pietro fic) ; currently at 46 comments

8. Fave fic you wrote: My favorite fic is always changing and it’s usually the fic I have not finished yet. I like all of my fics but I think the ones I will love most when it’s done is either To find my Soul a Home, or Lighthouse which are both Jim/Namor wips.

9. Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: Currently none, I really don’t like to go back to fics after I post them because I take so long to even finish one and if I don’t know when to say stop, then it never gets finished. So I try to just be ok with whatever I wrote.

10. Share a bit of your WIP or share a story idea that you’re planning:

From: To Find my Soul a Home: Jim/Namor fic: This scene takes place in middle of the story, long after Jim and Namor had parted ways. Jim has been buried in the desert by his enemies, which was the explanation of why the OG Human Torch was not around for decades. warnings for angst, mentions of war, and burial:

He is crushing darkness around him. There is something wrong with his body, he is unable to move, unable to cry out, Jim is trapped inside his mind as the sounds of dirt hitting dirt slowly fades away until they stop. They have buried him in some place he does not know, deep under the ground. What did they do to him? He strains to try and move but nothing happens, he can’t even wiggle his fingers. Lips closed so that any words he would have spoken were sealed forever. This can’t be happening, not again, not again! He remembers the last time he was trapped in such a way, when his father- when Horton sealed him in the concrete under the ground because they were all afraid of him.

“I’m sorry my boy… I have to do this for your own good. I f I leave you out here they will destroy you. I will come back soon and set you free, and teach you more about this world. When it’s ready for you. Be good my boy.”

Anger burns in his chest and he can’t feel his body heating but it’s a weak fire smothered by dirt and lack of air. Horton never came back for him, he never returned and Jim had to free himself. Horton would not free him now either. The world had never been ready for the Human Torch, but Jim had demanded they try, he did everything he could to be human and now he can’t even die like one. Trapped in this suspended animation as he hears the men’s boots stamp over the dirt of his grave before muffled sounds of their voices fades away. Was it night now? Did it matter? He was never leaving here, Toro hadn’t even known what happened to him, what would happen to the boy? Would he search for Jim? He couldn’t let himself hope for that. He hopes Toro will move on with his life, he was old enough now that he could make it on his own. Still Jim feels a tear slip down the side of his face, he would never see his son again, never hug him and ruffle his hair and tell him how proud he was, how much he loved him. Toro could be an old man before Jim ever escaped from here.

Time has passed, how much? Jim doesn’t know, he could have been here a few days but it feels longer than that, weeks, months maybe. His body’s functions had been shutting down slowly, he feels his artificial heart slow to just a few beats per minute. His mind is clouded by the memories of the past, like a bad tape it skips around and some scenes run on repeat. If he was human it would be called hallucinating.

“Look at me Pappy!” Toro flames on by himself for the first time without burning any of the surrounding furniture in their tiny home, his fire spark smile is wide as he lifts his arms up in success. Jim folds the newspaper down enough to watch him. “Good job son. I’m proud of you.” Toro grins as he slowly flames down.

Jim wants to smile at the memory but his face is frozen.

“Come on now Jim, you can’t tell me you still hate him? Even after everything you two have been through?”

“Why are you pushing this Betty? I thought you would be happy that whatever Namor and I had was over.”

“I never saw you as my rival Jim, we both love him, but you know what he’s like.”

“I know. I know, but dammit Betty he gets me so mad…”

His partner in the police force, Betty’s face fades away, the tape skipping again as he tries again to move. He panics again, the cycle of screaming in his head, hoping someone will come, despairing when he comes down from this latest panic attack because nothing changes except his heart is a beat slower than before. Knowing that with every moment that passes his body is shutting down and soon he will be for all intents and proposes, dead. Jim had never died before, he knew what it was like to be shut off, a dark sudden black before the light came on again. Is this how humans feel knowing they have an expiration date? Knowing that one day they too will cease to exist?

“You’re too quiet firebug.”

No. No. No. NO. Jim panics again, tries to get his mind to turn over this tape, switch it to a different record, anything. He doesn’t want to see him.

His face is turned away from Jim in the memory, they were somewhere in France on the shore of a beach. It was the war.

“I don’t have anything to say.”

“I find that hard to believe, you’re always quick to voice your mind when it comes to me, how many times have you insulted me in the past?”

“So you came to find me because you missed my insults?”

“Missed you.”

Jim doesn’t reply to that.

“Say something Firebug, it’s too quiet here.”

Jim follows Namor’s gaze and looks out at the sea of dead soldiers that littered the beach. Their eyes blank as the gulls pick at the corpses. He looks down at his feet as the blood soaked wave washes over his boots.

Jim wants to claw out his brain, he wants it to STOP. He hated the war, he wasn’t like Namor, something happened to the Prince during the war. Jim could compartmentalize the trauma, he locked it away and did his best to be a support system for Toro, but Namor felt everything more deeply. He doesn’t want to see anymore, and for the first time Jim begs Horton’s god to let it end. More time passes.

The edges of his vision are blurry now, and each memory that comes is slower than before. He sees Toro again, in the circus doing his act. He sees Steve sitting in a chair in the clock tower, his face in his hands, the tired slump of his shoulders tells Jim that Steve has not slept again. Papers scribbled with art is strewn everywhere. He sees Namor in the rain.

He knows this.

Jim’s mind is finally on its last legs as it begins to shut down the last of his conscious mind. He is in a house and every room has a light on but the lights are being turned off one by one. He doesn’t want to be alone in the dark again.

The rain soaks Namor, plastering his dark hair and making his pointed ears stick out even more, it’s cute. Jim never told him that.

He knows this night.

Jim follows him out into the rain, away from everyone else.

Another light is turned off and Jim doesn’t try to waste the little energy he has left trying to move his body again. He wants to relive this one more time, he wants to hold on for just one moment more-

He and Namor are pressed against each other in their little alcove, the dirt of the trench wall behind him turns to mud. Piercing green eyes, and warm breath fills his senses as Jim clutches the Prince’s wet dark hair and pulls him closer. The war is worlds away as he feels Namor’s lips connect with his in a kiss. Soft and sensual, it is a sharp contrast to the harshness of the world they live in.

He knows this… the last light turns off and Jim is in the dark, the grainy picture in his mind fades and the record skips for the last time.

“Say something Firebug. It’s too quiet here.”

“I love you.”

Jim sleeps. A man forgotten by time and those who loved him.

#sorry marbles! i finally posted this #tag game #long post #jimor #im just very bad at going back to stuff once my brain shuts off and says: get the fck out of here and go write something else #which is why i don't think i will ever revise anything once its posted #mim writes a thing

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manjehaal · 5 years ago

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Ignite the Stars: Chapter 2

Read on AO3

My Lady…

Her steely pink eyes snapped open at the intrusion, bringing a halt to her meditative trance.

“Speak,” was all she said, tugging her consciousness away from the vast recollections she had set it on, but placing her focus on the commander's muffled voice instead. It was better this way. To not be distracted by colorful hindrances, but to focus on painless tasks, and the will of her malevolent Emperor.

Lady Mayura, the plans are not aboard the ship and no transmissions have been made. However, an escape pod was jettisoned during the fight, with no lifeforms aboard.

What a sly princess, Mayura marveled, holding her fist tight at her side. “She must have hidden the plans in the escape pod. See to it personally, Commander, that a detachment is sent down to retrieve them. The Emperor will be dissatisfied if the plans slip from our fingers.”

Yes, my Lady.

There was a moment of pause and then a hitch in his breath, just as Lady Mayura moved to silence him.

“Commander?” she asked, voice thick with indignation, having had enough of pointless conversation with hubristic imperial officers.

I’m receiving a transmission from his majesty, Emperor Papillion…

His voice came off as weak, much like the breathless drone of a corrected admiral. But he cleared his throat, evenly continuing. Lord Hawkmoth wishes to speak with you, My Lady.

“Very good commander, see to that detachment,” she said, voice hollow, as she ceased the sound of her communicator and presented herself to face her master. Her dedication to him was without question, but she knew the prices paid by her Emperor’s fury and the venom of his voice. News that a young princess had gotten the upper hand in their civil war was not the news she wished to present to her lord. Not while breath still remained in her chest.

“Yes, my Lord,” she said evenly, dropping herself onto the cold floor with her sturdy bow. “How may I do your bidding?”

* .

* '

* *

They move slowly through the Tatooine sands, leaving their trails visible to any creature that possesses eyes. Civilians pay them no mind, but the monsters of the desert are quick to follow their trails.

“How did we get into this mess? I really don’t know,” muttered the protocol droid. “We seem to be made to suffer. It’s our lot in life.”

The smaller droid ignored Threepio’s wailing, moving onward dutifully with a one-track mind for her majesty, Princess Marinette.

“I’ve got to rest before I fall apart. My joints are almost frozen.”

Bleep blip, was the only response he received, being willfully ignored by the steady persistence of Artoo, scouting out the land for the woman that the Princess had pleaded for. And so he turned, despite C3PO’s many protests, venturing into rocky land in search of settlements. Bleep blip, bleep blip, bleep blip…

“What mission? What are you talking about?”

Whistle, beep, beep.

“I’ve just about had enough of you. You’ll be malfunctioning in a day, you nearsighted scrap pile. And don’t let me catch you following me, begging for help because you won’t get it.”

And in his own malfunction, with the ignorance of a droid, Threepio parted ways with his companion, leaving each of them left lonesome, free for the taking of the night time monsters.

On the smooth path walked by the muttering See-Threepio, cloaked creatures with glowing eyes walk toward him silently, knocking him sideways and then quickly dragging him into the darkness.

Artoo, just a dome-shaped droid of blue and silver, rolls through as eyes peek through the jagged rocks. Though startled by the lit eyes of his attackers, he is defenseless against their numbers, being pushed to a halt and dragged backward into their transports.

Without defense, they have no choice but to let themselves be taken to the den of the monsters.

* '*

A line of dusty machines was spread out across the plane of dessert, being presented to Etienne and his handful of credits. Each model was unique in its own right, beaten and amuck with dirt, but of use, nonetheless.

Adrien paced his way beside his uncle, allowing him to bargain frugally while he pretended to observe the other models. His uncle had his focus on a red droid, and though it may do him good to pay attention, Adrien allowed his gaze to head back to the horizon, where the twin suns were ghosts of themselves, just two heavy moons that cooled off Adrien’s sunburnt cheeks.

Earlier, if he had seen it right, he swore a star destroyer had graced the air, leaving a streak of light across the northern sky. He had allowed himself, for the first time in many long weeks, to let himself hope. Even Nino had agreed, peering through the scope, that it was a rare thing to see. For something of that size to so closely touch the backwater planet of Tatooine. It often seemed like this was the only life out there, with no way in and no way out. People just didn’t leave. Not the ones who lived there, mind the bounty hunters and smugglers.

Adrien had seen the ship as a sign. A sign of an escape. A way out. A way to freedom. And he couldn’t keep himself from clinging to it.

“We’ll take the blue one,” his uncle said, placing a hand on Adrien’s shoulder and positioning him to look at the machine. Adrien just nodded, smiling at his uncle in approval as he began to inspect the droid for himself. Just as soon as he forced himself to focus, Etienne called to him, examining a gold-painted protocol droid, motioning for his nephew to come and follow. “Take these two over to the garage, will you? I want them cleaned up before dinner.”

He frowned, meeting his uncle’s eyes, but kept silent.

Adrien had hoped he would have time before nightfall to meet Nino at Tosche’s Station. It was a desperate attempt to gather the parts he needed to fly, to one day take off and leave the desolate planet. But more than that, it was Nino’s last night on Tatooine, being that he was sailing off at dusk to join the Alliance. Leaving Adrien behind in the confines of his protective Aunt and Uncle, as a useless farmer, with nothing to offer for the greater good of the galaxy.

He shouldn’t have ever hoped for anything else.

“You can waste time with your friends when your chores are done,” Etienne said gruffly, nudging his nephew toward the droids. “Now come on. Get to it.”

He sighed, turning to the golden droid beside him. “Alright. Come on.”

* .

* '

* *

He couldn’t help but feel as if he was running out of time.

The Empire’s steel grip loomed heavier each passing day, like a dark shadow on a once golden galaxy, stripping life and replacing it with oppression. For many years, the shadows didn’t reach the outer rim the same way it did the capital, but as all things did, even Tatooine was changing. Freedom was a myth. A place of safety was nonexistent. Everybody knew the Empire was corrupt, but nobody was brave enough to consider how to stand up against it.

Not until the Rebel Alliance.

Adrien had always been sheltered from the chaos of the infectious Empire since he had been a boy, being told not to ask questions and to focus on what he could control, like his work. But that was easier said than done as he grew older, being exposed to calamities he couldn’t disregard and news that he could never forget. Nino had been his first friend who had ventured outside of Tatooine, filling him in on many of the things Adrien would never have heard of otherwise.

The Rebel Alliance was one of those things.

Adrien burned at the thought of escape, to join such an Alliance, to have a cause. Moisture farming kept civilization going, but it hardly filled him with relief. Nor did it fulfill him the way it did his family. Not the kind of fulfillment he could find in blasting the Empire’s oppressive shadow to ashes all across the star systems.

Instead, he found himself scrubbing down a droid with a damp cloth while lowering another into an oil bath. “Very important stuff,” he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow and setting the rag down on his workbench.

Clearly, all of this was much more important than freeing entire races and civilizations. At least, that’s how Uncle Etienne seemed to see it. As something that couldn’t be helped. As something that had to be ignored.

“It isn’t fair,” he said softly, crossing the workshop with a fresh cloth. “I’m never going to get off this rock. Nino’s right,” he said, clenching his teeth as he dug away at the worn dirt of Artoo’s countless missions. The droid beeped sympathetically, turning his upper dome to acknowledge the attention of Threepio.

“Is there anything I might do to help?” the man of gold intervened, still lowering into his oil bath.

“Can you alter time? Transport me to another system? Quicken the harvest?” Adrien asked with a sigh, tossing the rag to the side.

“I don’t think so, sir. I’m only a droid and not very knowledgeable about such things. Not on this planet, anyway,” he continued on. “As a matter of fact, I’m not even sure which planet I’m on.”

Adrien rolled his eyes, preparing himself for many hours of the droid’s rambling. Company is company, he decided, digging around for something more effective to clean Artoo.

“If there’s a bright center to the universe, you’re on the planet that is farthest from it.”

“I see, sir.”

He was growing tired of the formalities. “You can call me Adrien.”

“I see, sir Adrien.”

“No,” he said, chuckling softly, comforted by the company. “Just Adrien.”

“Adrien,” the droid repeated. If the droid could smile, which he couldn’t, Adrien was sure he would have been now as he enthusiastically made his introduction. “And I am C3PO, human-cyborg relations. And this is my counterpart, R2D2.”

“Hello,” Adrien said casually, beginning to scrub yet again.

He liked droids a lot. Though he didn’t go around admitting it, he spent most of his childhood interacting with artificial intelligence, finding company in the likes of scrap metal and wires far more than he ever did the other children. He had always been so secluded from the other civilizations, being demanded to work long hours on the farm while the other children hung out closer to Mos Eisley. Nino was the only kid at school who would walk the trek to the Mars farm, and even then, he couldn’t do it often. So droids, though artificial, had served as good companions more often than not.

Beep, beep, blip ...was the blue droid’s greeting.

Adrien was making no progress with the droid. “You’ve got a lot of carbon scoring here. Have you two been caught in a lot of blaster fire?”

“With all we’ve been through sometimes I’m amazed we are in as good condition as we are, what with the Rebellion and all.”

Adrien paused, his hand slipping, eyes lighting up instantly as he turned to the talking droid. He blurted it out faster than he should have, nearly leaping to his feet at the droid’s words. “You know the Rebel Alliance?”

“That’s how we came to be in your service, if you take my meaning, sir.”

Adrien’s hands pulsed, turning to face the droid completely. “Have you seen any battles?”

“Several, I think. Actually there’s not much to tell. I’m not much more than an interpreter and not very good at telling stories…well, not at making them interesting, anyway.”

He chucked, letting his eyes dim slightly at the droid’s reluctance to tell him more. Usually, droids were more forthcoming than humans, which is one of the reasons he valued them so much. But due to humans, droids often had restrictions on what they could and couldn’t say, and details of a revolution such as the Alliance were things not meant for the eyes of a young farmer.

So he tried to let it go and focus on his work.

Adrien’s hand was getting sore from digging, wiping away at the worn machinery. He was fed up with the dirt lodged in the droid's mechanics, making it difficult to access his inner structure.

Pulling abruptly on one of the Artoo unit’s bolts, a sudden flash of blue light passed over his fingers, causing him to stumble backward. And then, lifting his eyes to the configuration, just a flickering silhouette of a girl, with eyes wide with dread, but yet hope. With strength, her voice carried a sweet spirit.

A girl.

A beautiful girl.

Help me, Caline Bustier, you’re my only hope...

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#Ignite the stars #miraculous ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Chat Noir #marinette dupain cheng #Ladybug #Adrinette #Ladynoir #marichat #ladrien #Miraculous Love Square #love square #star wars #miraculous fic #fanfic

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ysalamiri-queen · 5 years ago

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2019 Fic in Review

Inspired by @myevilmouse I’m going to sum up all the writing I’ve been up to the past year. I’m really proud of what I’ve accomplished, and thanks to you all for the encouragement to put my ideas out into the world! This has been a year of trying new things, and really growing as an author I feel… And wow according to AO3 I’ve written about 400k words in the past 12 months, damn. So let’s get to the list, going from the beginning of the year to the end, and as always please heed the tags on these before reading.

Note: As I go back, I’m realizing a lot of the links were messed up or are just straight missing. I am on the Mobile App so things can get messy. Please visit my works page on AO3 HERE to see all of these on my page under JessKo and my other pseuds.

1 Late Night at the Slab

Idea: Filling a prompt for the Thryce server in which some, uh, unique Chiss anatomy was assigned.

Result: A 3-way with Thrawn, Arihnda, and Eli and my first foray into the more Xeno side of things in a Modern AU setting. Yeehaw!

2 The Trouble With Free-Roaming Ysalamiri

Idea: Based on some adorable ysalamiri cuddles art by @strength-through-order I wanted to write some Thranto fluff.

Result: Ysalamiri-filled Thranto fluff X’D

3 Inquisitor’s Debt

Idea: What if the Grand Inquisitor changed sides at the end of Rebels season 1?

Result: Some fun throwbacks with Obi-Wan and Caleb Dume leading up to Quizzy defecting with Ezra.

4 Ancient Stems

Idea: Eli Week drabbles based on the Vanto Week prompts.

Result: A silly buzz droid narrative with Thrawn and some cute slice of life Eli backstory/Ascendancy days bits.

5 Charnsuka

Idea: Kinky stuff with Lord Garmadon when he’s an Anacondrai.

Result: Kinky stuff with Lord Garmadon when he’s an Anacondrai. Sorry Zane!

6 Caged Like Prized Birds

Idea: Again inspired by the awesome Chiss anatomy and Thrux drawings by @strength-through-order , I wanted to craft a narrative around Armitage, as a young man, stumbling upon a clone of Thrawn.

Result: Man, this might just be one of my favorite things I’ve ever written, had so much fun plotting it out and the smut is mmm! Tentacles everywhere~ I’ve gone back to re-read this a lot, I’ll admit it. I hope you all enjoyed it too.

7 Quiet On Set

Idea: Must. Write. Talos.

Result: A cute little platonic x-reader with everyone’s favorite Skrull. This was my first MCU fic too.

8 Diagnostic

Idea: Wanted to apologize to Zane for the damages done in Charnsuka with some Glacier shipping fluff.

Result: A silly glacier thing leading to a bit of foolery. I’m happy with it!

9 Heron Soaring

Idea: A continuation of the plot line from Heron Rising with Kanan and Thrawn.

Result: Too many feels… but some great sex to soften the blow, Kanera too!

10 Patron

Idea: Responding to a tumblr prompt from @wukeskywalker regarding Thrawn commissioning LOADS of artworks of Eli.

Result: More Thranto fluff! I see a trend here…

11 Black Heron

Idea: Kanan x Pryce for @myevilmouse , I think this was our first ‘collaboration’ on something!

Result: Juahir hires a special someone to show Arihnda a good time!

12 Red Heron

Idea: @star-wars-rebels-4 is always an amazing wealth of ideas for Grand Inquisitor, and encouraged a work featuring him and Kanan.

Result: Delicious back alley smut when an undercover Jedi is caught!

13 Warm Homecoming

Idea: Give my and a friend's OCs some cute fluff.

Result: OC fluff and a vacation to Hoth!

14 sowing the seeds

Idea: Add something cute to the spank war project.

Result: Another contender for my ‘favorite thing I’ve ever written’ rank. Two chapters of pining, cooking lessons, and sweet slick smut.

15 Red Frost

Idea: After watching “The Evil of Frankenstein” with @sneakybunyip ‘s amazing movie night group, I wanted to do something fun with Victor and Hans.

Result: A fun little adventure fic with some huddling for warmth to boot. Victor and Hans are the hammer-horror-verse Thranto send tweet.

16 a setting sun to hide the ruins

Idea: What if I tortured Kanan to the point he turned evil and joined the Inquisitors (and went a little insane in the process)

Result: Instead of torture, let’s just use some serum that drives him mad. Perfect. Smut ahoy, pretty much a dead dove type fic.

17 Pinktown

Idea: When browsing abandoned towns in Florida, I came across Flamingo… what if Thrawn had been exiled here instead.

Result: An alternate history of Thrawn’s exile and eventual discovery by the Empire. Huge thanks for @badgerandk on this one for the perfect epilogue and beta.

18 the sun rises to only illuminate the stranger i have become

Idea: Setting sun… part 2! But it’s actually what happens before sun?

Result: How Kanan ended up where he is for ‘a setting sun’... lots of imp smut and again, it's sort of a dead dove style fic.

19 Frozen Over

Idea: Ar’alani x Eli Vanto

Result: Somehow me and my writing partner ended up at sensory deprivation focus on this one.

20 Shape of Honor

Idea: Well, this one started in 2018 but ‘finished’ in 2019. Still working on the epilogue. Lots of tweaks… If you are not familiar, this is my AU in which it explores how the Thrawn novel and Rebels show would be altered if Palpatine distrusted Thrawn from their first meeting and accused him of being a Chiss spy. Vaguely inspired by the film The Shape of Water.

Result: Well it's nearly a novel now, isn’t it. This was a great adventure in learning how to create compelling story arcs. I’m extremely satisfied with how it is shaping (lol) up.

21 Datura Stamonium

Idea: Thrawnbine ovi smut.

Result: Oops it has plot now, a whole backstory with Eli and such and so fourth. Will need further stories told…

22 Desert Entropy

Idea: Luke/Wedge modern AU shenanigans.

Result: Also pulled Nath/Wyl and the Rogue Squad/Alphabet Squad peeps into this. Set in Vegas, Luke and Wedge meet and have a cute little romance, but some legal troubles set them back (Palpatine, as always, is That Bitch™) Very happy ending!

23 The Great Eli and Thrawn Prank War

Idea: See Chapter 1: Mullet Thrawn

Result: This thing really grew up, and thanks to all the contributors for allowing me to join in! My contributions were: 7-Bombs Away! In which a bit of drama brews and Thrawn makes a paint bomb that forces him and Eli back into being roomates. 11-Tooka Troube 2: Electric Boogaloo in which Eli finds his quarters slowly filling up with Tooka plush toys, and then something huge goes off in supply. 17-The Bitch is Back In which who knew Thrawn could sing?!

24 Clipped Wings to Keep Us from Flying

Idea: Continuing the story line from Caged Like Prized Birds

Result: Dragging Eli and the OG Thrawn into this, seeing that their stories were left untold in the first work. Also Armitage and the clone are up to all sorts of cool things. Still a WIP, on the list to keep working on this year!

25 I’ll do what I can.

Idea: Some Ronan/Krennic feels post Treason

Result: A Ronan character study that I really needed to get out of my system and finally a stable alliance between Krennic and Thrawn!

26 Purple Heron

Idea: @punk--kenobi and I concocted some fun Kanan/Zeb/Hera smut featuring Lasat heat cycles.

Result: Ah this came out so cool, full of emotion and wonderful imagery. Massive kudos to @punk--kenobi for beta-ing my portion and contributing some of the best smut one can find!

27 Ninjago Angst Week 2019

Idea: Do some 1-shots for Ninjago Angst Week

Result: ow right in the feels. Each character got a highlight in their own ‘dark retelling of a canon or canon adjacent event’ chapter.

28 Vertigo

Idea: Thing’s don’t go right planetside for Eli, Pik, and Waffle in Treason.

Result: Big oof. I hope Eli can one day forgive me… I even put strain on the end game Thranto! Bittersweet ending and lots of angst.

29 More Than Just a Treat

Idea: What is Obi Wan up to in the desert…

Result: Aunt Beau and baby Luke baked him cookies obviously!

30 Datura Metel

Idea: Continuing the Datura cycle…

Result: Just how Eli ended up where he did in the first installation.

31 Here & Now

Idea: Some Thranto Fluff! For @jewelliffer

Result: A camping trip for shore leave! And a marriage proposal for extra sugar.

32 Monster Under the Bed

Idea: Benevolent Boogeyman Chiss

Result: Modern AU Thranto spooky sillies. Bit of an intense climax but they talk it out!

33 Haunted by Sentiment

Idea: Nath is in denial of being the Squad Dad for @glassprowlers

Result: Nath’s very bad no good oh so terrible day! It's very silly and I really like how it ended up, the title is way more serious than the story itself XD

34 Pulse

Idea: Werewolf AU Lavashipping

Result: Oops Kai is a werewolf! Good thing Cole is here to help him figure out how to press on.

35 Stories from Area 51

Idea: remember the raid Area 51 meme? I do! Gotta clap them alien cheeks!

Result: Oh no it got PLOTTY! Pretty much all of my favorite characters and ships cherry-picked and plopped down into a Men In Black style facility in the middle of the desert. I really have a thing for the desert huh…

36 Good Day

Idea: The “truth” behind the “Good day, Lieutenant Vanto” from Thrawn in Treason.

Result: Oh stars the FEELS! Thrawn is in deep water and he KNOWS IT! GAH!

37 Fur Ball

Idea: Chiss are mogwai/gremlins…

Result: Silly Thranto fluff. Thrass shows up too! Feeding them after midnight is actually a good idea here… Grow your own ideal man!

38 Came Back Haunted

Idea: A mission fic centered around the @peters-pumpkin-day prompts.

Result: Ice planet survival with Tarkin, Krennic, Galen, and Ronan.

39 Sewn Together

Idea: This drawing actually is what lead to the fic-

Result: A fairly unique reuniting of Thrawn and Eli after both return to the Ascendancy.

40 Spiked Heron

Idea: Oh no… Kanan gets himself in deep poodoo this time.

Result: Devaronians really like humans huh? The next chapter is half way written I swear it is coming soon!

41 A Colder Embrace

Idea: Thrawn/Purrgil/Ezra and Luke/Wampa for SW Rare Pairs.

Result: It's very cold on Hoth… and even colder in space.

42 Surround

Idea: Luke/Wedge for SW Rare Pairs

Result: Luke has to confront Wedge post ESB regarding what is, essentially, his deserting the Rebels.

43 What Happens Planetside…

Idea: Eli/Pik/Waffle for SW Rare Pairs

Result: heheh a scrumptious Eli sandwich! And surprise tentacles because, well, why not?

44 Hesperidium

Idea: Fluffy Kylux for the Kylux Secret Santa event

Result: Ah its so sweet you might get a cavity

45 Reanimator

Idea: Lovecraftian eldritch horror Thranto

Result: This is the sort of project that it takes 2 months to fine tune each chapter, so bear with me, but I can promise a wonderful, creepy ride is ahead!

46 Floral

Idea: Luke/Faro for SW Rare Pairs. Enjoy the Jedi lovin’, @myevilmouse

Result: Sex pollen and accidentally defecting from the Empire. Whoops!

47 The Harch

Idea: Bouncing off of THIS art by @mamidlo , we worked together to create this plot. Very much inspired by the Hammer Horror films, such as Dracula and Frankenstein.

Result: A fun and spooky romp of Kallus and Zeb getting trapped in a creepy castle featuring mind controlled drones and a species-obsessed Harch. This was my first time posting the entire story at once, too!

Wow, I can not believe how much has been written this year. Thank you all again for reading and kudos-ing and your amazing comments. I’d not be here without the support and love <3 Cheers to 2020 and much more fic ahead!

#ysalamiri-queen writes #year in review #too many tags XD so im not even goign to try

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