#Things people learn fast: Mar bites back | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rvby · 21 days ago

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meeting

another excerpt. sin of deleting this fic when it did have things that were essential.

another mission. another assassination. another number.

naomi tells him to come back safe. come back soon. he hopes he doesn’t.

canada, calgary. the olympics are here this year. he has time before he stains his hands red again. there’s no rush for this one. he could use the break.

he stands out among the crowd–built like a gymnast at the winter olympics. but no one knows his name, the way they would a gold medalist (he doesn’t either, really, if anyone asked). and even with skin marred by scars, a map of the world at war, he knows how to move without getting attention.

his steps are silent (his gait is abnormal, movements unnatural and deliberate as he slips through the crowd). he wanders between the stages like a ghost, watching and refusing to the watched.

admiration is the feeling, he thinks. a warmth in his chest and a mind full of wonder, watching masters practice and hone their craft. who knew rocketing downhill on small sleds at speeds too fast for life would require as much muscle as it does. it’s interesting, seeing people from all walks of life competing together and coming out of the other side alive.

maybe he could have been an athlete, in another life. in a world where his hands don’t shake without a weapon to hold. in a life where he doesn’t need to see blood to feel safe.

but he’s not a competitor here. he’s a murderer for hire, taking the long road to his destination. eyes catch the shine of steel as he stares at a skater doing jumps across the ice. sharp as knives, and lethal with little effort. that’s an idea, isn’t it.

she sees him staring, leaning over the edge of the rink. who is he, to have such access? he looks like no one in particular. a foreigner as much as she is to this place.

her pace has slowed. she meets his eye. is she glaring? without intention, maybe. he offers her a lopsided grin, as if intrigued that she had noticed him at all.

the barking orders of her coach snap her back into space and time. if she can’t perform perfection, she may as well be dead. her head spins to look away, her movements on the ice too natural to be human. but she knows he’s staring. like the rest of the world–all eyes are on her.

her nose crinkles at the smell of smoke blocking the crisp, winter air. the moment of freedom as she leaves the rink, destroyed by the sticky scent. the same gray eyes follow her as she takes a clumsy step onto the cement below. judgment.

he watches her right herself, and offers her a smoke.

acknowledgement. she hides it quickly with disgust. “It will ruin your breathing.” a denial.

he shrugs. her reaction is curious, so quick to change. to pretend. “I don’t mind.”

she aches to say she doesn’t either. the words are caught in the web of lies that filter her speech.

he merely puts out the light beneath his boot. rough, worn. comfortable. he is no politician. but that fact is nearly as dangerous as if he was.

“You have business with me?” authoritative. business. the monotony of work.

he grins again, a little too wide for her comfort. like someone learning to smile. “Not yet. I can, if you’d like.”

he has business with another man, later on in this event. follow him from the stands. wring the life from him. pray for the number one. and forget. but that comes later. that takes no time at all for him.

he has time to waste. time to follow the people involved with him. to judge how she may react to the news before it reaches her ears. to learn if he is a person worth a number at all.

she thinks he is flirting with him. incredulous. as if he could ever know her. (as if she could ever know herself). but he is so forward. he thinks she is human. the world thinks she is an idol. a statue to memorialize. his smile looks as if it could bite the head off the statue and free the woman inside so that she may breathe in the air of life.

she turns from him to take another step.

“Then follow.”

the shadow of a grin follows too silently in her wake.

she does not hear of the assassination.

there is no panic in calgary.

there is no word of anything at all.

he is good at what he does, of course. a nightmare and a smoke, she assumes like any other. he is a soldier. it is expected of him. she sleeps through the hours. the czech representative commits suicide. in their shame, the communists cover the incident up. he is back in her arms by the morning light, and she thinks no time has passed at all in her sleep.

she is to perform that day. there is a familiar in her chest as she tightens her laces. the pressure of a nation’s light.

and yet, when she takes to the ice, the discomfort of gravity feels to slide off her shoulders. she knows the world stares at her expectantly. but the only eyes she feels watching her are the ones she’s become so quickly accustomed to.

this piece is for the hope of her country him. that she may keep his eyes on her longer. that even he, too, can have hope.

there is no doubt among the elite. there is no doubt among the common man. the world was watching her, and she has won.

…

it is a hollow victory. rumors spread of the missing representative. the communists herald her a star of the new age. she is the ice princess, yes. but her victory is not her own. it belongs to the people, as the communists preach. it belongs to the state, the propaganda, the war. she fades behind her glory, hiding behind the shield of fame that blinds the world to who she is.

after all, it would not be right for someone so famous as she is to speak her mind. to have opinions. to be herself.

she is a performer, on and off the ice. and it is a heavy mask to wear.

but she does not stay home for long.

there is a blessing, that comes from being an athlete of her caliber. a freedom. she begs for a chance to train in america. a need for inspiration. words dipped in honey to free her from her cage.

her coach, as much a mother to her as her own, concedes. she is given a year.

it is the best year of her life.

true to her word, she trains. practices. she spends days listening to the same records, planning and timing and dancing on the ice. but for once, it isn’t so lonely as it was before.

naomi, all fire and ice as she is, takes to studying at the ice rink, sitting in the stands as the same looping track plays again and again. she’s defensive at first, but she and her brother have been alone for so long that it takes little time before the girl is curled up, asleep in her lap as they wait for her brother to come home.

almost like a family.

almost.

the war is tolling on them all. naomi, sweet as she is, still bites to keep her distance. years spent raising herself has left her too wary to get close. and gustava, try as she may, is still a foreigner in a distant land. the ice beneath her feet has never done much to keep her stable.

it is only when frank returns that the world comes together again. a present for naomi, a kiss for gustava. color returns to the household, and for once, they laugh.

indeed, it takes the three of them together to make a home.

…but he still gets up in the hours of twilight, a smoke in one hand and a knife in the other. she’s asked him before why he leaves, why he hides. she knows better now, than to let herself wonder.

in a place where she feels she can finally be free. where the eyes of her country don’t search her for scraps of hope to steal from her skin. she wishes quietly, desperately, that her lover may feel the same.

there is a burden he carries. secrets even he doesn’t know. each return from his missions brings new wounds, new scars, but never new stories.

naomi is the one to tell her, while again they’re left to miss him. that there’s something wrong with him. things he can’t remember. names he doesn’t answer to. she remarks that he never looks her in the eye. like he’s scared of something. of her.

gustava doesn’t believe it at first, of course. she’s felt him watching her since the day they met. but it’s true. how close he can be with naomi without ever perceiving her fully. how he almost has to fight himself to stay by her side. a robot fighting its programming.

there’s a lot she doesn’t know about frank. she doesn’t mind. the distance he keeps with the ones closest to him is just another product of the war. another thing the war has taken from them. from her.

the distance doesn’t mean she doesn’t love him. it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love her. he cares in ways most others wouldn’t catch. the way he looks after naomi is proof of that. the way he holds her steady as she walks is proof of that. the way he sees her as she is, not as the symbol of a people’s hope. each time she sees it. feels it. she remembers that she is home.

love.

an indescribable experience of life.

everyone answers the question differently. no one really knows.

in the end, it's always the same.

"You'll just... know."

will he?

the subject confuses him.

he wonders, first, if what he thinks about big boss is love. it's a warm feeling, getting praise and attention from the man. and yet, it doesn't seem right. (it's adoration. devotion. need. is that not love?)

he wonders, then, if what he thinks about naomi is love. the smile that tugs at his lips when she hugs him. the sense of relaxation he feels knowing she's safe. but that too, seems wrong. (it's protectiveness. care. empathy. is that not love?)

there are all the dead soldiers, long forgotten in body and mind. he asks them what love is. they promise to show him. he doesn't quite get it, but if they say it is, then who is he to disagree? (they're human, after all. they'd know better than him).

he settles there, for some time. to connect the feeling with his body—that's something he can understand. this must be love, then.

right?

(there's nothing when they fall. no name and no number. love must be worthless, if this is all it is.)

he means to use her, at first. a test for his actions. but she's kind. she's strong. she's haunted.

he promises to show her what love is. she comes back to him when it's done.

she's not a soldier. she has a name. (gustava, he repeats. he doesn't want to forget.) she's human, he knows, but she knows that it means to be otherwise too.

they meet again. and again. they promise, when it's over, that they will meet again.

he finds himself, for the first time, wanting to come home.

he welcomes her home, gathering her up in his arms like if he didn't, she'd disappear from before him.

scarred lips press soft kisses to her cheeks. his heart beats so quickly he wonders if it could kill him.

but he lives. they live. and together, they make a home.

he says it once. an experiment. testing the words on his tongue. she smiles. laughs. holds him close. did words always matter so much?

maybe. he thinks about how words make him human to everyone else. how puppeteering his body makes them think he’s something like them.

he figures, in this way, he’s fooled her too.

good. it makes him happy to see her smile. to feel warmth off the ice. it makes him happy to see her happy.

and yet, it always hurts.

naomi has company now. they seem close enough already. he wishes he could look above her smile. he doesn’t want to puke.

gustava does what he couldn’t for her. what campbell couldn’t either. they look natural together. human.

he feels like a piece fit in the wrong puzzle.

the first time he returns, he’s gone for hours. bleeding into the dirt where he knows no one’s looking. terrified to move.

what is he scared of? what hurts so badly?

words have never been his strong suit. he’s laying on the painted grass, words left as a broken scream in his throat.

what is he scared of? what’s different now?

naomi. she hurts him. living proof of everything he’s done and everything he can’t do. he pries the knife further along his leg. she scares him. she always has.

what is he scared of? where can he go?

gustava. she hurts him. her prying eyes and questioning tongue wraps around and constricts him. he felt safer with a snake around his throat. he shoves the knife deeper into muscle. she scares him. he wants to go home.

home scares him. leaves him itching to hurt. to kill. wiggling the knife keeps him rooted in place. he wants to feel safe. he feels safest when he’s not.

he can’t have anything. he can’t have anything. he can’t have anything.

naomi. gustava. he loves them. he loves them so much it hurts in his chest. love hurts. happiness hurts. safety hurts. comfort hurts.

everything hurts. at least he knows that. he can handle the pain when everything hurts.

he looks down at the blood on his leg. on his hands. the knife. the grass. the muddy, ruddy dirt. his life sinks into the earth. he feels himself falling with it. dragged down into the depths of his own mind. his own pain.

he comes home tired, strained. he hears nothing but his pulse, loud and shattering his ears. he's halfway through properly sewing his leg up when he passes out in the bathroom alone.

voices familiar rouse him awake. or so, he'd say, were he not already apparently awake. he stays quiet. naomi always has so much to say. he's too tired to hear it.

there's another pair of hands on him, then. he grits his teeth to bite back a scream. she's awkward, struggling to keep the wrap around him. it's not naomi. gustava is helping him. they both are. he's home and he's [safe] and he's loved and he's living. he has more to come home to. maybe it's worth coming home.

if he has more than just guilt keeping him going, then maybe he'll have reason not to stop.

and then, the time passes slowly. quickly. he can't tell at all.

she says she loves him.

he says he loves her too.

the aching pulse in his leg reminds him he’s home.

when he leaves again, he rushes. hands scratching at his arms, begging to feel blood, sticky and warm, between his fingers. there's no time to explain. he wishes he didn't have to. didn't need to. but he does. and he leaves.

naomi is left to pick up the pieces. (for once, in her too-short life, she's not alone.)

he leaves behind a family. he leaves behind his humanity.

he wonders, with a blade skewered through number 23, if they could ever know him at all.

it's not enough.

it's not enough. it's not enough. it's never. enough.

is he not allowed happiness? is he not allowed humanity? is he not allowed hope?

she leaves and she promises to return and... her face is already gone from his mind. her warmth is already gone from his bed.

he doesn't want to forget. he doesn't want to forget. he's so. so fucking sick of forgetting.

he plays her record. he writes her name. speaks it to himself in the dark of his room like a mantra. he doesn't want to forget again.

it doesn't matter. she never comes back. he begins to forget.

he hears the first notes to a song. he can't focus on anything else.

when his senses open, freed of the tune, there's blood on his hands and a new number to pray for.

fourteen, he hears said by no one real at all.

another mission, it looks like. the same as always. a job well done and a pat on the back. it's all he can do. it's all he can do.

he's forgetting more and more. she left and took his mind, his memory, with her. a haunting tune to a suite makes a home in the emptiness. he follows blindly, praying it will guide him.

...naomi suggests he stay home this time.

... ... ...

when did he come home?

the time passes by. he doesn't notice it. he stopped counting, when she said goodbye.

(he can't remember her voice anymore).

there are few days he can remember, when he's aware of what's around him. most are on the battlefield. rarely, when he's home.

he asks what day it is. naomi tells him with a practiced patience. she has never been a patient child. (the world trains what is not innate. he wishes she could be free of its grasp.)

she knows he's getting worse. he knows he's getting worse. she doesn't know what to do to help him. he doesn't know what to do to help her.

he leaves again. more blood on his hands. he asks her what day it is. he isn't home.

#vivi writing

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halforc-mercenary · 7 years ago

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Sweet Dreams. ;D

…send me “Sweet Dreams” and my character will react to having a sex dream about your character.

“You are talking in your sleep, Mutthand.”, The Soldiers voice oozed of mischievousness, as they took the chair opposite of Mar at the other side of the table and sat down. In this early hour the Tavern was almost empty, the air yet smelled only of the fresh rushes spread over the ground and not of the heavy scent of beer that would start to linger in the air at the late afternoonhours. But for now, the air was still fresh and the Garrison outside still snoozed in the morning. The smile on the other womans face looked as friendly as a open wound. Mar pinned her ears back like a leery dog, but all she said over the edge of her bowl of oathmeal was a simple: “Its Muthand.”The other Woman waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, in her back Mar heard amused laughters that accompanied the Soldiers words. Mar narrowed her eyes to thin slits, but did not corrected the other woman by her next sentences: “Anyway, You are talking in your sleep, Mutthand.”“And you are snorring like a Elekk, so what?”, Under the table Mar stretched out one of her legs. The laughters in her back had become gloatingly and the smile on the other womans face freezed for a second, just a second, before she leaned on her elbows. She was spurred by the Laugter in Mars back and whistled conspiratorially :“You are saying very interesting things. Our commanders name, for example. Also you are emphasizing the Os and As so very passionately! I really wonder what the Commander would-”In the blink of an eye Mars foot hooked behind one of the legs of the other soldiers chair, pulled it along with the other woman forward to shove her against the edge of the table and in the next moment Mar was on her feet, reaching over the table, grabbing the other womans head by the hair and hammered this head faceforward with all her force on the tabletop.

“Amazing”, the halforc pressed out between cramped, orcish heavy jaws and her words were accompanied by the soldiers dizzy groan. The Soldiers nose and mouth was nothing but a bloody mass, as Mar let go of the other womans thick hair to shove her away and let her fall on the Taverns floor on her rear : “I think your emphasizing is so much better.”The soldier landed on the floor with a numb sound and for a second there was not even pain on their face, just a utterly bewilderment. The Laughters had died, the Tavern lay as silent as the snoozing morning outside. Then the first drips of blood dropped from the other womans chin on the ground and the Soldier snarled from between bursted lips:“Youfucki-”“Do you want me to verify your emphasizing in greater detail?”, the Halforcs hand by her bowl was suddenly on the hilt of her sword, faster than the hand of the other woman was on hers, fast enough to make the soldier hestiate. The leather which was wrapped around the hilt of Mars sword crunched under the young womans grasp, a sound like a threatening snarl. Mars voice was calm just as it had been the whole time, still in her throat lay a quiet growl. The other soldiers face was just a disorted grimace, with the blood running down from their nose over their chin in lines like deep red raggery.

“Anyone else who had heard me speaking in my sleep?”, Mars question was for noone in particular but it was heard all to well, because the gloatingly laughing in her back had stopped, swallowed eagerly by the Soldiers surpressed grunting as she pushed herself swaying on her feet again. Mar sat back in her chair again, one hand still at the hilt of her sword, but the other grabbed incidental the wooden spoon beside her bowl: “I thought so.”

Between two spoons of porridge the Halforc noticed that she was suprised. She had expected such a incident weeks ago, when she had first started dreaming of the Commander.

@leavenohoofprints

#leavenohoofprints #Things people learn fast: Mar bites back

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gible-love-nibles-archive · 2 years ago

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Racing Stripe (get it because an anteater has a stripe)

This took. A month of on-and-off writing to finish, on god??? Either way, hope you enjoy Aspen's first "official" appearance in the show! Basically a rewrite and expansion of "The Fast and the Feathery". This episode gave me the idea to make Aspen a mechanic; it did things to my brain.

Word count: 1.4k

Taglist: @crickiss @caracello @librarian-lover @halsdaisy @pandapup [If you want to be added, click here!]

(Please reblog! Likes do nothing + I like reading tags :])

"The lone duck descends in a last-ditch effort to send incendiary ordinance on an unsuspecting enemy... Ka-BOOM! Take THAT, you heathen monkeys!"

Aspen rolled her eyes. Even in the alleyway she was hiding in, she could hear how much dung Duck Dodgers-- yes, the Duck Dodgers-- was throwing out. She poked her head out from behind a barrel.

After getting yelled at by a kid, Dodgers hopped out and started bragging about the hot rods he used to ride back in the 21st century to his cadet and I.Q. Hi. He even went as far as to say he invented racing. The anteater couldn't help but let out a annoyed tch.

"It's just big talk to make himself seem better than he is, Aspen. Errol did the same thing all the time," she told herself. "Just ignore him. Bet he's never been on a real track."

Some trumpets caught the crowd's-- and her-- attention. It was a group of elite Martians, and the commander quickly stepped up into the spotlight. "Introducing the Supreme Leader of the Martian Empire: Her Royal Highness, the Queen of Mars!"

Queen Tyr'ahnee walked gracefully out from behind the curtains and addressed the crowds. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present our entry for this year's competition. The Martian Maverick 6 Million!"

While the crowds cheered for the reveal, Aspen stayed silent. Until: "...and will be piloted by our undefeated Grand Champion!" The queen gestured to her commander. "Who will gladly destroy any competition."

"Arrogant blowhards!" Dodgers sneered.

"Real rich coming from you," the hidden anteater muttered.

"Doc, let's get out of here! Cadet, this way!" But the little pig was gone. "Cadet?" Dodgers looked behind, where the Cadet was talking up the duck as a racing legend.

Dodgers took in a sharp inhale and booked it for the stage, weaving through the crowds of people. The anteater snickered.

"And that’s what he gets for talking big.” She unconsciously started moving closer to the stage. When else would she see the great hero Duck Dodgers make a complete fool of himself?

Aspen shimmied through the crowd just in time to hear Dodgers say, "Um... Y'know... Maybe I wasn't all that great..." and the crowd gasp in shock. As the masses spread their disbelief, she had to bite her tongue to hold in a laugh. "I hope you're happy," Dodgers whispered at his sidekick. But he quickly picked himself up. "Fear not, my people! I will not shrink from the task set before me. I shall be your champion and defeat the Martian horde!"

As the crowds cheered, the commander grumbled. "Arrogant blowhard."

Dodgers soaked up the crowd's approval, but then noticed Aspen with a small smug smile on her face. "What're you grinning for?"

Everyone halted a bit of their momentum. All their eyes were on her now. No one seemed to recognize her… yet. That was good.

The anteater was taken aback for a second— if she stayed here, it could be big trouble. However, if there was one thing she learned from being around a bunch of rowdy pirates, it was how to keep a cool head.

She kept her smile on and her eyes to the stage. "Nothin'. Just excited to see the race."

The duck clearly heard this as a jab because he raced up to her, snarling like a bull and getting right into her face. "What?! You think you can race better than me or somethin'!?" The crowd gasped, and the two Martians quirked their eyebrows.

She could hear muttering. Some of them might be starting to realize. But she's too far in now.

Aspen took a step back, still with a cool smile. "I mean… possibly. I've been around spaceships my whole life, and I've been racing in 'em since I was three. Your experiences sound pretty comparable to mine."

Dodgers nearly seemed to be at a loss for words; she guessed he was expecting her to match his angry energy with her own. This cool reception was a shell shock. But there was still some punch in him.

"W-W-Well... where's your proof then?! How do we all know-"

Aspen whipped out a tiny book.

"-that you're not just-"

She opened it up.

"-blowing... hot... air?"

It was full of all her racing memories, snapped into photos. She pointed at each one she described. "Me when I was three, in my first race ship. Me when I was six, winning my first derby. Me when-"

"How many pictures do you have in there?" The Cadet finally piped up.

She thumbed through the little book. "Enough to fill 141 pages."

The duck blinked like a deer in headlights, but he quickly composed himself. "HA! You're gonna need a lot more than family photos to stand up to me, Trunks! You enter this race, and you'll be eating my space dust!"

"C'mon Captain, let's go and get ready." The Cadet managed to defuse, literally pushing the duck away and towards his race ship. Dodgers left a final message of sticking his tongue out.

With that, the crowd finally started to disperse, and Aspen didn’t hear anyone try and contact the authorities! Mission success: she could finally leave!

"I don't think I've ever seen Dodgers lose his confidence that succinctly before."

Or not.

Aspen jumped out of her skin and nearly shrieked, before she clamped her mouth shut and looked at her side. It seemed the Martian commander accidentally snuck up on her, and he looked as wide-eyed as she did.

Well... compared to how a Martian usually looked. Big eyes had to make up for the lack of every other facial feature.

The anteater relaxed and chuckled. "Sorry, Commander. Didn't see you there."

"Clearly." The Commander's eyes went from cautious to curious. "If I may be so bold to ask, why on Deimos would you do that?"

"Well first off, Dodgers started it. And second, the guy was clearly acting off ego. It just... happened. I have a lot of practice deflating egos, I guess."

X2 made an amused sound. "Well, anyone who can do that to Dodgers is a friend of mine. What is your name, mysterious anteater?"

She flitted around her eyes for a bit. Most everyone was gone now. "Aspen."

"Aspen..." He put his hand up to his chin (where it would be anyway). "Why does that name sound vaguely familiar?"

Uh oh. If it wasn't time to scram before, it is now. The anteater put on a cheery facade and started to walk off. "Well, good luck Commander! May the best racer win!"

"Just a second." Aspen froze in her tracks, then slowly turned around. The Commander stepped aside, and Queen Tyr'ahnee stepped forward. "Aspen, was it?"

"Um... yes, your Highness."

"The same Aspen who's been on the run from just about every law enforcement system in the galaxy?"

"...Um. Yes, that would be me." Shoot.

"Ah. Now I recognize you." X2's cold voice wasn't helping the anteater's nerves.

The Queen paused, and Aspen could see the exact moment an idea crossed her mind. "Are all those things you said to Dodgers true? Have you truly been racing in ships that long?"

"Y-Yes." She didn't like where this was going.

"I'd like to make a wager with you, Aspen. Take a place alongside my Commander and Dodgers in this race."

"You want me to put my money where my mouth is. What's in it for me?"

"From all your reports, you have a particular magic with machinery." X2 seemed to understand his Queen's game plan. "If you can best both Dodgers and myself, all of your charges against Mars will be dropped. You'll be fed, sheltered, and with your handiwork, you'll certainly be paid well. You'll finally have a place to rest your feet. We'll even throw in dental."

Aspen must've made a face subconsciously because the the short Martian's face and tone went deadpan. "Yes, we have dentists on Mars."

"That's... very kind of you, but I don't need charity. I'm doing just fine."

But that wasn't what the anteater was worried about; heck, that offer sounded amazing. She was more concerned with staying in one spot for too long... she never knew when someone from her old crew was going to find her.

Tyr'ahnee could see she would need better bait. "What if every charge of yours was erased, across the galaxy?"

That made the anteater pause. "Can you... even do that?"

"I can be very convincing if I want to be."

Gears turned in Aspen's head, and eventually... "...I think I can work with that."

"Just remember: Mars offered you pardon first."

"I get it." Aspen looked over at X2 and held out a metal paw. "May the best racer win, Commander."

The shorter Martian grinned with his eyes and gripped her paw in a handshake. "Indeed, and may Dodgers lose."

"Say Commander, do you need... money to enter this race?"

#🐉🎮.txt #clare's writing #oc: aspen #THIS TOOK 40 MINUTES TO FORMAT AUGH #but here you go; take it. very proud of it honestly #i'm gonna go take a shower now

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reflectionsofneptune · 5 years ago

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little things about the Mars Signs

18+

little, dreamy things I associate with sex and the Mars signs in Astrology.

Aries Mars

Rawness. A strong grip. Tugging a lock of hair when it gets too much. A thin line between pain and pleasure. Nails scratching down a back because of frustration. A build up. Taunts. Deliberately causing arguments because make-up sex with you feels so good. Will you take the bait? Sex feeling new each time. A fast rhythm. Confidence. Advancing towards you. Feeling protective over you. An urge to KO anyone who looks at you for more than 2 seconds. Warrior urges instigated. Persistence got me this far in life, let me show you how it works for me.

Taurus Mars

Pressure. A slow burning warmth that licks up the body. We have all the time in the world. Every part of the body exposed to a kiss, a touch, a breath of air. Flickering of orange flames in a fireplace. A feeling of pure, unabashed sensuality when naked. Coolness of air which brushes the hairs on the back of the neck. Rooted in sexual energy. Slow and steady wins the race. Scented massages. Starting at the base of the neck. Feeling strength. Resilience. Flavoured condoms. Drunk on your love. How is it possible you taste sweeter every time? The smooth column of the throat. The shadows a sunset causes dancing. Seduction is like art to me, let me paint you a masterpiece.

Gemini Mars

Curiosity. Curiosity killed the cat, but the cat had nine lives. Opening up to try different things. Trying to do too many things at once. Falling on the floor so we stay there. A combination of arms and legs. Head cocked to one side. Observing you from a different angle. Slanted eyes. A feeling of pressure that’s quick but growing in acuteness. Busy hands. Roaming fingers. Lights on or off it doesn’t matter. I can still picture you. In my mind. With my eyes closed. You’re a permanent imprint on my psyche. My desire resides on the mental plane. Whispering all the things I want to do to you. Biting an ear lobe. Wanting to learn about every inch of your body. Tell me your fantasies and watch how fast I bring it to you in real time.

Cancer Mars

Baby. But I can take control. It depends how I feel. An emotionally charged touch. Hearts in sync. A vivid imagination. Role-playing. Wearing that outfit I know has that effect on you. Playing coy. If I’m feeling sad, I might insist we stay wrapped in each other’s arms, just for a while. Is that OK? A stormy kind of desire. Waking up to kisses. Not wanting to sleep because this moment is all I ever dreamed of. This feels like home. Checking in with you. A sensitive kind of love. Hold me tight. So tight I can’t breathe. Only then will it feel right. TLC. Crying before, during and after sex. I can’t help it. A sudden wave of desire, greedy in nature. Strong feelings of lust. My fervour for you is bottomless, this is but a small representation of its total expression.

Leo Mars

Doing it in the mirror so I can show you how beautiful you look. Don’t be shy. Rose petals on the bed. Even more rose petals on the floor. I wanna perform for you. An effortless performance, start to finish. This is what you signed up for. Let me deliver my end of the deal. Pride in the bedroom. Forgetting about past lovers. At the moment of release, saying my name soothes the lion inside that bares it’s teeth when you’re underneath me. Aggression. Feeling royal together. Round one barely took the edge off. Leaving my mark on you. The bedroom feels like a hunting ground. Running isn’t an option. Pleasure in all its forms. Can you tame the beast?

Virgo Mars

Acting reserved in public but it’s a different story behind closed doors. Who knew? Not afraid to get dirty with you. Voyuerism. Less stress. Surrendering to pleasure and not feeling guilty for it. Peace with the imperfection of this ritual. Perfection out of the window. Lust making a direct entrance, front and centre. Tasting you. And then kissing you. Tasting us. Fresh sheets. Getting equally turned on watching you get dressed vs watching you get undressed. When we’re done, cleaning you as an act of service. Submission. A routine that brings order to a chaotic life. If I tell you how crucial this is to my well-being, will you look down on me?

Libra Mars

Fluid. Fluidity in our movements. You first, then me. Close your eyes if you like. There’s no rush. I like being here with you. Who said romance was dead? Wants and desires expressed with you in mind. Sleepy sex. In the throes of passion, you still look like a masterpiece. Can’t get enough. Delicate petals of a rose. Instinctively knowing how to get you off. Licking my lips. And then licking you down there. Playing with you with finesse. How does this feel? Dressing up, just for you. A breathy sigh released in the crook of the neck. Scented candles. Not knowing where each other begins and ends. Not caring. A true union of souls. Sharing this helps me to forget about inner turmoil, if only for a little while.

Scorpio Mars

Enticement. Pupils full and unblinking. Space between us lasts for a second. Who are we kidding? Sharing oxygen. Sucking on your bottom lip. Eyes on me. That’s not a request. Wanting to watch you fall apart. A wet trail left by a tongue. Those kind of toys. Do you trust me? Show me how much. Fingers pressed into the skin, hard. A ghostly handprint flashes on the surface of the skin for a heartbeat. Teeth tease the throb of a pulse point. Blood rushing. Be brave enough to discover the intensity of my feelings and be sucked under. Only to rise up in levels in consciousness on a spiritual plane. Love is transformational. I’m willing to show you what you do to me. Don’t run.

Sagittarius Mars

Free rein. Sex with the possibility of being exposed. Down for whatever. Bluntness. Desires expressed with no shame. A finger over the lips. Playing to win. Feeling energised when rolling around the sheets. Nothing is off limits. Fantasies coming true. No strings attached. Watch me do you. Laughter as foreplay. Relax with me. You may have tried this position before but with me it’s different. Let’s get physical. A work out. Kissing you to muffle your screams. Messy hair. Messy sheets. How did this end up in the bed? Mundane details of life losing their importance when we’re together. Feeling the strength coursing through the thighs. I would risk getting caught with you.

Capricorn Mars

A hand on your waist in public, a hand on your throat in secret. Trust me, it feels better when you wait. Limits pushed. Burning up. Debauchery. I won’t tell. It’s our little secret. Experience is a turn on. Standards are a turn on. A sense of control. Mastery. I know this game in and out. Sex is all about power at the end of the day. Soft bristles of a whip, barely brushing the spine. I know how to do this with my eyes closed. How do you feel about blindfolds? Vulnerability. Replaying these moments we share in inappropriate places. Seductive e-mails. Legs pressed tightly together. Having power over you is an accolade I hold close to my heart, not something I take for granted.

Aquarius Mars

Electric. Electricity when our fingers touch. Permission to be one’s free, authentic self. A non-judgement zone. Non-physical forms of affection. I’m open to trying something new with you. Inviting other people into the picture but only you can make me feel this way. Incorporating technology to add a new flavour. Feeling closer to you in group sex. Conversations intermingling within the very act of sex. Noses brushing against each other faintly. Deep eye-contact feels orgasmic. Hearing soft vibrations in the air before you feel it. Swirling galaxies. My thoughts are consumed by you nowadays, but I’m OK with that.

Pisces Mars

Altered states of consciousness. The bliss that comes when feeling wholly accepted. Complete adoration. Eyes locked. A desire to merge together. Skinny-dipping under the cloak of the night. Who cares if we get caught. No restrictions. A transcendent experience. Artistic nudes. A photo album on my phone. Dedicated to you. Boundaries teased. Biting my lip to control myself but failing. Kisses on the forehead. Reverence. I can morph into whoever you want me to. Kissing you, but my eyes are open. Moments of silence. Desires expressed without words. The sweetest dreams. Every time feels like a little death, only to be reborn again.

| little thoughts about the mercury placements

| little thoughts about the venus placements

| little thoughts about the saturn placements

#astrology #mine #mars #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces #astro #zodiac signs #zodiac #astrology observation #thoughts

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years ago

Text

Into The Unknown, Part 10

First

Grocery store trips were weird. Tim had never taken them before, and now here he was buying food for the three of them regularly. He’d thought it would be harder, for some reason. But, no, it was just boring.

Tim rolled his eyes as Damian pointed to the nearest brightly colored object -- a bag of Not Cheetos… holy shit they were called Fritos this wasn’t allowed he has never been so vehemently against anything in his life.

He sighed as the baby yelled at him for the bag. This was his fault. He shouldn’t have gone in the chip aisle.

He looked down at the kid in front of him with an apologetic smile.

“No, kiddo. See, I would love to get that for you but, unfortunately, Mari said I can’t buy you any more random sweets. Blame her, not me.”

Damian was, apparently, too smart for his tricks because he banged his fist on the front of the cart and babbled at him angrily.

Tim sighed and leaned forward until his forehead touched the cool metal of the cart, thinking.

And then he got back up and handed the kid the bag of chips. Damian didn't know that it was food, Tim was pretty sure, and he had nothing against… ‘Fritos’ (outside of their name, obviously). So, why not? He could eat them. It was better than dealing with a tantrum in the middle of a store, at least.

Damian lit up and hugged the bag to his chest as if it was a soft stuffed animal and not a plastic bag filled with air and maybe a few chips.

Tim smiled faintly and pressed a kiss to the top of his head and then continued on his way, scanning over the list idly.

Oh. Marinette had added something. He squinted down at her messy scrawl, bringing it close to his face as if he could will the words to make sense.

And it worked. Ha. Take that everyone who didn’t believe in him.

Okay. So, she needed ‘pads’.

Sure. No problem.

He walked over to the aisle.

Hm. Okay. There might be a tiny little problem.

Why were there so many different brands? And sizes?

He stared around at them all helplessly. Sure, he had glimpsed the box a few times but he certainly hadn’t paid it much mind -- it wasn’t for him, why would he?! But now he was standing in an entire aisle full of products and there were way too many of them. And why did they all look the same? Shit!

He looked at Damian, who was biting the edge of the chip bag and giggling about the crinkling noises it made. But, once Tim turned his gaze on him, he looked up at him with wide eyes, attentive.

“Any chance you know what type Mari uses?” Tim joked softly.

Damian popped off the chip bag so he could babble at him. It was very helpful.

He considered, very briefly, just standing there in the aisle with the same helpless expression until some kind-hearted person took pity on him and he could avoid the embarrassment of calling Marinette at work to ask what types of pads she used… but, no, the idea of asking some random person for help was way worse. He had to just suck it up and do it.

He pulled out his phone and called Marinette. He was pretty sure it was lunchtime for her, anyways.

She picked up within a few rings, voice slightly muffled as she answered with a simple: “Problem?”

Tim didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or amused that her first thought when he called her was that something was wrong.

But he quickly alleviated her fears: “No, everything’s fine.”

He could hear the phone shift slightly as she assumedly went back to eating. “Right, then what is it?”

“Nothing bad, really…” Tim started awkwardly. His face reddened without his permission. “Just wanted to know what brand you used for, um, hygiene products.”

“... hyg --? Oh.” He heard her laugh at him and his face only reddened further. “What, the world's greatest detective couldn’t figure it out?”

“That’s my dad!” He mumbled a little huffily.

She snickered a little longer before finally saying: “I think the brand is called ‘Forever’ here.”

“See! You don’t even know!” He said even as he pulled down a box with the word written across it in elegant script.

“That’s because the name changed when --...” She seemed to remember she was at work -- or, at least, that there were other people around -- because she cut herself off suddenly before she could admit to being a dimension hopper in a world that likely wouldn’t even believe in the multiverse. “When… I switched brands! Yeah. Heh.”

(Tim swore he heard her mumble ‘technically not even a lie’ but he wasn’t quite sure.)

He started to put it in the basket but then he paused.

“There’s a lot of sizes.”

“Um… I think a four?”

“Yeah, no, they have letters here.”

“Fuck, right, hate that, um… D, I guess.”

He switched out the Cs he had gotten and smiled as Damian reached for him. He clearly wanted out of the cart -- Tim wondered, vaguely, if it was uncomfortable -- but that wasn’t going to happen so he decided to distract him:

“Want to talk to Mari, kiddo?”

The kid blinked up at him a few times before lighting up. “Mar-ree!”

He pressed the phone to Damian’s ear with one hand until the kid took it himself and then motioned for him to go ahead. “Takalam maeaha.”

“... marhaba?” Damian said, giving Tim a look that seemed to scream ‘you’re weird for making me talk into a box’.

Marinette must have said something back, because the kid’s eyes went wide. Damian looked around wildly for a few moments, clearly trying to figure out where Marinette was, before he realized that her voice was coming from the box. He gasped a little and pressed the phone against his ear even harder and started to ‘talk’ to her. It was a weird mix of Arabic and a few English syllables thrown together haphazardly, Tim was just glad he was learning.

Tim started on his way through the store again, sure he wasn’t going to get his phone back anytime soon.

He’d gotten all the necessities and they had money left in the weekly budget...

He headed to the kid’s aisle, head tipping from side to side as he considered what to get. Maybe a new book? Damian had taken a liking to them, though Tim was pretty sure that was more because he thought the English language sounded kind of funny rather than any real passion for stories.

He picked up a book about letters and looked down at Damian. He sounded annoyed now.

He looked at Tim with an annoyed expression and shook Tim’s poor phones a few times. “Mar-ree!”

Ah. She must have hung up because her break was over.

How was he supposed to explain how phones worked to a baby? Especially since he knew phones so intimately thanks to his time working on the model he was using.

He gently pulled the phone from the kid’s hands. “Mari’s at work. You can see her later.”

“Bu…” Damian pouted.

Damn it. How dare the kid be cute? Tim was about five seconds away from walking to Marinette’s job so the kid would smile again.

He hesitated before reaching behind himself and grabbing the first soft thing his hands landed on. He pulled it out and squinted at the stuffed cat. It was cute, he supposed, but he didn’t know why it was rainbow-colored.

Whatever.

He offered the plush to Damian and the kid seemed to instantly forget about the phone.

(And the chips. But the kid had put it in his mouth so it looked like Tim was buying that anyway.)

He pressed a kid to the top of his head and then continued on his way.

… and that was when he heard it:

Haha, someone got called a DILF.

… wait a minute… he was the only person with a kid around here…

His head whipped around so fast he would have gotten whiplash if he was old -- which he wasn’t -- to see two girls in their mid teens. And they were definitely looking at him. They even tried to hide behind the next aisle in order to avoid his gaze once they realized he had heard them.

Tim didn’t know what to do about this. Someone had actually called him...

He was 19! He couldn’t be that yet! How?! No!

And, sure, the logical part of him knew they were technically right. He was attractive (he hoped) and, when it came to the ‘dad’ thing… if Damian never got his memories back, then Tim would pretty much be the only dad that he had ever known. He would be a dad.

But, again, he was 19-years-old, he didn’t want to think about this.

So, to ward off the impending crisis, he looked around the aisle he was in wildly for some kind of ‘kid’ thing.

He found some marshmallow guns and grabbed two. Then he got some marshmallows because those weren’t included for some reason. Whatever.

He looked down at the basket, aware that he was now over budget, and eventually decided to put back the book. Who needs to learn?

(Besides, if Damian really wanted to just hear people talk, Tim could totally do that. He had so many random facts in his head thanks to random rabbit holes he had gone down while sleep-deprived, he could just rant about those if the kid wanted.)

So, he checked out, loaded up with all the bags and the baby, and started walking home.

… he was totally going to learn to drive. Even if Gotham streets were safer -- especially when he had a baby on him -- it was a pain to carry all the groceries even the few blocks to their apartment. Literally. The bags dug into his skin. He swore he could taste blood.

But he had an end goal in sight, so he went faster than usual that day.

He set up the guns, leaving Marinette’s on the kitchen table and then took a seat on the couch with Damian. They spent the few remaining hours playing games (Tim was pretty sure, he had absolutely no clue what Damian was saying but the kid seemed to have fun and that was all that mattered) and watching TV.

Tim heard his door click and looked up.

He quickly reached for the marshmallow gun and turned to point it at the door.

Damian watched him in silence, perfectly still as if he understood that this was something that they needed to be quiet for.

Usually, this kind of worried Tim. They always gave Damian to Kaalki and Tikki when they sparred, but Damian had always been… shockingly well-behaved? Not in the good way, either, he was far too still and quiet. Tim was starting to suspect that, at the very least, the kid remembered the first year of his life in the League. He hoped that the trauma would fade away with time. Kids forget things that they experienced as babies when they grew older, Tim himself couldn’t remember anything from before he was three, so hopefully this would be the same.

… but he really wanted to get Marinette with a marshmallow gun. So, he swallowed down the slight bit of anxiety rising in his chest and looked through the scope as Marinette finally managed to open the finicky door.

Damian’s eyes widened and he made a quiet ‘ah!’ sound.

Tim jumped at the sudden sound and pulled the trigger. The marshmallow gun made a fmpf sound as it fired off the shot.

The marshmallow bounced off of Marinette’s forehead harmlessly. Because, y’know, it was a marshmallow.

She blinked a few times and then knelt down to pick up the fallen marshmallow. She scanned it over a few times, eyes narrowed.

Tim hardly paid attention to her, looking over at Damian. The kid looked very confused, eyes darting between the gun and Marinette and the marshmallow on the floor repeatedly as if he wasn’t sure what he was seeing.

And then he flopped back on the sofa with a quiet whimpering sound.

Marinette and Tim frowned at each other. He could see confusion and concern knitting her eyebrows together, meanwhile all he had was dread coiling itself in his gut. Because… what if Damian did remember his first year with the League? Or, even worse, what if he would slowly regain all his memories? No kid deserved that...

Tim felt something hit the side of his head, snapping him out of his daze. Oh. Marinette had grabbed the other gun and promptly gotten her revenge.

Damian didn’t see this, at least, just staring at the ceiling with wide eyes.

Marinette sat on Damian’s other side, gently picking him up and nuzzling her nose against his cheek. Then, she sat him back down between them, sidling close so the kid could curl into her side. Tim, after a few seconds, scooted closer as well.

“Want some marshmallows? They’re yummy,” she tried hesitantly.

She shot one into her hand and, after tearing it in half just in case, handed it to Damian.

The kid took a hesitant bite, still looking a little put out, but then he gasped a little. He happily chewed away at the marshmallow, the event easily wiped from his mind in favor of the yummy thing in his hand.

Tim sighed in relief, reaching behind himself for the marshmallow bag so they wouldn’t have to shoot any more. Just in case.

“Quick thinking,” he said, which was kind of a compliment if you squinted.

She smiled and leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “It’s what I’m known for.”

There was a few seconds before she sighed just a little, gently combing her fingers through Damian’s hair. The kid reached out and gripped Tim’s shirt in his hand, surely getting it messed up thanks to the marshmallow on his hands but whatever, and tried to tug him closer. He obliged. Marinette rested her head on his shoulder absently.

“What would I do without you?” He mused.

“Probably starve on the streets,” she said bluntly.

He scoffed a little. “The minute this kid goes to sleep I’m going to shoot another marshmallow at you.”

“You can try. Only reason you even got me last time was ‘cause I didn’t know you were going to do it.”

“The element of surprise is a totally valid tactic!” He pretended to whine.

She grinned at him. “But it won’t work again.”

He wrapped an arm around her lazily. “We’ll see.”

~~~~~

@unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

#pads..... of paper??#nearly made tim go #do with this information what you will #into the unknown #maribat #tim drake #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #red robin #timari #timmari #timinette #shutterbug

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kingandfireheart · 4 years ago

Text

YOUR MATING BOND IS SHOWING: Some underrated Nessian scenes pre-ACOFAS

alternatively titled: how did no one in the Inner Circle accidentally tell Nesta?

I didn't include the big moments (the Cauldron, the Bone Carver, Next Time, Emissary, I'll Come Say Hello, CASSIAN, and Hybern) because they are longer scenes, but these are some small and medium sized moments.

When Cassian can't stop staring at Human Nesta:

Cassian was sizing up Nesta, a gleam in his eyes that I could only interpret as a warrior finding himself faced with a new, interesting opponent.

...

Nesta didn’t bat an eyelash as she studied the handsome features, the muscled torso. Then turned to me. Dismissing him entirely.

Cassian’s face went almost feral. A wolf who had been circling a doe … only to find a mountain cat wearing its hide instead.

...

Rhys gave me a warning look. I gripped Nesta’s arm, drawing her attention to me. “Can we just … start over?”

I could almost taste her pride roiling in her veins, barking to not back down.

Cassian, damn him, gave her a taunting grin.

But Nesta merely hissed, “Fine.” And went back to eating.

Cassian watched every bite she took, every bob of her throat as she swallowed.

...

“That’s very beautiful,” she said. “Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?”

“It is sometimes,” Azriel said. Cassian tore his relentless attention from Nesta long enough to nod his agreement.

When Nesta gives Cassian the finger:

He’d given Nesta a mocking bow, and she’d given him a vulgar gesture I hadn’t realized she knew how to make.

Cassian had merely laughed, his eyes snaking over Nesta’s ice-blue gown with a predatory intent that, given her hiss of rage, he knew would set her spitting. Then he was gone, leaving my sister on the broad doorstep, her brown-gold hair ruffled by the chill wind stirred by his mighty wings.

When Cassian comes back from Wings & Embers:

I assumed seeing Nesta went about as poorly as could be imagined, because my lesson the following morning was longer and harder than it’d been in previous days. I’d asked what, exactly, Nesta had said to him to get under his skin so easily. But Cassian had only snarled and told me to mind my own business, and that my family was full of bossy, know-it-all females.

When Cassian declares he'll defend the humans (ACOMAF version)

His voice was rough as he said, “Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.”

I watched a tear slide down Nesta’s cheek. And I watched as Cassian reached up a hand to wipe it away. She did not flinch from his touch.

When Feyre notices the mating bond:

When I looked ahead, I found Cassian staring back at Nesta as well.

I wondered why no one had yet mentioned what now shone in Cassian’s eyes as he gazed at my sister.

The sorrow. And the longing.

When Cassian tells Nesta exactly what is going to happen to Briallyn:

“You come between a male and his mate, Nesta Archeron, and you’re going to learn about the consequences the hard way.”

When Cassian speaks of his own intentions:

I blew out a breath. “Who else thinks it’s a terrible idea to leave the three of them up at the House of Wind?”

Cassian raised his hand as Rhys and Mor chuckled. The High Lord’s general said, “I give him an hour before he tries to see her.”

...

Cassian’s hazel eyes shuttered as he crossed a booted ankle over another, stretching his muscled legs before him. “I go up there every other day. It’s good exercise for my wings.” Those wings shifted in emphasis. Not a scratch marred them.

When Cassian wants revenge:

Mor’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if she was trying her best not to say anything. Azriel was trying his best to shoot a warning stare at Mor to remind her to indeed keep her mouth shut. As if they’d already discussed this. Many times.

“I don’t blame her,” Cassian said, shrugging despite his words. “She was—violated. Her body stopped belonging wholly to her.” His jaw clenched. Even Amren didn’t dare say anything. “And I am going to peel the King of Hybern’s skin off his bones the next time I see him.”

His Siphons flickered in answer.

Rhys said casually, “I’m sure the king will thoroughly enjoy the experience.”

Cassian glowered. “I mean it.”

When Cassian realizes how beautiful his mate is:

Yes, devastating was a good word for how lovely she’d become as High Fae. And in a long-sleeved, dark blue gown that clung to her curves before falling gracefully to the ground in a spill of fabric …

Cassian looked like someone had punched him in the gut.

When Cassian got out of an uncomfortable situation:

Mor blinked, but confided to me with a wince, “I think we’re going to need a lot more wine.”

Nesta’s spine stiffened. But she said nothing.

“I’ll raid the collection,” Cassian offered, disappearing through the inner hall doors too quickly to be casual.

Nesta stiffened a bit more.

When Nesta wants revenge

“Were they made immortal?” This question went to Azriel.

Azriel’s Siphons smoldered. “Reports have been murky and inconsistent. Some say yes, others say no.”

Nesta examined her wineglass.

Cassian braced his forearms on the table. “Why?”

Nesta’s eyes shot right to his face. She spoke quietly to me, to all of us, even as she held Cassian’s gaze as if he were the only one in the room. “By the end of this war, I want them dead. The king, the queens—all of them. Promise me you’ll kill them all, and I’ll help you patch up the wall. I’ll train with her”—a jerk of her chin to Amren—“I’ll go to the Hewn City or whatever it is … I’ll do it. But only if you promise me that.”

When Cassian is mad at Feyre and lies:

I studied him, the wings tucked in tight, the shoulder-length dark hair. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He stalked past me to the ring.

“Is it Nesta?”

“Not everything in my life is about your sister, you know.”

I kept my mouth shut on that front.

When Nesta shows up to training:

Something drew Cassian’s attention behind me. And even as his body remained casual, a predatory gleam flickered in his eyes.

I didn’t need to turn to know who was standing there.

“Care to join?” Cassian purred.

Nesta said, “It doesn’t look like you’re exercising anything other than your mouths.”

I looked over my shoulder. My sister was in a dress of pale blue that turned her skin golden, her hair swept up, her back a stiff column. I scrambled to say something, to apologize, but … not in front of him. She wouldn’t want this conversation in front of Cassian.

Cassian extended a wrapped hand, his fingers curling in a come-hither motion. “Scared?”

I wisely kept my mouth shut as Nesta stepped from the open doorway into the blinding light of the courtyard. “Why should I be scared of an oversized bat who likes to throw temper tantrums?”

...

Cassian was saying to Nesta, “Seems like you’re a little on edge, Nesta. And you left so abruptly last night … Any way I can help ease that tension?”

When Cassian has manners: (and realizes his mate may never fly)

Mercifully, or perhaps not, Nesta’s retching filled the silence. Cassian gaped at Rhys. “What did you do?”

“I asked him the same thing,” I said, crossing my arms. “He said he ‘went fast.’ ”

Nesta vomited again—then silence.

Cassian sighed at the ceiling. “She’ll never fly again.”

The doorknob twisted, and we tried—or at least Cassian and I did—not to seem like we’d been listening to her. Nesta’s face was still greenish-pale, but … Her eyes burned.

When Cassian helps her calm down:

There was no way of describing that burning—and even painting it might have failed.

Her eyes remained the same blue-gray as my own. And yet … Molten ore was all I could think of. Quicksilver set aflame.

She advanced a step toward us. All her attention fixed on Rhys.

Cassian casually stepped in her path, wings folded in tight. Feet braced apart on the carpet. A fighting stance—casual, but … his Siphons glimmered.

“Do you know,” Cassian drawled to her, “that the last time I got into a brawl in this house, I was kicked out for a month?”

Nesta’s burning gaze slid to him, still outraged—but hinted with incredulity.

He just went on, “It was Amren’s fault, of course, but no one believed me. And no one dared banish her.”

She blinked slowly.

But the burning, molten gaze became mortal. Or as mortal as one of us could be.

When he calls her "Nes" for the first time:

Both males went a bit still. But Azriel sketched a bow—while Cassian stalked for the dining table, reached right over Nesta’s shoulder, and grabbed a muffin from its little basket. “Morning, Nesta,” he said around a mouth of blueberry-lemon. “Elain.”

---

Cassian finished the muffin, licking his fingers. I could have sworn Nesta watched the entire thing with a sidelong glance. He grinned at her as if he knew it, too. “Ready for some flying, Nes?”

“Don’t call me that.”

The wrong thing to say, from the way Cassian’s eyes lit up.

When she flies with him for the first time:

My sister’s face was wind-flushed as Cassian gently set her down. Then she strode for the glass doors without a single look back.

“You’re welcome,” Cassian called after her, more than a bite to his voice. His hands clenched and slackened at his sides—as if he were trying to loosen the feel of her from his palms.

When he rescues her and can't hide his disappointment the she didn't hug him:

He said nothing as Nesta launched herself toward him, her dress filthy and disheveled, her arms stretching for him. He opened his own for her, unable to stop his approach, his reaching— She gripped his leathers instead.

...

Cassian only stretched out an arm for her. As if in a trance, she walked right to his side. His arms tightened around both of us, Siphons flaring, gilding the darkness with bloodred light.

When Nesta is recovering from the library attack and he's an attentive mate:

Nesta looked like she was going to be sick. Cassian wordlessly refilled her glass.

When he's protective and we find out about their height difference

Cassian was staring at Nesta—hard enough that my sister at last twisted toward him. Met his gaze. His head tilted—slightly. A silent order.

Nesta, to my shock, obeyed. Drifted over to Cassian’s side as Amren replied to Rhys, “No.”

...

Cassian casually slid Nesta behind him, his fingers snagging in the skirts of her black gown. As if to reassure himself that she wasn’t in Amren’s direct path. Nesta only rose onto her toes to peer over his shoulder.

When Cassian still isn't back from Adriata:

Nesta was waiting at the breakfast table the next morning. Not for me, I realized as her gaze slipped over me as if I were no more than a servant. But for someone else. I kept my mouth shut, not bothering to tell her Cassian was still up at the war-camps. If she wouldn’t ask … I wasn’t getting in the middle of it.

When Cassian is proud of Nesta:

“I would.” Nesta surveyed us all, her gaze jumping past Cassian. Not to slight him, but … avoid answering the look he was giving her. Approval—more. “It was some distant thing,” she said. “War. Battle. It … it’s not anymore. I will help, if I can. If it means … telling them what happened.”

When Nesta defends Cassian for the first time:

Beron only sneered. “I don’t take orders from the bastards of lesser fae whores.”

...

“That bastard,” Nesta said with utter coolness, though her eyes began to burn, “may wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people.”

She didn’t so much as look at Cassian as she said it. But he stared at her—as if he’d never seen her before.

When Feyre dismissed Nesta but Cassian doesn't:

The door opened, and Cassian stalked in, face grave. The sight of the wings, the Illyrian armor in this opulent, pink-filled room planted itself in my mind, the painting already taking form, as he said, “What’s wrong.”

He studied every inch of her. As if there were nothing and no one else here, anywhere.

But I said, “She senses something is off—says we need to leave right away.”

I waited for the dismissal, but Cassian angled his head. “What, precisely, feels wrong?”

When the Cauldron made Nesta barf and Cassian is an attentive mate

“What’s wrong?” Mor demanded, holding my sister upright as her face contorted in what looked to be—pain. Confusion and pain.

Sweat beaded on Nesta’s brow, though her face went deathly pale. “Something …” The word was cut off by a low groan. She sagged, and Mor caught her fully, scanning Nesta’s face. Cassian was instantly there, his hand at her back, teeth bared at the invisible threat.

“Nesta,” I said, reaching for her.

Nesta seized—then twisted past Cassian to empty her stomach into the reflection pool.

When he touches her forehead:

Cassian stepped in Nesta’s path when she tried to walk past him. Put a tan, callused hand on her forehead. She shook off the touch, but he gripped her wrist, forcing her to meet his stare. “Any one of those human pricks makes a move to hurt you,” he breathed, “and you kill them.”

He wouldn’t be coming—no, he’d be mustering the full might of the Illyrian legions. Azriel would be joining us, though.

Cassian pressed one of his knives into Nesta’s hand. “Ash can kill you now,” he said with lethal quiet as she stared down at the blade. “A scratch can make you queasy enough to be vulnerable. Remember where the exits are in every room, every fence and courtyard—mark them when you go in, and mark how many men are around you. Mark where Rhys and the others are. Don’t forget that you’re stronger and faster. Aim for the soft parts,” he added, folding her fingers around the hilt. “And if someone gets you into a hold …” My sister said nothing as Cassian showed her the sensitive areas on a man. Not just the groin, but the inside of the foot, pinching the thigh, using her elbow like a weapon. When he finished, he stepped back, his hazel eyes churning with some emotion I couldn’t place.

When Nesta watches Cassian in Battle:

Only Nesta strode toward the edge of the tents to watch the battle on the valley floor below. Mor joined her, then me.

Nesta did not flinch at the clash and din of battle. She only stared toward one black-armored figure, leading the lines, his occasional order to push or to hold that flank barking across the battle

...

Cassian was trying. Azriel had lunged into the fray, nothing more than shadows edged in blue light, battling his way toward where Cassian fought, utterly surrounded.

“Mother above,” Nesta said softly. Not in awe. No—no, that was dread in her voice.

...

By the time I strode away, Nesta had already faced the battle once more, rain plastering her hair to her head. Resuming her unending vigil of the general battling on the valley floor below.

When she wraps up his wrist (and when he's an idiot and focuses on Mor)

But Nesta had jolted to her feet, staring at Cassian....But she surveyed his seven Siphons, the dim red stones. And then she said, “You’re hurt.”

Cassian’s face was grim—his eyes glassy. “It’s fine.” Even the words were laced with exhaustion.

But she reached for his arm—his shield arm.

Cassian seemed to hesitate, but offered it to her, tapping the Siphon atop his palm. The armor slid back a fraction over his forearm, revealing—

“You know better than to walk around with an injury,” Rhys said a bit tensely.

“I was busy,” Cassian said, not taking his focus off Nesta as she studied the swollen wrist. How she’d detected it through the armor … She must have read it in his eyes, his stance.

I hadn’t realized she’d been observing the Illyrian general enough to notice his tells.

“And it’ll be fixed by morning,” Cassian added, daring Rhys to say otherwise.

But Nesta’s pale fingers gently probed his golden-brown skin, and he hissed through his teeth.

“How do I fix it?” she asked ...

Cassian slowly sat on the log where she’d been perched a moment before, groaning softly—as if even that movement taxed him. “Icing it usually helps, but wrapping it will just lock it in place long enough for the sprain to repair itself—”

She reached for the basket of bandages she’d been preparing, then for the pitcher at her feet.

I was too tired to do anything other than watch as she washed his wrist, his hand, her own fingers gentle... Cassian seemed too weary to speak as well while she wrapped bandages around his wrist, only grunting to confirm if it was too tight or too loose, if it helped at all. But he watched her—didn’t take his eyes off her face, the brows bunched and lips pursed in concentration.

And when she’d tied it neatly, his wrist wrapped in white, when Nesta made to pull back, Cassian gripped her fingers in his good hand. She lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely.

Nesta did not yank her hand away. Did not open her mouth for some barbed retort.

She only stared and stared at him, at the breadth of his shoulders, even more powerful in that beautiful black armor, at the strong column of his tan neck above it, his wings. And then at his hazel eyes, still riveted to her face.

Cassian brushed a thumb down the back of her hand. Nesta opened her mouth at last, and I braced myself—

“You’re hurt?”

At the sound of Mor’s voice, Cassian snatched his hand back and pivoted toward Mor with a lazy smile. “Nothing for you to cry over, don’t worry.”

Nesta dragged her stare from his face—down to her now-empty hand, her fingers still curled as if his palm lay there. Cassian didn’t look at Nesta as she rose, snatching up the pitcher, and muttered something about getting more water from inside the tent.

Cassian and Mor fell into their banter, laughing and taunting each other about the battle and the ones ahead.

Nesta didn’t come back out again for some time.

When Cassian almost dies, and she's worried sick, and then she looks him over to make sure he's okay:

Nesta stood by the nearest tent, an empty water bucket between her feet. Her hair a damp mess atop her mud-flecked head. Watching us emerge, grim-faced—

“He’s fine. Healed and awake,” I said quickly.

Nesta’s shoulders sagged a bit.

...

Still coated in mud up to her shins, my sister paused on the other side—away from where Cassian now sat. Looked him over. Her face revealed nothing, yet her hands … I could have sworn a faint tremor rippled through her fingers before she balled them into fists and faced Amren. Cassian watched her for a moment longer before turning his head toward Amren as well.

...

Your sister came immediately when I explained what we needed, Rhys said. I think seeing Cassian hurt convinced her not to pick a fight today.

Or convinced my sister to pick a fight with someone else entirely.

When Nesta Scries: No harm no harm no harm

Nesta still didn’t move. She could not use the bathtub, she’d told me. Because the memories it dragged up—

Cassian said to her, “Nothing can harm you here.” He sucked in a breath, groaning softly, and rose to his feet. Azriel tried to stop him, but Cassian brushed him off and strode for my sister’s side. He braced a hand on the desk when he at last stopped. “Nothing can harm you,” he repeated.

Nesta was still looking at him when she finally shut her eyes. I shifted, and the angle allowed me to see what I hadn’t detected before.

Nesta stood before the map, a fist of bones and stones clenched over it. Cassian remained at her side—his other hand on her lower back.

...

With a gasp, Nesta’s fingers splayed wide, scattering stones and bones over the map. Cassian caught her with an arm around the waist as she swayed. He hissed in pain at the movement. “What the hell—”

When Cassian makes an offer most women would not refuse:

“Eat or bed?” Cassian had asked Nesta, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he’d meant it as some invitation. I debated telling him he was in no shape.

Nesta only said, “Bed.” And there was certainly no invitation in the exhausted reply.

When Elain is taken:

“We’ll get her back,” Cassian rasped from where he perched on the rolled arm of the chaise longue across the small sitting area, watching her carefully...

Nesta lowered her hands, lifting her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, lips thin. “No, you will not.” She pointed to the map on the table. “I saw that army. Its size, who is in it. I saw it, and there is no chance of any of you getting into its heart. Even you,” she added when Cassian opened his mouth again. “Especially not when you’re injured.”

When Cassian declares he'll defend the humans, pt. 2 (ACOWAR)

“Good,” Cassian said, glancing at Nesta. “If I end my life defending those who need it most, then I will consider it a death well spent.

When Cassian was going to say something before the last battle:

Rhys only asked, “How long do you think we have?”

Cassian clenched his jaw, glancing at my sisters. Nesta was watching him keenly; Elain monitored the army from our minor elevation, face white with dread....

Cassian took a step away, but looked back at Nesta. Her face was hard as granite. He opened his mouth, but seemed to decide against whatever he was about to say. My sister said nothing as Cassian shot into the sky with a powerful thrust of his wings. Yet she tracked his flight until he was hardly more than a dark speck.

When they decide to lure away Hybern:

Nesta stared toward that armada, toward our father fighting in it. “Use me. As bait.”

I blinked at the same moment Cassian said, “No.”

...

“He will kill you,” Cassian snarled.

Her hand clenched on his arm. “That’s—that’s where you come in.”

To guard her. Protect her. To lay a trap for the king.

...

Cassian said steadily, “It’s the only shot we have of a diversion. Luring him away from that Cauldron.” His hands tightened on Nesta.

...

But Cassian asked Nesta, “Do you have what you need?”

Nesta nodded. “Amren showed me enough. What to do to rally the power to me.”

And if Amren and I could control the Cauldron between us … That distraction they’d offer …

Nesta looked down to Elain—our sister monitoring the bloodbath ahead. Then to me. She said quietly, “Tell Father—thank you.”

She wrapped her arms tightly around Cassian, those gray-blue eyes bright, then they were gone.

#ACOWAR was FULL of ACOSF crumbs #nesta and cassian examining eachother for injuries is huge #how did the busybodies not say anything about them being mates for TWO YEARS #I love these two #Nessian #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #kp analysis #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar series #mtp

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fruitquake · 4 years ago

Text

The Notebook

Remus had been in such a rush to get to class, he didn’t notice he had grabbed the wrong bag. In fact, in his absentminded state, he didn’t realize before he opened the bag to find Sirius’ things inside: Pieces of crumbled up parchment, a couple of chocolate frogs, a bottle of ink, and his notebook.

Remus remembered buying that notebook with him, in a bookshop in muggle London. Sirius had immediately fallen in love with the notebooks that had silly “inspirational” quotes written on the cover. The one he had bought said “Shoot for the moon; even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars”, which didn’t even make sense. Of course, Sirius didn’t care if it made sense or not.

“Alright, now, students, you will be taking notes today, so get your quills and parchment out,” said Professor McGonnagal as she entered the classroom.

Fuck. Remus didn’t have his own bag, and therefore didn’t have anything to take notes with. He turned in his seat to try and catch Sirius’ attention, but to no avail.

He would have to borrow Sirius’ notebook then, just for this lesson. He could give it back to him afterwards.

But as he opened it, something written on the first page caught this eye:

This notebook belongs to Sirius Black Lupin.

Remus felt his heart rate speed up as he flicked through the pages. On some of them, Sirius had written things like “S+R”, usually with a heart neatly drawn around the letters, as well as “Sirius Lupin” over and over again. A larger block of text caught his eye:

“Why do I feel this way? I know it’s wrong, but no matter how hard I try to make the feeling go away, it’s still there; making me weak in my knees every time I look at him.

He doesn’t realize the effect he has on me. Every damn time he smiles, or ruffles his hair, or bites his lip when he’s concentrating… Someday, one of these things will be the bloody death of me and he doesn’t even realize.

If he found out how I feel, he would surely hate me. He can’t know I’m hopelessly in love with him. No one can ever know.”

Remus stared blankly at the page. Surely, this couldn’t be about himself? Sirius wasn’t in love with him… Was he?

He quickly closed the notebook before anyone around him could see what was written in it, and turned around to look at Sirius. He was staring at his desk, though he didn’t appear to be taking notes, or doing anything, really. Remus couldn’t help but wonder if Sirius had seen him reading the notebook and if so, what was going through his head?

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Sirius’ ears were ringing, his whole brain in panic mode. It was like an alarm inside his head, frantically ringing out:

He knows, he knows, he hates you now, everything is ruined.

He thought of all the possible ways out of this: Fakng his own death and moving to France and live under a new name. Or faking his own death and move to the other side of the world. Or perhaps even better, faking his own death and going into outer space, making a life for himself on Mars. In fact, he didn’t really have any idea that didn’t involve faking his own death.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Remus turn in his seat to look at him.

Alright, Sirius, he said to himself. Keep your eyes down, don’t make eye contact. As soon as Transfiguration is over you can make a run for it.

By the end of the day, he would be Pierre The Frenchman, living on a cozy wineyard in France. Or an astronaut on his way to Mars.

But as the lesson ended and students hurried out, he started to realize he couldn’t leave. Even if Remus now hated him, he still loved Remus, and a life without him, even if he got to meet some cool aliens instead, wouldn’t be worth living.

He stood up, finding himself face to face with Remus. “Hey,” he said, praying his voice wouldn’t betray his nerves. “I think you have my, uh-”

“Notebook?” Remus interrupted in a strangely high-pitched voice. “Haha. What notebook? I didn’t read it. I didn’t even notice it was there. Here’s your bag! Goodbye!” He tossed the bag onto Sirius’ desk, before practically running out of the door, leaving Sirius behind in the nearly empty classroom.

“What on earth was that about?”

Sirius jumped. He’d completely forgotten that James was there too. He turned around to face him, making a desperate attempt at a nonchalant expression. “No idea,” he lied.

James didn’t seem so convinced. “Why was he being so weird about a notebook? And what notebook was he even talking about, anyway?” He reached into Sirius’ bag, but Sirius was quick to snatch it out of his hands.

“It’s private!” he said.

But James had managed to grab the notebook, and had already opened it. “Oh.” he said, realization dawning on his face. “Oh!”

“James, give that back!” Sirius pleaded, no longer able to keep the panic out of his voice.

James looked up at him. “You’re in love with Remus,” he almost whispered. “Shit, mate. Everything makes so much more sense now.”

Sirius looked down, shame mixing with the panic. “You weren’t supposed to have read that.”

But James ignored this. “Sirius, you have to go after him! He clearly feels the same way!”

“No he doesn’t!”

“Yes, he does,” James insisted. “Did you not see him running out of here all red in the face. And how weirdly he acted before… Pads, that is not the behavior of someone who just learned his friend is in love with him and doesn’t return those feelings.”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath. “You don’t know that,” he mumbled.

“Yes, I do! Listen to me, dimwit,” James said, grabbing a hold of both Sirius’ shoulders, forcing him to look at him. “If he didn’t have feelings for you too, he wouldn’t have acted that way. There would have been an awkward conversation where he tried to let you down gently. ‘I really like you as a friend, Sirius, but I would like to stay just that.” Something like that, you know? He definitely wouldn’t have acted like that!”

Could James really be right? Sirius fiddled nervously with his shirt collar. “So… you think I should find him and talk to him, don’t you?”

“Exactly!” James responded. “Come on, no time to waste!”

Sirius sighed. “Alright,” he muttered, taking hesitant steps towards the door.

“Actually, wait.” James said, grabbing his arm. “Look, Pads, I know I shouldn’t have meddled in this. That notebook was private. And, well… I imagine this isn’t how you planned on me finding out that you like blokes but, uh… I want you to know that I love you just the same. You’ll always be my brother.”

Sirius didn’t have the words to explain what a relief it was to hear that from James. All of the sleepless nights he had spent, after realizing he was gay, picturing James’ reaction. In his imagination, it was usually the end of their friendship. James looked disgusted, angry, betrayed. But as he looked into his eyes, a deep, gentle brown, there was none of that. No hatred, no disgust. “Thank you, Prongs,” he said with a small smile.

James returned the smile, pulling him into a brief hug. “No problem, mate. Now go talk to Moony, for Merlin’s sake!”

Remus had gone to the place he always went when seeking comfort or a place to clear his mind: the Hogwarts library. Surrounded by books, with no people around, except maybe for the librarian, he felt strangely at peace. Today, however, there was no peace. His mind was running at a dangerous speed, way too fast for himself to keep up.

Sirius liked him… maybe. It could’ve been a prank. Could Sirius have meant for Remus to find it? Was he trying to humiliate Remus by tricking him into confessing his own feelings? Or it could all have been something Remus’ own brain, desperate for love, had made up. Either way, he was going to do what he always did in uncomfortable or scary situations: ignore it until it hopefully went away.

“Remus.”

Fuck. It was going to be hard to ignore the problem, when the problem was standing a few feet away from him, nervously fiddling with the strap on his bag.

Sirius shuffled awkwardly next to Remus’ table, eyeing a chair as though he was debating whether or not to sit down. “I thought I might find you here,” he said.

Remus got up, grabbing a random book off the nearest shelf. “Congrats, Sherlock,” he said snarkily, sitting back down again. He opened the book, pretending to read. It was better than having to face Sirius.

“Moony, I- I know you looked in my notebook,” Sirius said, pulling out the chair opposite Remus and sitting down.

Remus kept his eyes on the book, without catching any of what was written in it. Sirius continued:

“I don’t know how much you actually read, but… Well, I’m pretty sure you saw enough to know the truth.”

“No, I swear, I have no idea what you’re…” Remus trailed off. What good would lying do? He had known Sirius since they were both eleven. There was no one more stubborn or persistent. If Sirius wanted to talk about this, that would happen whether Remus wanted to or not. “Yeah, I did,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

“I need to know the truth as well,” Sirius said. “If you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. I’ll… I’ll get over it, I won’t make it awkward or uncomfortable, I promise. But if you do feel the same…”

Remus opened his mouth, but no sound left him. He didn’t know what to say. This didn’t feel real. It was too good to be true. A prank, for sure. James was probably hiding somewhere, ready to jump out and laugh at him with Sirius if he confessed.

Silence stretched for what seemed like an eternity, while an internal war wreaked havoc inside of Remus. Should he tell Sirius the truth, or stay silent?

But before either side could win, Sirius had already drawn conclusions from his silence.

“Right,” he said, his voice choked-up and distant. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed there was even a chance you liked me back.” He got up, before Remus could say anything. “Just forget about it, okay?”

Fuck. Remus looked up. Sirius was walking away, his shoulders slumped, his steps heavy. Remus stood up, knocking the chair over in his hurry. “Sirius, wait!”

He had caught up with him in a few long strides. Sirius turned around, his expression hardened like he didn’t dare let himself hope again.

This time, Remus didn’t waste any time worrying about the consequences. He cupped Sirius’ face with his hands, leaning in to kiss him, and oh Merlin, was it the best decision he had ever made.

The kiss was returned almost immediately, like it was all Sirius had been wanting to do for years. And maybe it was… Remus thought that was the case for himself, even if he had only recently realized it.

Both of them lost in the other’s lips, they accidentally backed into a bookcase, sending a few books falling onto the floor.

“Who’s there?” Called the angry voice of Madam Pince.

Sirius and Remus looked at each other, both trying to suppress their laughter. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Sirius whispered.

Remus nodded, letting Sirius take his hand as they both ran from the library. He grinned, feeling the rush of adrenaline and euphoria take over his mind. They hid in an unused classroom, both of them laughing and panting.

“That was close, huh?” Sirius said. “Imagine if Madam Pince had seen us. She would’ve lost her damn mind.”

“Definitely.” Remus’ cheeks hurt from smiling. “So,” he said. “Sirius Lupin, huh?”

Sirius groaned. “Shut up,” he said, his face turning red.

Remus laughed. “No,” he said. “Never. It’s embarrassing for you.”

“It is,” Sirius agreed. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Remus’ lips. “Will kissing shut you up?”

“Mmh.” Remus stroked his chin with mock thoughtfulness. “You know, it just might. Why don’t keep kissing me to find out?”

#me? writing something????? unbelievable!#remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #james potter #marauders #marauders era #fanfic #fanfiction #wolfstar fanfic #marauders fanfiction

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staysaneathome · 3 years ago

Text

That Day (Evening)

(The Entity-Swap kid fic WIP that now has a fourth part. Warnings for continued endangerment of children and high levels of pining)

The park is quite a bit further from where they lost the teenager in the hijab than Jon initially thought.

It’s almost funny, how two or three miles doesn’t sound like a very long way to run-walk. Just two or three, the small number making it sound doable, like they should be able to get there in a matter of minutes.

It’s less funny when they’ve been walking for over half an hour and Melanie won’t stop whining about how her legs are tired.

”Carry me.” She demands imperiously.

“No.” Replies Jon, flatly. “Last time I did that, you scratched me really badly. My shoulder and face still hurt.”

”They do not.” Melanie says, as if her denial is enough to undo all the damage. “And I won’t scratch this time. Carry me?”

”No. It’s not even much further to walk.”

”Uuuuugh, you said that last time!” She complains. “It’s been for-eeeee-veeer! Can we at least get some juice or a Freddo Frog or something?”

”With what money?” Jon asks archly. That buys him maybe half a minute of blessed, blessed silence.

“Wait. You don’t have money?” Melanie asks with a frankly insulting level of incredulity. “But aren’t you like, an adult? Adults have money!”

”I’m twelve!” He sputters, gesturing to himself. “Do I look like I have any money?”

There’s a moment of silence as Melanie eyes him up and down. “I thought you were just ugly.” She says dismissively. “Wait. If you aren’t an adult, can I be in charge?”

”No!” He snaps indignantly. “I’m still the oldest.”

”That’s dumb.” Melanie complains. “You’re dumb. And ugly.”

”And older than you.” Jon reminds her smugly. He’s been with her for long enough by now that he knows when to dodge out of the way when she tries to pinch him.

It’s a relief when the park finally comes into view.

It’s an even bigger one when he catches sight of Martin sitting on the balance beam, looking around patiently.

It lifts a weight off Jon’s shoulders that he didn’t even know was there when Martin catches sight of him and his face breaks out in a grin, like the sun rising. Then Martin’s face rapidly falls, and he’s sprinting over to them, looking like he’s seen a ghost.

Jon has a fleeting fear that the teenager in the hijab or the searcher are right behind them, poised and waiting for him to turn around to strike.

Martin slows, huffing and puffing as his hands reach out towards him, shaking slightly. “Jon! Jon, oh my gosh, what—what happened to, to your arm, to your face?!”

Ah, Jon thinks, as Martin cups his less-savaged cheek gently and tilts his head. Was that all he was frightened of?

”It’s nothing.” He says gruffly, trying not to think about how weird-hot-odd it feels to have Martin worry about some little scratches like this, fighting the urge to fidget. “Just doing, um. Doing what I had to.”

Martin’s eyes are big and liquid and sad, and he frowns, opening his mouth—

“Liar. You didn’t say it was ‘nothing’ when you wouldn’t carry me.” A sour voice interrupts.

Jon startles and Martin whips his hand away so fast it feel like a burn, both of them turning to stare down at where the interruption came from. Melanie is starfished on her back on the grass, glaring up at them moodily, one sweaty hand still clutching Jon’s. The Watcher informs Jon that her clothes will have grass stains on them when she gets up. Jon tries to inform the Watcher that he doesn’t care, but is ignored, as usual.

Melanie eyes Martin critically. “Are you his friend then?”

Martin straightens up, his usual smile on his face. “Erm, um—yes! Yes, yes I am Jon’s friend! Mar-Martin Blackwood! Um, hello! And, and you are?”

Melanie pulls her sweaty hand out of Jon’s grip and holds it out to Martin, sitting up. “M Melanie King. Jon kidnapped me and we’re friends now too.”

Martin’s smile freezes as he processes that sentence. His eyes dart between Jon and Melanie. “Ah. Um.”

”I did not.” Jon protests. “You were being kidnapped by a searcher, and I saved you.”

”Didn’t do a very good job of it.” Melanie mutters, pulling up grass by the roots and dropping it on his shoes.

Jon retreats with a disgusted noise, trying to shake it out where it’s fallen through the holes of his too-big trainers. ”Stop that! And-and we’ve just met, we’re not friends!”

There’s a moment of silence.

Melanie’s eyes start to water. She begins making an awful noise that makes some part of Jon’s brain he hadn’t even known existed freeze up and go “Oh no”.

He exchanges a brief terrified glance with Martin, who reaches out. “Oh, no, no, no, oh please—”

Melanie wails, the sheer force of the noise making Jon stumble backwards.

“Melanie, shh!” He hisses, darting glances around at few parkgoers who are stopping to stare, “You’re making people—”

”NO!” She bellows, swiping out at him with a poorly aimed claw, tears and snot running down her face in rivulets. “I HAE-HATE YOU! I HATE THI-I-IS! I HATE THAT EVERYTHIN' SO ANNOYING, ALL, ALL THE TIME, AND IT DOESN'T STO-O-OP!! I HATE MY FRIENDS NOT, NOT LIKING ME ANYMORE! I HATE MY DADDY GETTIN' SAD 'CAUSE OF ME! I JUS' WAN' IT TO STOP! I WAN’ MY FRIENDS BACK!! I WANNA GO HOME!!”

The little girl curls in on herself, the bright green grass stains on the back of her sparkly top shaking with her as she continues to sob like her little heart is breaking.

Jon has no idea what to do to fix this, hands clenching and unclenching uselessly at his sides. He has no idea how she was touched by the Slaughter (though the Watcher croons for him to question her, to learn, to Ask—), and even if he did, it’s not as though he could make it just go away, as if a mark like this could be removed with a bit of scrubbing. This isn’t something that can just be pulled out of her, like a loose tooth. It’s part of her now, wedged deep inside like the Forsaken is in Martin, and the Watcher is in Jon.

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t Know—

“I-I’ll be your friend!” Martin babbles frantically.

Jon stares at him, feeling suddenly, irrationally betrayed.

Melanie gulps and sniffles, peering up at him through red-rimmed eyes. “…you promise?”

”Cross my heart and hope to die.” Martin smiles, holding out a small, ragged tissue. “C’mon now, can you give me a big dragon blow into this?”

She gives him a Look, like she knows he’s trying to make her laugh and is cross with him for it, but does as he says, making a noise that’s a bit like a honk.

“Good job!” Martin praises, while Jon crosses his arms and tries to make his face not frown like he wants to. This is stupid. You can't be friends with somebody you’ve just met, you don’t Know them, it’s silly. Childish. Plus Martin’s his friend. Melanie has no right to come along and-and steal him like this. Martin looks up and catches sight of Jon’s face. His smile dims a bit and his colors go paler, more faded, which makes Jon’s tummy squirm uncomfortably.

Still, he keeps babbling, “I-I’m really happy to be your friend, and Jon’s friend too! I don’t have many friends at home, so this is. This is nice. To be friends with you two. It makes me happy. Do you have superpowers too? Like how I can go invisible, and Jon can make people tell him stuff and Know things?”

Melanie shrugs, tearing up the tissue in her hands. “Dunno. Making people get into fights, or something. Invisibility’s cool, I guess. But getting people to tell you stuff isn’t a superpower. That’s just asking questions. It’s dumb.”

“No it’s not!” Jon bristles indignantly, all his focus on the little friend-thief. “Asking questions can be dangerous. Especially when you can’t stop yourself from answering them. How’d you think the searcher was going to eat up your life?”

“W-well, a brain sucker monster like her wouldn’t need to ask questions, would they? They’d just bite your ugly head off and know everything anyway.” She argues back, little chest puffed out and tears all but forgotten. “If all that creepy lady was going to do is ask questions, I could take her. I just wouldn’t open my mouth. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”

Jon barely notices Martin going wide-eyed and near translucent out of the corner of his eye as he opens his mouth to prove exactly why Melanie is wrong.

But he freezes up when he hears a soft, deep voice behind him. “Oh, really? Care to put that to the test?”

The searcher smiles down at the three of them.

Her eyes are empty and something hungry looks out from them.

”Come, little ones.” She coos, one hand outstretched. “Come home with me. Come back to the Collection. You’ll want for nothing, never hungry, never cold, never tired, never lonely, never angry. And you’ll hear such interesting stories. We’ve missed you, my prized Recorder. I’ve missed you so much.”

Jon feels frozen, pinned like a bird in the eyes of a snake, a part of him that he never wanted to know existed clamoring at him to take it, take her hand, you need the stories, you need—

A large, warm, soft hand grabs his, and yanks him back into the fog.

Jon yelps, though it feels like his yell is swallowed up in the crushing, inescapable isolation that now surrounds him. He sees Melanie, but it’s like she’s miles away, her shouting and directionless anger losing teeth as it dawns on her how utterly, utterly alone they both are. They aren’t friends. They can’t rely on each other. They’ll lose sight of each other and perish here, unremarkable and unremarked on and alone.

”C’mon!” A familiar, kind voice comes through the fog, shocking Jon back to his senses. “We’ve got to go! This way!”

His hand is being held. Of course it is. How could he forget? He and Melanie are holding Martin’s hands, as the barely visible boy tugs them through the eddies of fog, away from the searcher.

They run through the dreamlike realm of the Forsaken in a weird, birdlike configuration.

Martin had grabbed the hand which was closest to him on Jon, while Jon was still facing the searcher, locked into her gaze. The result is that his arm is drawn almost painfully across his body as they run, his sweaty palm clutching Martin’s tight, sure that if he even loosens his grip enough to change to a more comfortable position, he’ll be lost forever in the fog.

Melanie is stumbling along on Martin’s other side, her legs weak and shaky, almost skipping at some points to try and keep up with the pace Martin is setting, glancing back every so often. Tears are running down her face almost absentmindedly.

For a moment, as they pass through the darkening trees and get further and further away from the playground, Jon thinks they might actually make it. They might actually escape the searcher and live to fight another day.

”Stop.”

Jon feels his legs lock up, all his muscles seizing together as though cramped. The burning sensation of being Watched sears itself into the back of his neck, the entirety of him Known and Seen and Exposed.

He faintly hears Martin and Melanie scream as though they’re being peeled open and pinned down for study as he crashes face first into the mossy earth beneath them.

The searcher takes her time strolling up to them, forcing Jon to listen to his friends’ pained whimpers where they’ve fallen. Martin’s face scraped viciously from the bark of the tree in from of them, and Melanie unable to even inch off of where a root is digging into her stomach.

That’s how he knows it’s the man looking through her eyes, delighting in their distress.

”No,” He can hear Martin choke out, “No, st-stop it, st-stay away fr—!”

”Look at you.” The searcher coos in a tone that has never been her own. “All banged up and bruised. Do you enjoy this, Jon? Do you enjoy hurting your friends?”

Jon wants to scream, to cry, to yell that of course not, of course he doesn’t, he’d never want to, but it feels like his throat is closed up. It’s all he can do to suck in shaky breaths through his nose as the searcher gets closer and closer.

“Kill you,” He can faintly hear Melanie wheeze. Jon’s honestly at a loss for whether she’s speaking to the searcher or to him. “Swear, I-I swear, kill you, I’ll—”

“Come now.” The searcher says pleasantly. “That’s enough games. Time to come back now, children, Recorder. Time to come back to the Collection.”

He can see her hand reaching down for him.

A dark blur slams into the searcher.

Jon hears several short screams, what sounds incongruously like a growl and then a loud, wet, puncturing noise.

His limbs release from the rictus they’ve been forced into.

The burning sensation of being Watched fades to the ever-present prickle on the back of his neck.

Jon jerks his head up with a punched out gasp, reaching for the others, pulling them behind him even as he turns to See what is happening, what’s going on.

There’s a lady kneeling over the searcher’s limp, lifeless body.

She’s got combat boots and a hoodie that’s slipped down from her shoulders to bunch around her elbows. A small burst of scar tissue, almost like a flower, is visible and hidden again as she shifts, more animal than human in her movements. It reminds Jon of a nature documentary he watched with his grandmother once, a mountain lion stalking forward lithely to devour its prey. There’s the same intent, hungry stare in her eyes that Jon vaguely recalls the mountain lion having as she draws up to her full height and pins the three children huddled at the base of the tree under her gaze. There’s a penknife in her hand that’s dripping with the searcher’s blood.

He hears Martin suck in a frightened whine behind him, fog spilling out to pool around Jon’s ankles. Melanie’s breathing so fast she sounds like she’s a mere moment away from hyperventilation.

They can’t escape like this. Not from a killer touched by the Hunt. Not without a distraction of some kind.

Jon’s mouth is opening before his brain can process what an awful idea this is. “How did you get that—”

He doesn’t even see her move.

All he knows is the breath is punched out of his lungs and his feet are dangling uselessly as the Hunter slams him into another tree, a snarl on her lips. The bloody penknife is pressed hard into the thin skin of his throat.

”So you’re one of them, hm?” The Hunter snarls, the burr of her Welsh accent mixing with a growl that almost drowns out Martin’s frantic cries of “JON!” A tiny part of his brain that isn’t frantically trying to stay as still as possible notes that she’s got Melanie’s sparkly hair bobble stretched around one wrist.

“I wonder.” The Hunter says, with fake casualness. “What’d be the best way to make sure you can’t ask any more of them pesky questions that hurt people, hm? The tongue? Or the voicebox?”

”DAISY, STOP!”

It’s like magic.

The Hunt slides away under the young woman’s skin like someone’s pulled a blanket over it. Not gone, the shape of it still plainly visible, but softened, gentled by the cover’s drapes and folds. The arm that’s holding Jon up trembles, ever so slightly, and the penknife is finally, finally pulled away, even if only by a few centimeters. Jon’s breath hitches in his chest and he has to blink away tears.

As she twists around to face the teenager in the hijab, Jon’s given a clear view of one of her ears, which has begun to flush pink, for some reason.

”Basira.” There’s barely concealed excitement in her voice that is very confusing right now. “Hi. I, uh. I was in the area, and I, uh. Noticed you were having some trouble. So I found those kids that, that you were looking for.”

”That’s. Nice? But, Daisy, I need you to put him down now.” The teenager in the hijab is holding her hands out placatingly. “That boy’s not dangerous, not like Rayner. I wanted to ask him some questions.”

The teenager in the hoodie scoffs, but does as she asks, tucking the penknife away and lowering Jon to the ground. “If you say so. Just don’t let him ask you any—they’re tricky, Eye types like this.”

Jon feels his legs go wobbly the moment his feet touch earth. He slumps, breath wheezing out of him, heart racing like he’s running from the searcher all over again.

”JON!” Martin’s arms curve under his, pulling him forward into a tight, warm, soft hug. “Oh, oh god, I-I’m so sorry, ah-are you okay?! Did she hurt you?”

Jon can only grip feebly back, burying his head into Martin’s increasingly saturated shoulder as it feels like he shakes apart.

Part of his brain that isn’t focused on clutching onto Martin like he’s a lifejacket and swallowing compulsively to remind himself that he’s alright, he’s whole, faintly registers the sound of something smacking flesh, and the Hunter going “Ow!” “That’s what you get!” Comes Melanie’s shrill reply. “Don’t you ever touch him again, okay, you big, big, stupid, bullying, ugly—!”

”Okay, that’s enough of that.” The teenager in the hijab—Basira? says. “Break it up, you two.”

There’s the distant sound of dried leaves and tree detritus crunching underfoot, and then Martin’s breath hitches. Jon tightens his grip, preparing to twist him away from whatever’s threatening them now.

”Hey, easy, easy.” Basira’s voice comes from a lot closer. “I’m sorry about Daisy, but she’s very��passionate about stopping monsters. Like the one chasing you three. That was a monster, wasn’t it?”

“Y-yeah.” Martin stutters. “She was going to hurt Jon. Just like she did.”

Jon stiffens at the sound of the warning growl, but Martin doesn’t let go of him, even though Jon can feel his heart racing in his chest. A peek shows that Martin’s staring down the teenager in the hijab with a wobbly lower lip, but eyes set hard.

”And she’s very sorry about that.” Basira demurs. “It was all a big misunderstanding, wasn’t it Daisy?”

There’s a moment, and a decidedly grumpy, “Yes.”

“There we go.” There’s a rustle, and Jon withdraws his head from the safety of Martin to see that she’s pulled out a small leather-bound notebook and a pencil. “Now, could I ask you both some questions? About the whole,”

She makes an all-encompassing gesture to them and the cold fog of the Forsaken coiling around them.

”Our superpowers?” Martin blinks. “Why? Do you have them too?”

The teenager shakes her head. “No. I’m ah, uninvolved in a lot of this. But then a boy I was babysitting got kidnapped by shadow monsters, and I met Daisy while trying to rescue him, so ‘forewarned is forearmed’ and all that. And since I’m under strict orders not to go to the Orsinov Institute—”

”I told you,” The hunter—Daisy—interrupts. “That place is dangerous. They say they research stuff, but something ain’t right there. You’d walk in, and something else would waltz out in your place.”

Jon can’t help his curiosity. ��H-how—?” It feels like his vocal cords dry up under the glare the Hunter pins him with. Thin ice, she mouths at him.

”Yes, thank you, Daisy.” Basira cuts in, shifting so she breaks the line of sight between the Hunter and Jon. “So, as I am banned from ever setting foot in the one reputable center for the study of the supernatural in this country, I have to do my own research piecemeal from subjects in the field.”

Martin and Melanie are giving her blank looks. “She wants to ask us about the Watcher, the Forsaken and the Slaughter and what we can do.” Jon translates.

Martin nods with a little ‘oh’. Melanie just looks even more confused.

”I just want my Daddy. I wanna go home.” Her voice breaks on the last word.

Basira’s face softens at that.

”Y-yeah.” Martin says, shifting from one foot to the other. “A-and I need to get my train back. My, my mum’s probably worried about me…”

Jon can’t quite help the way his arms tighten at that, though he loosens them quickly. It’s only natural. The sun’s practically gone down, after all. Whether Jon desperately wants him to stay has no import on the matter at hand.

“Right.” Basira scribbles down something in her notebook, then tears the paper out and then tears that into three strips. “This is my mobile number, and email address. You can contact me using either of these to talk about…superpower things.”

”And I’ll find you if you try to vanish, easy as anything.” Daisy adds with a toothy grin. “So don’t.”

”Daisy.” The hunter holds up her hands. There’s dark red blood on the one that held the knife. “I’m joking, Basira, joking.”

Jon, despite how much he doesn’t want to, detaches from Martin. “I, I don’t have a phone. Or a computer.”

Basira hums, her head tilted to the side. “You know Angel of Islington? Near where you two got on the bus earlier?”

Jon nods as she goes on. “I can be found around there most days. Just drop by if you feel like sharing any of the things you’ve seen so far. And who knows? Maybe I’ll have some stories for you too.”

Something leaps in Jon’s stomach.

Still, the way the Hunter’s gone tense puts him on edge, so he makes himself say, “Only-only little ones. Not, not big stories.”

The teenager in the hijab nods impassively. She claps her hands together. “Well, that’s enough excitement for one day, I think. Let’s see about finding your parents and getting you all home, shall we?”

Daisy nods, stepping close. Her ears are still red in the fading evening light. “I’ll come with you.”

Basira gives her an unimpressed look and a snort. “And then who’ll deal with that?”

They all turn to stare at the searcher’s body. Martin shivers and grabs his hand, squeezing gently. Jon almost jumps when he feels something small and warm press close to his other side, before he looks down and sees Melanie’s leaf-and-twig-filled hair. The other sparkly bobble is almost falling out too.

Daisy’s eyebrows draw together and she lets out a small growl. “Ugh, fine. But just, um. Call me, maybe, next time? If you’re gonna go chasing after weird things.”

Basira smiles, playing with the edge of her hijab for some reason. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jon glances back as she ushers the three of them out of the park, shoulder and throat and everything else aching and feeling like he imagines an orange must do after the juice is squeezed out of it. The hunter’s eyes shine in the looming dark as they go, shifting from something that Jon wants to call friendliness to a more animalistic bent as she crouches over the body of the searcher, and the two of them disappear into the trees and the twilight.

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jessie-writes-things · 4 years ago

Text

From the Darkness | Part 1

This is a commission from the lovely @grogusmum! I'm so so so sorry for how late this is love! Life got in the way a bit. Originally I was gonna do this as one giant piece, but you've been waiting too long and so I just needed to get something out. This ended up being a bit more soft-angst rather than fluff but I tried my best to balance it out. The next part will be full-on found family fluff though! 🥰

This whole thing stemmed from that throwaway line 'I've spent much time on Tatooine' from The Marshall. Basically, I just liked the idea of Din having a somewhat secret life hidden away there. It gets explained a bit more in the second part, but that's really all the context you need right now. 😅🥰

Pairing: Din Djarin x Neutral Reader

Words: 2.5k

Genre: Found family, fluff, soft angst

Warnings: Star Wars level violence, vague mentions of PTSD/Trauma, nightmares

Summary: Din comes home to Tattooine and you spend the night on the Razor Crest.

You always heard the Razor Crest before you saw it. The loud hum of the clunky engine made you jump every single time and you had always wondered how long it would be until the ship just dropped out the sky.

Your answer came quicker than you thought. It was around midnight when the first signs came, snippets of voices fluttered by like quiet, sleep-laced whispers on the wind.

See you we do! Coming home we are!

Then came the ship barrelling onto the landing pad, and you weren’t dramatic in saying you thought the planet was about to explode; walls rumbling, ground vibrating. Peli had been prompted to spew out a few choice words, stepping outside just as you did to watch the slivers of silver moonlight spring off the ship as it finally settled down.

The landing had been…less than graceful to say the least. The engine sounded worse than you’ve ever heard. One of her feet had been ripped clear off, making her tilt to the side at an unnerving angle and you didn’t even want to think about the number of outer plates there were to replace.

What worried you more was the look of annoyance on your boss’s face, pinched and red, and you just had enough time to convince her to head back to bed, promising to deal with The Mandalorian until morning. And thank every planet in the galaxy she listened because if the Crest hadn’t woken up the neighbourhood, you knew she sure as hell would of.

There was an etiquette, you learned through years of working on the hanger; you should never enter a person’s ship first. To regulars, it was like walking into someone’s home without being invited. But so early in the morning you weren’t for niceties.

You walked up that ramp like pray on a hunt, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and you may have stumbled a bit, but it was a hunt.

The Mandalorian was clearly waiting for you, sitting in the cockpit, the baby asleep in his pod although you had no doubt he was listening to every word.

Very out of character, he was the first to speak, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘It’s okay.’ It wasn’t…well, it was. You were just grumpy and tired and wanted to go back to bed, ‘She looks a mess.’

‘Can you fix her?’

You had assumed her mess from the work of another bounty gone wrong, maybe Mar again but you weren’t in the right mind to ask. ‘Depends.’

‘On?’

‘What you’re about to ask me to do next.’

There was a silence, a comfortable one but silence, nevertheless. Eyes heavy, you were fading fast, head resting against the passenger seat you had claimed as your own. You weren’t too sure if you had fallen asleep or not. You closed your eyes for what felt like a moment too long and when they opened again, Din had shifted his seat to look at you.

‘We need to stay for a few days.’ His head tilted like a little puppy dog. Helmet still on, you were left trying to imagine how he looked in that moment; eyes squinted, crinkled around the sides in admiration.

Not the exact words you wanted to hear, but not surprising in the slightest.

You decided to push again, ‘Anything else?’

He was smiling, at least you were sure he was, his voice sounding a little lighter despite the artificial muffle of the modulator, ‘Come to bed?’

---

I caught a frog today. Very big frog. I wanted to show you. But ManDad was not very happy with the frog in the big ship. So I ate it, I did. Miss you lots, I did. And so did ManDad. Smiles when he thinks about you, he does. I feel the happiness. Thank you for making him happy.

---

Turns out it hadn’t been Mar that took a hit at his ship.

There had been an incident, Din told you in the quiet of darkness, arms wrapped around you, his head buried safely. Long tufts of hair tickled your jaw and chin whenever he moved or talked, about due for a haircut but that was a battle for another day.

‘Moff Gideon is dead.’ But so was Kuill, the kind Ugnaught who had helped at the start of all this mess. Whatever was left of the Empire was still after the kid and Din still needed to find the Jedi. ‘Karga’s still alive.’

‘I thought he double-crossed you?’ At some point his head had moved onto your chest, letting your fingers card through his hair. You could just about see his face in the small cracks of light, not that he needed to hide anymore, sometimes you think the dark was comforting for him.

The smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips and you really hoped it was because of your touch and not the thought of the Guild agent. Small wins and all that, you guessed. Better to have Greef around than no one at all.

‘I can’t stay long.’ His voice wavered, ever so slightly. You had become accustomed to the bittersweetness of it all, stroking the back of his neck as your heavy eyes began to droop again.

‘That’s okay.’ While it felt like a brick being thrown at your chest, you understood. Truly. The entire Empire was after the kid and, subsequently, him. Not to mention the constant battle against other hunters who had it out for his head.

Because while you knew time was finite with him, at least you had something.

---

Happy to be home we are. ManDad gets lonely sometimes. Feel it I do. I try my best to make him smile but sometimes it does not work. Make him happy, you do. A man should not be lonely for too long, he must not, for loneliness can be deadly. When I am gone, look after him you must. Promise?

---

Quiet moments in the dark were always the loudest for Grogu. Like father like son, you guessed. Neither of them liked the stillness much, both of their minds racing faster than the speed of light. It was always easier to read them in these moments. Flashes of images blended into a mosaic behind your eyes as you tried to hold down a specific part of a memory or a dream.

Some nights it was easier than others. There were times Grogu would sense you in his mind and would purposefully push an image forward, always something he thought was silly like a particularly funny looking frog or a memory of Din singing to some cheesy eighties song you had left behind on a CD during their last visit.

The colourful rhythm and syncopated beats making the walls of the Razor Crest dance along with them and you did everything not to burst out laughing in the still night, biting your lip only for a small snort to escape. Din caught on, barely opening his eyes a crack to mumble out some half-arsed are you okay before rolling over and heading back to sleep again.

It was easier to read Din when he was asleep. Not that you did it much or even intended to in the first place. But sleep tore down the walls he had spent years building up, subconsciously pushing the dreams into your mind. If Grogu’s thoughts were a lulled whisper, Din’s were white noise. Fuzzy static took up most of the space, at times slipping to let through blips of voices or a grainy picture of long past memories. They were too quick to get a full idea of what he was dreaming about.

A boy.

The pop of blasters.

A woman screaming.

One deep breath and the image faded. Din would wake for a moment, eyes closed and he’d turn back to face you. His chest shook, barely and nothing noticeable normally, but you caught it, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, and mumbling a soft it’s okay as he settled back into you.

---

Today was not so bad, it was not. But sometimes I still think about the dark place. Scary and lonely was I. For a long, long time. Then there’s light and I see ManDad for the first time. And then everything is better, it is! No longer do I need to fear the dark.

---

Like always, Grogu climbed out of his pod early morning and forced the doors of the sleeping pad open, giving him room to wiggle his way between Din and you. These were the times you’d feel the tug of his mind at the doors of yours, asking permission to be allowed in.

If your consciousness was awake enough, you’d let him, letting the Green Bean explore the distorted images of Earth and your past life. You would find him standing next to you, present you, in the middle of the dirtied street, dark and damp as rain pounded on the concrete around you, drowning out the screams of the people as they rushed by.

He’d hold his arms up, a quiet hold me please passing by and you’d take him in your arms, holding him close. Sparks of fear rolled through you, weighed down by dread and it was hard to tell if it was coming from Grogu or your past self.

Clouds filled the sky like grey shadows. It had taken you a long time to realise they weren’t normal, that the clouds were too big, were floating by too quick to be anything natural.

That had been the first time you saw them. Aliens. Or what people on Earth would think of as aliens. Tall, grey, slimy, the stuff you had only ever seen on TV and they were now shooting from the skies in streaks of red light. Streets pathed in dust that smelt like ash and day-old water.

The two of you walked through the mess like ghosts, people running left and right and through you, some in slow motion while some were ungodly in their speed. They all died in the end. Zapped out of existence by a singular lazar.

Someone yelled about children. Save the children. Spare the children. Collect the children. Round them up near the hanger, discard the ones we don’t need, you know the ones I mean, don’t talk back to me. Their voice washed over you in cold chills, sounding so far underwater that they might as well not be there at all.

A man stopped in front of you. Tall dressed in all black. A human man staring right at you. He didn’t look panicked like the rest, was calm and collected as he pulled out his gun and aimed so perfectly right at your head. You didn’t move, didn’t duck for cover as he pulled the trigger.

You should know better than to look.

There’s a woman behind you. Was a woman behind you. She’s dead when you turn around, a pile of smoking ash on the cobbled path, already being washed away by the rain.

Then there was the child, arms still stretched out to hold their mother’s hand, eyes wide in fear but they don’t cry. No matter how much their heart is racing. No matter how much they want to scream as the man grabs their arm and drags them away, throwing them in line with the rest of them, waiting for their turn to be scanned and thrown in the hanger.

They don’t scream, even when the doors slam shut and darkness is all that’s left.

---

Awake, are you? Sleep I cannot. Wonder if ManDad knows how much I love him, I do. ManDad is amazing he is. He saved me from the dark and keeps me safe, he does. Let’s me eat cookies, he does. Such lovely cookies. Try some, you must. But ManDad hurts, I feel. Feel his heavy heart, I do. So much pain and loss cause a man to be sad. Want him to be sad I do not. When I am gone, please tell him all the time that he is special, he is. Always be my buir, he will.

---

‘Buir.’ Grogu sat on your stomach, watching with wide, curious eyes as he followed your finger to where Din moved back and forth getting ready to head out. It was just some low-level bounty, armature work really, but that didn’t stop the anxiety from budding in the pit of your stomach. Distractions curved the nausea, curled up with the pod door open, blanket tucked under your chin with the residual warmth of his body still hugging you, ‘He’s your buir.’

Din hadn’t put his helmet back on yet, the roll of his eyes contrasted with the small half-smile on his lips. In the light, it was easier to see the damage he had taken during his last fight. There was only so much an ex-bounty-turned-nursing droid and some bacta spray could do. The large gash across his forehead looked painful and you made a mental note to check it over when he returned.

‘Don’t teach him that.’

‘Why not?’

There was a pause. You caught the way the small smile faltered, wavering with doubt and uncertainty and maybe a hint of sadness although that last part was hard to tell. And while the wall Din had built around himself was thick, sadness was strong enough to creep through the cracks. Even Grogu noticed, large ears pricking, head tilting in ManDad’s direction with a small coo.

‘Aliit ori'shya tal'din.’

‘You’ve been practicing.’ The words were light, a brow quirked in your direction and you knew what it meant; you’re adorable. Thank you for trying. At least he was smiling, finishing up the last buckle on his holster ‘Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.’

Maybe you should have been more surprised by the slip of his tongue. The way he carried on getting dressed, not even pausing once at his mistake.

You had heard him say those words before a hundrad times or more. But you wondered how long he had meant those words. Months? Years? Was it a new development? Was it something he had always known?

But there was no surprise. Instead, a warmth planted itself in your chest, and it grew, branches stretching to fill every ounce of your being until it was all you could feel.

‘Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.’ His eyes widened at your mimicked words. The pronunciation was still a bit off and sometimes the emphasis was stressed on the wrong bits, but it was nice to know you were close enough that he understood you, ‘I know what it means now. You can’t trick me anymore.’

Din picked up the helmet and put it on before you had the chance to see the full smile that bloomed, but you heard it, the hints of pure happiness shining through the modulated, ‘I was never trying to trick you.’

You fought back your own smile. The heat spreading across your cheeks told a different story though, serving as a reminder of years old built-up emotions neither of you had time to unpack at that moment.

So, you did what you both did best. You quickly changed the topic, shifting your attention back to the Green Bean plopped on your stomach, happily teething on the small silver ball he sneakily snatched from the controls. A few seconds later and his attention found yours, giving you a gleeful smile as he held out the ball as a peace offering.

‘Ba'buir.’ You pointed back at Din and Grogu laughed, ‘He’s your Ba'buir.’

But Din was already out of sight, halfway to the door when he called back, ‘He’s older than me!’

Older, I surely am. And wiser. Yet know, you do not. Be careful ManDad For space can be dark and dangerous.

The lock hissed as it opened, seemingly louder in the suddenly quiet Razor Crest, ‘Be careful.’

‘Always.’

---

buir = parent

Aliit ori'shya tal'din = "Family is more than blood."

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum ="I love you."; literally: "I will know you forever."

Ba'buir = grandparent

#jessie writes #grogusmum #commission #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian soft angst #din djarin x reader #din djarin fluff #din djarin angst #din djarin fanfic #grogu #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fluff

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clair-void-ance · 4 years ago

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Richard Hayden Fluff Alphabet

Pairing: Richard Hayden x Reader

Word Count: Roughly 3,180 words

Author’s note: Hey! This is definitely something I didn’t expect to write lmao. I haven’t been in a writing mood lately, but after getting into David Spade again I knew I had to throw something together. Good news though! That means that I’m finally motivated to work on my other WIP’s! So expect those requests to be finished soon :)) Your girl threw this together pretty fast ngl, so hopefully it doesn’t suck lmaoo

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

If there is anything that Richard loves to do, it’s activities that leans more on the physical side. As much as he loves academic pursuits, he can get tired of trying to maintain the persona of ‘the bookworm/nerd.’ When it comes to activities he enjoys doing with you, it really just depends on what type of person you are. If it’s physical, his go to activities include fixing up vintage cars, dancing, cycling, painting, and whatever else you enjoy doing. If it’s more mental, then he enjoys laying back, reading, doing crafts, or learning something new with you.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

If their is one thing that Richard admires about you physically, it’s your hair and eyes. Being a person interested in astrology, Richard knows that the eyes and hair can tell a lot about a person’s personality and self. And your’s show a person with a breathtaking personality.

And something that he really loves about you is your ability to be accepting, creative, passionate, and unabashedly yourself. You never failed to accept all parts of him, whether they were good or bad. And when you figured out the situation with this hair, you never once faltered on your love and acceptance for him. Which he appreciates more than you know.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Richard has definitely been at some low points in his life. Whether it be with his career, personality, or looks, he's been through it all. So if there's something be knows well, it's definitely a person in dire need of love and support.

When you're feeling down Richard focuses on the main thing you need at the moment. As much as he wants to listen and be supportive, he first has to deal with your body's needs. Having an anxiety attack? Do some breathing exercises, ground yourself, and take a bite of a lemon. Chest pain and irritable stomach from holding in all your negative emotions? Take a second to dance, cry, and release the negative thoughts. Then, when all that is said and done, he'll sit down with you and figure out the best way to solve your problems.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Being a small town, settle down type, Richard has always seen you two having a small wedding with all your loved ones followed by having a few children. Although he never really planned to find 'the one,' you turned his life around and showed him that he is good and secure enough to finally start living the life he always wanted. And now that he knows you'll love him forever (hair or no hair), he's confident in the quiet life you'll soon live.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or are they rather passive?

As much as he wants to be dominant and feel in control in the relationship, we all know his scrawny ass could never 😔. And we all know he would love to have someone dominate him. That being said, he loves the challenge that comes with both of you fighting for dominance. But he’s more than willing to calm down and allow you to take control more often than not.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How is their fighting?

Being the prick he is, especially with his mars in aries, it will definitely take Richard a while to calm down and discuss arguments with your. While fighting, he is vicious and acts like a wounded animal. None of it is really intentional, he just gets too heated too fast and gets caught up in his emotions. That, added to an inability to express his emotions properly at the moment he feels them, makes him a bit difficult in fights.

That being said, once he calms down and feels the guilt of his actions he immediately comes back to you and spews out an apology. If your fight was especially bad, he’ll end up setting up a nice dinner for both of you and let out a heartfelt apology. He loves you with everything he has in him, but he’s still dealing with processing and expressing a variety of feelings (plus he’s a man lmao).

G ratitude - How grateful are they they in general? Are they aware of what there s/o is doing for them?

With his string of luck and life choices, Richard is very grateful for all of the good things he has in his life; especially you. He understands first hand how fast life can turn sour, so he doesn’t take a second of his life for granted once he meets you.

He knows how much effort you’ve put into y’alls relationship and is aware of how much of impact you’ve had on his life and personality. And for everything that you do, he is deeply appreciative. And he tries to return that energy back to you 100% every day you two are together.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

After you figured out his secret about his hair, he knew that he could trust you with everything else. The only thing that he keeps to himself really are secrets that deal with surprises for you. Besides that, he shares relatively everything that concerns him.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

In a way, you both change different aspects of each other; while Richard makes you more sarcastic and ambitious, you make Richard more laid back and wholesome. But when you mix, there seems to be a harmonious balance of the perfect personality.

Furthermore, you help each other work through personal trauma and make sure that the other isn’t falling into a bought of negative emotions. That strengthens your relationship while also making you both better versions of yourself.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Being the sarcastic prick and insecure person he is, Richard is definitely someone who gets jealous easily. To him, you could have anyone you wanted; someone with hair, a better build, and definitely with a better personality. And when he sees you with a man that possess all of those things, he tends to get pretty jealous.

But he never takes that out on you. He knows that you would never cheat on him or avoid communicating your intentions. When a situation like this comes up, he usually takes a moment to contemplate his insecurities, stews in it for while, then brings it up to you. When that’s all said and done though, you both usually curl up and remind each other how much you both love and appreciate each other.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like? +

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Overall, Richard is actually a pretty decent kisser. He moves in just the right ways and knows how to avoid being excessive. Additionally, with the love that he puts behind every kiss, he makes you feel loved and appreciated with every languid motion.

The first kiss you two shared was after a company party when you took him home to watch a movie. You both got bored of waiting around and doing nothing at the party, so you left to do something more fun together. After sitting on the opposite ends of your couch, you both started to slowly inch closer and closer to each other. By the time you both started cuddling together, he felt as though the time was perfect to lean in and risk it all.

And when he gripped your chin, pulled you in, and placed a slow kiss to your lips, you both knew that you wanted to turn this official.

That being said, he still wanted your consent on if things would truly turn official or not. After letting out a whispered confession of love to you, you both thought it wise to discuss your newly developed relationship.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose?

Getting married is a definite for Richard. He doesn’t care what kind of wedding it is or when it happens, he just wants everybody to know that you’re his and that he’s yours.

Not one to be overly dramatic or public about an important moment, Richard proposes to you while you two are on a camping trip together in the mountains. You had both just woken up and began drinking your coffee on a log by one of the lookouts. With the rising sun hitting your eyes an hair in all the right points, he knew that he had to propose; it was the perfect moment. Not even his nerves could prevent him from doing it.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

With this man’s wit and sarcasm, he never fails to have new and creative nicknames for you. Usually though, your nicknames depend on the type of mood he’s feelilng.

Sarcastic? My sweet turtle dove. Affectionate? Sweetheart. Playful? Sugar/Angel Face.

It just depends :)

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

When in love, Richard can act like a wistful and love-struck romantic. From afar, Richard can be seen sending you longing and affectionate looks. Furthermore, when you two are near each other, people pick up the way he always drifts really close to you and continuously reaches towards your hand.

While he has a tendency to act aloof and uncaring, Richard does make it a priority to tell you how much he loves you (as well as how radiant you look to him) at least twice a day. He never wants you to feel as though he doesn’t think you are anything less than deserving of all the love you can handle. Even if you two fight, he always puts aside his pride and remembers to tell you that he loves you.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

When it comes to PDA at the beginning of you two’s relationship, Richard wasn’t too much of a fan. He was still stuck in the mindset that he had a reputation to uphold; he couldn’t be seen being soft and mushy, he had to be suave and respectable. But as you guys’ relationship progresses he begins to appreciate showing you love no matter the situation.

If you were to ask one of his coworkers on how he’s changed since being with you, they would definitely point out the fact that he has softened up considerably. He doesn’t care too much about his ‘reputation’ as much since he only focuses on showing you affection during the moments where it fits. By the time you two create a well-rounded relationship, he begins to casually brag about you and how you are the most fantastic significant other anyone could meet. It gets a little annoying, but people find it endearing do a certain extent. (it’s still Richard we’re talking about here lmao)

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that's beneficial in a relationship

He understands astrology and a few other personalty based aspects of people, so he acknowledges all of your quirks down to a ‘T.’ He knows your communication style, love language, argument method, preferences, etc. just by a birth date and a few other factors.

That being said, he also knows what things are particularly difficult to you, which helps when you aren’t able to communicate how you’re feeling on most occasions. (He has yet to learn how to solve his own problems with this quirk though)

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Once Richard knows that you love and support him unconditionally, he becomes the sappiest, most romantic person you’ve ever met. Although he has his cliché moments, Richard is usually creative with his methods on making you happy or keeping your relationship interesting. Most of which have to do with the office where you two work *wink* *wink*

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Being a man of high ambition and deep respect, Richard would love to help you reach your goals; no matter how big they seem. Especially if you are the same way with him.

He knows how much success and respect can mean to a person, so he will do anything to help you achieve the things you want. One aspect that he likes most about you guys’ relationship, is that you both constantly work towards bettering each other. He believes that you were both meant for great things. And if you associate great things with living off-grid and become self-sustainable, then he’ll help you achieve that.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice up your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Richard appreciates a sense of routine in his life and relationship- especially when it comes to his well-being. But this is mainly linked to his underlying trauma from childhood and career. Not that he’ll ever admit this though, he’s got a reputation to maintain.

He’s never really been given the opportunity to feel free enough to be himself and act childish. It was always, ‘act too mature and professional’ or ‘be cold, distant, and ambitious.’ When you came along though, he finally felt secure enough to open up and be himself. Which, of course, led to trying new things in your relationship. He’s down to try anything if it makes you happy; cause when you’re happy, he’s happy.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Deep down, Richard is not the most empathetic person. He’s had to rely on himself for almost his entire life, so being able to read and cater to another person isn’t the easiest for him. Reading social cues on the other hand, is. That being said, his love for you runs deep and he’s willing to just about anything to make you happy. He’ll take notice of the little things you like and the gestures you’ve come to appreciate, and repeats those.

Additionally, he understands that you aren’t responsible for his healing. He knows that he is responsible for a huge majority of it, so he takes note of your empathetic nature and uses it to heal not only himself, but you as well.

When that’s all said and done, Richard comes to learn a lot about both of you and shocks all of his associates with how close you two have become over the years.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Richard values your relationship as much as he values air. Which definitely says something. The man doesn’t care that much about anything when it comes down to it (publicly that is), but he does care for you. And his is willing to quit his job, move across the globe, or do anything you wish just so that he can make you happy for even a second.

After he met you, nothing really mattered as much as you guys’ relationship. To him, those things were put on the back burner and wait. As Charles Aznavour sang, “Me, I'll take her laughter and her tears; And make them all my souvenirs; For where she goes I've got to be. The meaning of my life is she.”

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon

Richard has actually always wanted to have a child. Since he never had a father present in his life and repressed his inner child, he has always wanted to prove that he was better than his parents. That being said, he’d love to have a little girl over a son. Mainly because he knows she will bring out the softer side in him.

All in all, he just wants to nurture and care for a child that he knows will grow up to have a stunning personality and life.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

At heart, Richard is a man with a deep, passionate, and affectionate nature. He loves being close to you and enjoys laying back and spending some personal time together. He loves all sorts of kisses he receives from you. Whether they be short and sweet or long and languid, he loves them all.

When it comes to the long and languid ones though, he loves to do them while you’re cuddling together.

Is it because he knows it’ll lead to something more? Maybe....but he’ll never admit that.

Plus, sometimes he just like being held so he knows he’s cared for.

Y earning - How do they cope when they're missing their partner?

Let's be honest, Richard can become a bit of a prick when you're not around. Since you both work together, everyone notices the day's where you’re absent; cause his toxic energy goes through the roof. Although he isn't insufferable, he definitely reverts back to his sarcastic and aggressive method of communicating and acting. But he can't really help it; (his mars is in scorpio 🙄 jk jk lmao) he doesn't have someone around to treat him right y'know? When he's alone though, he tends to get a bit melancholic and revert to sitting around and waiting for you. It isn't his proudest moment in life, but he’s trying to get used to the fact that you might not always be there. With that in mind, he copes the best way he knows how: by occupying his mind. Which is usually by working on his cars or cycling.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind?

Similar to his career and the things he aspires to do in life, you are something that Richard will go great lengths for. Although Richard knows when to quit, committing to a task is something that isn’t unfamiliar to him. He will work night and day to please you and keep you happy.

Need him to take the day off to help you with a task or take care of you? Done with no hesitation. Need more emotional support because of recent events? He’ll drop everything in seconds. To him, nothing is worth ruining the relationship you two have worked so hard for.

#x reader #tommy boy #richard hayden x reader #david spade #david spade x reader #richard hayden #richard tommy boy #richard hayden imagine #tommy boy x reader #tommy boy 1995 #tommy boy imagine #fanfic

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notchesandbullets · 4 years ago

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Ryokuryuu’s Lifeline

Part 2: Unresolved Fury From the Past

Read Part 1: Here

Jae-ha had situated the two of you behind one of the trees, giving you a clear view of the setting sun from the cliff side. You stayed tangled together for a while, until your eyelids started to feel heavy. Surrounded by Jae-ha's warmth, it was all too easy to fall asleep. But even still, you fought silently against the urge to drift off into unconsciousness.

As you squirmed in his arms fighting your silent battle, Jae-ha gently rubbed your skin soothingly, looking down at you in concern. Blinking your eyes open slowly, you focused in on the frown that had settled on his face.

"I'm sorry..." You apologized quietly, hiding your face in your hands.

Jae-ha shook his head quickly, expression echoing disbelief but before he could say anything, Yona burst through the trees, hands tightly pressed to her chest as she ran. Your eyes snapped open and you were up on your feet in an instant, startling the princess as she nearly knocked you over.

"Y/N!" She exclaimed in surprise, turning her attention to the green dragon as he stepped up behind you. "Jae-ha!"

"Hello, Yona dear." He replied with a signature smirk on his face. "What are you running away from?"

"N-Nothing!" Yona denied hurriedly. You raised an eyebrow at her, and she turned her face away but you caught a glimpse of it. She was blushing.

Actually, that was an understatement.

Her entire face was bright red, and you had a feeling that it wasn't just from running.

"Girl time!" You announced loudly, taking Yona's hand, not hesitating as you felt something sticky and pulled her towards the path leading back to the ship. Jae-ha moved to follow the two of you, but you stopped him. "Whoa there, big guy. Girls only."

You grinned cheekily at him as towered over you with his broad frame.

"You beautiful ladies need protection, and I am inclined to provide it." He said charmingly, flipping his green ponytail over his shoulder. Yona refused to look at either of you at this point, and Jae-ha didn't miss the way you stiffened at his words.

Meeting his gaze, you offered him a small smile, but Jae-ha didn't feel all that reassured as he felt the guilt creep in.

"Later," You mouthed to him, pressing two fingers to the inside of his wrist in assurance.

Jae-ha relaxed slightly.

You were okay.

But that didn't ease his guilt.

As you and Yona continued in the direction of the docks, Jae-ha kept his eye on both of you until you disappeared from his sight. He thought about following you, but you probably wouldn't be too happy about it when you found out.

Her safety is worth the consequence. He decided, readying himself to spring up into the air.

Then a very distressed Hak came exploding from the thicket, causing Jae-ha to very nearly jump out of his skin. The Thunder Beast and the Ryokuryuu stared at each other in silence for several moments.

Then Hak groaned, tossing his weapon down to the ground and sliding down the trunk of the tree behind him. His head lolled back, landing on the bark with a resounding 'thump'.

Jae-ha strolled over to the visibly conflicted ex-general, standing adjacent to him against the tree.

"Go away Droopy-Eyes." Hak's voice was muffled by his hand, the other running through his tousled hair.

The green dragon looked up at the sky, slyly smirking. "Did something happen between you and Yona dear?" He teased.

Hak growled, "You're asking for it." He threatened darkly, slapping a hand against his head incredulously as Jae-ha grinned knowingly, spinning around on his heel to face him, robes fluttering.

"What did you do?" Jae-ha pressed, leaning forward. "Yona dear looked so embarrassed. Though, she looked so cute like that, all fluster-"

He raised his right leg to block Hak's strike as he brought down his spear, preventing the Thunder Beast from doing any real damage.

"Ah..." Jae-ha sighed, "Careful, if you don't make a move on her soon, I just might."

Hak froze.

Then, Jae-ha held up his hand, a smug grin on his face.

"Kidding."

The teasing smirk faded as he identified the pain flickering across the man's face.

"I'm sorry for hurting her." Jae-ha looked carefully at the Thunder Beast whose eyes were downcast, as if he couldn't believe that he had hurt you.

Jae-ha's jaw hardened as he recalled the blood that marred your face and didn't respond.

They sat in silence for a moment before Hak broke it. "What happened to Y/N?"

The green dragon's face quickly became guarded. "What do you mean?"

Hak almost smiled at Jae-ha's protective streak, but the Thunder Beast had noticed your quiet resolve to fight, he just didn't know why. You were never like that back at the palace. You were just as childish as the princess at the time, not aware of the world outside the castle walls. By being sheltered for so many years, Hak was worried when he noticed your childish streak was not quite the same as it was before.

You had grown up.

But there was more to it than that, wasn't there?

"Y/N is different than I remember." Hak explained carefully, not wanting to unintentionally evoke the wrath of the dragon. "I expected that much, but it seems as though she's been through some difficult times."

Jae-ha exhaled heavily. "That's an understatement." He muttered. Hak shot him a curious glance.

The Ryokuryuu settled on the ground across from the Thunder Beast, leaning back on his hands. His green fringe almost covered his eyes, but Hak could distinguish the unresolved fury barely restrained beneath.

"I don't know everything that has happened." Jae-ha started, brushing hair from his eyes to study Hak closely. "I don't think she fully knows what happened either."

Steel glinted dangerously in the moonlight as Hak's grip tightened on his spear.

How bad was it that you unconsciously blocked it from your memory?

After a heavy pause, Jae-ha continued, "I don't know how she got to Awa, I was the one to find her. She was chained to a back alley on the far side of town, near the forest."

Hak's eyes widened in shock.

"I had been scouting the area, I had just recently joined Captain Gi-gan's crew back then, and was trying to prove myself and be useful." He gritted his teeth. "When I first found her, huddled in a ball on the corner of an alleyway, dressed in almost nothing, I ran away."

Jae-ha left out the part where the reason for that was because he was so traumatized at such a familiar sight that he couldn't take it, so he fled.

The Thunder Beast didn't need to know that.

Jae-ha leaned forward, resting his arms on his criss-crossed legs. "I didn't get more than a few feet away before I went back as fast as I could." He shook his head. "I broke her chains with my leg and brought her to the captain. She's been with us ever since."

Hak fixated on the grass on the ground, deep in thought. "Is that why you're so set on taking down Yang Kum-ji?"

A scoff came from the green dragon in front of him. "He needs to be taken down." Jae-ha sneered, violet eyes akin with fire. "The fact that he was most likely the one who allowed her to be treated like that goes against my views of beauty."

The inferno blazed.

"He's not walking away from this alive."

Hak jaw locked. "I want to help."

Jae-ha shot him a familiar charismatic smirk. "You are already going to be."

He straightened when Hak shook his head in response, cobalt eyes flashing with fury. "I want to kill him." He snarled.

Hak looked up at the slightly confused Ryokuryuu. "Growing up, she looked out for me at the castle. She was so much like the princess; innocent but precious. I'm going to kill whoever touched her."

Jae-ha's mouth pressed in a thin line. "I'm sure not sure she would appreciate the gesture, but either way, that's my job."

"Hey!" Hak interjected as Jae-ha stood up. "Wha-"

"It's my job to keep her safe." Jae-ha interrupted. "Just like you protect Yona."

The Thunder Beast's mouth snapped shut at that.

"I love her." Jae-ha admitted, no hint of his usual sarcasm or teasing. "She is for me, what Yona is for you. She's my entire world."

His eyes shone with whirling fear and fierce determination. "Let me protect her."

Hak looked down, before nodding reluctantly. Jae-ha started to walk away.

"But," He heard Hak remark, halting him in his tracks. "I'll help, in any way that I can."

Jae-ha dipped his head in acknowledgement. "I know." He studied the former general. "I'll look out for Yona too."

He heard Hak whisper a 'thank you' under his breath, and he grinned. "Of course, I can always ask Yona dear if she needs help with other things..."

Jae-ha sidestepped the blade as Hak swung his spear at him, easy laughter echoing in the night as an infuriated Thunder Beast chased him all the way back to the docks.

///

You arrived with Yona on the bustling ship, alive with the pirates' excited chatter. Yoon was in the center of it all, having whipped up dinner for the hungry crew.

Quickly pulling Yona behind you, you led her to your room below the deck. As you closed the door, you noticed the princess relaxed a bit. You grabbed some water and bandages from off the table on the far side, making your way back to Yona who was shuffling her feet awkwardly in the center of the room.

"Come sit," You called, patting to your side as you situated yourself on the bed. "I don't bite."

Your grin put Yona at ease and she sat down beside you. "I'm sorry about your father..."

You saw her stiffen from the corner of your eye. You gazed at her sympathetically, but Yona wouldn't meet your gaze as she trained in on her hands resting in her lap.

"Before we made it to Awa, we passed through an abandoned Fire Tribe village."

You looked up at her in surprise and then closed your eyes in sadness, already knowing where this was going.

She told you about the state it was in, and that the people left behind were dying. Yona was silent after she finished, and you could only imagine the suffering she had gone through when she left the castle and finally learned about the reality her kingdom was in.

You gently inspected her hands, taking notice of the many scratches and dripping honey on it. Gesturing for her to let you see them, you raised your eyebrow questioningly, "Do you want to talk about what happened? I'm assuming Hak played a part in this." You said, pointing out the amber liquid.

Yona sighed shakily. "He said it would help take the thorns out."

You nodded as you dipped her hands in the water, noticing her wince as you cleaned the cuts. "That's true." You mused.

The princess' eyes squeezed shut. "Then..." You looked up. "It started to overflow..."

You narrowed your eyes, beginning to bandage her hands.

"What happened?" You inquired after she failed to continue for a few beats.

Yona hesitated, an unknown emotion flickering across her delicate features. "....H-He l-licked it off..."

Staring at her in shock, silence enveloped the two of you until you couldn't hold it back anymore. You laughed heartily, clutching your sides as you rolled back in your bed.

"Y/N!" Yona cried out, "It's not funny! He's always teasing me, and making me feel-"

"What?" You paused your laughter as you inspected her closely. "Making you feel what exactly?

Her purple eyes darted around in confusion. "I-I don't know..."

You softly encouraged, "Try to describe it."

The princess drew her bandaged hands tightly to her chest, bringing her knees up to rest her chin on. The sight before you was nostalgic as you remembered how Yona used to do this years ago when she was scared.

Even back then, Hak was always the one to look out for his princess above all else.

"My h-heart," Yona mumbled, sniffling, "It hurts when h-he does things like that. W-when he teases me, it beats really fast, and I feel like I-I might c-cry when he pulls a-away..."

You watched as she burst into tears, hiding her face in her hands as her small body racked with sobs.

Gathering her in your arms, you patted her head soothingly, the other going to rub her back comfortingly until she eventually quieted.

"Yona," You spoke softly as you pulled back, looking her in the eye. "I know you're scared by what you're feeling," A finger came up to wipe away the tears on her cheeks. "Do you want to know what it is?"

The princess didn't miss the underlying warning. There was a chance she wouldn't like what she would hear, but Yona braced herself and nodded.

You smiled comfortingly, "Know that even with what I say next, it's up to you to decide what you want to do with it, okay? You can choose to acknowledge it or not, both have its own set of consequences." After receiving another dip of the head from the trembling girl across from you, you started.

"Your heart beats faster, right? Almost like it has a mind of its own when you're with him and you can't control it.You feel especially emotional, sometimes you can't even explain it. It's like you're drawn to their side without reason, and you want to protect them and see them happy."

Yona looked at you in wonder.

Looking closely at the princess who had opened her eyes in realization, you finished, "You don't feel this way around anyone else, like you feel incredibly sick if you envision the future without them and it's baffling. Am I right?"

"...How?" Yona asked, uncertainty lingering in the depths of her eyes.

You placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It's how I feel around Jae-ha." A blush made its way onto your cheeks, and you resisted the urge to cover your face. "He makes me feel safe around him. I love him."

Yona froze. "You, love him?"

You nodded. "I do." You whispered.

"But that's not," Yona stumbled over her words. "You, he... That's not... Hak couldn't possibly..."

You shook your head, ignoring her earlier words, chalking it up to astonishment at all the information you had just revealed to her. "It's not whether he does or doesn't, those feelings usually indicate something deeper than just friendship is all I meant. For me, I know what they are. For you, how much you acknowledge it will determine how much of it you allow to be true."

Leaning back on your hands, you studied the princess who began to fiddle with her hands. "And if anything, I think he does feel that way about you." You said softly. Yona's head shot up, bewilderment crossing her face. "But you'll only ever know for sure if you talk to him about it."

The worn look in her eyes made you pause.

"There's more to this, isn't there?"

That was all the prompting Yona needed.

She told you about that night in Hiryuu Castle, her father's murder, Soo-won's betrayal, her feelings for him and how she was starting to realize for what she felt for Hak. She explained her quest and how she met her new friends and what the priest said was going to happen to Hak if she didn't. Yona even broke to you the death of the young boy as her reason for partaking in the upcoming mission to take down Yang Kum-ji. The rumors that had circulated painted Hak as the king's murderer, but you knew he would never do that. He was far too loyal to King Il, and Yona. You were shocked to find out that Soo-won was behind this, he was such a sweet kid growing up, but you concealed it well for Yona's sake.

You clenched your fists, curling the sheets on your bed tightly in your hands. "The officers killed the boy?"

Yona nodded, the regret and guilt in her eyes mirrored your own.

"I want to fight with you."

You looked directly at her, eyes widening in astonishment as you saw foreign fire simmering in a sea of violet. The once young, innocent and ignorant princess you remembered was no more. In her place was a girl who had the heart of a warrior.

You smirked, eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Your Highness, I'd be honored." You playfully mocked, almost falling off the bed as she pushed you, giggling.

The easy atmosphere grew tense with your next words. "Yona, can you kill someone?"

Her mouth gaped open. "Wha-"

"We're going to take him down." Your eyes flashed with determination. "We're going to make sure Kum-ji never gets the chance to hurt anyone else ever again."

The princess didn't miss the implication behind your words. She hesitated for a split second. "What's your reason for fighting?"

"To protect the people I love." Your eyes softened. "The captain, the other pirates, Jae-ha, the civilians of this town and the ones who are innocent, the ones who never asked for any part of this; I'm doing it for them."

"Did..." Yona paused, conflicted, "Did something happen to you at his hands?"

You froze. "Ah..." Rubbing the back of your neck, you smiled sheepishly. "You are sharper than I gave you credit for."

Despite the obviously uncomfortable topic, Yona beamed at the praise, knowing it was well intended by the genuine admiration on your face.

"Yeah, but that's a story for another day, okay?" You patted the red-haired princess on the head gently as she opened her mouth in protest. "I promise to tell you one day."

Yona nodded. Tilting your head, you grinned widely.

"What?" The princess asked, curious.

"They're back," You replied as Jae-ha's teasing laughter and Hak's irritated shouting reached your ears. "Let's go get some dinner."

Extending your hand to Yona, she grasped it, squeezing it tightly once. "Thank you, for everything."

"Anytime, Your Highness."

A cheeky grin spread across your face, and she puffed out her cheeks in mock annoyance, causing the two of you to head out on deck with bright smiles on your faces, hearts a little lighter than they were before.

You're not alone, Yona...

You watched as Kija and Yoon ran out to greet the princess, the latter shoving a bowl of pirate stew in her hands and scolding her hotly for running off on her own without telling anyone.

Your friends will be there to share your burden, just like you do for them.

Kija wailed as he noticed the bandages wrapped around Yona's hands, with the princess frantically reassuring him that she was alright. Hak eyed his princess from the edge of the boat, positioned next to Shin-ah who was rapidly stuffing his face with food; his fluffy squirrel perched on his arm to sneak in bites of food.

You heard movement from behind you, slyly smirking as you heard the tell-tale whistling of Jae-ha soaring through the air. He landed on top of the cabin gracefully, green hair flowing out from behind him.

And you don't need to worry,

You directed towards Yona silently as Ryokuryuu made his way over to you. The last bit the princess had clued you in on was about was how Jae-ha adamantly refused to join her on her travels.

I have a feeling he'll come around. After all...

You smiled as you studied Jae-ha, observing the way his eyes flickered over to Yona and her group, tension unconsciously easing from his body as he watched them eat heartily, interacting easily with the rest of the crew.

He's started to care about all of you, too.

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duhragonball · 4 years ago

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Hellsing Liveblog Ch. 35-40

This is the one-part “Xanado”, and the five-part “Final Fantasy”.

So last time, we saw a Millennium team led by Rip Van Winkle take control of a British aircraft carrier, which forced Hellsing to send Alucard to deal with the situation. He accomplished his mission, but now he’s stuck on the boat by himself, because vampires can’t cross running water. I suppose Hellsing would have arranged a second aircraft to pick him up, but they’ve got bigger problems on their hands. Just as Alucard finishes off Winkle, reports come in of communication breakdowns all over Great Britain. Military, intelligence, police, all out of reach. Integra recognizes this as Millennium’s next move. By taking out the communications networks, they ensure a clear shot for their invasion force to move in. But how did they pull this off?

Simple, they did it the same way they arranged all those vampire attacks during the summer, and the Valentine assault on Hellsing Manor, and the Brazillian Police raid on Alucard’s hotel suite, and Lt. Winkle’s takeover of the H.M.S Eagle. They convinced a bunch of Brits to betray their country in exchange for being turned into vampires. The only real surprise here is the sheer breadth of treachery this time around, as Millennium must have created dozens of sleeper agents throughout the country, each tasked with hijacking or sabotaging key defense systems. And Vice-Admiral Penwood’s command is no exception. Those a-holes who gave Integra a hard time earlier? Turns out they were in the tank for Millennium all along, and now that the invasion force has arrived, they’ve revealed their true colors. At first, they’re pretty thrilled to have captured Integra Hellsing herself, but she calmly informs them that they’re minor league vampires at best, and they’ve foolishly revealed themselves in the presence of expert vampire hunters.

And Walter calmly slices them all up with his magic wire powers. Cool.

But that’s not going to stop the one thousand vampire soldiers currently heading into British airspace. I think the most striking visual in this part of the story are the expressions of sheer excitement on these guys’ faces. They’re just so thrilled for what’s about to happen, and when you consider how long they’ve waited, it only makes sense. It’s almost infectious, until you recall just what it is they’ve come here to do.

Meanwhile, Alexander Anderson watches the Millennium blimps roll in. Oh, right, I forgot about him. Back in chapter 25 he was still in Brazil, trying to locate Millennium’s HQ, but all he found were human agents trying to stop him, which he found rather insulting. Then Maxwell contacted him to explain what he learned from the summit with Hellsing, and he ordered Maxwell to come to London in preparation for a great crusade. But unlike the Crusads of old, their enemy is not Allah, but Mars, since Millennium is so devoted to war. Anyway, Anderson’s here and ready to rock.

Meanwhile, the people of London finally spot these blimps rolling in, and it’s pretty horrifying stuff. We’ve already seen the carnage that can be wrought by a few vampires, and now it’s a thousand vampires, and they’re all Nazi soldiers to boot. The sense of dread here is just palpable.

Aboard the flagship (flagblimp?) the Major starts giving his men their orders, and they even have a stupid invasion handbook for the occasion. Warrant Officer Schrodinger lost his and has to share with the Captain. I suppose this is intended to alleviate the tension, except, no, it really doesn’t. These guys are all horrible monsters in every sense of the word, and they’re about to do awful, unspeakable things. Schrodinger’s comic relief moments only make it worse.

The Major gives an extra-long speech for the occasion, basically outlining all the buildings and people in London that he wants his men to destroy (tl;dr: “all of them”). He then assigns Lt. Zorin Blitz to take one of the blimps with a contingent of men and head for the Hellsing mansion on the outskirts of town. She figures that’ll be an easy gig, since Alucard is away, but the Major warns her not to underestimate Integra Hellsing or Seras Victoria. He doesn’t exactly explain his concerns about Seras, but the mere fact that she’s Alucard’s servant is probably reason enough to be mindful, and Integra is Alucard’s master, and she comes from a long line of vampire hunters, so the Major considers them both to be archenemies on the same level as Al himself, despite their inexperience.

So the Major explicitly orders Zorin to go to the mansion but not to attack. Her task is to observe an wait for the Major’s order. This will be important later.

Then the Major orders a bunch of V-1 and V-2 rockets launched at London. I mean, geez, were the hundreds of vampire soldiers not enough? Did he think he needed to soften the city up first?

Then the troops jump out of the blimp to begin their assault. They look like they’re parachuting down, but I don’t think any of them are wearing parachutes, since they shouldn’t need them. It’s almost pathetic the way they talk to each other with all of this professional military talk and congratulating each other on a successful landing. London is virtually defenseless and this is a slaughter, not a battle, but they’ve been psyched up for this for 55 years.

Back at Penwood’s base, Integra warns him to flee before the main invasion force arrives, but Penwood insists on remaining at his post. He confesses that he’s completely incompetent, and he only has this position because of his inherited title, but he refuses to abandon his duty, since that’s the only honorable thing he can do. Integra leaves him a gun with silver bullets and wishes him well as she heads for her own duty. Penwood orders his men to evacuate, but they refuse, since Penwood can’t actually operate any of the equipment here.

So now we get an extended sequence of Milennium marching through London, basically sacking the city and slaughtering anyone they meet. This is accompanied by the lyrics to “Akuma Stocking” which I think was used in the anime adaptation as well. There’s a lot of gory scenes here, but the three main visuals that stuck with me in the anime are these:

First, this motherfucker eating a baby.

Second, all the Londinian civilians they bite end up rising up and transforming into ghouls, who then join in the slaughter. It’s easy to forget about ghouls at this point, but Millennium never forgot. Their artificial vampires can’t turn virgins into new vampires, and I think that may be by design. They were counting on their victims rising up to compound the horror.

Third, just a lot of bayonet-usage going on here. You’d think they’d be content to bite and shoot people, but these guys seem to enjoy hoisting up their prey to show them off. It’s a horrific nightmare and there’s no end in sight.

Integra and Walter speed home as fast as they can, but they stop to take out a Millennium soldier in a shootout with London police. She can’t save the cops, but she does avenge them.

Back at the Naval base, Penwood sends out a final transmission as he expects the enemy to enter his post at any moment. His men are all dead, with the last one shooting himself to avoid becoming a ghoul. He tells anyone who can hear him to resist and do their duty. Then he recalls his first meeting with the young Sir Integra. Back then, he found it ridiculous that a 12 year old should be in charge of Hellsing, but she quickly puts him in his place, and established that she would be asking him for favors from then on.

But Penwood won’t be granting any favors to the Kraut bastards who storm his post. Instead he sets off the explosives they set up earlier and I guess they all die together. I wouldn’t have thought an explosion would kill these vampires, but they are a lot less formidable than Dandyman or the Valentines. Luke couldn’t regenerate his foot, for example.

When Integra shot that one vampire, she gave away her position, and now Millennium is on her trail. Just when it seems they have a clear shot at escape, someone blocks their path, and Walter tells Integra to take the wheel and find another route. He’s going to stay behind to fight this guy, but he doesn’t think he can hold him off for long.

Integra does as he asks, but orders him to return alive “at all costs.” Hmm.

Walter uses his wire power, but it turns out this is the Captain, and he’s apparently powerful enough to foil his attack. Walter recognizes him, presumably from when he and Alucard fought the proto-Millennium in the 1940s.

And then the Major flies along in his blimp and confirms it.

Meanwhile, Integra gives the Last Battalion a merry chase, but eventually she crashes the car and seems to be cornered. One asshole tries to get closer to finish her off, but she decapitates him with her sword.

His comrades accuse her of being a “sore loser” and tell her to give up, but she mocks them all for being cowards who surrendered their humanity. She’s hardcore, she’s hardcore.

But before she can fight all these vampires alone, somebody comes along and throws a bunch of blessed bayonets at them. These did a number on Alucard and Seras, but they didn’t cause any lasting harm. Seras was even able to pull them out without too much trouble. But this shithead just disintigrates on the spot. Remember, the Last Battalion’s main advantage is their number. Individually, they’re not terribly impressive, at least as vampires go.

But yeah, it’s Alexander Anderson, along with his two sidekicks, Heinkel Wolfe and Yumiko Takagi, the stars of Kouta Hirano’s earlier manga, “Cross-Fire”. We’ve seen Heinkel in Hellsing before, but I think this is Yumie’s debut here. They chastise Anderson for interfering, since they were only sent to observe, but Anderson is too fired up by Integra’s fighting spirit, and he wants to kill some vampires, dammit.

Turns out there’s quite a few of these Iscariot guys here, maybe all of them, but Anderson starts doing a whole routine with them, as they chant all this stuff about how they’re assassins in the tradition of Judas, the disciple who betrayed Christ. I’m not sure I get much of this, but it’s nice that Hirano put some thought into Section XIII as the super-secret death squad of this fantasy version of the Vatican.

And that’s all we have for now.

#2021 hellsingliveblog #hellsing #sir integra hellsing #alexander anderson #walter c dornez #seras victoria #sir shelby penwood #the major #the doctor #warrant officer shrodinger #the captain #zorin blitz #heinkel wolfe #yumiko takagi

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ofwolvesandbutterflies · 5 years ago

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angel with a shotgun

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x Reader

Genre: humor + tiny dash of fluff

Tags: mafiaboss!jaehyun, oblivious!reader

Warnings: language, mentions of guns

day 18 of 30 days with NCT

Synopsis: in which Jaehyun - the sweet boy you grew up with who loves tiny animals, sweets, and poetry - looks suspiciously like a dangerous mafia boss... but you’re convinced he can’t be one.

// I can’t be myself with anyone but you // (x)

[15:30]

“Why do you want me to teach you- actually, no. If you learn, I’d rather it be me teaching you… But why - why do you want to learn how to use a gun? It’s… it’s so unnecessary if you’re not in any immediate danger.”

When you first came sprinting into his apartment a few minutes ago, Jaehyun’s immediate thought was that you were in some kind of trouble. Within seconds, he had his emergency FNX-45 cocked and locked under the desk, body tense as he prepared for whatever cry for help fell from your lips. Never in a million years had he been expecting you to slam the palms of your hands down on the surface of his mahogany desk and announce proudly that you wanted him to teach you how to use a gun.

“You know what else is unnecessary?” You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes at your childhood friend. A long sigh passed his lips as if he already knew what you were about to say. “Owning a vast collection of firearms for- for… for whatever it is you use them for.” He ran a tired hand through his hair. For someone who didn’t know what he did for a living, you did have a point.

The moment you told your best friend you wanted to learn how to use a gun, something along the lines of dismay and regret flooded his gorgeous dark eyes. Before you had even finished your plea, Jaehyun had already turned down your request, shuffling with something underneath his desk before rounding the table to sidle up beside you. It was strange, you frowned. Part of you was expecting him to be more excited about sharing this piece of himself with you. But he wasn’t and it threw you off kilter completely.

“Y/N… You’re not unsafe,” Jaehyun started, eyes darting around the room for a better way to turn you down. “And the only reason I could justify teaching you how to use a gun would be...” the words died on his lips when you pushed off the table to stand in front of him, pout and puppy eyes already prepared on your lips. Jaehyun sucked in a breath, cursing at himself for not being able to say ‘no’ fast enough. Every time you made those eyes at him, any chance he had prior of refusing you dropped down to zero. He sighed, tucking his hands into his pockets while trying to come up with a better way around this. It was times like these when he wondered how successful he’d be in his underground dealings if you were there, pitted against him.

You weren’t in danger, at least, he didn’t think you were. And while a large portion of Jaehyun wanted you to have a way to protect yourself in the case anything ever did happen to you… another equally large part of him didn’t even want to think of the possibility. Sure, he did all he could within respectable boundaries to keep you safe. He made sure to always take a different route to his personal apartment every time he needed to stop by, he had cameras installed around your homey little duplex, he made sure very few people saw the two of you together, and he always checked in with you to ensure his number was the first contact on speed dial. Then again, he was part of an illegal underground organization, and one could never be too safe.

“You know what,” he spoke up, rolling his neck with a low groan, turning to shoot you a playful glare. “I really, really dislike you sometimes.” A bright smile lit up your face when he sighed. “But, I don’t have enough time to teach you any self defense, so…” he rounded his desk, opening and closing a couple of drawers before producing a pair of what you assumed were pistols. “Firearms 101 is now in session.”

There was something just so strange about Jaehyun. And, no, you weren’t talking about the unusually large tattoo of a fearsome face decorating the smooth, ivory skin on his neck (though that, too was strange). You were speaking rather of the way he had an unusually large arsenal of weapons lying around his apartment… and the way he’d disappear - some instances for weeks at a time - only to return with a heightened sense of paranoia deep set in his body… and the way there were so, so many jagged scars lining his firm body. Had you not known better or had the opportunity to grow from fetus to adulthood with the handsome man, you would most definitely think him a part of the crime syndicates around the city. But… it was Jaehyun.

Jaehyun was the cute boy in the sandbox at five years old, the one who cried when you accidentally tripped over his sand castle. He was the boy you raced around the playground with on tricycles and he was your very first accidental kiss in primary school. Jaehyun was your closest friend in middle school, the boy you spent every birthday with, the boy you always baked (or tried to bake) brownies with, the only boy you ever had a real crush on. He was your prom date in high school, he was your first real kiss, your first real date, your real first love (not that he knew). And even now, he was the first one to hear any piece of news from you, good or bad, exciting or depressing. He was still the boy who loved marshmallows. He was still the boy you’d catch crying during Wall-E. He was still the soft, kind hearted Jaehyun you trusted your life with. There was no way he could be a part of anything illegal.

But he wasn’t perfect. Sweat dripped from your forehead and into your eyes as you glared at the target in front of you.

“Oh my- NO, Y/N. Stop, stop, stop.” It had only been 10 minutes and Jaehyun was already losing his patience. You lowered the gun, a frustrated frown marring your usual joyful features. “Don’t bend your elbows at all. No bendy arms period or that bullet’s gonna fly somewhere you don’t want it to, okay? Straight arms, got it? Relax the shoulders, strong core, hands firm on the grip, and straight arms.”

Lifting the hefty piece of polymer in your hands once more, it wasn’t long before you heard you friend suck in an uneasy breath. Beyond exasperated, you spun on your heels, ready to bite his head off. “Give me a break, would you? I’m try-”

“Woah, HEY!” Jaehyun pushed himself off the wall quicker than you were able to react, grabbing the barrel and pointing it away from his chest. “Y/N, focus! Watch where you’re pointing that thing, sweetheart!” The discouragement fizzled out of you slowly when you realized you had been that close to hitting your best friend.

“Fuckin shit,” you whimpered, already feeling tears of frustration well up at the corners of your eyelids at your inability to do anything he was asking. “I-I’m so sorry, I could have hit you a-and I swear I didn’t mean to-”

“Hey, shhh,” Jaehyun cupped your face with his free hands and brushed the unshed tears from your eyes with a tired chuckle. “It’s fine, I’m okay. You didn’t even pull the trigger.” Another sigh left his lips as he studied your stance for a brief moment. After a long moment, he moved behind you, pressing his chest up against your back in an effort to straighten it. All at once the tears stopped and a soft gasp fell from your mouth when he brought his arms up around yours to fix the positioning. His natural baritone voice sounded right by your ear, breath fanning out over your neck when he squeezed your hands just a little tighter around the grip.

“See how different that feels now?”

You nodded wordlessly, mind racing with the recurring thought of just how close he was to you as your heart pounded ridiculously fast within your chest.

“Ready?”

Another nod.

“3… 2… 1.” On one, he pressed your finger down on the trigger. The sound of the shot reverberated in the sound proof booth and you blinked. A single hole appeared on the target, right through the center.

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cinebration · 5 years ago

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Choose Where (Victor Zsasz x Reader) [Part 2]

So apparently more of this story needed to be written. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. More parts to come if y’all want.

Tagged: @im-just-one-of-the-avengers; let me know if you’d like me not to tag you for future parts.

Warnings: cutting, mutilation, language

Turns out you inherited your father’s penchant for pissing people off. The wrong people.

Apparently, the same people, what with Roman screaming into your face. He filled your vision, red-faced, veins and tendons leaping against his skin. Spittle flew onto your face as he shouted.

“That’s my fucking money!” He tore through his hair, turning away from you, looking to Zsasz for support. “I can’t believe you gave it to Bruce Wayne of all people!”

“Wayne Industries,” you corrected.

His hand smacked across your face. Stars burst in your vision, heat flaring through your cheek. Gritting your teeth, you stared back at him. The sting of the slap had you fighting the watering of your eyes.

“Same fucking thing,” he snarled. “Of all the assholes in the city—”

“It was a sound investment.”

He pivoted. “Zsasz, do you hear this? Maybe I should have let you cut her tongue out.”

It didn’t surprise you that Zsasz had told Roman the threat he had given you at your first encounter, not with how close the two of them were. But the reminder of that threat sent a shock of dread through you. If Roman ordered, there was nothing to stop Zsasz from following through.

“You don’t make investments for me. I hired you to be a fucking bookkeeper—”

“Accountant.”

Another slap. Copper blossomed on your tongue, your lip burning.

“Not another fucking word,” Roman hissed. Raking another hand through his hair, he stepped back, frowned as he glared at you. “I think it’s time you lose your face. It’s ruined anyway with that.” He flapped a hand at your still-puckered scar. “Deal with it, Zsasz.”

Zsasz’s gaze shifted to you. The usual mischief and glee in his eyes were missing, replaced with something more guarded.

“If you’d actually listened to me, Sionis,” you said, eyeing Zsasz as he slowly approached, “you’d know that I turned a 135-percent profit from that investment—”

“I swear to God—”

“—and I bought you a piece of the Wayne Industries board with it. You’ll be fed information and even have someone representing your interests.”

Zsasz stopped in front of you, blocking Roman from view. His hand curled around your bicep, gripping hard enough to leave an impression. You stared into his hard eyes. That he wasn’t grinning gave you hope even as he pulled the knife from his pocket.

“Wait, Zsasz.” Roman asked from behind Zsasz’s back, “What kind of representation?”

You leaned forward into what little personal space Zsasz retained, peering over his shoulder. His head turned slightly, enough for his breath to ghost over your cheek.

“Wayne Industries controls key parts of the city,” you answered too quickly for your liking. “Parts you don’t have access to. Now you do, and more or less legitimately, too.”

Roman’s eyes lit up, the rage evaporating instantly. “They’re mine?”

“More or less.”

“Is it more or less?”

You hesitated. The board representative, without more proper investment, would only acquiesce to two of Roman’s demands at most. Had you not been caught so soon, you would have properly cultivated the contact with strategic acquisitions. But now…

Zsasz’s hand tightened on your bicep. “More,” he whispered. It was hardly more than a breath drifting into your ear.

“More,” you said. “Definitely more.”

Roman whooped, unable to contain his delight. “What’d I tell you, Zsasz? She’s useful! No face-off surgery today.”

Emboldened, you added, “But you’ll have to let me be in charge of the books and funds.”

A hiss sounded low in your ear.

Roman’s lips twisted. “Why the fuck—”

“Because I can do more magic—and the board member won’t talk to you. He can’t risk it.”

Choking with exasperation, Roman stormed from the room, griping about the situation. As the door swung shut behind him, his voice boomed, “You stay, woman. But teach her a lesson, Zsasz!”

His grumbling remained audible until he reached the first floor. Silence reigned in his absence. Both you and Zsasz remained quiet, as though afraid to break it.

“Another cut?” you finally asked.

“It’s what I do,” he answered. He wiggled the knife between his thumb and index finger. “Where?”

You frowned. “I get to choose again?”

He nodded. “Somewhere Roman can see it.”

You weren’t sure you could handle another one on your face. Not so soon, at least. Thinking fast, you glanced down. You wore modest shirts that didn’t reveal much more than your collarbone.

“Here,” you said. You dragged your finger across your left clavicle.

He murmured something beneath his breath that may have been “Good choice.” You weren’t sure if it was a good thing that he liked the location. He turned you suddenly, your back against his chest.

Past midnight, the world outside was black, moonless. The uncurtained windows reflected your own image back to you, a ghostly version of yourself, Zsasz right behind you.

“So you can’t pull away,” he murmured.

The knife sliced slowly through your skin, right down to the bone. Biting back a cry, you grunted instead, unable to prevent Zsasz from feeling you tense. His breath quickened, uneven against your neck. The knife’s pressure disappeared.

You sagged, Zsasz holding you up. Opening your eyes, you stared down. The slash started low on your chest, ending an inch over your clavicle. It was longer and less straight than the one on your face, but you had more skin for it.

“Strike two,” you hissed.

Zsasz let you go. Staggering a step away from him, you remained slightly doubled over, the pain excruciating. You cursed.

“You were asking for it,” Zsasz said, watching you carefully. He shook his head. “The trick to Roman is convincing him your idea is actually his.”

“You’re joking.”

“Do you really think the face-off shit was his idea? It was mine, but I let him think it was his.”

You scrutinized the look on his face. “You know, if it came down to you and him, he’d choose himself.”

“I know.”

“You’re nothing more than a pet to him.”

“Better than being food like you.”

“Then why did you help me?”

“You ask a lot of fucking questions.”

“I have a right to know.”

“You should be grateful you’re still alive.”

You laughed ruefully. “Some existence I’m living, letting you carve me up.”

Zsasz stared up at the ceiling, hissed through his teeth. When he met your gaze, his own was unwavering. Zsasz’s gaze hardened. “It’s my job to protect Roman, even if it’s from himself. He’s…capable of becoming a god. He just needs some guidance.”

Shaking your head, you turned away. “I was wrong. Some existence you’re living, shoving your nose up his ass.”

His hand clamped down on your shoulder, spinning you back around to face him, his grip sure to leave bruises. Fire burned deep in his eyes, lips peeling away from his teeth in a snarl. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

Clenching your jaw, you glared at him. “Let go. You’ve already inflicted your pain on me for today.”

He blinked, his grip suddenly slack. Taking the opportunity, you pulled back, putting as much distance between yourself and him as possible. Between the slaps to your face, the new cut across your collarbone, and his squeezing, your nerve endings were on fire, each pain point stacked.

He watched you retreat, a shadow flickering across his face. With a hiss through his teeth, he stormed from the room.

You sagged into the nearest chair, legs finally giving out as your grip on your fear loosened. Inhaling shakily, you dragged your hand over your face.

The door suddenly opened, a bleached-blonde head popping out through the gap. “I’ll…”

You looked up to see Zsasz standing fully in the doorway, a deep crease marring his brow. “What?”

“I…” Moistening his lips, he found his words. “I’ll convince Roman he suggested that you do that acquisition scheme.”

Frowning, your brain foggy from the adrenaline cooldown and the pain, you merely stared at him. Something was eluding you, but you couldn’t grasp it.

“Thanks,” you managed to say.

He nodded. “It’s learn fast or die around here.”

You stayed seated a few minutes after he had left, pondering his words. What did he care if you died?

The fresh wound throbbed in response.

#Victor Zsasz x Reader #Victor Zsasz #Victor Zsasz imagine #Chris Messina #Chris Messina imagine #Roman Sionis #Ewan McGregor #birds of prey #birds of prey and the fantabulous emancipation of one harley quinn #bop #zsasz imagine #zsasz #bop zsasz

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pettrichore · 5 years ago

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dunno if i’ll be able to finish this. but so like dabihawks au where like. dabi does his research aka when he was touya he was with his dad once during the whole takami thief thing and met keigo. flash forward he doesnt believe a thing about this hero hawks. sees him for the fabricated person he has become. and eventually hawks sees dabi for who he really is and was and like vigilante-ish dabihawks. bits about the au and the snippet i wrote under the cut.

cause this shit gets LONG af

hawks feels fake. doesnt rlly know who he has even become

the commission kinda forced a lotta habits out of him and completely molded him into who they want him to be

he barely even finds his name to be anything more than a stranger’s name at this point.

anyway so dabi p much knows who he is. does his own digging. and kinda puts some pieces together and sees how fake hawks is

hawks barely even knows if he shows any genuine emotions at this point. he’s kinda at a breaking point where he cant recognize himself and separate keigo from hawks. feeling like hawks has just swallowed him whole

he does show genuine things though. sometimes says or does shit out of line but he tends to have obedience beat into him even if he sometimes has a bit of a mouth on him. it’s mild tho

at the start of dabi working w hawks, hawks was very careful

it kinda progressed into keigo coming out more around dabi even though it was in bits and pieces

anyway dabi puts two and two together and realizes him and hawks are pretty similar and instead of seeing him as a traitor (though he’s sure that he’s not 100% on their side) he sees him as someone who can fit in with the misfits and he can p much fully convince hawks to ditch the bs

so the confrontation happens (see ending snippet) and hawks is like wtf just happened

and p much eventually there’s some tender moments between dabi and hawks and hawks ends up explaining how used he’s felt

he has been molded into the perfect obedient soldier; maybe sorta kinda explains that the commission is having him do double agent duties and instead of reacting badly dabi is p receptive and doesnt just try to kill him. instead he can see how badly hawks wants to break out of his cage and fly free and he deeply feels for that and knows how that can feel and is like aight well fuck them

so hawks kinda double agents on the commission??

and he does end up meeting the LoV and like sees how human they are

but also he’s like damn son but okay i dont agree w everything

and dabi is like yeahhh same ??? idk they are a means to an ends for me but also not lmao

and then there’s some dabi spilling his guts as they get closer and get more intimate and very much boyfriends

and hawks is so livid and he cant help but fuck around with endeavor the next time he sees him. and like he’s just so much more distant to him. he can’t begin to wrap his head around it. and he’s so broken that like.. the one person that he saw as his true hero. that “saved him” is a horrible person behind closed doors

the one person who he was inspired by and agreed to join the commission’s forces for is just horrible

there’s just a lotta solidarity between hawks and dabi and a lotta shared anger and hurt

and they’re boyfriends and it’s great but also like hawks isn’t a horrible person

neither is dabi ??? i mean listen they’ve both killed ppl. they probs will continue to kinda do it. but it’s always just horrible ppl

like listen killing ?? not great folks??? but also like idk man..

they also def leave kids outta this 10000%

anyway p much they end up ditching the LoV too. try to get some of them outta that shit. like toga who has become like a sorta lil sister for dabi in a way

they both just feel so horrible and gross seeing kids get into that shit

also like the girl needs some HELP. some therapy and rehabilitation idk

idk i love the morality shit with the LoV but might not play with it too much here

anyway they end up doing their own thing and the commission is quick to denounce him and just ruin his image

and try to kill him lmao they made him a perfect hero which could be a perfect villain and if he isn’t working for them he’s working against them (i mean he is) and needs to be Stopped Permanently

anyway here’s the snippet. my single brain cell that helped write this has left my body:

At this point, Hawks wasn’t so sure he was even real. His existence felt fabricated. Each smile or joke carefully placed. Each movement was calculated. He didn’t act out of line. His interviews were carefully thought out months in advance if not lies that he himself began to believe after years of telling them. His penthouse had just enough “personal” touches that when he had a spare moment to invite someone over it actually seemed like it could be a home. Hawks’ original motivations were squashed and were pushed aside unless they created an interesting story. His natural mannerisms that came with his mutation quirk were learned to be suppressed. Hell his own name sounded like a stranger’s to his ears. That is if anyone even knew it.

“Is there anything real about you, hero,” Dabi spoke. His back wasn’t fully to Hawks, left side presented to him as he set a framed graduation photo down and fully faced the winged hero. Dabi stuffed his hands in his pockets and tilted his head to the side some, waiting for an answer. Hawks snorted and gave him an unamused look.

“I’m as real as they get, hot stuff.” He kept a casual air about his words, hands spreading out in surrender. “Not sure what else you expect.”

Hawks was on edge, but he wouldn’t let the villain know it. They were supposed to be meeting soon, but once again the villain pulled something unexpected and had been waiting for Hawks in his own apartment. Hawks’ feathers twitched slightly, sharpened edges ready for the command if it came. Dabi leveled him with an unimpressed stare. There was a moment where their gazes met in an intense battle, though Dabi’s look softened as he broke out in a lazy grin.

“Y’know... You might be just as much of a mystery as I am, Pretty Bird.”

“I think I’m a pretty open book myself.”

“I think you like to let people think that.”

“And I think you’re just trying to fuck with me. Can we just get to what you came here for? I had a looong day and kinda wanna get some food and some sleep.” Hawks punctuated his words by stretching his arms up high before shedding off his coat, goggles, and headphones. He tossed the coat over the back of his couch and dropped the gear onto the end table. He hoped Dabi would just drop this whole line of thought, take this as some sort of submission, and be satisfied enough to leave.

Wrong.

“Oh, we can get to that later… You, on the other hand, are much more interesting.” He moved closer, hands coming out of his pockets as he crossed the room to stand a few feet from Hawks.

“I’d love to be a great host and entertain you, but unfortunately I wasn’t expecting any guests today.” Hawks crossed his arms and watched Dabi carefully, eyes narrowing some in challenge.

“That’s too bad. You know, I’ve been doing some research on you. I don’t quite think you are who you say you are, Hawks.” The winged-hero tensed just ever so slightly before forcing his muscles to relax some. He didn’t like the way things were going. While Dabi’s fire was his ultimate weakness, he’s sure that he’s fast enough to put a sharpened feather to his throat and end this all here and now than Dabi would be if he wanted to put the spy to an end.

“And who do you think I am then, Dabi?” He raised an unruly eyebrow. His primaries ached to shoot out and end this, poised at the ready.

Dabi blinked slowly, bright turquoise eyes disappearing for a moment before shining under heavily lidded eyes. His grin stretched a bit wider, tugging on where healthy skin met the grafts.

“I think you aren’t the hero you put out there… Or the person you say you are. You like to say a lotta nothin’ don’t you?” Dabi stepped closer and Hawks’ fingers twitched but his arms remained crossed.

“I think you like to pretend to be this airhead bird. Like to use that name. Like to look like you’re the perfect little hero... You’re good at it, too. You aren’t though, are you… Takami Keigo.”

Hawks had a primary feather in each hand, on pressed to Dabi’s throat. It pressed in just enough to draw some blood from the marred skin grafts. He could feel the heat radiating from Dabi’s skin and particularly from the small flames in each of his palms, but the villain made no move to use it against him. He just continued to grin.

“What’s the look of surprise there, Birdie?” Dabi purred.

“How do you know that name?” He demanded, crowding further into Dabi’s space.

“Like I said, I did my research. Now unless you want to end up on the crispy side of cooked, I’d ease the fuck up,” Dabi’s voice took on a slight bite towards the end and his grin lessened. “And here I was going to tell you that you can meet the boss finally. Thought you might be real League material.”

Hawks instincts and mind screamed to press the sharp feather further or at least hold his position, demand answers. His judgment told him to ease off and soften the feathers once more. Hawks didn’t move too far from Dabi, though the primary feathers in his hands softened and returned to his wings. The heat radiating off Dabi died down along with the flames in his hands. Steam left his skin as he killed the flames.

“Much better… We don’t want any incidents like that when you get to meet the boss, right? You’re lucky I’m a lot more patient.” Hawks wasn’t sure what this was all about but didn’t argue with him on that point.

“Glad to see your fake little hero persona is starting to crack.”

#long post #dabihawks #dabi #hawks #todoroki touya #takami keigo #dabi is a todoroki #dabi is touya #my writing #speaks #bnha au #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia

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