#Will sometime also share how I imagine he ended up in that crate as a baby! I've got thoughts cooking xD | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ineadhyn · 10 months ago

Text

Mizora x Gortash

It occured to me that I never shared this magnificent work of mine where I imagined Mizora and Gortash in a room, trashtalking Tav whilst they wait for them to return from looting every crate in the whole city.

Read it here or below

Or dare to read the extended nsfw version here

It had been a while since Archduke Enver Gortash had entered a pub. There had been nights, in his earlier years, far before the days of the Archduke or even the Lord, that he spent drinking and amusing himself, though he had always found more fulfillment in scheming and tinkering. Now, of course, it would be madness to just walk into the Elfsong by and as himself. So, Lord Enver Gortash had renounced all gold applications on his clothes and wore a hooded cloak. It was unusual to not be the most fashionable person in the city, but it brought back fond memories of his weapon dealer days. Nobody recognized him as he parted the crowd, except for a servant girl that caught a glimpse of his face and dropped a plate. A faint smile appeared on Gortash’s face as he moved past her, making his way to the stairs that led to the upper floor. No one paid attention to him. He knew the party of adventurers had taken rooms in the Elfsong. The whole city talked about it. And also about that nobody had seen them in two days after he’d sent them after Orin. What calmed his mind was that if Orin had killed them, she would not have been able to shut up about it. She would have woken him up by sitting on his bed presumably, telling him all the gory details and licking her blade. Then she would have tried to kill him. Gortash sighed. How much he’d preferred the other Bhaalspawn. But they were dead, nothing to do about it. At this very moment they laid rotting in Orin’s sleep chamber, if he could trust his spies. Gortash pulled his mind back to the present. It was rude to let him, the Archduke and chosen of Bane, wait and he demanded to know why. It was time he took matters into his own hands. Gortash stopped in front of the wooden door and listened. Not a sound. Maybe they truly weren’t home. Well, that wouldn’t stop him. As a villain he was used to standing around, sometimes posing for hours until the heroes arrived and he could turn around dramatically. It was tedious, but never lost its effect. If they weren’t there, he would wait. And perhaps they’d left some clues he could investigate.

Gortash found the door locked, but he had his ways. His fingers fumbled a tool out of his pocket that faintly resembled a key, only it had multiple endings that could be swapped by pressing tiny triggers. Gortash slid it into the lock where it adapted its shape and turned it. The door swung open without a sound. Time to slide back the pathetic hood that probably messed up his carefully styled hair. As he entered, closing the door behind him, he looked around, maybe there was a mirror, but - The large room was not empty. A woman stood there. In fact that was not quite right. A devil stood there. A cambion. Due to unfortunate circumstances Gortash had found himself familiar with devils and their kind. The women that tracked him with bright eyes had red slicked back hair, four horns, giant wings and a perfectly sculpted body, accentuated by a slit in her dress that reached down to her navel and displayed her round tits. Of course. Devils were always so vain.

“Ts Ts”, she said. Her voice was high and unpleasant. “Isn’t that the Archduke himself, breaking and entering on a quiet afternoon. How naughty.” Gortash did not react to her words. Instead he walked over to her. “Forgive my manners, but who are you exactly?” He wiggled the fingers of his hand, so she could notice the Netherstone on his glove. She knew he had no need to fear her. “It seems you haven’t introduced yourself.” “Correct.” The devil answered. Her glance wandered up and down on him and for a moment he wished he wore his regular fancy attire. Anyways, he still looked splendid as always. “I haven’t. I am Mizora.” “Zariel’s.” “Correct again.” Mizora flashed a false smile. “Mmmh… I wouldn’t walk over these part of the floorboards if I were you.” Gortash was smart enough to stop in his tracks. He looked down. “Is that oil?” "Again, correct. Eager to get the full score I see.” “Why is there oil on the floor?” “Why are you wearing a hood?” Gortash slid it back immediately. “Because breaking and entering, as you phrased, is better done unrecognized as an archduke. Answer me now.” “You think you can command me?” Mizora tilted her head. “How sweet.” Then she rolled her eyes, showing something like genuine annoyance. “One day it’s oil, the other grease. Worst has been poison, though I am mostly immune to that. Still, it stinks.” Gortash narrowed his eyes. “They throw stuff at you?” “Why yes. The party thinks it is exceedingly funny to tease the devil. Some days I’ve to clean myself a dozen times. They say it’s what I get for gracing them with my presence.” “And you still stay?” Gortash tilted his head. Interesting. “Of course I do.” Mizora raised her chin. “I said I’ll keep an eye on my pet and his friends. What they do is only a minor inconvenience. I control hell's magic.” Speaking these words, red flames covered her right hand for a moment. “Your pet?” Gortash queried. “The warlock with the horns. My doing, by the way.” Gortash nodded in recognition. “There’s also one of my former watchdogs in the group. The tiefling.” “Ah, yes. You were the one who sold her to Zariel.” Now the approval came from Mizora. “A dog understands the yank of a leash and the hand of its master, but once they think they’re free they go feral. I am here to assure this will not happen with mine.” “Funny, my words exactly. Tell me now, what else do you know about the group?” “Everything.” Mizora started moving towards Gortash in small steps. “Too much one could say, even for my taste. But it is amusing -” A small scream, a flutter of wings and the magnificent devil hit the floor boards cursing in infernal so vile that Gortash, who knew the language, didn’t understand half of it. Or perhaps he was distracted by the sight of Mizora on her back right before his feet. He could barely contain his schadenfreude. “Every time!” Mizora grumbled, then raised her hand towards Gortash in a demand. Gortash made a note in his head and reached out to help her up, regretting it just a moment later, because it was covered in oil. Mizora came to her feet, shaking herself like a wet dog for a moment, then letting go of him and sending a shiver of hellfire over her form to clean herself. Too bad, the slick film had looked quite nice on her purple skin. And by nice Gortash meant degrading. “What have we been talking about?” “What are they doing?” Gortash repeated his question. “I could tell you.” “You know it?” “I put a little sending stone in my pet's eye socket so I always know what they are up to.” “Tell me then.” “Hmmm.” Mizora tilted her head. “What could you offer me in return?” “Ha”, said Gortash. “Do you take me for a fool? Making a deal with a devil, because I'm bored? “Ts”, countered the devil. “Disappointing.” “Just like you.” “What a high horse you sit on,” Mizora commented. She had crossed the oily plains and instead made her way to one of the red and white beds, seating herself. “You forget I saw everything the group did. So …” She looked at him with an expression Gortash didn’t like at all. “I know about the little detour they took in your palace.”

Shit. Gortash would have rather concealed he’d also fallen victim to the adventurer’s shenanigans. ‘Shenanigans’ might not do the situation justice. Gortash had invited them to his coronation and, despite seeing the tiefling, all went according to plan. Only when he returned to his chambers did he find that, whilst he had been busy talking to the patriars and signing papers, he had been robbed. Stripped bare to the last crate of spare torches. Gortash had no clue how they’d managed to trick their way into every single chamber and less how they’d managed to walk away with half his house in their pockets. He grunted. “Yes.” Mizora smiled, crossing her legs. “It’s the pale elf, you know. Sneaky little pup. And wait until you know why they leave you waiting.” “You are going to tell me now?” “I am feeling generous. And I feel I might have met a kindred spirit.” If Gortash hadn’t known devils, he would have taken her smile for a real one. “At this very moment”, Mizora continued, staring into nothing for a second, “they are in the temple of Bhaal.” “Still? I sent them there two days ago!” “Oh, they only arrived this morning. Don’t you want to sit with me?” She patted the fabric next to her. Gortash sighed internally, but it seemed like he would be here a while. So might as well. He carefully avoided the oil and accepted her invitation, keeping a cautious distance. “As I said, they arrived today. Their leader, Tav, found themselves distracted by a bunch of sad zombies they’d decided to help, searching through every single house on their way and Gale’s cat eating pigeons.” “What?” Gortash needed a moment to process. “All of that is deemed more important than getting the nether brain back under control? There are earthquakes happening. And what is that nonsense about someone's cat? Is that why my letters never arrive?” Mizora shrugged, as amused by his anger as he’d been when she slipped. “And what exactly are they doing now? Is Orin dead? I guess so, because the brain seems even more destabilized, but -” “She is.” Mizora’s tail flicked. “And this very moment our mighty hero is searching every nook and cranny of Bhaal's temple. If you’ve ever been there you might remember it’s quite spacious.” At this point Gortash just groaned as an answer. He barely dared to ask and did it anyway. He was no coward. “What for?” “Ohhh.” The sound was full of pity. “As far as I can tell, for the purpose of collecting every rotten carrot that may be hiding in a vase.” Gortash placed his face in his hands.

He should have known. He really should have known by now. How excited he had been to finally meet the group of adventurers he’d heard so much about, just a few days ago, and then - Gortash recalled that morning vividly. He stood on a balcony of Wyrmbridge and watched an eager person stack every chest and chair in Rivington in front of the gates, climbing up and down the ever growing tower like a mad squirrel. That they fell more than once and spilled blood on his cobblestones didn't stop them. Tav. The whole group was … special to say the least, but their leader was the worst. He should have known. One of his guards had approached. "Lord, are you sure we shouldn't intervene? They might give the refugees ideas." Back then Gortash had just waved it off. "You keep the rest out. That’s what I pay you for, but let this one continue. I want to see if this works." Maybe he had been intrigued by the creative engineering. Maybe it almost made up for the fact that after successfully climbing the Wyrmbridge, the group let him wait two whole days till they joined his coronation. Why do I always have to wait for them? Again the guard approached. "Do you wish for us to get them, archduke? Just say the word. It will be the easiest task." "I wish I could, but you know the protocol. And I'd rather not lose guards to a party that has already obliterated true soul Nere and Raphael himself." Gortash had killed the annoying man a little later. As the nobles of Baldur’s Gate grew impatient, he ordered them to be murdered, too. Little did it help. Tav and their gang were again on their own mission of solving every problem this city had, no matter how trivial. Gortash must have made a sound because Mizora reacted.

“Na na”, she cooed. He got a grip on himself before she could pat his back or worse. “Look now. I spy with my little eye that they are finally leaving the temple. They’ll be back soon.” “Are you sure about that?” “It might take them till the evening.” Mizora leaned to the side of the bed and opened a chest next to it casually. “Ah, yes, full of garlic. They are obsessed with garlic. Is this a mortal thing?” “I guess that at least is normal. Although it explains the smell.” “They’ll be back for dinner. That’s when they make a child serve 14 cloves of this garlic, a lemon and a full crate of Chultan Fireswill.” “I take it back. I take everything back. This is not what mortals do. This is -” He broke off. There were no words anymore. Finally he sighed. “Although this explains a lot.” This was the very moment Gortash scrapped all his plans of forming an alliance. Sure he would pretend to - and then kill them. Someone needed to. Kill them before they lay eggs or something. Kill them with fire. “I saw that look,” Mizora remarked. “You want to kill them.” “And what if I do?” “I guess, I’ll watch.” She reclined slowly. “Save me the pup.”

#mizora bg3 #lord gortash #silly fic #my work #tav shaming #loot goblin shaming #rancid vibes

9 notes · View notes

ravarui · 1 year ago

Text

// Updated the description for my Shanks muse and finally included his backstory on how I imagine that he ended up on Rogers ship. Nothing special, so don't expect some grand storytelling. Note, that the backstory will expand further over time. If you're interested in reading, the update is under the cut.

Shanks was born in West Blue on the Sirona Isles. Raised by his mother alone he wished early on in his life to go out to sea one day, since he had always been fascinated by it. His famous red hair is something he inherited from his mother, who also shared the same love to the sea as him. One of his favorite things to do, was to sit at the shore with his mother, watching the sunset while listening to all kind of adventurous stories. Sometimes imagining himself as some kind of heroic captain.

The death of his mother when he was around nine years old hit him the hardest. Having nothing that kept him tied to the island anymore he decided to take out to sea. Knowing that no reputable Captain would welcome him aboard, he snuck onto the first ship as stowaway, since he was small enough to hide behind and between crates. Like this he travelled from island to island. Not always as stowaway, sometimes he pretended to be older than he actually was, so he would be hired as a cabin boy and for once didn't have to sleep between crates, steal food and have to fear that he would get caught.

His journey continued like this until he ended up on the Grandline and in way over his head. Stealing to get by he did get caught by a marine on one of the islands, but managed to slip out of his grasp, sprinting into the direction of the docks, hoping to evade them. With the port filled with other marines he saw no other way than getting onto another ship that was just setting sail, if he wanted to avoid to get arrested. Unbeknowst to him, said ship turned out to be a pirate ship. A pirate ship that belonged to the Roger Pirates. He was caught rather quickly by Silvers Rayleigh, who wasn't that happy to find some kid on the ship. To say that Shanks was more than worried in that situation would be an understatement. Roger however only laughed after hearing his story, offering him a place as cabin boy on the ship if he wanted. Wary, but also seeing an opportunity Shanks took the offer, not knowing that this decision would have long lasting consequences and the crew would become like a family to him.

#look it's me! - ooc #mun talks #personal #DONT REBLOG #headcanons #Shanks HC

6 notes · View notes

crysalita · 3 years ago

Text

Left Behind

Bo Sinclair x Reader

Word Count: 2439

Warnings: Suicide mentioned when Bo is telling the story about Trudy.

I had to admit that I never actually wanted to be here, on a road trip that is, but somehow I had managed to find myself getting an invite from Carly, who claimed there needed to be more girls. I reluctantly agreed to tag along, and so far I was regretting that poorly made decision.

I was a third wheel as I lagged behind Carly and Wade. I felt as if all I had done so far since we arrived in this town was either roll my eyes or sigh at their constant flirting. If I had of known that this is what my day was going to consist of then I would have said no in a heartbeat.

The small town we had arrived in gave me strange vibes, whether it was because the town was oddly empty even though we could hear chatter, or whether it was because of the two men that we had come across.

Bo, the man that works at the gas station, spent most of the time eyeing me down after the run in at the church, I didn’t know how to feel about it.

“So, Y/n. What did you think about Bo? He seems to have taken quite an interest in you.” Carly teased, nudging my shoulder.

We were in the gas station looking for whatever part that Wade needed.

“Don’t be stupid, he was just being friendly.” I scowled.

“Coming from a guys perspective, he definitely finds you hot.” Wade spoke up.

I sent him a glare. “Just look for that part.”

“He’s got everything, but a 15 inch. I’ll just have to use a 16 inch.” Wade grabbed a hold of the strap that he needed, but we were startled when we heard another voice.

“Are you planning on stealing that?” When I turned around, I was met with Bo leaning against the door frame, still in his suit and tie. I had to admit that the suit did look good on him.

“No, we just didn’t know how much longer you were gonna be, and you know, we didn’t wanna interrupt again.” Wade rushed out. “But I left you some money on the counter, but you don’t even really have the right size. You don’t have any 15 inches.”

“I do at the house.” Bo replied, not looking in the slightest bit like he was convinced by Wade’s constant stuttering, I couldn’t blame him though, Wade made us look more suspicious than we actually were.

“Look, I hope you’re not getting the wrong idea that we’re in here.” Carly attempted to ease the tension.

“Yeah, we already feel bad enough after interrupting the first time, we just didn’t want to do it again.” I smiled politely. In return, Bo sent me one of his own smiles and gestured for us to come out of the shed.

“No worries. That was in the past. We can move on from that.” Bo replied as he held the door open for us.

“You keep fan belts at your house?” Wade asked.

“I get things delivered there when I’m not here. Look, if you want to hold onto the 16, that’s fine by me.” Bo was looking more agitated by the minute.

“No, it’s okay.”

Bo led us outside of the gas station and we began our journey to the house that Bo lived at. My legs were already tired enough as it was from all the walking we had done, and I honestly wasn’t trying to do anymore.

“So, is it too late to sign Carly up for that beauty pageant?” Wade asked with a smirk on his face.

“Now unfortunately it is, well at least for you-” Bo turned and nodded in my direction. “-Because you have won, hands down.” I blushed slightly at his comment but shook it off quickly as I looked away.

“Thank you.” I mumbled. My gaze landed on Carly who was giving me a smug smile to which I rolled my eyes at.

“That house of Wax is pretty cool.” Wade changed the subject. This caught Bo’s attention.

“You went inside?”

“Yeah, it was unlocked.”

“I did try to tell them they shouldn’t, but they both happen to be very stubborn.” I didn’t dare step foot into the House of Wax. Knowing myself I would probably end up ruining the art in there, and I would never forgive myself if I destroyed someone’s art that they, more than likely, spent hours trying to create. I did manage to get quick look inside when Carly and Wade entered, and it truly was amazing.

“Everything seems to be unlocked ‘round here, don’t it? Thank you for having respect.” I was rewarded with another one of his smiles that really did compliment his face, although he did use quite an odd choice of words as it made him seem all the creepier.

I shared a look between the other two, who were also very creeped out.

“I did get a look inside though, when they opened the door that is, and the wax sculptures are amazing.” I complimented. I was a bit bummed out that I couldn’t see the artwork up close to see their full detail, but my conscious got to the best of me and now I was glad that I didn’t go in.

“Yeah, people used to come and see it from miles away. Trudy was the main artist.” I could imagine the amount of people that I wanted to see it, but for some reason there wasn’t any.

“What about Vincent?” Carly questioned. “I saw his name on a lot of the work.”

“One of Trudy’s boys.”

“That family must be very talented. Are any of them still around? I would love to meet them, and maybe they could help me out with some of my own art.” I commented.

“Oh- no. It’s a horrible story. Trudy’s husband, Doctor Sinclair, he was a doctor. He got his licence revoked for doing surgery’s on the side, you know, stuff that most doctors wouldn’t do. So, he moved him and Trudy out here to Ambrose, made a fresh start in medical practise and Trudy found her calm with the whole wax sculpture thing.” Bo explained as we walked past the House of Wax. “It was her dream to do something incredible here. Then she had a couple of kids-”

“What’s so horrible about that?”

“Trudy got a cyst in her brain, she just started rottin’ away.” My eyes widened as Bo continued the story. It was really starting to take a dark turn. “Couldn’t work no more, she went crazy, and it got so bad, that Doctor Sinclair had to strap her up to the bed. The whole town could hear her screaming from the house. And Doctor Sinclair was so depressed that he couldn’t save her he-” Bo creates a gun with his fingers and pretends to shoot himself in the head. “Blew his head right off.”

“That’s horrible.” I mumbled.

By now we were approaching the last house on the road, meaning this was where Bo was staying. The sky was getting darker and darker by the minute, making the situation all the more terrifying.

“Hey, uh, why don’t you three hop in, and I’ll go get that fanbelt for ya’” Bo opened the door to his car and gestured for us to hop in.

“No, we actually have some friends picking us up where the roads washed out.” Carly interrupted.

“I’ll give ya’ a lift there. It’s the least I could do then for making ya’ll wait.” Carly and I both turned to Wade who was nodding his head.

“Could I use the toilet?” I asked Bo as Carly hopped into the car.

“Yeah, of course. You said you need to use the can too, didn’t ya?” Bo faced Wade. He then proceeded to ask Carly the same question before he led us into his house.

The house was nothing less than what I expected, not that I expected much. To no surprise, it was quite messy, but I couldn’t hold that against Bo, as he most likely wasn’t expecting guests.

“So, where ya’ headed too anyway?”

“Uh, where just headed to a football game.” Wade answered.

“Bathrooms just down the hall. Let me get out of this jacket and tie, and I’ll get the fanbelt. I have another bathroom upstairs for ya’ to use.” I followed Bo up the stairs as Wade walked down the hall. I began feeling nervous as now I was left alone. “You interested in football?” Bo cocked his head to the side as he looked at me. I found myself staring a little longer than I should have, which Bo took notice of too, as his lips twitched up into a sly smirk.

“No, not really. Just here for Carly.” Bo nodded his head along with what I was saying before he popped another question, a very unexpected question.

“I take it ya’ single than?”

“What makes you think that?” I stammered.

“Well, considering those two are tied to the hip, that would most likely mean that if ya’ were seeing someone, then they’d be 'ere too.” Bo explained as he shrugged off his jacket. “And if it were me, I wouldn’t let ya’ out of my sight. Especially in a town I’ve never been in.” Bo opened a door that revealed to be the second bathroom he owned. I walked in and closed the door and instantly let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding.

This man was making me feel all kinds of things, and I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

I did my business and exited the bathroom to see Bo waiting outside, this time he was dressed in casual clothing, and no longer rocked a suit and tie. I had to admit that this man could certainly pull off both looks.

“Did you need help getting anything? I don’t mind helping.” I offered.

“That would be nice, thank you.” I followed behind Bo, who led us into the garage that was covered in tools and what I could only assume was car parts.

“Is it always this quiet in town?” I watched as Bo gathered some things and placed them in crate he had. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do, so I waited where he had placed down the crate.

“Depends on the day, I guess. Sometimes it can be noisy, believe or not, and some days it’s dead silent. Today just so happens to be one of those days.” Bo mumbled.

All of a sudden the lights were cut off and everything went pitch black. I immediately put my arms out to reach for something to grab a hold of. “Bo?” I held my hand out in the direction of where Bo was last stood. “Bo? Where are you?” I felt his hand come in contact with my own.

“I’m right here, sweets.” I was thankful the lights were off so Bo couldn’t see the blush spread out across my burning face. “I don’t know what happened.” The sound of metal hitting the ground echoed throughout the garage, and then I heard the sound of the horn from outside.

“They must be waiting for us.” I muttered to no one in particular. The lights then turned on and I found myself extremely close to Bo as his chest was almost plastered to my back. “Sorry about that. That was childish.” I apologised I pulled myself away from Bo.

“Nothing to be sorry for. Ya’ get a little scared of the dark, nothing to be ashamed of.” Bo picked up the crate of tools. “I’m going to take this stuff out to the truck. Would you mind finding the wrench for me? It should be in one of the drawers over there.” Bo nodded his head in the direction of where the cupboard filled with drawers were before he exited the garage.

Everything felt scarier now that I was alone and everything around me was silent. I could hear my own breathing with how silent it was, and I hated it.

I searched through the different drawers before I found the wrench that I was looking for.

I began hearing shouting from outside and I quickly made my way outside, only to find the truck driving away and Bo standing outside, the tools scattered across the ground. “Bo, what happened?” I slowly approached Bo who was seething with anger, that was until he turned around to me. His face relaxed as he locked eyes with my own.

“Your little friends just decided to drive off with my truck. I guess they forgot that there was a third one with them.” My mood dulled at his words. How could they just leave me like that? “Hey, don’t let them get ya’ down. You don’t need 'em. Especially after the way they’ve acted today.” That didn’t change the fact that someone that I considered to be my best friend, had just left me behind to run off with her boyfriend, did I ever really mean anything to her. “Listen, I have another truck at the station, if ya’ like, we could walk down tomorrow morning and I could drive ya’ where you need to go.”

“That’d be great. Thanks.” Bo walked back inside, forgetting about the tools that were lying all around.

“You can sleep on the couch for tonight. I’ll get ya’ some blankets to keep ya’ warm. Did ya’ want something to eat?” Bo yelled out as he walked up the stairs.

“I’m good.” I called back. I sat down on the couch and stared off into nothing, this day was going horrible. I sighed as I placed my head into my hands and tiredly rubbed my eyes.

“Hey, ya’ know. I’d love to see ya’ some more. I wasn’t lying when I said ya’ were pretty. Definitely caught my eye.” Bo placed down the blankets on the end of the couch as he sat down beside me.

I found myself blushing for what felt like the millionth time today. “Really? I’d like to see you more too.” I whispered, looking everywhere but the man beside me.

Bo placed his finger on my chin and guided me to look in his direction. “Look at me when ya’ speak. I want to see ya’.”

Before I knew it, we had spent what felt like hours talking on that couch before I eventually got tired and fell asleep, and that was definitely the only good part about my day, getting to talk to Bo.

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #sinclair brothers #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair #house of wax #house of wax x reader #slashers #slashers x reader

188 notes · View notes

maybege · 3 years ago

Text

Safe And Warm - Part 2

Summary: The journey to get Thalassa to Coruscant continues and Paz and you get closer. (Anastasia AU)

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 6.4k | Rating: T

Warnings: once again Disney-level fluff, some tense moments but nothing really dangerous, Mandalorians do not wear helmets in this AU

Here we go! The second and final part to this little AU. Thank you everyone who has commented on and reblogged the first part, I was so happy you liked it. This part also coincides with @agirllovespancakes ‘s 7 Days No Smut Challenge which I highly recommend you check out as there are so many wonderful contributions. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated and I hope you enjoy it!

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

The next day, you mostly spent in the room that Thalassa and Din had slept in.

It was amusing, the dark circles under Din’s eyes and the way his brows were in a constant frown.

“You owe me,” he hissed as soon as Paz stepped over the threshold, “Princess here wouldn’t shut up for even one second. It’s a wonder she survived that long on that muddy planet we found her on. I would’ve strangled her years ago.”

Paz only chuckled.

That night, it was felt almost like a routine. None of the passengers tried to talk to you this time around, the dark look on Paz’s face proving enough to keep them away.

The curtain was pulled closed and he had his back turned to you as you got changed. He could hear the shuffling behind him and once you had settled down, he got undressed as quickly as he could.

When he laid down, he felt your arm brush against his. As he turned towards you, his hand found its way to your waist on its own and you smiled, shuffling closer.

“Here we could –“ he put the blaster behind your back.

The metal scraped against the wall and when he noticed that there was not enough space he gently pulled you towards him until you were flush against his chest.

“Is that all right?” he asked hesitantly, his chin on top of your head. You nodded against him, your nose dragging along his throat and goosebumps erupted all over his skin. You were so close …

“Will you tell me why you’re doing this?” you asked him suddenly, “No one would ever spend more than one day with Thalassa out of the goodness of their heart, much less smuggle her into the Core Worlds.”

“Her family will pay a good prize to those that bring her back,” he admitted, almost scared of what your reaction would be. He wanted to add that he was happy to do it now that he got to know you. That he was happy to be with you, here at this moment, and that he would happily abstain from the money if it meant he could just stay here with you.

“I can imagine,” you whispered against him, “All she ever could talk about growing up was how much money her family had – sometimes I wonder if that is the only reason my uncle ever kept her. Apart from the undying love my aunt had for her, of course.”

How anyone could love Thalassa was a mystery to him to Paz did not say anything. Instead, he just held you close.

“I’m flattered you thought that I was her,” you murmured a few moments later, so quiet he could barely hear it, “I – no one ever thought I was more than a farmer’s daughter before.”

“You looked – you were radiant,” Paz replied, “Areradiant, I think. Doesn’t matter if you’re a princess or not, I think – I think you’re beautiful.”

He felt the heat of your cheeks against his chest and his heart warmed. “Thank you, Paz,” you whispered as the light outside shut down, “Thank you for taking me with you.”

And in the darkness, as he remembered that he would have to say goodbye to you on Coruscant, his heart hurt.

The days on the ship were absolute perfection.

Or as close to perfection as they could be.

You spend the days either in the common rooms or in the small room that Din and Thalassa shared. Paz made it a habit to clean his blaster every day, just to have something to spend the time on. Din did it as well and there were more than a few moments where Paz contemplated taking the weapon away from Din to prevent him from hurting the constantly chattering princess.

But most days it was not too bad. There were ways you were able to entertain yourself – either by watching a longer holovid on one of the datapads or playing cards. Thalassa had expressed interest in watching one of the loth cat races but Din and Paz had steadfastly refused to take her there on the grounds that if a bounty hunter was anywhere on this ship, he was sure to be at the loth cat races.

And in part that was true and Paz was convinced that Din said it in an attempt to keep her safe. But Paz also had another reason: He did not want to leave you.

Because as the days and nights wore on, he noticed that whenever you were in the same room (which meant always) you would drift towards him or vice versa. No matter if you started out sitting next to Din or Thalassa in the morning, you always ended up right next to him, often talking quietly to each other in a corner of the room.

He had gotten used to your figure next to him, having pulled your knees against your chest as you let him explain to you the different mechanisms of the blaster he was cleaning.

“You’re good at that,” you had said once, smiling at him, “Explaining stuff.”

“Well, I am a teacher,” he had revealed with a teasing smile, “Back at home, I mean. I teach our foundlings about the world and everything they need to know to survive in it.”

You had nodded, resting your chin on your knees and your eyes had been so soft he had wanted nothing more than to kiss you. “It fits,” had been your response, “Paz Vizsla, the teacher.”

Other times you would volunteer to accompany him to the cantina, getting some food for the four of you so Thalassa did not need to leave the room. (“Less exposure, fewer chances for her to be recognized,” Din had shrugged and Paz had agreed.) And with you walking next to him, both of you talking about everything and nothing, Paz only barely registered the jealous looks of other passengers, clearly directed at him.

But he could not care, not when you were so happy to choose the meal of the day, trying out different delicacies from all over the galaxy – stuff you had heard of as children or that was so strange to you, you could barely imagine its taste, all of it landed on your plates.

When the night neared, you would sometimes challenge him to a game of dice which you hopelessly lost every single time but Paz could only smile at you, trying to show you the right way to throw the galactic dice, his broad hands holding yours and his heart skipped a beat every time you asked him to show you again.

Yes, the more time passed, the more Paz allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to spend his life with you.

With the ship having safely arrived on Naboo, the next leg of the journey was pretty easy. You needed to get on the train to Theed to catch the next ship that would take you to Coruscant.

“I am sure you’ll like it, Princess,” Din huffed, carrying his bag and hers, “The next room will be much more to your tastes.”

“I can only hope so,” Thalassa replied coolly, shielding her face from the sun, “Thus far the trip has been rather underwhelming.”

Paz chuckled, grinning when he caught you rolling your eyes. To be fair, Paz was pretty sure that everyone would be happy about the better accommodations. In comparison to the ship they had just left, it was almost luxurious. They would have a bedroom big enough to accommodate all of them with an ensuite bathroom and room service available. He could not wait until he had the chance to take a good long shower and get cleaned up.

Not one to waste credits where it was unnecessary, Din bribed the train personnel to let you stay in the luggage cabin much to Thalassa’s dismay. But as Paz helped you up, his hands on your waist, he noticed how giddy you were. You were grinning from ear to ear and he felt his own lips tug up in a smile. One thing he lamented about the better accommodations was that he would not have you next to him every night.

Sitting down on the floor, he watched as your skirts flared up with the wind as the train gained speed.

“I can’t believe we’re this close already,” you said, gazing out at the glittering sea under Naboo’s sun, “It feels like yesterday where you picked us up.”

“I am happy we did,” Paz replied quietly, feeling how your pinkie finger brushed against his thumb and turning his hand so his palm was open to you. His heartbeat quickened, hoping that you got the hint and took his hand but he also did not want to force you.

Your smile warmed his heart while the sunlight warmed his skin. He felt your fingers brush over his palm, moving to interlock your fingers when –

“You have never been to a gala, have you?” Thalassa asked you suddenly, “My family always threw the biggest feasts when I was younger, I can’t imagine it will be any different now. Oh, wait until you see the dresses and the food! It is more than your village could ever imagine.”

“You have seen the dances I have been to,” you reminded her with a grin, “None of them could be called galas at any point.”

“That is true, you have never danced with a partner before have you?”

“I – well I did not need to,” you stuttered, pulling your hand from his and he grumbled internally, “Will I need to know how to do that?”

Thalassa scoffed, “Of course you will, sweetie,” she turned to Din, “can’t you teach her? Or are you two going to embarrass me as well? Oh stars, here I am, returning after years of separation and the group I am with can’t even dance properly.”

Paz rolled his eyes, not saying anything as he rolled up his sleeves. His suit jacket was somewhere behind him on one of the crates, weighted down by a bag on top of it.

“C’mon,” Din said with a heavy sigh, “If I can learn to do it, you can too.”

You looked a little apprehensive at first, standing up to stand across the dark-haired man who held out his hands for you. Happy that she had got her way, Thalassa started to play a common tune on her datapad, something that even Paz recognized from his home.

But when Din started to move, trying to lead you across the wagon, it became clear that it would not work out at all. It was more stumbling than dancing, really, and Paz cringed when he saw how unintentionally harsh Din was grabbing your hands. No wonder you looked uncomfortable, turning your head to face him.

Paz took that as his sign, standing up and straightening the wrinkles in his pants. His heart was pounding in his chest as he approached you. Funnily enough, both you and Din looked relieved.

“Let me,” he announced, grinning as Thalassa kept playing the tune on her datapad.

“I don’t think I will learn it, Paz,” you admitted shyly, avoiding his gaze, “Maybe I am too clumsy …”

“If I can learn to do it, you can learn to do it,” he repeated Din’s motto and gently grasped your hand, pulling it to his mouth for a light kiss.

“M’lady,” he offered, bowing his head formally, “May I ask for this dance?”

“Why of course,” you answered in an equally exaggerated voice, sounding much happier than you had before.

With the music in the background, he pulled you to his chest and started to lead you through the empty wagon ins low steps. As you grew surer, he got faster and soon you laughed with him, fitting so perfectly against him. Stars, he did not remember the last time he had had this much fun.

The melody got slower and so did the steps but he did not let go of you. Instead, he kept you even closer, feeling your heartbeat against his.

“You are a good dancer,” you said with a smile.

He twirled you around with a grin, watching as your skirt flared.

“You are a good dancer too,” he murmured, his forehead falling against yours. Your breath audibly hitched in your throat and it felt like you were alone in the wagon, “Maybe we could dance at the gala if you want.”

“I’d like that,” you whispered back, “I always feel comfortable with you, safe and – safe and warm.”

He opened his mouth. He wanted to tell you how he would keep you safe if he could. How he would make sure to always be by your side if that was what you wanted. How he wanted you to continue to travel with him and not leave him on Coruscant. His hand on your back wandered up to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. “I –“

“Kriffing Imps,” Din cursed, “Get back, get back, we need to hide.”

Immediately Paz stepped away from you, pushing you behind him with his arm in front of you.

“Get the bags,” Din hissed, already unlocking the safety of his blaster.

Thalassa was surprisingly quiet, her eyes wide as she pulled the bags from the crates with as little fuss as possible. She handed one to you as Paz grabbed his blaster, switching off the safety.

The one disadvantage they had with being in the luggage cart was that they were the last on the train. There was no way they could escape the imminent arrival of the guards and it made him sick to his stomach, especially when he was highly aware of you behind him.

“They will discover us,” you whispered, clearly scared. He saw them coming closer, slowly checking every wagon.

Din looked outside. “We need to get out of here before we cross the water, we won’t survive the waves.”

That was when they must have noticed you. Shots rang through the air and Thalassa ducked, screaming in fear as the carte behind her took a hit. Paz cursed, rushing you behind the crates as he and Din tried to return the fire. But with the slim doorway and the crates in the way it was difficult to keep cover and do any significant damage.

With a kick to one of the doors, Din managed to create a new exit, the ground only a blur as the train rushed towards a bridge across the sea. But as the Imps got closer, so did the water and soon it was clear that the meadows would be your only escape.

Paz was sitting behind the crate next to you, leaning forward to shoot. He heard a scream but even if he had managed to hit someone, there were still too many to cover the time until they would arrive in Theed.

“We will need to jump,” Din shouted.

Thalassa squeaked in shock, “We can’t! The train is moving,” another shot rang, “And they are shooting at us!”

You were sitting right next to him, eerily quiet, your hands trembling. He could see how scared you were and the thought of something happening to you made him sick to his stomach. No, as the Imps came closer, he knew he could not bear to see you hurt. His gaze met Din’s and he nodded, the plan clear.

“You jump while I cover you,” Paz announced.

You looked up at him in shock, your lips trembling as you shook your head, “Paz please, I – I am scared.”

He grabbed your hand hastily, pulling it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “I promise it will be all right, just trust me. I will be right behind you, you just need to jump for me, can you do that, love?”

You nodded frantically and with a push of his hands, you stumbled over to where Din was waiting at the exit. The wind was rushing and got sick when he saw how close the sea was.

“Now!” Din shouted, pushing Thalassa away with a scream, you followed. As second later Din followed.

Paz did his best to shoot a few Imps, kicking out the bags into the air. When they reached the doorway, he knew it was time to leave. In his haste, he knocked his shoulder against the doorframe, shouting in pain as he threw himself through the opening just before the train crossed onto the water.

The landing was harsh but he did his best to roll it out, groaning as his shoulder throbbed with pain. He could hear a few shots, the Imps attempting to hurt him even after his escape but they failed. Thank the stars they did because he did not have it in himself to avoid any bullets now.

He grunted, his head resting against the grass as he held his shoulder, trying to get the pain to stop.

“Paz!” a voice shouted and footsteps came rapidly closer, “Paz, Paz are you all right?”

It was you.

You bowed over him immediately, your face blocking out the sun. Gentle hands framed his face and he smiled tiredly as he blinked against the light. Stars, you were so pretty he did not even care about his shoulder.

“How are you?” you asked quietly, your brows furrowed in worry, “You – it looked pretty bad.”

His hand closed around yours on his face, pulling it to his lips again. “I’m feeling better now that I am seeing you,” he mumbled against your palm, “Are you all right?”

“I am perfect,” you smiled, running your fingertip across the bridge of his nose, “So – so what do we do now?”

“Where’s Din?”

“Oh, he is taking care of Thalassa, she had a fright and he told me to make sure you are okay.”

“If I tell you I am not, can we stay here for a little longer? Just the two of us.”

“You would want that?” you murmured with a chuckle, “Take a nap in the sun right here?”

“I can’t imagine anything better,” he replied, his hand holding yours to his chest closing his eyes and just enjoying the calm around him with you by his side.

It was decided that in order to get to Coruscant on time, you would walk back to Theed.

The walk was not too strenuous and even though it was long, it offered some wonderful views of the Naboonian landscape and nature. That and the climate was nice. It was not too warm, not too cold and there was just the right amount of breeze in the air.

Even Thalassa seemed to be in better spirits.

That was, until Din had to tell her that there was no way you would be able to catch another passenger ship to Coruscant today.

“But then how will we get to Coruscant?” Thalassa asked in terror.

“I think I might know someone,” Din grumbled.

Paz snorted.

You, walking beside him, looked at him questioningly. He only shook his head, already looking forward to Thalassa’s distraught face when she would see what Din had meant.

It was not even a commercial passenger ship. It was a freightship to Coruscant and Thalassa’s (and yours) face could have made him laugh if it hadn’t made him wince. His shoulder was still hurting as if a loth cat had decided to bury her teeth into the muscle but he simply shouldered his bag on the other side.

That friend of Din’s, Peli was her name, had owed him a favour and a few placed on the board of the freight ship were apparently enough to cover that debt. Which is how he found himself next to you, sitting on the floor of the hull.

The one advantage this had was that freight ships were much quicker than any other mode of transportation. You were huddled up next to him, your head on his shoulder, his coat laying over you.

You were fiddling with his large hand in yours, playing with his fingers. Paz was fascinated by how small your hand was compared to his and maybe it was the pain or the exhaustion but he spread his fingers completely out, waiting for you to catch on.

He heard your small huff of laughter when you understood what he wanted to do. Gently, you laid your palm against his, seeing how his hand dwarfed yours. He smiled before closing his hold on your hand and pulling you closer until you were completely seated in his lap.

You hummed, settling your head on his shoulder, your breath fanning against his neck.

“How long until we’re there?” you asked quietly.

(Somewhere a few rows back, Thalassa was complaining about one thing or another. But he was good at tuning her out in favour of listening to you.)

“Only a few hours,” he muttered quietly, “By this time tomorrow we will be there. Then, it will only be a matter of time until we can find Thalassa’s family at the gala.”

“Have you thought about what you want to do – when it is all over?” you asked carefully.

“I will go back home,” he answered, “With the money, we can build a new school. I can get some improvements on my home done, some repairs.”

“That sounds lovely,” you answered, with a smile, “Do you think I could visit you sometime? You and the students, of course.”

“I would want nothing more,” he said quietly, “I could show you the lake, the forest, there is this nice walk up the hill from where you can see the stars at night, you would like it.”

As you both fell asleep you did not know you dreamt of the same thing.

A future together.

Coruscant was loud and bright and glittering.

And word spread fast – really fast – because as soon as they stepped foot into one of the spaceports, an elderly woman approached them, introducing herself as a distant aunt of Thalassa’s. A distanced aunt who had arranged for food and lodging for the entire stay.

Paz had never wanted to hug a stranger so badly in his life.

The hotel they had been ordered to was one of the finest places he had ever stayed in and they all got their individual suites. A whole suite.

“It is beautiful”, you breathed next to him, looking up at the decorated ceiling, “I don’t think I have ever seen anything this beautiful.”

Paz bit his lip. I have seen you, he wanted to say, I have seen you smile and that will be the most beautiful moment of my life.

But he did not say anything. No, he simply nodded and disappeared into his room, taking the longest shower of his life and dressing in a new suit before swallowing three bacta pills at once.

It did not take long for Thalassa to be completely back in her element. For the gala, she would need a new dress. Which meant that no price was too high, no amount of glitter or skin showing too much. And because he and Din wanted to make sure that she would remain safe until they could get the reward for finding her, they needed to accompany her on her trip.

Her trip through every single shop Coruscant’s elite had to offer.

With every shop they left, the bags got increasingly fuller and heavier and as the designated carrier of goods Paz was a little grumpy. But that soon passed when he saw how happy you were, grinning and joking with Thalassa as the latter tried on dress after dress.

As Thalassa was trying on more and more dresses – no end in sight as the wallet of her family seemed to be bottomless – Paz was sitting on one of the chairs, watching you.

You were busy staring at a mannequin at the back of the store. Your eyes were wide and your mouth slightly open in wonder as your fingers brushed over the glittering fabric of the dress.

“Would you like to try it on, ma’am?” the attending salesperson asked you

A sad smile formed on your lips and you shook your head. Paz frowned, leaning forward to hear what you said.

“No thank you,” you declined, “it’s really beautiful though.”

“Are you sure?” the woman asked again, “It’s a beautiful gown, I am sure it would look wonderful on you. Especially for the gala.”

“I can’t afford it,” you replied, shame on your face and in your voice. Paz’s heart broke for you and he frowned, unable to stop thinking about your sadness.

He watched as you looked wistfully at the dress, making your way back to where Thalassa had just stepped out of the dressing room. She was wearing a bright red number and turned this and that way to admire herself in the mirror while Din looked to be suffering even more, knowing that h would have to carry most of her purchases.

“You look wonderful,” you smiled, your eyes roaming over her dress, “Do you think you’ll wear it to the gala?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Thalassa mused, her tone falsely indecisive as if she didn’t already know that she would buy the dress.

Paz could barely concentrate on whatever was said. All he could think about was your sad smile and how you had gazed at that dress so longingly. This entire day money was spent on Thalassa. But – you didn’t seem to have anything to wear for the gala.

As the group departed the shop, Paz motioned for Din to walk off without him. His brother in arms nodded knowingly, raising his eyebrows in an I told you so motion. Paz ignored him.

“Everything all right, Paz?” you asked, staying behind as you noticed he hadn’t followed you.

“I think you should try it on,” he blurted out, motioning to the dress, “For me … please.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, “I –“

“Yes,” he nodded, “Yes I am sure and I know you want to. Come one, love … for me.”

A few minutes later you stepped out of the dressing room, looking absolutely magnificent. Paz’s mouth gaped open as he sat in the chair. The fabric left your shoulders bare and there was a slit up your leg and stars you looked pretty. As you saw yourself in the mirror, your whole face lit up and he could only feel the warmth in his cheeks as you twirled for him.

“It is so beautiful,” you murmured in awe, hands gliding over the fabric, “It is like the colour of the night sky.”

“You look … you look perfect,” he brought out, his voice hoarse, “You look really beautiful.”

“Well, it – it was nice having it tried on,” you smiled, clearly trying to mask your sadness and his heart broke.

As you disappeared into the changing room, he whirled around to the saleswoman, “How much?”

She smiled at him knowingly. “We would be able to deliver it to your accommodation without her knowing about it,” she said as she slipped him the paper with the number.

It was not as high as he had feared. And with the pay coming in soon, this would be nothing.

“Good,” he nodded, “It should be a surprise.”

After a rather exhausting shopping spree with Thalassa, you were happy to be back in the hotel.

It was nice to see her in her element and certainly good to know that everyone here behaved like her. Even if it was a little annoying.

You sighed as you returned to your room. The gala was approaching fast and you were still thinking about what to get dressed in. You had brought your only good dress from home but that had been the standards from home. This here was something else entirely.

With a look at the grey fabric, looking colourless against the vibrant furniture of your hotel, you remembered the dress you had tried on. How Paz had looked at you so adoringly. How his voice had hitched and made your heartbeat quicken.

It was frustrating that you could not afford it and you wondered if maybe Thalassa would lend you one of her dresses if you asked her.

You let yourself fall onto the soft couch in the bedroom, taking in a deep breath. Yes, you were feeling a bit down. Everyone was getting ready for the opera gala and you felt like you were the only one who would be completely out of place. Even Din and Paz knew how to behave around high society, it seemed, and you clung to the idea of just … hanging out with them the entire night. Not that you wanted to do anything else anyway.

Sitting up, a box on your bed caught your eye and you frowned. You recognized the symbol from the shop and your heart skipped a beat. Quickly you stood up and walked over to your bed, keeping your eyes on the box in case you blinked and it disappeared.

Excitement grew in you and you carefully lifted the top, you squealed and let it fall back into place.

The dress.

He had bought the dress for you.

Your hands trembling from excitement and you were sure your face hurt because you were smiling so widely.

With a look at the clock, you knew you needed to hurry and you practically ran under the shower, getting ready as quickly as possible. When your body was dry enough, you hurried to the box, pulling on the dress and grinning when it fit perfectly. It was even prettier than in the shop and for the first time, you allowed yourself to truly admire yourself in the mirror.

You were excited and you looked excited. And happy and bubbly and in love and –

“Knock, knock, can I come on?” Paz’s voice sounded from outside and your smile got even wider.

“Yes, come on in!” you called, turning around to greet him.

The man stepped inside, faltering as he saw you, if only for a second, and your heart raced in your chest. He was all fancied up in his black suit and tie. His shoulder looked broad and strong and you saw that he was not wearing a blaster. He was truly ready for high society.

“Got you a present,” he murmured almost bashfully, “ I thought Thalassa could not be the only one with a bit of jewelry.”

“You already gifted me this,” you gestured to the dress, “And I will never be able to thank you for it, I – thank you, Paz, it is so lovely and it means so much and I –“, you sniffled, tears pooling in your eyes.

“Hey now,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you, “no crying, this was supposed to make you happy.”

“And it did,” you whispered, burying into his chest, “It does.”

“Good,” he said, his arm wrapping around your waist, “Because I remember that a pretty lady promised to dance with me tonight.”

“And she intends to keep that promise,” you smiled up at him, resting your chin on his chest. It was warm and safe and familiar and your heart hurt at the thought of never seeing him again.

Then he pulled a smaller box out of his jacket, “Good, now are you ready for your second present?”

You nodded. He made a circle motion with his finger and obediently you turned around so your back was to him. You gasped when you felt something cold touch your neck and when you looked in the mirror you saw that it was a necklace he was fasting at the back of your neck.

It consisted of white gemstones, glittering in the light of the lamps and you felt you had never worn anything this expensive. You were captured by his gaze, feeling your chest and cheeks heat up with how he looked at you. His rough fingertips grazed the sensitive skin on your throat and back of your neck and goosebumps erupted everywhere his touch went. You never wanted him to stop touching you.

“You look stunning,” he said, holding your gaze, “Like the stars.”

“Thank you, Paz,” you whispered, slowly leaning back so he could rest his chin on your shoulder, his arms enveloping your middle, “It is beautiful.”

“You are beautiful,” he replied with a smile, “Now, are you ready to stun some old rich people?”

You giggled, your heart skipping a beat as he took your hand.

The only way to describe how you behaved in the opera was the following: a couple. As soon as you stepped out of the speeder, your arm had wrapped around his and you remained by his side the entire time. A fact that made him immensely proud.

He had watched with you by his side as Thalassa had reunited with her family and Din had received the payment in full. You were the one he was seated next to in the little private booth before the performance was starting to be honest he did not want it any other way.

He never once let go of your hand, his thumb constantly drawing patterns on your skin as you talked about all the different novelties this performance had to offer.

And it did not seem like you wanted him to either. You kept whispering about all the different things you saw, the pretty lights and dressed and clothes and the food as you shared a few appetizers with him. You both watched Thalassa in the booth with her family, getting reacquainted after years of being separated from each other.

But by far his favourite part was that his lips brushed your skin whenever he spoke into your ear.

“Everything is so beautiful here,” you murmured to him, gently squeezing his hand, “it is exciting isn’t it?”

“It is,” he agreed, keeping his eyes on you, your excited smile, and the way your free hand kept drifting to the necklace he had gifted you.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear,” you admitted bashfully, tilting your head closer to him, to hear him better. Paz’s heart skipped a beat as he leant closer, his lips now brushing your ear. “I said,” he murmured, “It is beautiful and – I think you are the most beautiful person here.”

He heard your breath hitch and gathered his courage to lean down and press a soft kiss just beneath your ear. And as if that was not enough, he raised your hand softly against his lips again before leaning back into his own space.

You looked at him softly, a small smile on your lips and he could see how your chest heaved.

Then, you took his hand back, pulling it against your lips this time and pressing a gentle kiss against each of his knuckles, all the while keeping his gaze. Paz forgot how to breathe. And suddenly he knewhe needed to tell you now, needed to askyou now.

“When our business is done here,” he began, his throat dry and scratchy, “Would you – would you maybe like to – I mean with me, would you like to –“

“Thalassa invited us to dinner afterwards, would you like to come – oh, I am sorry.”

He had never hated Din more in his life.

Paz was pacing the hallway in front of Thalassa’s room.

The entire dinner he had not gotten any chance to talk to you and suddenly it had been time to go and he had overheard someone talking about how you would be offered to stay here. With Thalassa. As her assistant or something.

He had not even been able to call your name or grab your hand before the princess had whisked you away into her room and now everything felt too tight and constricting. Panic flooded him. Panic that you might accept the offer. Panic that he could not tell you how he felt. Panic that he had lost you before he even had a chance to offer himself to you.

It felt like an eternity before the door opened and you looked almost surprised to see him there. Paz’s heart pounded in his chest, a feeling of now or never coursing through him. You opened your mouth but he stopped you before you could say anything.

“Let me just –“ he murmured, “Let me just say … this. Please don’t go, love, please don’t stay here, I – I know I have nothing much to offer, certainly not as much as this,” he gestured around the grand hallway, “But … by the stars, I will make sure you will lack for nothing, I promise.”

You did not say anything.

“I – I love you,” he confessed, his shoulders dropping relief of finally having said what he had kept with him for so long, “and I – please stay with me, please come home with me, I – I can’t bear to say goodbye to you now.”

You looked at him with big eyes, teary eyes, stepping closer to him. “Paz,” you murmured, searching his gaze for something, “I declined the job offer,” you looked down at your hands, nervously fiddling with them. Automatically he took them in his, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles.

“I love you too,” you whispered with a smile, “Very much so and I – I don’t want to say goodbye to you yet.”

“What are you saying,” he murmured, a wider grin on his face, raising your hands to his lips, “You coming home with me, love?”

“Yes,” you smiled, nudging your nose against his, “I am.”

With your words echoing in his head, he leant down and softly pressed his lips to yours. It was a slow kiss, one that you immediately started to reciprocate and goosebumps erupted all over his skin at the feeling of your lips against his. Stars, you were soft and warm and wonderful.

He felt your hands on the back of his neck, playing with the short curls there and he smiled against you, stepping closer and wrapping his arm around your waist. A giggle escaped your lips and he gripped you tighter, chasing your mouth with his as you pulled away to breathe. You did not complain one bit when his lips landed on your jaw instead, gripping his shoulders tighter as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

Whatever journey lay ahead of you, you would master it together.

#maybege writes #7daysnosmutchallenge #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizsla x fem!reader

105 notes · View notes

heniareth · 3 years ago

Note

Here's that ask I promised :D Some more questions for the OC ask meme <3

What is your character's biggest realtionship flaw? Has that flaw ever destroyed relationships for them before?

Companion they are closest to and why?

Thoughts on the Dalish?

What biases does your character have? (This can be in favor or against)

How does your OC react in stressful situations?

What do they like to ridicule and/or what do they find stupid?

Does your OC have recurring themes in their dreams?

What is your OCs proudest moment?

Did you create the OC to be like yourself, did they end up being like yourself, or are they very different from you?

(These are a lot again, it is so hard to hold back xD So take your time and no pressure as always :) Just excited to get to know more about your Astala <3)

Thank you for the ask!! I had this sitting for forever, life has kept me busy, but I'm so excited to give this a go XD And to delve into some aspects of Astala that I haven't given much thought yet, so that's exciting.

What is your character's biggest realtionship flaw? Has that flaw ever destroyed relationships for them before?

Astala's biggest flaw when it comes to relationships is her inability to let go of people. On a positive note, this trait manifests as a very strong loyalty. On the negative side, it will lead her to cry after relationships that have ended and pour over them to try and find out what went wrong. It can also put her or other people she cares about in danger; especially in her position as the de facto leader of the companions, this could quickly lead to the loss of a whole unit (aka the three companions you can take with you on missions + the Warden). Luckily, she has Morrigan and Alistair (and Sten and Zevran) who can and will point out when a course of action is likely to put them in more danger than they already are.

Companion they are closest to and why?

Ooof, this is a tough one. Ironically, the romanceable four. Alistair is practically second-in-command, even though I imagine he’d protest at the title. They work closely together and are therefore quite close. Astala admires and respects Morrigan, even when her opinions and advice goes against most things Astala believes in. She’s the kind of friend you know would hide a body for you. Leliana is a friend in the more “common” sense. She and Astala both have a thing for nice clothing, their morals are similarly aligned, and they just get along in general. And then of course there’s Zevran, who’s Astala’s love interest. Funnily enough, they both started off annoying the hell out of each other over various petty reasons, and it takes them some time to really see each other for who they are. And from that point on there’s no turning back and they fall hard.

Thoughts on the Dalish?

The Dalish are an interesting subject. Astala hadn't met any previous to the Blight (although her cousin Shianni imagined her dad, who she never knew, to be a strong Dalish warrior). So to see them live these relatively normal lives when she encountered Zathrian's clan was... odd. But on the other hand, their lives were everything but normal because they spoke elvish, worshipped the Creators, had halla and could go wherever they wanted. So the first thing Astala did when she got there was ask a metric ton of questions about everything. On the other hand, the way some of the Dalish talk about the city elves makes her sad. They have a point , the city elves would probably treat one of the Dalish similarly, and she understands the distrust in anything that so much as smells of humans; but she still finds the divide tragic. She also thinks the Dalish are a bit too proud for their own good; but then again, how else are you going to defend yourself against a world that threw an Exalted March against your forebears' homeland?

What biases does your character have? (This can be in favor or against)

Astala is generally biased in favour of elves, and in favour of whoever she percieves to be the underdog in a given situation. This can lead her to get duped (it hasn’t yet in my current playthrough, but it probably will at some point).

How does your OC react in stressful situations?

When in stressful situations, Astala generally tries to remain in control of it. To do so, she relies heavily on whatever companions she has at the moment and the resources available, both in the environment and on her person. She tends to try and talk things out, but also to make rash judgements, which uuuuuh can backfire (she's quick to draw her blades, for instance, and that does not exactly help to deescalate situations). She also has a tendency to just seize control. She also will give orders and will expect others to follow them. The companions look to her as a leader, so that works out fine. In Redcliffe, however, she did find that the militia men would listen to the mayor, and not to her. That was frustrating for both parties.

What do they like to ridicule and/or what do they find stupid?

Human nobles. Just the whole package. From their fondness of dogs and their dainty dances (which her father, who was a bann's servant, would describe to her and her cousins) to their pointy-ended shoes and their petty grievances (because when you have enough money to boss other people around, all your grievances are petty, right?). A surefire way to keep the younger kids entertained was to pretend to be a noble, let them play servants, and have them wreak havoc upon you as they got orders wrong on purpose and "stole" the "noble's" belongings. Afyer the Blight, that fondness to ridicule sadly wanes away and leaves mostly frustration in its wake.

Does your OC have recurring themes in their dreams?

Astala is a terribly heavy sleeper. If she dreams, she doesn't remember it come morning. She can therefore sadly not report any recurrent themes in her dreams as of now.

What is your OCs proudest moment?

Apart from the power trip in the Fade (she walked out smiling and continued to smile until Uldred turned into a pride demon), it was probably when she got her first job. She was 14 at the time and overheard some boys talking about how a merchant was expecting a big shipment and looking for new help. Up until then, she had been trying to get a job as a servant like her father, to no avail. On a whim she followed the boys, and lined up with the other hopeful candidates in front of the merchant's warehouses for a try-out (a selection process entailing an unpaid day of work). She proved herself to be strong enough to lift and carry crates, small and nimble enough to climb to where others couldn't reach, and above all she got extremely lucky. She was called back, first for one month, then for a trimester, then for one year and for another. And while Cyrion would have liked his daughter to have an easier and less dangerous job, he was proud right alongside her when she brought the first coins she had earned home.

Did you create the OC to be like yourself, did they end up being like yourself, or are they very different from you?

I created Astala's first version (which I mentioned in this post) based on a character that was very much an ideal; strong, kind, and above all, brave and adventurous. That first heroic version then got put through all the trials and tribulations of the story, and I was very much going with my gut instinct and not with a predetermined idea of the character when I tokk her decisions. So basically, this first versions had a good chunk of my morals and priorities. After the Deep Roads, that first version started getting depth; she reacted very strongly to having to shoulder the responsability of chosing a new king for Orzammar, for Ferelden, and defeating the Archdemon. From that point on, I started exploring why that reaction might have been so strong. Astala as she is now is the product of that exploration (during which she acquired some fears and pain points she shares with me. Examples are the fear of messing up, the sometimes blind loyalty or the need to shoulder all the responsability). Bottom line: she definitely has parts that are mine, some of which she acquired over time, but she's her own person. She's not me.

---

That was a lot of fun!! Thank you so much for the ask and sorry for the delay >.< But I'm very happy I finally came around to it, I always love answering these

#astala tabris #dao #dragon age #warden tabris #dragon age origins #dragon age: origins #da:o #da: o #da: origins #the warden #the hero of ferelden

31 notes · View notes

sourwormsaresour · 4 years ago

Note

Headcanons on the type of pets La Squadra would own?

Holy shit this was too fun to make, especially with giving the pets names.

Sorbet and Gelato have their own Crusty-White-Dog™ that's a Maltese Terrier named Armani. The dog hates and barks nonstop at everything deemed threatening (aka, everyone and particularly the rest of La Squadra) and yet those two will claim she's the sweetest thing in the world. True to her name, they deck her with Armani branded clothes, either specially made dog fashion or they had a DIY done to make it look like an Armani outfit- down to the bright pink leash she wears dripping in the Armani logo. She eats the finest dry kibble and only drinks Ferrarelle Sparkling water; she will know the difference if you switch it up. She's the epitome of "I demand pets but only do so with your eyes" to everyone. Despite loving Sorbet and Gelato the most, she demands all their attention on her and she will cockblock those two if she catches them being affectionate to each other instead. Despite having a nice bed, she always sleeps between the two of them and will whimper if they kick her out of the bedroom so they can get intimate. Those tear-stained eyes always look like they've seen everything, despite being constantly babied by her owners. If Armani could, she would kill everyone.

Risotto, the biggest man in Vento Aureo, has a little Syrian hamster he called Ace. He thought that a pet with a shorter lifespan would allow him the perfect balance of having a pet but not being very attached to it compared to pets that live longer- he was wrong. If you ever come into Risotto's office as he worked, either you are greeted with Ace running around in his green hamster ball, walking around Risotto's desk as he worked, or running in the hamster wheel behind the desk. Ace's tank is an old Aquarium tank Pesci gave to Risotto that is now full of soft bedding, toys, and Risotto frequently cleans it. There are days where Risotto just spends hours watching his hamster walk around the room, eating little treats, and staring at Risotto with its beady eyes. It's gotten to the point where you can't walk into Risotto's office without noticing a lone sunflower seed or piece of bedding on the ground that Risotto didn't notice until you pointed it out. Every time Ace passes from old age, Risotto buys a new Syrian hamster and calls that one Ace. He hasn't kept track of how many hamsters that came and went so far, but treated every one of them as if they were the first Ace. He takes pictures of Ace doing the most relatively boring things and will share them with his members.

Illuso got a Sulphur-crested cockatoo named Scapino as a joke. He thought they didn’t require much attention but later felt bad when he found out that they need specific proper care. He proceeds to care for it as if it was his child. Illuso taught his bird how to speak and swear at people, specifically swearing at Formaggio and occasionally at Ghiaccio. This man will shower his bird with the best treats (expensive nuts, dried fruit, chicken bones) and has a special bar for it to perch on when they're in the shower together. This bird has free reign all over Illuso's place and wears a little anklet thing to verify that it has an owner should it escape. The two of them have spa days together and it’s one of the most wholesome things in the world to witness. Scapino will actually join Illuso on missions too, staying in the mirror world the whole time, and it provides him some comfort from his social anxiety. Sometimes Scapino sits on his shoulder as he walks. Illuso trained it to stay and hide in the mirror world so that it wouldn’t fly away or blow his cover when he’s working. But the bird will fly around in there and will watch anyone that’s getting murked in front of him with no remorse and commenting on it too. Imagine you’re dying in the mirror world and your last moment is this fucking bird looming over you going “night night, motherfucker”. JESUS CHRIST.

Prosciutto used to be on the whole “pets are unnecessary” train but he had considered looking at breeders for the best quality dog. And then one rainy day he found an abandoned Portuguese Water Dog puppy in an alleyway and at Pesci’s insistence took it in. Turns out the puppy was bought by a rich family for their kid but then abandoned when the kid wasn't interested in it anymore. Prosciutto insisted that the dog was going to stay for one night and then sent to the pound first thing in the morning. It's been years now and the little dog is now a big fluffy good boy named Pon Pon. The second biggest chunk of Prosciutto's paycheck is for this dog; I'm talking grooming services with paw-ticures, an all-organic raw diet, the nicest beds that even a human would wish they can sleep on. Pon Pon is properly trained with all the basics and tricks, because Prosciutto doesn't want to deal with a misbehaving dog, but it will use puppy eyes against the old man now and then. He give you the best smiles if you call him a good boy and if you glance at the right time you can see Prosciutto smile for a brief moment. Had he lived longer, he would have made Pon Pon famous on Facebook like Boo the Dog. Prosciutto will also not admit that this dog has helped him get laid a few times, because every person he did bring home always got a kick out of Pon Pon.

Ghiaccio has a pet snake- an albino ball python named Bianco. Ghiaccio was also on the “pets are unnecessary” train too but mainly because he can't stand loud pets (i.e. Illuso and Sorbet and Gelato’s pets). When Risotto suggested he get a snake, Ghiaccio looked into it, researching and meticulously setting up the proper enclosure and found himself going to a local reptile expo to find Bianco for sale. He’s fascinated by his snake to say the least, and would use leftover containers or Tupperware for Bianco to spend more money on proper equipment or food. Ghiaccio is really involved in online reptile forums and frequently debates with people on topics such as the best substrates to use, whether live rodents are better than frozen, ethics of breeding certain species, etc. He often gets worried when Bianco becomes picky and Ghiaccio would spend sleepless nights trying to get his baby to eat. Ghiaccio would walk around with his ball python wrapped around his neck or lets him slither around in his room under supervision but he mostly leaves him alone in the enclosure. There are times where he would claim he has the best, smartest pet and everyone just rolls their eyes like “yes the white fettuccine that got stuck in a toilet paper roll an hour ago is so smart”. But they let him rant about it. It’s kind of cute to say the least.

Pesci is the definition of people whose entire LIVELIHOOD is making his room into an aquarium. His room is full of strictly maintained, cleaned, and decorated tanks full of various types of aquatic animals. I’m talking Dwarf Puffers (Antonio, Portia, Jessica, Bassiano, and Solanio), Albino Gold Axolotls (Moe, Larry, and Curly), Red Ear Sliders (Franco and Ciccio), Clown Fishes (Browser, Mario, Toadstool, and Koopa), Brazilian Sea Horses (Tom and Jerry), a Blue Betta Fish named Valentina in a 30+ gallon aquaponics tank that grows a variety of plants each season- to name a few. He rebuilt his entire room to keep everything running and even had Melone help him set up timers for lighting and temperature control. Pesci will cry if you somehow made the pH level off by 1 or did not care for his animals properly when he’s away. He’ll even lecture you about bad tank setup. He's a prominent member of the aquarium community in Italy and will regularly redecorate each tank to suit the year and mood. This is where he’s spending his cut on the 20 million lira job: caring for his mini aquarium room. He occasionally gives away his pets’ offsprings for extra money (he doesn’t breed but sometimes he ends up having a ton of baby animals he can’t take care of) and would have been a YouTuber for his fish content. Now that I think about it, Pesci reminds me of my mutual @nexter2nd. Please go follow them.

Melone has a Holland Lop bunny and you cannot change my mind. He actually had a pet bunny growing up, another Holland Lop named Echo and Grep, and his current one is named Sudo; all three are named after UNIX commands. He has a large dog crate he diy-ed to be a roomy enclosure in his room for her that he cleans frequently but also allows Sudo free reign of the room when she wants to go out. Because of his job, he makes sure all his wires are covered so his bunny isn't tempted to chew them and watches his bunny diligently whenever she roams around. Easter time is when the denim jacket, pastel bows, and flower crowns come out and Melone makes sure to take a lot of photos. He also housetrained his bunny and taught her a few tricks, similar to how he trained Echo and Grep years ago. Sudo is spoiled in terms of getting a lot of pets, new toys, and feasts on the finest veggies and delicious hay. Melone also makes sure the first thing he teaches his Juniors is to not harm the bunny. Surprisingly, he's against breeding Sudo and has her neutered. This is mainly because he doesn't have the time to breed and raise more bunnies but also he hates the idea of selling the grown bunnies off afterward.

You know that Formaggio has a cat: the little Russian Blue cat named Sweetie Baby. Sweetie Baby was a kitten that he found outside his home. The little thing was the sole survivor of its litter and nearly starving to death, so he took her in thinking he will bring her to the shelter when she recovers; that cat now lets him live in HER apartment rent-free. Despite feeding her cheap dry food and constantly shoving her into bottles, he treats her like a queen otherwise. He will dress her up in little outfits (much to her annoyance) and often would be too aggressively affectionate towards her. Still, there are moments where she would cuddle with him during the later nights and allow him to put on one iced-out bow he just spent a quarter of his paycheck on. Walking to his apartment and even the backdoor of La Squadra’s HQ means carefully walking through the stray cats mewling at your feet, because Formaggio will feed any cat he sees. Initially, Risotto wanted the cats gone, but then he finds out the cats doubled as security when he watched some robber attempting to break in but getting their eyes scratched off instead.

65 notes · View notes

chefrat · 4 years ago

Text

Trying my best to exist just for you

pairings: reader x Levi

type: angst, fluff

word-count: 2.1k

warnings: cursing, mentions of a dislocated hip, mention of blood, death

A/N: I’m honestly so sleepy right now but really felt like finishing this so I hope its good enough :( my English isn't the best but Im trying also I really don't know what to title this just I’m gonna use a Lorde lyric lmao

Levi looked around anxiously, trying to get any piece of you into view. Even if it was your hair, or your shoulder, just something to ease him. Seconds passed and you still were no where in sight and it drove him absolutely crazy. Erwin passing by quickly and purposely not making eye contact with Levi pissed him off but it made him even more anxious. He was good at not showing it though but his eyes told a different story. ‘Where the fuck are you?’ Levi thought to himself, anxiously waiting seeing the group that had gone out earlier this week pass through, everyone was exhausted but civilians cheered. It was still not enough to lift up the spirits and Levi knew exactly what those looks were of. He tried his best to put the negative thoughts away, not waning to imagine someone telling him that you were gone. Just the thought of it made his chest tighten and his throat run dry. That’s when he saw the crate pulling in those who were hurt and another one following behind that carried those who didn’t make it but whose body were recovered. Hange could feel their friend tense at the sight of both carts occupied, they looked around with concern trying to see if you were in either of them.

The sigh that left their lips once they saw you were in the injured crate was enough to relief them from worry but to Levi it still felt like a stab to the chest. It hurt him seeing you there, bleeding but still trying your best to attend the wounds of others. “Make space!” Someone in the crowd yelled, rushing and trying to get those who were injured to the infirmary. Levi was quick on his feet, following behind trying to get to you. Earlier this week, Erwin had decided to pull you from Levi’s squad to join him for a quick expedition that was suppose to last much longer than four days but shit hit the fan. Everything was rushed, too much had blown up in your guys face and you couldn’t help but feel guilty for not doing enough. You had been one of the first ones to end up harmed, the titan sending you flying with a swat of his hand catching you off guard and immediately disabling you from being able to defend your squad. Some squad members quickly came to your aid but only resulting in fatality. That’s when you really let out a sob, seeing your friends die in front of you because they were trying to protect you. But you didn’t give up there, your left leg barely functioning and with tears in your eyes, you tried your best to get away. To try to avenge your friends but you were quickly swept off your feet by another squad member barely giving you the chance to catch your breath.

Memories came flooding back and you tried your best to hold in your cries, trying to get others into the beds. You ignored your own pain and Levi’s calls to settle down. “Hey.” He said with a stern voice, reaching out to you but you were too busy helping the medic even when they were telling you they had it in control. “Please listen to me.” He pleaded and you complied, facing him with wet tears running down your face and dried blood taking up space of the face Levi adored so much. It pained him, he couldn’t handle seeing you like this. The way you winced while limping and the blood that came rushing from your leg that was most likely broken. Levi carefully swept you up and rushed towards an empty bed with a medic following behind. The tears wouldn’t stop coming, the guilt hurting more than your whole leg being dislocated. Your hand reached out for Levi’s which he gladly took, he brought it up to his cheek letting your cold hand graze his warm cheek. Those four days felt like hell to him but seeing you in pain and bleeding on the bed was on a whole different level. Oh how he wished he could take the pain away from you and let himself go through it instead, he just couldn’t see you like this anymore. It was obvious he was concerned, his emotions that he tried so hard to never show finally being put on display.

Hours passed and it was midnight all of a sudden and after many medics who had tried their best to help you, they finally came to the conclusion that you had dislocated your hip. The crying also stopped but you couldn’t help but feel numb, the only area in your body that was radiating heat came from your leg and from your swollen hip. Levi never left your side, still holding your hand and even cleaning up the blood from your body. Erwin walked in, catching everyone’s attention and to check up on the wounded. He would visit every two hours, the glares Levi would send his way made everyone in the infirmary uncomfortable. Levi was beyond piss, mad that he had taken you instead of him and mad that you had ended up hurt. “Levi, please.” You whispered to him, squeezing his hand trying to ease his anger. The black haired man listened though, his main goal being to keep you comfortable and to distract you from your pain. Erwin went to talk to you, asking how you were feeling but Levi continued to stare him down. This was something that he was not going to let go of so easily.

It was night now, probably early morning and Levi still hasn’t left your side, sleeping on the chair that was next to your bed. Everyone else was sound asleep but you just couldn’t. You couldn’t sleep because of the pain but because of how it all went down. It just didn’t sit right with you and it was weighing you down. Your thoughts were much more louder than whatever was chirping outside of the infirmary. “Please sleep.” You looked over to see him with his eyes closed and his arms crossed, looking as if he was sleeping but not exactly. “I can’t.” A shaky breath left your lips, the events playing in loop. “Levi,” You brought your hands up to your eyes. “I have never felt so useless.” Hot tears ran down your face while you tried your best to express yourself to Levi with a gentle voice not wanting to disturb the other people in the room. He opened his eyes, looking into yours with his own pain. “I know you’re hurting but please, I want you to sleep.” But you didn’t argue, the sudden wave of tiredness and painkillers knocking you out.

It’s been a week and you were finally discharged from the infirmary but ordered to be put on bed rest for the rest of the month until your next check up. Levi practically made himself your own personal nurse without you even asking, he would remind you about your medicine, not only that but he was also bringing you food, helping you stand and helping you with your daily tasks. Sometimes his overprotectiveness would clash with your need of being independent but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Lack of mobility made itself its daily reminder of what had happened and there was no escaping it. It made a huge impact and Levi took notice. You weren’t the only one affected, Levi was also pretty shaken up thinking he had lost you but that was the risk for serving in the Survey Corps and the both of you knew that. You sat up on the bed, wincing at the piercing pain on your hip that you still haven’t gotten used to. The thought about not being able to fully heal pained you. If it healed improperly there was no doubt that you would be stuck with a limp and then no longer needed in the Survey Corps.

The sudden creak of the door opening caught your attention. A solid Levi walked in, the first few buttons of his white uniform shirt unbuttoned. His eyes met yours but quickly changed in appearance, burrowing his brows at you. “You shouldn’t be sitting.” You rolled your eyes, slowly getting off of the bed putting your good foot down first. “Welcome home, honey.” Levi rushed over to you, very against you trying to stand. “For fuck’s sake, please just lay in bed.” He swept you up and gently placed you back on the mattress of your shared bed, ruining your progress. You grabbed onto the collar of his shirt and pulled him down for a quick peck taking him by surprise. Levi gave you a small smile but quickly dismissed it, standing up and walking away to change out of his uniform. “Levi?” You questioned, sitting up on the bed again even though you shouldn’t, making him roll his eyes. “What if…” You could feel your tears start up but bit your tongue, trying your best to hold them back. “What if I never properly heal and I’m ordered to back down from serving in the Survey Corps?”

Levi glanced over to you, he noticed that it had been a thought thats been gnawing at you all day. Even he wasn’t sure how to answer that, he made it look like he was more focused on changing. Just thinking about it made you burst out crying, everything you worked so hard for thrown away just like that. The way you tried your hardest to control your crying but you knew you couldn’t keep it in any more, it really did hurt Levi seeing you like this. He threw on a shirt and made it all the way over to you in a blink of an eye. Without thinking about it he dropped to his knees in front of you, taking in your hands. You could feel how his slightly trembled in your hold and you couldn’t help but scowl.

“You have no idea on how I felt when everyone else walked through that gate except you.” He gripped your hands even tighter, staring into your own glossy orbs. “I am so so so fucking happy having you here with me right now. If I had to choose, I would pick this one hundred times over than you never returning to me. You risked your life out there and managed to come back alive and you’re still thinking about going out there again, that takes balls and I think if it ever comes down to it and you’re ordered to back down then that would be the dumbest thing that this military has ever done to turn away someone like you.” You couldn’t help but cry a little more, his reassuring words and warm touch making you more into an emotional mess.

“Levi, I was scared. I thought it was over for me, it all happened so quickly but you’re right. I rather have this a hundred times over than never coming home to you. I thought about, about how it could have been to grow old with you and about if you would still be there for me after so many years. The only thing that went through my mind during those few seconds was you—“ The sob that you barely managed out burned your throat from how strongly your emotions were at the the moment.This has probably been one of the first times Levi has ever seen you completely breakdown besides that day when you returned. You talking about how the only things you were thinking about was him during what you thought would be your final moments of life made his own eyes water.

He cupped your face, feeling his hands become wet from the tears that kept racing down your face. His own tearful eyes looking into yours, both completely vulnerable to each other and showing each others fears. “Let’s do it.” Levi said out of nowhere, confusing you. “Do what?” The both of you never breaking eye contact, his touch still making an influence on your rosy cheeks. “Let’s get married.” You gave a small raspy laugh but they way he never broke character made you think that maybe he was being honest.“I’m dead serious. Tonight, tomorrow, in a week, whenever you want but only if it’s with me.” You studied his eyes, marriage has never been brought up before so for this proposal to pop out of nowhere, it really was a surprise to you. With a nod and loving eyes you ran your hand through his black hair. Levi inched closer, sealing the deal with a kiss. That was all he needed, even if your hip was never going to heal completely and you had to walk with a limp for the rest of your life he would still love you, no matter what.

(not edited, also wrote this on like 38 hours of no sleep :( but still, hope its okayish enough)

77 notes · View notes

batterycityghoul · 4 years ago

Text

There’s a Bad Moon on the Rise (Ben Hanscom/Reader) (2/3)

Summary: You're Richie's twin sister and a member of the Losers' Club. When the other members all pack up and leave town, you elect to stay behind with Mike to wait for It to come back. After 27 years pass and Pennywise returns, will you and the other Losers be able to finally defeat him?

Pairing: Ben Hanscom/Reader; Richie Tozier & Reader; Background Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak

Word Count: 5.9k

Author’s Note: This is finished at 16k. I decided to split it up into three parts to make it easier. If you enjoy this, then letting me know would make my day! If you’ve seen It: Chapter Two, then you know what you’re in store for regarding warnings...but with the added fun of some canon divergence!

Masterlist / Read on AO3 / Part One

When you got to the Townhouse, you were unsurprised to see that Eddie was practically ready to run out the door and Richie wasn't far behind him. But both seemed to have been brought up short by whatever was going on with Beverly and Ben in the Townhouse's lounge.

You stopped just in the doorway, trading an uncertain look with Richie, before you focused on what they were talking about.

When you realized that Beverly had somehow known the details of Stan's death, you started to wonder what else you were missing.

It wasn't until Bill and Mike arrived and it was revealed that Beverly had seen all of your deaths thanks to her time caught in the deadlights in ‘89 that everyone started to realize there was no fleeing Derry this time. Either you all stayed and killed Pennywise once and for all or none of you would even make it another twenty-seven years to try again.

You were all cursed and doomed to die horrible deaths if Pennywise lived. It seemed your only options were to stay and fight or flee and die.

"Well," you started as you glanced at Mike. "I've waited twenty-seven years in this shitty little town for this moment. I'm in," you told the group with a resolve you mostly felt out of a need for revenge. Revenge for Stan and revenge for the lost years of your life you would never get back. Revenge for the nightmares and incessant fear that had haunted you since you were a child and revenge for all of the children who had lost their lives to Pennywise. Revenge for Georgie and revenge for the grief countless families had endured in Derry because of It.

You met Bill's eyes for a brief moment and noticed he looked just as determined as you felt to finally finish It once and for all.

Once everyone else had agreed to stick around and try to finish the fight, Mike mentioned a ritual he discovered that would be able to kill It. You couldn't help the frown you aimed at him as he explained the Ritual of Chüd. In all the years you had stuck by Mike's side, he had never once mentioned the ritual to you. From the way he was carefully not meeting your eyes, you knew that it was something he had purposefully done. When Bill seemed to support Mike's words, you were helpless to stop the brief moment of jealousy you felt that Mike would trust Bill with that information but not you.

As you trailed at the end of the group on the trek across town, you couldn't help wonder if the ritual would work. There was something that didn't quite add up about the bigger picture, but you weren't sure what it was yet. You needed more details and the only person who could fill those in was Mike.

Going back to the clubhouse was a trip down memory lane you hadn't been aware you needed. You usually avoided the woods, for good reason, but being with the group provided you with the courage you sometimes lacked when you were on your own.

You enjoyed watching the other members uncover old memories until Richie scared you all with his own impression of Pennywise.

"Are you going to be like this the whole time we're home?" Eddie wondered as he glared up at Richie.

Richie rolled his eyes before glancing away. "I was just trying to bring some levity to this shit," he grumbled before he sighed. "Alright, guess I'll go fuck myself, then," he muttered before he ducked under a beam and started rifling through a crate that held a few old comic books and other odds and ends.

"What are we doing here, Mike?" Bill asked as he glanced up from a shelf full of old trinkets that used to belong to the group.

"Yeah, not that I'm not loving the nostalgia of all this, but what's the point?" Richie added with a frown.

"I brought you here because I need you all to remember. If we're going to complete the ritual, then you all need an item. An artifact. Something that's connected to the past and to that summer." Mike explained as he considered everyone in the group.

"Why?" You couldn't help but wonder as you looked around the clubhouse. "What kind of artifact should we be looking for?"

"It's different for all of us, but it has to be something personal. The Ritual of Chüd requires a sacrifice and that sacrifice will be your artifact. I brought us all here, because I thought this might be where we find Stan’s artifact.”

When Eddie pointed out that Bill had already found Stan’s artifact, a shower cap that had been left behind in 1989, you all shared a brief moment of silence as you remembered the thoughtful boy who had insisted wearing the caps would be the only way to prevent spiders from getting in your hair.

Once you all left the clubhouse, Eddie turned to look at Mike. “So, where should we find our artifacts or tokens or whatever?”

“It’s different for all of us, which is why we're going to need to split up."

"Hey, no, fuck that," Richie denied with a quick shake of his head. "Every horror movie ever explains why that's a bad idea."

"Yeah, I'm not going anywhere by myself if I can help it," Eddie was quick to jump in.

"No, it has to be alone," Mike insisted as he glanced from Richie to Eddie. "There are memories that you have to uncover on your own."

"What's left?" Richie asked as he squinted at Mike. "We remember everything from that summer already. We joined forces and fought It and suffered through some shit that years of therapy probably won't help. What else is there?"

"We weren't always together," Mike pointed out as he met your eyes. "There was a point during that summer when we were separated."

"After Eddie broke his arm," you remembered with a frown.

"After the fight," Beverly added with a nod.

"Well, fuck," Richie seethed with a scowl.

From the way Eddie scoffed, you had a feeling he agreed with the sentiment.

“You all need to unlock those memories, because that’s how you’re going find your artifacts. Tokens,” Mike amended with a quick look at Eddie. “And once you have them, we’ll all meet up at the library. We can figure out how to proceed from there.”

Before the group split up, you managed to grab Richie's jacket sleeve to grab his attention. He slowed down until you were walking side-by-side at the edge of the group.

"You alright?" You couldn't help but wonder as you considered your brother. You hated to admit it, but he seemed like the biggest flight risk at the moment. You knew your brother was brave and reckless, but he also didn't seem completely on board with the plan to defeat Pennywise.

"Peachy," he assured you with a grin that was a bit too wide and forced to be anything but fake.

"Richie," you admonished with a tone you hadn't used for years, but clearly told him you weren't going to take any of his bullshit.

"I just..." he trailed off with a frown. "I didn't ask for this. I was fine. I was touring and famous and making so much fucking money." He huffed out a helpless laugh before he raked his fingers through his hair. "But it was lonely and now I know why. But we're already down one man and any one of us might fucking be next. Why the fuck would I want to stick around for that? Why should any of us?"

You considered your brother for a few moments before you spoke. "You could leave," you conceded with a nod. "But you'd never forgive yourself if you weren't here and something went horribly wrong. Besides, if we don't defeat Pennywise this time, then we're all dead."

"Gee, you really know how to console a guy. I can't even imagine why you're still single," Richie muttered before wincing when you reached out to shove him.

"Fuck off," you grumbled. Your eyes met his and it wasn't long before you were both laughing, falling back into the familiar comradery you had enjoyed all those years ago.

"Fuck," Richie sighed before he threw an arm around your shoulders. "You know what your token is yet?"

"Don't laugh," you warned as you bumped into him. You knew exactly what your token would be and while it would hurt to depart with it, you knew that if it meant getting rid of Pennywise, then you would sacrifice just about anything to ensure the safety of the others. You wouldn't lose anyone else. Not after you had already lost Stan.

You reached into the pocket of your jacket and pulled free the red bit of sponge you usually kept there before placing it on your nose.

"Holy shit," Richie got out on an incredulous laugh. "You still have that? Why the fuck are you just carrying it around like that?"

You felt a grin tug at your lips before you pulled off the clown nose Richie had gifted to you during the summer of '89. "It might have been the worst gift idea ever, but it meant a lot to me."

You weren't even sure why you were stumbling around the woods near the barrens all by yourself. If anything had become clear since Pennywise appeared in your life, it was that you really shouldn't go anywhere alone.

You were just so tired of being afraid all the time. Now, with the group split up, you had begun to worry that the search for Georgie had fallen by the wayside. You knew, deep down, that Bill's little brother was probably dead, but you didn't want to give up until Bill gave up.

So, when you couldn't stand to be inside your house any longer and Richie had ignored your request for his company, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You didn't even really think you would be able to find Georgie, but you couldn't help but hold out a tiny bit of hope that you would still find the kid lost out in the woods.

You weren't really looking where you were going when you stumbled over a root that had twisted up out of the ground. You flung an arm out, barely catching yourself on the trunk of the tree next to you, before you kicked uselessly at the root.

When you glanced up, you noticed you were no longer alone.

"Oh, poor little Y/N, all alone in the woods," Pennywise crooned with a malevolent grin that sent a chill down your spine. "No one wanted to play with you, Y/N?"

"Fuck off," you struggled to say as you willed yourself to move. Your feet stayed planted, though. You wanted to turn and run away, but your body wouldn't let you. You were frozen with fear.

"I'll play with you, Y/N," Pennywise promised as he took one step closer to you. "You'll never be alone as long as your old pal Pennywise is around."

All you could think about was Georgie and Betty Ripsom and Eddie Corcoran. Was this the last face they saw before meeting a cruel fate? Did they all fall into their gruesome demise just after seeing that wide, menacing grin and those glowing, yellow eyes?

"Time to float," Pennywise said in a deep, guttural voice that seemed to be the catalyst for your feet to finally unstick themselves from the forest floor.

You turned and made a run for it. You could hear Pennywise's laugh following you as you attempted to flee. Something sharp caught on the back of your shirt and you tripped over another root, sprawling on the ground. You hissed when your palm scraped over tree bark on the way down, but you didn't care. You scrambled to find purchase again with your feet, nearly slipping in your quest to keep running as far and as fast as you could manage.

"You'll float too," you heard Pennywise promise from just behind you. You could just imagine that he was right on your heels now, his hands always outreached and ready to grab you. "You'll all float," he continued in that same dangerous and lilting tone that never failed to freak you out.

You were so sure that Pennywise would catch up to you. You thought that you would be a goner. You were sure your body would be found chewed up and bloody or that you would never be found again. But then you saw a glimpse of the road through the trees blocking your path and you hurried towards it, feeling like your chest was going to cave in with every harsh breath you forced past your lips.

You felt relief when you finally made it out to the road. You weren't sure how you had managed to get so turned around out in the woods, but when you realized that you were even farther out than you normally cared to venture, you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with fear at what almost happened to you.

You didn't allow yourself to stop running until you were home. Your palms were bleeding and while you were trying to cut across a back yard to make your trip shorter, you had managed to skin your knee when you tripped over a kid's tricycle.

You were exhausted and bleeding and terrified as you finally crashed through the front door of your house. Your parents weren't home, which wasn't much of a surprise, but Richie was sitting on the couch in the living room.

"What the fuck happened to you?" He asked as he jumped up from the couch and moved towards you.

You flinched away from him before waving him off and heading for the hallway. "Stupid fuckin' clown," you muttered as you stormed into your room. You grabbed a clean t-shirt and shorts, ignoring Richie calling your name as you locked yourself in the bathroom.

You were barely aware of the fact that your hands were shaking as you moved to stand in front of the bathroom mirror. All you could see when you closed your eyes was Pennywise and his stupid grin and those fingers that could just as easily turn into claws. You met your eyes in your reflection and forced yourself to take deep breaths.

You couldn't be scared, you told yourself, because then Pennywise would have won.

When you finally got yourself to calm down, you stepped into the shower, intent on getting clean and trying to erase every trace of dirt and blood off of you. It felt like if you could just wash it all away, then you could make yourself forget about what happened in the woods. Even though you knew, deep down, that it wasn’t as simple as that.

By the time you made it back to your room, you had cleaned and bandaged the worst of the cuts you suffered. Now, all you wanted to do was lie down and sleep away the exhaustion you felt.

Your plans were derailed when you got to your bedroom to see Richie sitting on the edge of your bed and waiting for you.

"I'm not in the mood," you growled as you brushed past him.

"Hey, come on," Richie coaxed as he reached out to grab your arm. "What the fuck is going on?"

You bit your lip, feeling tears begin to well in your eyes, before you managed to finally look at Richie. "I saw Pennywise," you admitted with a grimace. "He chased me out near the barrens."

"Fuck," Richie hissed before he tugged you down to sit next to him. "But you're okay?"

"For the most part," you told him before you showed him the scrapes on your palm. "He just scared me more than anything."

Richie frowned down at your hand before he glanced back up at you. "We've got to kill that stupid clown," he muttered with a sigh. "Before it gets one of us for good."

You knew without him having to say anything that he was thinking of the way that Eddie had broken his arm at Neibolt. He was thinking of his own one-on-one encounter with Pennywise and the Paul Bunyan statue that had suddenly come to life and terrorized him not long ago. You remembered the way Richie's hands wouldn't stop shaking and the way he kept looking over his shoulder, as if he thought Pennywise or the statue would come back to finish the job.

"He'll be okay," you found yourself telling Richie. "We all will," you quickly amended when you noticed Richie's face grow pale as he looked up at you with wide eyes.

Richie scoffed before he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled something out. "I got you a present," he told you before he turned away and placed something on his nose. When he turned back around, you saw an imitation red clown nose fixed onto his. "What do you say, Y/N? Do I look the part?" He asked as he batted his eyelashes at you.

You couldn't help but snort at your ridiculous brother. "Really? Why the hell would you buy that with everything going on? I thought you hated clowns."

Richie shrugged his shoulders before he pulled the fake clown nose off. "I thought it was funny at the time. Wanted to see if you'd get a kick out of it. I thought it might make you laugh." He reached out and placed the red spongey ball on your nose, a pleased smirk on his face. "And I do really fucking hate clowns, but you're my sister, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. I'll even kick Bill's ass if he breaks your heart."

"So, what? Am I supposed to kick Eddie's?"

You noticed Richie wince before he ducked his head. He looked so uncertain in that moment that you couldn't help but feel guilty for making him think that he had to be that way around you. That he thought he had to hide who he really was around you.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled before he started picking at a loose thread on your comforter.

"Richie," you whispered before reaching out to wrap your fingers around his wrist. "I know." It didn't take much for you to figure it out. After one night when you were both bored and had decided to play truth or dare, Richie had admitted to having a crush on a friend. It wasn't long before you connected the dots and saw the bigger picture. "I know," you repeated with what you hoped was a reassuring tone.

Richie was silent for a few worrying moments before he finally met your eyes. "Do you hate me?"

"Never," you immediately told him. "You're my brother. My twin. We're in this together, right?"

Richie watched you for a moment, as if he thought you were trying to pull one over on him, before a smile slowly stretched across his face. "Right," he agreed with a nod. He reached out and squeezed the clown nose still resting atop yours. "Guess we're both just a couple of clowns, huh?"

"God, I still can't believe you have that piece of shit," Richie mused as he reached out to take it from you. "It held up really well. I guess the fifteen cents was worth it."

You rolled your eyes before taking it back from him. "Do you know what you're looking for?" You asked him as you started trailing after the others.

Richie frowned before you noticed a distant look in his eyes. "Yeah," he muttered with a displeased look on his face. "I've got a good idea about where I need to go."

It wasn't long before everyone went off in search of their tokens. You managed to stall Mike, needing to have a few words with him before he left to go to the library.

"What the fuck, Mike?" You hissed when you had him alone. "All these years and you never once mentioned the ritual or tokens or anything."

"Look, Y/N, I'm sorry," Mike started, reaching out to put a hand on your shoulder. "I was worried. There are things that have to come together in order for this to work and I didn't want you to leave me if you knew what it required."

You studied Mike carefully for a moment, knowing that there was something he was hiding. "What else aren't you telling me? What have you left out?"

Mike sighed before he glanced away from you. "We just have to do this ritual and then Pennywise will be gone forever. Then we'll be free, Y/N," he said as he met your gaze again. "No more waiting and no more Derry. We can leave and no one else has to die because of It. Not in twenty-seven years or ever again."

You had so many questions you wanted to ask him. Why did he trust Bill over you? Why was this ritual your only hope? Was it dangerous? Would it kill any of you? If you had to sacrifice a piece of your past, then would you have to sacrifice anything else?

None of those questions ended up making it out of your mouth, though. "I guess that's something worth fighting for," you admitted with a sigh.

"It is," he readily agreed before he offered you a tentative smile, as if silently asking if you forgave him for keeping the ritual from you. "Are you coming with me to the library?"

"No," you answered. "Knowing my brother, he might try to bolt again. I'll wait for him at the Townhouse."

"Good idea," Mike conceded with a helpless laugh before he nodded at you. "See you later, Y/N."

You decided to take the more scenic route through town on the walk back to the Townhouse. You weren't really all that eager to get back and deal with everything you didn't really want to face, so you figured you were owed at least a few minutes to yourself.

You didn't really count on literally running right into Ben just outside the high school.

"Fuck," you blurted as you bumped into someone and then struggled to regain your footing.

"Shit. I'm so sorry," you heard someone say as hands wrapped around your waist to steady you.

You glanced up to see Ben standing close to you, a sheepish smile on his face. "I guess I wasn't looking where I was going," you admitted with a grimace. "Sorry about that."

"It's fine," Ben quickly assured you. “I wasn’t really looking either.”

It took you a moment to realize that you were still standing on the sidewalk, remarkably close to Ben, with his hands on your waist. You could feel the heat of his palms through the fabric of your shirt and couldn't help the blush that stained your cheeks. When you glanced up at Ben, you noticed he was blushing too once he finally realized he was still holding onto you.

"Oh, uh, sorry," Ben got out as he took a few faltering steps away from you.

"It's okay," you told him with what you hoped was an easy smile. You didn't want to admit that you had forgotten for one moment why you were so scared and ill with worry. You didn't want to admit that maybe your childhood crush on Bill had been traded for something that felt a bit more real with Ben. "Are you okay?" You made yourself ask in an attempt to change the course of the conversation. "You seemed to be in a rush," you pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah," Ben said with a nod. "I was just doing what Mike wanted us to do," he added with a wince. "It didn't exactly bring up the greatest memory."

"Want to talk about it?" You couldn't help but offer, remembering the days when you and Ben would both bond over your hopeless crushes on other members of the Losers' Club. You remembered the way he pined for Beverly, hoping that she would one day return the affection he felt for her. Unfortunately, your crush and Ben's crush seemed to have a crush on each other. You had spent many moments during your childhood assuring Ben that he deserved the love and attention he so desperately sought from Beverly.

"Not right now. What about you? Did you find what you needed?"

"Oh, yeah. I already had it on me," you confessed with a relieved laugh. "Something had to be easy for once, right?"

"Right," Ben agreed with a grin. "You heading back to the Townhouse?" He asked with a nod down the sidewalk, silently prompting you to start walking in the direction of the inn.

"Yeah. I don't trust that Richie won't still make a run for it, so I'm willing to go so far as slashing his tires if that's the case."

Ben let out a surprised laugh before he bumped his arm companionably into yours as you walked. "I bet you missed him, huh? God, I can't even imagine. You and Mike sacrificed so many years of your lives just to make sure we didn't forget to come back."

"I did miss him, yeah, but I missed all of you. You all became my family that summer. But it wasn't so bad, because I had Mike. He kept me here every time I thought I might want to run as far and as fast as I could to get away from this place."

"It couldn't have been easy," Ben said as you drew to a stop just outside the Townhouse. "I know the others might not say it, but thanks."

"For what?" You couldn't help but wonder.

"For staying. If we do this, kill It, then we won't all die horrible deaths later on. We have you and Mike to thank for that."

"We still got Stanley killed," you couldn't help but point out. "If Mike had never called him, then maybe he would still be alive."

"Mike said it only works if we're all together," Ben argued with a shake of his head. "I'd give anything to have Stan here with us, but what happened to him is not your fault and it's not Mike's. You couldn’t have known."

You weren't really sure how to respond. The guilt that still sat heavily on your shoulders had you convinced that it very much was your fault. You gestured towards the Townhouse with a wry grin. "Want to go see who else has made it back?"

"Sure," Ben agreed, allowing you to dodge the subject.

When you got inside, it was to see that Beverly was the only one to have returned. You caught the brief look of longing on Ben's face when he saw her and decided to give him a break. You pretended like you had to check on something upstairs and retreated to an empty room as you tried to ignore the brief flare of jealousy you felt at seeing Ben look at Beverly like that. You told yourself that you had to stop having crushes on other Losers as you set about remaking the bed in an attempt to keep busy.

You weren't really sure how long you were supposed to stay upstairs, but when you heard a door slam down the hall, you left the room to make sure everything was okay. You found Ben rushing up towards the second floor, a determined look on his face.

"What's going on?"

"Richie," Ben explained as he nodded towards the closed door of Richie's room.

"Shit," you hissed before you moved over towards Richie's room. You knocked on the door before opening it and barging into the room.

"For fuck's sake, Y/N," Richie groaned as he continued to hastily pack his bag. "I could have been naked."

"You can't leave, Richie," you insisted as you took a step closer to him. "I know it's what you want to do, but you have to stay."

"I don't have to fucking do anything," he argued as he kept packing. "I'm getting the fuck out of here and if you were smart, you'd come with me."

"You can't just leave us, Richie," Ben cut in, his brows furrowed. "We need you. Y/N needs you," Ben tried with a grimace, as if he knew he was playing dirty and couldn't really help it.

Richie shot Ben a glare over his shoulder before his eyes landed on you. He considered you for a moment before he rolled his eyes. "Fuck. Fine." He took a deep breath before he scowled down at his half-packed bag. "Could you two leave? I just need a moment."

You narrowed your eyes at Richie, sure that he was still intent on leaving, but you felt Ben tug on your arm. "We'll be right downstairs if you need us," he promised with a nod of his head.

You let Ben lead you out of the room and towards the staircase. "I'm still not convinced he's staying," you muttered to him.

"We've done what we can for now," Ben reasoned as he took the first few steps down towards the first floor.

You almost bumped into him when he suddenly froze on the stairs, his breath hitching in surprise. When you chanced a glance over his shoulder, you were shocked to see Bill and Beverly kissing.

You expected to feel a little jealous that your childhood crush was obviously still not into you, but you realized you didn't feel much of anything except for concern for Ben. You reached down and grabbed his hand, pulling him back up the stairs and into the empty room you had escaped to earlier.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," you told Ben with a grimace.

"It's okay," Ben sighed as he dropped down onto the edge of the bed. "I should have seen it coming."

"I'm sure it didn't mean anything," you tried to console him as you sat down next to him.

Ben let out a tiny, rueful laugh and shook his head. "You know, I always knew it was a lost cause, but I never wanted to let myself see it. I guess I look pretty foolish, huh?"

"No," you told him with a firm shake of your head. "You never have."

Ben's lips quirked up in a self-deprecating grin before his shoulders slumped in what looked a lot like defeat. "The more time I spend here, the more I'm starting to realize that I need to let things go. Not just my childhood fears, but maybe my childhood crush as well. Maybe it’s been holding me back all this time."

You winced at the thought of Bill kissing Beverly and how that would have absolutely devastated you when you were younger. "Yeah, I'm starting to come to that realization for myself as well."

Ben glanced to you, confusion clear in his expression, before he seemed to recall your crush on Bill. "Shit, Y/N, I'm sorry. I guess we're both in the same boat."

"A little," you agreed with a laugh. "But the more I think about it, the more I realize that I've left those feelings in the past. Maybe there was a tiny glimmer of hope when Bill mentioned he was fresh from a divorce, but it was never going to be me. And I'm okay with that. Really," you assured Ben when he shot you a dubious look. “I’m more worried about you right now than myself,” you admitted as you reached out to pat him on the shoulder.

"You were always there for me, you know," he said with a small, sincere smile on his face. “I remember that now. Remember when I was so upset when Beverly left town? You came to my house and we danced to New Kids until we wanted to puke.” His smile turned fond as he seemed to be thinking about all of the time you spent together as kids.

You felt a little thrill when you realized he was feeling fond because of you. It was followed swiftly with the sinking feeling in your gut at the acknowledgement that Ben still had feelings for Beverly. It seemed like you were destined to always chase the members of the Losers' Club who had crushes on Beverly.

"Even when I wasn't always there for you," he continued with a frown. "I don't think I would have made it through that summer without you to help get me through it."

"You would have been fine," you reassured him with a careful grin as you bumped your shoulder into his. "You're Ben Handsome. You can do anything."

He gifted you with another smile, but you weren't quite sure what this one meant. It was one you weren't used to seeing directed at you and before you could try to figure it out, you were startled by the sound of Eddie yelling and Beverly screaming.

You jumped up from the bed and rushed from the room to see Eddie fall to his knees just outside his room. He was bleeding from a gash in his cheek, a look of shock on his face when he looked at you and Ben. "Bowers is in my room," he said before he managed to practically collapse down onto the floor.

Beverly was already kneeling in front of him, taking stock of his wound, while Ben quickly brushed past you and into Eddie's room.

"Is it bad?" You heard Eddie ask as you followed after Ben, not wanting him to face Henry Bowers alone, especially if Henry was armed.

You couldn't believe that with everything else going on, you had managed to forget about the childhood bully who had been locked up for the past twenty-seven years. You remembered the whispers around town after it was discovered that Henry had killed his father. He had babbled on and on about a clown and red balloons and you knew that Pennywise was partly to blame. You couldn't help but wonder if Pennywise had freed Henry Bowers from the institution as another way of messing with the Losers' Club. After all, Pennywise and Henry did seem to have a common enemy.

"He's gone," Ben told you when he realized you had followed him. "Must've jumped out the window."

"Fuck," you groaned, knowing that Henry was likely going to go after someone else now. None of you were really safe as long as he was wandering around town and armed. "We've got to help Eddie and then we should get to the library. I don’t think that’s the last we’ve seen of Henry."

When you got back out into the hallway, it was to see Beverly trying to help Eddie stand.

"Sorry about the blood, Y/N," Eddie said as he let Beverly lead him back into his room. "That's going to be a bitch to get out."

"It's fine, Eds," you assured him before you moved to leave the room. "I'll be right back," you called before you quickly hurried downstairs in search of a first aid kit.

It wasn't until after Ben had done his best to patch Eddie up that you realized there was something wrong. Someone was missing from the group.

"Where's Bill?" You asked with a frown as you glanced to Beverly. "I thought he was here."

"He left," she admitted with a wince. "He thinks that kid from the restaurant is in trouble. The one who knew your brother? He left before I could stop him."

When Beverly mentioned your brother, you realized what else was wrong.

"Oh shit," you groaned. "Where the fuck is Richie?"

#it: chapter two #it 2019 #ben hanscom #richie tozier #ben hanscom x reader #reader & richie tozier #richie tozier x eddie kaspbrak #reader insert #it #it imagine #the losers club #the losers x reader #canon divergence #reader

60 notes · View notes

theimpossiblescheme · 4 years ago

Text

How We’re Made

@ride-a-dromedary has been putting thoughts into my brain again, so I have come to regale you with the product of one of our conversations--some philosophical father-daughter fluff between Alonzo and Jemima. I hope everyone enjoys!

Jemima had developed a habit of sitting on the old car boot long after dark. Usually she came back down to the den after a couple of hours to curl up and sleep, but tonight she’d been gone for much longer. When the half-asleep Munkustrap groaned out how worried he was, Alonzo quietly assured him he’d take care of it and crawled out through the roof opening. There in the center of the Junkyard, just as always, sat Jemima. Knees pulled up to her chest, chin resting over her paws. Staring up at the moon as if she wanted to ask it a billion questions, but couldn’t decide on which one to ask first. It always caused a faint ache in Alonzo’s chest seeing her… Demeter used to sit like that on the rare occasions she was let out of her crate at the Mouser’s Palace. When she didn’t have to fear the henchcats or some summons from Macavity, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid.

“Late night, huh?” Alonzo ventured, keeping his voice low as he sidled up to the car and leaned against the bumper. When Jemima didn’t answer, he decided to tentatively press his luck. “Mind if I join you?”

This time, Jemima shrugged, and it was as good an opening as any. Careful not to let his claws squeak against the metal, Alonzo climbed up and sat next to her, giving her enough space to move closer or farther away if she wanted to. The London light pollution made the sky a muddy reddish-brown and blocked out all the stars, but the moon still hung above them like a human coin on a string. In a city where there was barely even any grass, it was the one natural thing… maybe that was why Jemima loved it so much. He couldn’t say he blamed her.

After a moment, he turned his gaze back on his daughter. “So what are you thinking about tonight?”

Jemima didn’t answer right away. She buried her face in the crooks of her arms for a few seconds before turning her head very slightly towards him. “Can I say without you getting angry at me?”

Why would he ever be angry at her? She couldn’t help her thoughts, even the bleaker ones… but what he said out loud was, “Yeah. Yeah, of course you can.”

Her head didn’t move, but her wide brown eyes dropped to her back paws as she spoke again. “I’ve been thinking about my—Macavity… about him being my real father.”

My real father… even if it was true, it stung to hear. Alonzo had been there from the very beginning, watched her open her eyes and take her first steps on untrustworthy ground. And Munkustrap had opened his home and heart for her the moment she made it to the Junkyard. The two of them and Demeter had loved her since she was a gleam in the Everlasting Cat’s eye. Where had Macavity been all that time? But this time all he said out loud was, “Oh.”

“I went and talked to Aunt Bomba since she… she also knew him. She said that—that he wasn’t always bad. That he could be kind of mean sometimes, but not all the time. Before he became the Mystery Cat.” Jemima’s eyes lifted back up to his. “Is that true?”

It was Alonzo’s turn to shrug, an uncomfortable shift of his shoulders. “I guess I wouldn’t know. I only ever knew him as the Mystery Cat. But I guess that makes sense—after all, nobody’s born bad.” It certainly fit in with the stories he’d heard from Munkustrap about the impetuous, hot-headed little tyrant the younger Macavity had been. He sounded awful, but in the sort of way a lot of kittens could be awful. Not the despotic way that led you to hold queens prisoner out of some insane jealousy and bargain with any other cats’ lives for the fun of it. “You’re never… destined at birth to ruin anyone’s lives.”

“You really think that’s true?”

“Yeah, I do. Every cat’s got a family and all—they had to care about somebody once. Even if they don’t care anymore.”

Jemima’s head tilted even farther up, her small brow furrowing. “What do you think could make sombody… stop caring about anyone?”

“…I don’t know,” Alonzo said honestly. Then after a moment’s thought—"Power, I guess. Wanting to be so important that you think everybody else is less than you. Not worrying about who gets hurt just as long as you get what you want. A lot of cats sort of… lose their minds that way, I think. Macavity included.”

Another silence set in. He could hear the thrum of the neon lights overhead and the faint skritch skritch of Jemima’s claws as they worried at the fur of her shoulder. And when she finally spoke again, her whisper seemed almost unnervingly loud.

“… Do you ever think that I could be like that?”

Alonzo’s blood ran cold for a second before building to a slow boil. “Did somebody tell you that?”

“Not really,” Jemima replied, averting her eyes again. “But I hear some of the grown-ups talking. They get all quiet around me whenever they talk about my—Macavity, and they look… they look scared of me.”

The ache in Alonzo’s chest returned even as his blood cooled. He knew exactly what looks she meant—the apprehensive little glances between Jenyanydots and Jellylorum when she first came to the healer’s den. The pitying note in some of the elders’ voices when Jemima came up in conversation. They never meant anything by it, but he could imagine how they must look to a frightened kitten. Admittedly, he’d probably given his fair share of glances and whispers when Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer first came back to the Tribe. “I don’t think they’re scared of you,” he said carefully, choosing his words one by one so she might understand. “I think they’re scared for you—of everything you’ve got to deal with. You’re really special, you know? You’ve got a he—heck of a gift, and we don’t wanna see anyone take you away from us. Especially not Macavity.”

But Jemima didn’t look convinced. “I got my magic from him, right?” she asked, her voice dull. Usually any mention of her magic came with a note of awe and wonder, even some excitement, but it was totally missing now. “You don’t have powers, and neither do Mum or Dad… it’s all from him.” She gripped her shoulders tighter, claws starting to dig in. “So I’ve got some of him inside me. Maybe that’s what they’re afraid of… because if he didn’t start out bad, maybe—”

“Hey. Hey, listen to me.” Taking her paws as gently as he could, even as he felt he could burst at any second, Alonzo pulled them away from herself and held them tightly. “Everything you are, Jem—your gift, your voice, your friends—they’ve all got nothing to do with him. Everything that makes you special, everything we love about you, it’s all you. Did Macavity teach you how to sense how other cats are feeling?”

“No, that was Cori and Tanto—”

“And did Macavity find your favorite blanket and sing you to sleep every night?”

“That was you and Mum—”

“And did Macavity give you your collar and teach you how to defend yourself if you needed to?”

“Dad did that—”

“And did Macavity immediately decide Etcetera and Victoria were his best friends as soon as he met them?”

That one got a little giggle out of her, as if she couldn’t possibly imagine it. “No, I did that.”

“You see? Macavity’s got nothing to do with you. It’s all just you and the cats who love you. He might be your father by blood, but at the end of the day blood doesn’t mean anything unless it’s coming out of you.” He ducked his head down so he could look her directly in the eye. “Do you ever want to turn bad and hurt other cats because you think you’re more important?”

Jemima instantly paled beneath her fur. “N-No, of course not!”

“Then you won’t.” Letting go of one paw, Alonzo cupped one of his under her chin and gave her the most encouraging smile he could. “Macavity doesn’t get to choose. You do. And call me crazy, but I’ve got a pretty good feeling about you.”

And at long last, Jemima looked as if she might believe him. Or at least that she wanted to—her eyes were still downcast as she leaned into his touch, but some of the clouds had cleared from her face. “Do you think the others will, too?”

“Yeah, I do.” And giving her a quick nuzzle over her forehead, Alonzo pulled her in for a proper hug, letting her nestle against his side. “We all love you, kiddo. We worry about you, but it’s because we love you, that’s all.”

This time, Jemima properly smiled for the first time, and it was enough to calm whatever worries still ran through him. “I love you, too, Papa.”

#cats the musical #alonzo #jemima #my fanfic #Another one for you Jemi--hope it passes muster! <3

20 notes · View notes

kettlequills · 3 years ago

Text

the burning fire within

Henon's shirt rips while he is cutting wood. He takes it to Tinoryn to be mended.

My entry for TES Fest 21, prompts family and apotheosis. CW: referenced character death, fantastic racism - it’s set in Windhelm, you know the drill. I also wrote this in about an hour at 2am last night so, uh, enjoy. On A03 here.

Henon Virith was angry. Nothing new, that. He hefted the axe over his shoulder and brought it down with a satisfying crack. Two neat halves of firewood fell away to collapse perfectly onto the growing stack either side of the chopping stump. He swung the axe again. Crack. Again. Crack.

He could do this with his eyes closed. Sometimes he did, imagining sneering Windhelm guards under the axe’s blade. Imagined he’d found the insincere bastard that had come swaggering into the Grey Quarter one day, to inform Henon his mother had been ‘found dead’.

“Hunting accident, looks like, no sign of her partner,” the guard had said. Had the temerity to look at Henon softly. Henon remembered the words like they’d been burned into his soul.

“My-” Crack. “-condolences-” Crack. “-lad.” Crack.

Three more logs joined their split fellows. He rolled his neck until it cracked and kicked the piles in just the right spot to have them topple down neatly so it looked like he stacked them. Another log went on the stump.

Henon had anger enough to fuel him for years.

His next chop was powerful enough that his axe stuck into the chopping stump. Helon grunted. Placing one foot on the stump, he grabbed the axe handle and yanked. The burning muscles in his shoulders bunched under his shirt. He tugged, once, twice, then heaved as hard as he could. With a crunching rip, his shirt tore across the shoulders. The axe came loose.

Henon bit down on his knuckled fist and the molten fury that ignited the sleeping fire in his body. Deliberately, he lowered the axe onto the stump. Then he closed his eyes, exhaled slowly through his gritted teeth, tried to remember the breathing exercises the Priestess had taught him last winter to control his anger. Henon inhaled, exhaled.

Once. Twice. Three times.

In his mind’s eye, he pictured the searing rage inside of himself as a bonfire. It would be wild, messy, sparks ripping off the crackling wood like arrows. Heat would roll from it like a wall, and the flames inside would laugh and leap like crackling tongues.

“That sounds like a good fire, Henon,” the priestess’ encouraging voice was gentle in his memory. “It’ll keep lots of people warm. But an unchecked fire will set beds alight at night. How much fire do you think we need right now?”

“Not much,” Henon muttered aloud.

Henon imagined, carefully, lovingly, pressing soft cold soil over the edges of the fire, tightening its circle. He kept going, shovelling handfuls round the edges, shaping the fire he saw until it was bright and strong, but no bigger than a hearth-fire, banked and safe for the night.

One final time, Henon exhaled, then opened his eyes. Calm settled like a blanket onto his stiff shoulders. Without the punishing ache of the anger he’d used to fuel himself, Henon suddenly became aware of just how sore he was, how sweaty, how his arms trembled with fatigue.

He glanced at the sky. The sun was halfway down the sky, hovering almost directly over the Palace of Kings. No wonder. He’d been chopping wood for hours.

Henon cast an eye over the piles of wood. His mind ran quickly over the calculations as he vaulted the ice-slick rail onto the steps of Candlehearth Hall. The sums came easy to him; he didn’t need to look twice.

No Susanna to watch him today, calling laughingly for him to take off his shirt; he’d have to go in and ask for his earnings directly. A shame. Henon liked Susanna. Liked kissing her even more, when she leant down over the railing rosy-cheeked. She was soft, everywhere soft, like bitter anger had never found her. She made quiet animal noises, warm breathy sighs, when he touched her, her breasts, her hips, between them. It was fun, and casual, and she was always happy to see him.

It didn’t take Henon long to collect his wages and stack the fruits of his efforts by the fireplace. Even sour old Nils was grudgingly silent at the amount, though the door closed on a snappish comment when he saw the rip in Henon’s shirt baring his shoulders.

Henon jogged down to the Grey Quarter, letting the surge of annoyance work itself out through the drum of his feet on stone. He’d get his sparking shirt fixed. Nils didn’t need -

Exhaling raggedly, Henon focused on the hearth fire, the little curl of smoke that would lick out the chimney. By the time he had made it to Avalathil Tailoring, he was clearer-headed.

The tailor’s was poky and small, and the old sign’s paint was curling. Below it, a brazier sat, thickly fed with coals and fire-runes. Henon paused by the brazier, looking down at the soft red glow of the runes, and felt a little surge of warmth that had nothing to do with the brazier.

Tinoryn. He always left a little flick, right at the end, like a signature.

Henon went inside.

“Welcome to Avalathil - oh, hi, Henon.” Tinoryn was bright and cheerful as ever. He bounced up from his stool behind the counter with a wide, infectious grin. “How are you? I thought you were working today. Did you finish early? I’ve heard the ships are coming in, they might want more help unloading if you want extra work. We’ve had two sailors already come in with mendings, and one of them mentioned getting a whole new outfit commissioned, if you can believe that!

Apparently they went to Solstheim, you know, that island off the coast, you can see it from the Point when it’s clear out? Anyway, well he liked the look of the clothes they wear, and he wanted something similar that wouldn’t ‘have him freeze to death faster than a skinned horker’.”

Something in him settled at Tinoryn’s chatter. He was always the same, always happy, always with a story to share. Henon found himself smirking as Tinoryn imitated the sailor’s dour tones.

“I’d want to see that,” he said.

Tinoryn’s nose wrinkled. “Eurgh! A skinned horker? That’s gross, Henon. It would be all wet and red in there, like muscles! It would bleed everywhere! Though I suppose they do have to skin them to get the furs off. But definitely not while they’re alive! That would be horrible. We add clothes, not take them away here. Speaking of,” Tinoryn’s smile, somehow, became even brighter, until Henon swore he could see each and every one of his teeth, “Can I do anything for you? Ruvene’s not here, so you just have me.”

“That’s just what I want,” Henon said, and shrugged off his shirt. He had to wrestle with the buttons for a moment, and when he looked up, the highs of Tinoryn’s cheekbones had flooded with pink and his soft lips were parted. He didn’t react when Henon thrust the ripped shirt towards him, his gaze trapped somewhere at Henon’s chest. “Tinoryn?”

Self-consciously, Henon rubbed at his chest. He couldn’t see anything there, apart from maybe a bit of sweat in his chest hair. Tinoryn was much more fastidious than Henon, but it was just sweat. Tinoryn’s attention made him feel odd, prickly-warm, like he wanted to square his shoulders and straighten his back. He’d been shirtless around him plenty before.

Tinoryn blinked, then his eyes refocused on Henon’s face and he was back to beaming. “Yes! Of course, I’ll take that. Just another fix? Hmm, yes, you’ve torn it, right across the shoulders. Nasty! But it won’t take that long and it’s been dead in here today, all of our orders are all done that I can do without Ruvene’s permission, and you know I’ve read everything I brought. I have been so bored I started talking to the mannequin. I’m calling it Dolly. Because it’s a doll? Or a mannequin, I suppose. A doll for clothes. I can do it for you right now! We’ll have to add in a panel here for you if you keep broadening up though.”

“Not now,” Henon interrupted uneasily, “Just - can you fix it? Like it was?”

Tinoryn’s eyes softened. “Yes, just like it was. I know how important this is. It suits you, by the way. It’s the last one, isn’t it? From your father, Azura keep him.”

“Thanks. And yeah.” It sounded a bit strangled, but Henon couldn’t bring himself to care.

It was stupid, probably, but he trusted Tinoryn not to mess it up. Ruvene would have just added the panel to the back, grumbling at Henon for sentimentality. But of the shirts that Henon had inherited from his father, the others were gone, all torn, ripped, mended to oblivion by Tinoryn, or lost over the years. When he wore it, he thought of their shapes, how they were probably the same in the arm, but that his father’s wrists had maybe been thicker, because it was stretched there. Henon didn’t remember much of his father. Henon had not been that old when he’d been found dead on the docks, sitting on one of the crates he was meant to be unloading, frozen to death with a peaceful smile.

“Uh, how much?”

He fumbled awkwardly for his belt pouch, but Tinoryn was already waving him away with a sunny smile.

“Ruvene’s not here,” he said conspiratorially, “No one will know, let me just fetch my needle and thread. Besides, no need to charge for such a simple fix.” He hopped up and rummaged around under the counter, fishing out a small wooden box with a triumphant, “Ha! There you are. I swear it hides… You know I can teach you to do this, if you want.”

Slipping a silver thimble onto his thumb, Tinoryn pulled Henon’s sweaty shirt into his lap. He eyed the rip critically, holding the needle between his lips as he threaded it. Henon watched, impressed by his dexterity.

“I don’t need to know,” said Henon dismissively. “You’ll do it.”

Tinoryn smiled down at Henon’s shirt. “That’s true.”

Henon rounded the counter and dragged Ruvene’s unused stool over with a clattering scrape of groaning wood. He slumped onto it and rested his tired arms on the countertop with a groan. Their knees pushed together under the counter for space, Tinoryn’s bony leg warm against his even through layers of clothes.

“You don’t have to stay, it’ll take me a moment,” Tinoryn added, glancing at him from under his eyelashes as he stitched. They were thick and dark, curly like his hair.

“I’ll wait,” said Henon. He didn’t have many other shirts, and besides, whenever Tinoryn’s bright eyes strayed to Henon’s bare torso, the tips of his ears flushed cherry-red. It made Henon feel powerful in a way he couldn’t describe, like how he felt when Susanna clung to him brokenly when he touched her. Like Henon was the only ship in a storm he had created.

“Alright then,” said Tinoryn, and then he quieted, concentrating on his work.

Henon fiddled with a coin as he waited, a septim from this morning’s earnings. It flew, golden gleaming, around his slate-grey knuckles, spinning over the countertop like he held it on an invisible string. Idly, he played a counting game with himself, one taught over long hours of solitary boredom. One, two, three spins to the right, seven, eight, nine, to the left, one flick up, twelve. Then back around again, adding each number of spins, until he tired of it. Numbers were easy, but soothing, too. They were predictable.

He was beginning to feel tired, sleepy, even. His fatigue was catching up to him. The pressure of Tinoryn’s leg against his was comfortable, the sound of his breathing familiar. The shop was warm and quiet, a little dusty in places, with thick bolts of fabric hanging down from the walls. The mullioned windows were frosted white, dim shapes passing by and setting distant shadows to chase each other across the rolling hillocks of prepared cloth. Dolly the mannequin waited patiently in one corner, crowned by a glorious confection of gull-feathers and snowberries wrapped in stained jade silk, someone’s earnest attempt, Henon thought, at making spring into a hat.

Henon flipped the coin into the air and caught it, a shining disc like the sun held between his thumb and forefinger.

“Wow,” said Tinoryn from beside him. “How did you do that? That’s amazing! You just caught it, so fast!”

Henon glanced over, and Tinoryn’s expression was unreserved and inquisitive, brilliant with pleasure at the trick. “It’s not hard,” he said, uncertain how to name the feeling that Tinoryn’s eagerness aroused in him. “You just, look, like this,” he demonstrated.

“Can I try?” Tinoryn asked, eyes round, and Henon handed the coin over.

Tinoryn made a valiant attempt at throwing the coin, but it hit his hand as it fell, rebounding sharply off his knuckle and disappearing into the darkness below the counter. “Ouch!” exclaimed Tinoryn, “Oh, that is much harder than it looks. You made it seem so easy! Do you want me to find your coin - oh-”

Henon had already slid off the stool into a crouch, scanning the darkness for a glint of gold. He grunted, it was dark, and dusty under the counter, cluttered with boxes and cloth scraps. He spotted one or two needles, but no coin.

“Here, let me help,” Tinoryn said above him, and Henon looked up at the gentle snap of fire crackling into existence.

What he saw then arrested him completely.

It was Tinoryn, just Tinoryn, but… Tinoryn was leaning forward on the stool, his boot planted on the floor to stop him from falling. Henon reached to touch his calf, felt the muscles engaged in supporting his weight through his trousers, and had no words for the nameless surge of feeling that pooled in his gut.

In one hand, Tinoryn held Henon’s shirt, the other, a crackling fire spell, humming with magic and energy. He was smiling, as always, bright and soft, and the flickering firelight shimmered off his dark, curly hair, the hint of wetness on his lip. The ties that held his shirt (soft green, like grass) were loose, leaving space for the shadows of the fire to race over his collarbones, a smooth triangle of soft grey skin of Tinoryn’s skinny chest. Henon felt his mouth flood with saliva, felt the strangest urge to lave his tongue along the arches of Tinoryn’s collarbones, scrape his teeth over the skin until it reddened like the tips of his ears.

Tinoryn’s eyes had always been bright, ever since they were children. It was one marker of being a strong mage, that slight lambent glow, like the magic couldn’t quite be contained within him. But now, they looked like the heart of a fire, or maybe lava, brilliant, burning, changing everything in its path. Like a beginning, like being reforged anew, into something divine, Henon felt blood rise warm on his cheeks, knew Tinoryn could see how it flushed his chest ruddy. He wanted -

“I think I see it,” Tinoryn said happily, breaking the spell. “Down there, see, just under that - yes, you’ve got it, there!”

Henon cleared his throat, feeling bizarrely awkward as he slipped the coin back into his pouch. It was just Tinoryn. He straightened up, stretching his back until his spine popped.

“Thanks,” he said, “for the light.”

“Thank you for the practice!” Tinoryn’s face lit up again. “I finished your shirt, by the way! All done, good as new.”

Henon traced his fingertip over the mend. He could barely see it. Tinoryn had done a great job.

“Thanks,” he said again, and reached out to clasp the back of Tinoryn’s neck, his thumb pressing into his curls. They were soft. Tinoryn’s neck was warm and solid under his palm. “It looks good,” Henon added, not wanting to be churlish, but as he stared down at Tinoryn he was not quite sure if he could even remember what the shirt looked like.

“Oh,” said Tinoryn, and his hands clenched oddly in his lap like he was holding them down, and his face flamed red. His ears were pricked forward though, clearly pleased. “It’s my - pleasure, Henon, really.”

“Say,” said Henon, “you want to get out of here? I reckon we could go and nail some helmets with rocks down in the training yard round this sort of time.”

Clearly tempted, Tinoryn bit his lip. Henon watched his teeth press down on the soft flesh and catch on tiny ragged edges of skin, saw how it made his lips flush pinker, saw the wet dart of his tongue. He tightened his grasp on Tinoryn’s neck, thumb smoothing down his hairline, feeling the tiny feathery hairs there tickle his skin.

“I can’t,” said Tinoryn, sounding truly disappointed. “I have to watch the shop for Ruvene.”

“Alright,” shrugged Henon. He grabbed the edge of the counter and heaved himself up to sit on it, grinning at Tinoryn’s delighted surprise. Now he was here, Henon found that he didn’t particularly want to leave. After all, the tiny tailor’s shop did have something in it that held his interest. “Guess I’ll teach you that coin trick while we wait.”

Tinoryn’s radiant smile in answer was more than enough.

#tinoryn othravel #henon virith #skyrim #tesfest21 #inkwrites #tinoryn/henon #dawn #apotheosis #my fic the burning fire within

10 notes · View notes

reluctant-mandalore · 4 years ago

Text

Opposites Attract (Din Djarin x Reader)

Warnings: Fluff! That’s kind of it. It’s really just a sweet thing of Cara meeting Din’s S/O. Also not beta read, we die like men.

Words: 1,894

a/n: Thank you so much for the request anon! I really hope you enjoy it ^-^ The idea of Mando being comfortable enough to introduce his s/o to Cara also comes off as sweet because it shows his trust in her! And then of course the whole thing with the confetti jacket was fun. Honestly this idea as a whole was just really fun and cute to write! Thank you again for requesting <3

I did try to keep the reader gender neutral with this one. So hopefully that turned out well. I sometimes find myself having a bit of trouble with staying gender neutral, but I think it worked out fine here.

Cara was a bit surprised to hear that the Mandalorian had a significant other. The thought of him having one had never crossed her mind, and even seemed a bit strange to her. She had first learned of his partner when they had made the long walk to his ship, after he had come to ask for her help with a job. She had agreed to help right away with the job, as she did enjoy working alongside him, and considered him to be a good friend of hers by this point. It was on the way to the Razor Crest, where she had taken note of his tense and almost nervous exterior. He seemed to have something on his mind, like he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure on how to go about it.

In all the time of their friendship, she had never seen him act this way. He usually held an air of confidence and control around him, never really breaking from his bounty hunter persona. However, this time he seemed to be very anxious about something, and almost looked like he was struggling with the thought of telling her about whatever it was. The way he was acting had confused her greatly and also worried her. She began to wonder what exactly could have been such a great concern to one of the most fiercest warriors of the galaxy.

On one hand she wanted to ask him what was wrong, on the other she didn’t want to overstep any boundaries. She was aware of how private of a man he could be, and knew he wasn’t usually comfortable with talking about personal matters. She ended up deciding to just wait for him to bring it up to her, rather than bringing up his behaviour herself, not wanting to make him feel any more pressure than he clearly already did.

Eventually, he had straight up just stopped in his tracks, turning his head slightly to look at her, before looking back into the distance. She had stopped as well, waiting for whatever he planned on saying, the anticipation almost eating her up by this point.

When he had told her he had a significant other back at the ship, she had originally let out a small laugh. She had thought that he was joking with her, as the idea seemed a bit unrealistic to her after the whole Omera situation. The thought of him ever having a significant other was bizarre to the retired shock trooper, especially now that she and him had grown closer. She couldn’t even manage to conjure up a single picture of him in a relationship, it just didn’t seem like something he would obtain for himself at this time.

Her laugh had quickly died down though, due to his impending silence and deathly stare. The realization of him being serious dawned on her and she stared at him with her mouth agape. Immediately, she had felt a pain of guilt at laughing, not meaning to not take the new knowledge of her friend's relationship status lightly. In all honesty, him having a significant other was something that she had never expected. He just didn’t seem like the type to let anyone be that close to him. Lucky for her, Mando didn’t really seem to hold her reaction against her, and just nodded his head when she had verbally clarified his seriousness,

“What are they like?” She had finally asked him, curious as to who had managed to actually snare the bounty hunter’s heart as their own. The person had to have been amazing to be able to do it, a one of a kind, as not anyone could have managed the task.

He had seemed to think for a moment, trying to decide on the best way to describe his significant other to her. “The opposite of me.” He had finally said, giving a slight shrug of his shoulders, before continuing to walk in the direction of the ship.

“Hold on. What exactly does that mean?” She had questioned, trailing behind him, an amused tone tainting her voice, as she found his choice of words to be interesting. “Opposite of you? What? They’re like the anti-Mando?”

“No-” He said quickly, halting in place once more, causing for Cara to almost bump into him, as she also came to a stop herself. “It’s just...You’ll see.” He said, his voice mumbling through the modulator, as he looked over his shoulder at her briefly, “I think you’ll like them.”

After that last comment, they continued with their trek to the ship. Cara had begun to ask questions on the way about the Mandalorian’s partner, but only received the odd reply in regards to them. It was clear he didn’t really plan on sharing much with her at that moment, and likely hoped that meeting this special person would clear up everything for her.

Finally, the ship had come into view through the trees, and the two had walked up to its entrance. Mando had seemed to pause for a moment, his fingers hovering over the button which would open the entryway to the hull. He had looked once more to her, before pressing the button and allowing for the door to open for them. When they stepped inside, Cara had felt her eyes drift throughout the familiar hull, before they found their way to an unfamiliar person within its confines.

Standing in the middle of the hull, there was a person looking through one of the many supply crates onboard. They wore a clear jacett, which appeared to have sleeves made completely out of brightly coloured confetti. This jacket of theirs was definitely one of the strangest pieces of clothing she had ever set sights. Never in her travels had she seen something so odd and yet so bold.

She couldn’t imagine the jacket being very practical, and couldn’t see her wearing one herself. The jacket did intrigued her none the least, as it seemed like something only the most strangest of people would wear. Then again, from her understanding, fashion could be like that sometimes. She never really got the whole deal with fashion though, as her line of work never really called for her to be concerned with it in the first place.

The beskar covered man at this point had cleared his throat, likely as an attempt to grab the attention of the person in the sparkling attire. The sound had managed to do its intended purpose, as it made the person aware of his and Cara’s presence. Instantly at hearing the noise, the person had looked over in their direction, a smile etching across their cheeks and their eyes shining brightly.

“You’re back!” The person’s voice had rung out through the ship, as they dashed right into the Mandalorian’s arms. He had stiffened at first, clearly not used to showing his affection for them in front of others, but he had quickly relaxed into their embrace anyway. His arms had now circled around their waist, pulling his partner into his chest tightly.

Cara had smiled at the sight of them hugging, her arms crossing as she watched them. She had never seen him be as close to anyone before, and had never seen him let anyone interact with him in such a way. The only times she had ever seen him show this much affection was with the child, but even that could be considered reserved at times.

Glancing over and seeing the look that Cara was giving them, Mando had pulled back a bit, clearing his throat again before speaking, “Yes, told you I wouldn’t be long. How’s the kid?”

“He’s napping right now!” They had said, pointing in the direction of the hatch where the child usually slept, the confetti of their sleeve shimmering in the sunlight pouring through the still opened entry. “Little guy tuckered himself right out, probably won’t be up for a few more hours.”

Mando’s only reply to that was a nod, as he let go of them, and went over to the supply crates where they had once been. As he did, the person’s eyes had suddenly drifted over from him to Cara, their grin widening when their eyes had locked with hers.

“You must be Cara!” They exclaimed, making their way over to her, their hands taking hers into their own and holding them. “He’s told me all about you!”

She had smirked at the thought, looking over to Mando who had snapped his head in their direction once more at hearing his partners words, “Oh has he?”

“Yes! It’s so nice finally being able to meet his friends.” A small laugh had left them when they spoke, “I was getting a bit worried there.”

“Cyar'ika...” His voice came, barely audible through the modulator, almost as if he had become shy. His partner had let go of her hands, to go over to him, their smile softening.

“Ohh, you know I’m just teasing Sweetie,” Their playful reply came, followed by a little giggle with one their hands being placed on his shoulder. “I’m really happy that I get to meet your friends.”

Hearing this, Cara had mouthed a ‘Sweetie’ in the direction of Mandalorian, a teasing grin plastered across her cheeks as she did. In return he had stared her down, giving her his famous look of death, which usually sent chills down peoples spines. However, seeing it only made her grin wider, before she closed the hatch to the outside behind her.

Throughout that night as the three talked and planned for the upcoming days. While doing so, the veteran shock trooper couldn’t help but notice how different the bounty hunter’s significant other truly was to him. They had seemed to have an abundance of energy, moving from the next task effortlessly, never tiring as they moved about the ship. Their aura had felt bright and carefree, a smile almost constantly settled on their lips. She watched as the two would tease each other, and felt herself amused with how easily Mando seemed to melt in his partner's presence. This being a side of him that she had never got the chance to see before this moment.

Cara understood now what the Mandalorian had meant by his significant other being the opposite of him. Where he was oftentimes serious and stoic, they were bubbly and cheerful. The two completed one another, making up for what the other lacked. They were the sun to his moon, the day to his night, and the light to his darkness.

Both needed and depended on each other, working with one another to make up for the others faults. Rather than dividing them, their differences only seemed to make their bond grow stronger. They seemed to be the most perfect couple she had ever seen, differences and all.

The two of them working so well together was probably the most surprising thing to Cara that day. Seeing two people so different from one another being able to operate together efficiently was an unusual sight to many individuals—including her. Although, watching them had brought up an old saying to the front of her mind. A little saying which the two of you had seemed to fit perfectly.

Opposites Attract—especially when it comes to the Mandalorian and his beloved.

Tags:

@ah-callie @readsalot73 @starrywatermelon @karnita-mexicana

230 notes · View notes

gra-sonas · 4 years ago

Photo

Day after day this summer, with covid-19 shuttering much of the world, Lily Cowles would enter a small sewing room in her family’s 18th century home in Northwest Connecticut, crawl inside some blankets, and scream. Along with her wails, she’d repeat the same phrases, over and over — all part of a daily ritual that spanned some four hours, until a collection of voices told her they were satisfied. Then she would collect herself, climb out from the blankets and greet her boyfriend who could hear her through the walls in the next room.

“Man, you died a lot of ways today,” he’d say.

“I don’t know why they killed me so bad,” Cowles would reply.

Such were the unusual conditions for Cowles and others when recording the dialogue — and other vocalizations — for the upcoming game “Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War,” the newest addition to the famed and fanciful war sim series. The blanket-draped fort served as the actress’s workstation, with a host of audio producers providing directions via video conference. Occasionally those instructions included imagining a wide variety of fates for her character, requiring lengthy sessions capturing death cries. All of it was part of a months-long, pandemic-related process to produce the game, one that proved both challenging in its never-before-done nature and cathartic for its ample opportunities to exorcise the many anxieties of 2020.

“It just felt so good to scream for that long,” said Cowles, who plays MI-6 operative Helen Park and supplied the character’s voice for both the game’s story and multiplayer modes. She recalled one session in which the game’s audio producers recorded her falling from a 30-story building. “I was like, ‘can we make it 40 floors? I could really use the extra 10 [stories] of just straight screaming.’ It just felt like a real relief.”

The unorthodox routine was shared by “Cold War’s” cast of 125 actors as they pivoted to follow safety protocols related to the novel coronavirus, which temporarily shut down the game’s production in March. The latest installment in the Call of Duty franchise, releasing Nov. 13, was completed with both developers and actors working remotely and overcoming a variety of logistical challenges.

“At the time [in March, when covid cases escalated in the United States] we thought it might be like 20 people or 50 percent of the studio who would have to work from home, and maybe that would be for like two weeks,” Dan Vondrak, Senior Creative Director at Raven Software, said. “And then it was everybody. … In my head, I was thinking, if this thing lasts six to eight weeks, we can’t get it done. That’s impossible.”

For Cowles and the game’s other actors, that meant recording lines of dialogue — and their many screams — from the confines of their homes. That process normally would be captured in large part during live shoots using motion capture suits on a studio sound stage. During the pandemic, capturing those recordings provided a unique challenge for narrative producer Natalie Pohorski and her team.

“One of those areas I thought we were just dead in the water was the external talent [voice overs],” Vondrak said. “I can’t have actors go into a studio. So, how is this going to work? And what Natalie and the narrative team did to get that to work and have people recording at home was unbelievable.”

Before dispersing from the studio, Pohorski and Vondrak estimated they had between 50 and 60 percent of the voice over work finalized. Working with their partners at Activision (the game’s publisher) and Treyarch (“Cold War’s” co-developer), Pohorski and her team shipped the actors crates filled with recording equipment that included helmets wired with microphones, sound mixing boards and materials to improve the acoustics around their homes.

“They sent me this giant Pelican briefcase that looked like I’m an arms dealer,” Cowles said.

Veteran actor Bruce Thomas, who plays the role of CIA agent Russell Adler in the game, already had a 5-foot-by-5-foot sound booth he’d constructed in his apartment adjacent to his kitchen. He’d used it to previously to record voice overs, including for some commercials, but he’d never recorded himself there quite so regularly — or at quite the same volume level. To that end, he sought to get ahead of any potential problems with a kind gesture and a heads-up for his neighbors about any yells they may hear through the walls.

“I delivered cookies and a little note to their doors right next to me and below me,” Thomas said. “I just moved here in January, so I hadn’t really met them yet, and I got a text message from the person below me who was like, ‘Oh my God! You do that for a living? How cool is that? Even if I hear you, don’t worry about it.’”

The conditions also required the actors to perform another role as well: that of audio engineer, recording and tinkering with sound levels to ensure quality and consistency. The studio’s engineers would call actors and walk them through proper setups and troubleshoot issues, but when something went wrong, the actors would have to be the ones to fix it manually. Turns out CIA operatives have the same tech troubles as other remote workers.

“Because of covid, everybody’s home and sharing bandwidth,” Thomas said about the Internet connection in his apartment building. “Sometimes it would just cut right out [during an online recording session]. And sometimes when that happens, a glitch will happen on your laptop and so you have to reboot it.”

The recording process consisted of four sessions per day, every day of the week, according to Pohorski, who also noted they wrapped at a similar time compared to what they’d anticipated in their pre-pandemic production schedule, even as they navigated challenges that would have been easily addressed in their usual studio setting.

“To not be able to just walk up and touch the screen and act out what I was talking about … ‘I want the guy’s head to turn this way,’ … I was trying to do it real time in a video camera,” Vondrak said. “Just the communication of that last 20 percent [of the game] was probably the most difficult.”

The on-the-fly evolution of several standardized processes did carry some fringe benefits, according to both the developers and actors. On the development team, Vondrak noted some people seemed more willing to contribute their opinions to the creative process when they didn’t feel the pressure of speaking up in a formal meeting. For the actors, Cowles said her isolated, remote location led her to take more chances with her character.

“I think I was able to make facial expressions and noises that, in a normal setting, my body would be like, ‘Don’t, don’t, don’t. You don’t want to make that noise. Don’t make that face,’" Cowles said. “But I was alone in this thing, and you know, the context in which we’re working [as characters] is this crazy war zone where horrible things are going down. Right? And no one in that situation is thinking about the sound they’re making or the face that they’re making. … I think that led to a degree of authenticity in my work.”

Another silver lining, according to Vondrak, was the increased flexibility in scheduling follow-up sessions for VO work. Oftentimes VO recording sessions are pegged to specific times of the year when the developers can gather all the actors in one place and free them from their other projects. (For example, Thomas is also the motion capture actor for Master Chief for the upcoming game “Halo: Infinite.”) With everyone working from home, the actors’ schedules became more flexible.

“It was like, wait a minute, we can just go back to these people and have them pop out of their family room, into their closet and record some VO lines,” Vondrak said. “Normally it would have been like, ‘We need some new lines.’ And [the schedulers] would have said, ‘Well, the next pick up session where everyone’s going to be in the studio is June.' It’s [normally] a very slow, formal process."

The flexibility did carry an occasional side effect of home life encroaching on the working world, and vice versa, often providing a uniquely 2020 kind of amusement.

Cowles remembered recording a scene in which her character laments the loss of one of her companions, screaming his name repeatedly as a helicopter whisks her away.

“I came out of the sewing room, and my boyfriend is like … ‘So, who is he?’” Cowles said. “I was like, ‘Don’t worry about it. He’s dead now.’”

#lily cowles #call of duty: black ops cold war #rnm cast interviews #helen park

36 notes · View notes

noocturnalchild · 4 years ago

Text

Of Thieves and Poets

Warning : Mention of abuse, light depiction of wounds, hurt

Well, that was a hard chapter to write, mainly cause I’m still strugling with my English, and sometimes, ideas are here but I find no words to describe them as I want to !

Many thanks to a great friend who’s always been there to beta read my fics and correct the MANY language mistakes I’m still making,it’s a shame that I can’t tag her here !

Sara maybe you’ll never read this but I LOVE YOU ( this is me talking to myself lol)

Also many thanks to all who are sharing and liking my fics, I love you guys, you are the best !

All the poetry in this chapter is William Carlos Williams’ !

Chapter one here !

Chapter 2

Give me something to eat! Let me take you to the hospital, I said and after you are well you can do as you please. She smiled, Yes you do what you please first then I can do what I please

“Who’s she?”

The day Laura died, he wrote his most accomplished poem. It rested between her cold fingers, folded in a small sheet of damp paper and he briefly wondered if the dead could read. Heavy rain washed the sleepy city that day, and everyone said that they’d never seen so many white peonies in the same place before. He buried all his other poem books with her, tucked between her curls and the black and white satin.

He never made a copy.

Paterson didn’t write love poems anymore. But never were his fingers as ink stained, bruised and abused by so many hours spent writing as they were now, and never was his desk inundated by so many notebooks. They piled up in complete disorder, competing with books and tools, making the old wood squeak uncomfortably.

“Who’s she”

Only now he saw her fiddling with the framed photo he kept on his living room table, so that it was always the first thing he saw as he woke up.

“Wife?”

Paterson didn’t answer.

Mina had her back turned to him. She couldn’t see the man’s eyes watering, or the frown of his brows, nor could she feel his struggle with his breath, repressing the tides of anguish that menaced to crash on him again.

“Gorgeous, dude! bet she gives great head” She turned to look at him over her shoulder, winked suggestively.

Beaming and smug at the same time, Mina looked like one who’s sure just dropped something so smart and funny, completely oblivious of the hands clutching on the cold marble of the kitchen counter. White knuckles, white pain…

“No complaints.“

Paterson’s reply of choice. Life was going on for everybody, for him too. Doc got a TV in his bar after all. Marie went to New York and Everett to LA. And he was still a bus driver, eating cereals every morning, writing in his yellow pages and sitting on the wet benches of Paterson’s waterfalls, so why would he complain?

“Go and freshen up, bathroom first door to the left”

“You’re no fun” She stuck out her tongue and left. Paterson couldn’t be mad.

Laura was laughing, straddling the arm of the sofa and eyeing him with mischief in her eyes. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Won’t ya help me with my clothes?”

“I can’t do much with a broken wrist”

“It hurts”

(…)

“Dude, come on, so prudish!”

Laura had a hand on her mouth now, in mock shock, her eyes were still laughing, and Paterson was confused, a pretty blush rising to his cheeks. He remembered now that the only clothes he had that might fit Mina were Laura’s, and even those were big for the bony creature waiting for his help in his bathroom.

“Hold… hold on a second”

Paterson drew in a shaky breath, fetched one of his sleep shirts from his bed drawers, strode to open the bathroom door and… oh God.

A trembling dry leaf stood before him. Only in her white crop top and equally white panties; Paterson imagined her cracking under the passers-by’s soles, giving in under their rough stumpings, each one leaving a stain on her weak frame. Paterson’s eyes descended to her bare thighs, and she kept her eyes on the floor.

“Jesus… Who… who did this to you?”

Her thighs were a hideous map, little red and yellowish scabbed dots and circles on tarnished, discolored skin.

She shrugged, eyes avoiding his. Why would he care, why was he so insistent, why couldn’t he just be like the others, why won’t he try something with her, on her, like she deserves… she would let him, this one, she would.

“Just help me with my top” a wobbly voice replied, but Paterson was already looking for something in his medicine cabinet.

“Sit on the stool there” His hands were shaking as he put the ointment and the bandages on the side and proceeded to wet a washcloth.

“Can… I?” He kneeled, and their eyes met. She kept silent and nodded and he thought the sparkle in her eyes was gratitude.

With infinite gentle touches, Paterson washed her thighs and legs, dried them carefully, applied the ointment and wrapped them in clean bandages.

Laura was watching in reverence. The scene exuded something religious; the saint washing the sinner’s faults. And none spoke a word.

Afterwards, Mina laid in white clean sheets, but for all the comfort she had, she couldn’t sleep the few hours separating the night from dawn. She counted the hours, watching the bus driver as he slept peaceful and soft; not so far from her spot on the sofa.

The domestic rituals, the warm clothes, the vanilla soap smell lingering, the nice buzzing of the fridge in a quiet space, and the dim light he kept on just for her… His… his kindness coiled her like sticky ropes. Mina was suffocating.

She got up, slid in her dirty jeans, but kept his shirt on, and with a final brush of his hair, she took his watch and slipped out of the quiet house, and the monsters took her in their arms again.

***

Recycled air and synthetic notes, shopping carts rolling and low, lustful giggles.

With his favorite brand of cereal in hand, Paterson’s food shopping was almost done for the day. He was just strolling, verses starting to form in the fog of his mind as he saw two forms melting in each other, just against one of the snack vending machines. A smile began to tug on his lips. Life was simple, young lovers making out in malls and supermarkets, in the streets and gardens; the boy handsy, in baggy jeans and a loose jumper, fake golden chains around black collar, the girl…the girl.

Paterson’s mind went blank, and verses fled away like frightened pigeons.

“Oi man, whatcha lookin’ at!”

The guy addressed a dazed Paterson, and the girl turned her head from off her lover’s chest.

In all the scenarios she imagined at night, curled up in the corners of the streets and between the brushwood of the parks , meeting him again while in the arms of another man was never on the list. It shouldn’t be like that, it wasn’t supposed to be like that. He shouldn’t think that she… but what was she anyway? She was everything he might think of her now.

He was so beautiful she wanted to bury her pain in his chest, between the threads of his regal hair. Curl all the hurt in a bundle and he would take it, in his large warm palm. He would know how to make it disappear, like by magic, vanish in thin air. With a touch of his finger pads, he could wash away scars; wipe away the purples and the blues and the burns. He was so clean she feared to touch him. He was so wholesome and she felt so queasy, so sickening she wanted to puke. Her hand skimmed the hidden pocket in her rat nibbled jean vest; the watch was still there, burning a hole in its worn fabric. She didn’t pass it on to Ian. It earned her new cigarette burns and a slap that made her nose bleed a little, but she had survived worse treatments.

“Who’s that, you know that guy? You do boring now?”

Carlos giggled, showcasing many missed teeth. He pinched her sides playfully, slapped her cheek playfully, squeezed her tits playfully, and she wished to die.

“Yo dude, wanna suck my dick? Ow no? Maybe a threesome? My chick here gives amazing head”

Oh, that again.

“See, not interested”

Carlos giggles sounded like gallows bells.

“I’m not your chick, for fuck’s sake!”

Mina screamed in frustration, pushed a stunned Carlos away, wriggled free from his sloppy hold, hand reaching out for salvation.

“I’m… I’m sorry!”

What she meant to be loud and clear, came out as a choked whisper.

But Paterson was already turning his back to her. This time he didn’t wait for her, not even a hum or a discarding hand, his long silhouette drawing away, swallowed by the light.

Life was going on, no complaints.

***

Mina was out, really out.

Even when she told him she wouldn’t play “pretend” with him anymore, Carlos still hung around for some time, and the money she could get from him she saved with scrutiny, starving herself to death. She never came back to the “pack”; her steps always took her to the quiet small house at the end of the stairs. She lurked there, watching when the lights went on, and stayed hunched behind shrubs and bushes, clutching the watch to her heart, listening to their combined tic tic tic… the mechanics soothed her, and she slept there every night.

Whatever happens, never sell the watch.

She started doing windshield scrubbing too, helped some nice grocery shop owners with their crates for some dollars, and by the end of the month she could buy a dozen cigarette packs and tissue boxes to sell in the streets. She was always hungry, but at least she could picture him in the back of her mind smiling, not disappointed in her anymore. He might not know, for now, but the thought was comforting. The thought was like a pier, supporting the bridge she was building towards him and she was sure she would reach him again, one day.

***

Sun benches at the curb bespeak another season, truncated poplars that having served for shade served also later for the fire.

It was Saturday morning. The rainy clouds of the day before blew over for a shiny crystal sun to come out. Excitement and expectations wired the air with buzzing electricity around Hinchliff Stadium. Kids and teens, middle aged and old people formed noisy groups, stomping on empty chips bags and placing bets.

Mina thought herself lucky when she laid hands on second hand baseball game tickets. Her wrist completely healed now, she roamed the area around the stadium, surfed the crowd, hands full, voice rusty from a cold she was nursing, over exploited vocal chords, yelling, trying to convince hurried passers-by to buy, by means of jokes and charms.

That’s when she saw him.

“Fuckin’ Carlos” a livid Mina stumbled a few steps backward, eyes seeking a gap between the crowds, quickly calculating her way out.

Fuck!

She could recognize Ian’s red sneakers anywhere. She thanked the heavens for his poor cover-up skills, giving her the high ground for a moment. She knew he could see her, but she took her chance. One group blocked his vision for a moment, and Mina took off her oversized leather jacket, let her hair down and started to walk slowly in the opposite direction.

She mentally counted to ten, chewing furiously on an overused gum, her hands started sweating. She knew that if caught this time, it wouldn’t just be cigarette burns on her thighs.

So Mina ran.

She ran aimlessly, not looking back, eyes closed and breath shagged. She could feel the adrenaline rush shot through her bones, just like every time she plunged her skillful hands inside the pockets of an oblivious passer-by, but this time there would be no euphoria of the gain waiting at the end of the road, just a sliced head.

Five minutes of sprinting and she couldn’t take it anymore, were her lungs that damaged? Fuck you Carlos, couldn’t keep his trap shut! Fuck! She was losing speed, she could hear Ian’s red sneakers batting the asphalt, tap tap tap, just behind. It was common belief that, at moments like these, the film of your whole life would flash back before your eyes, that the spool of all your wrongs would unfurl the threads that would wind around your legs and throat, choke you to death, drag you to hell. But Mina only saw two amber gems, Mina saw warmth and large, strong arms wrapping her in endless depths of comfort, and she felt peace descend upon her, Mina saw the future so she ran faster, and this time, with one destination in mind.

#paterson #adam driver #paterson x original female character #paterson 2016 #adam driver fanfics #fanfics #hurt #she's a mess #forgive her #he's wholesome #pat needs a hug #paterson fan fics

14 notes · View notes

thebibliomancer · 4 years ago

Text

Song of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 18

Song of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because sure the book is only half over but don’t you think we should really find that flute now?

Last times on book: Kylan, Naia, and Tavra have traveled to Home-in-Shadows to find a magic firca that will help them warn all Gelfling about the Skeksis. Maudra Argot’s delightful son Amri has joined the party to lead them to the Tomb of Relics.

Chapter 18

The gang meets urLii the Storyteller! They find the cedar box of Gyr’s firca! What a fulfilling chapter!

Amri gets them all lanterns and then the gelfs split up because they’ll cover more ground that way.

... Kylan imagined Naia and Tavra were seeing the same as him: a passage lined with dusty, lichen-covered, boxed, locked, rolled, stacked, and latched items. There were so many things crammed among the shelves that it was hard to tell, especially in the lacking light, where one item ended and the next began.

I’ve been taking all of the books off of my multiple shelves to move and I feel this description very hard. My room is just stacks of books now. Floor is books and bed is books.

And yet I feel a secret forbidden library/archive inside a mountain might be my ideal dream home.

Kylan walks through the Tomb of Relics and sees lantern light and a figure down a hall. Its Tavra and she tells him to get back on task.

The first room gave him no success, though not for lack of trying. There were so many things crowded in every cubby that he was sure he hadn’t possibly looked through everything. Yet if he followed his impulse and inspected every crate and scroll he found, it would take forever. Each artifact was unique, and wonderful, and Kylan knew he could spend his entire life in the Tomb if he lost track of his goal.

In the last chamber of the row, Kylan finds that a shelf against the far wall has collapsed (possible from an earthquake... shouldn’t that be thraquake?) and spilled books and boxes and chests and artifacts and broken stuff into one jumbled pile.

And then the pile starts to move as a Mystic rises from underneath it. Huh, guess the shelf collapsed recently or he was taking a long rubble nap.

Amri and Naia show up and Amri introduces the Mystic as urLii and that he sometimes comes down from the Sanctuary to bring new stuff to the Tomb of Relics.

Heyyyy, urLii the Storyteller!

He was great in the Age of Resistance comic! In that, he sorta lived in the Tomb of Relics like a dragon with a bunch of piles of treasures. He also guarded the Dual Glaive and had named the Tomb of Relics that to make it sound spooky because he didn’t want a lot of company.

urLii the Mystic finally cleared enough of the pile to step free of it. In full view, Kylan could see he was indeed the same race as urVa, the wise archer they’d met in the Dark Wood. He had a long body, from his long face to his long, heavy tail, his skin marked where it was visible with etching-like whorls and spirals. He was clothed in a simple mantle, wrists decorated with metal cuffs and cord ties. He cleared his throat and patted his body, as if to make sure it was intact, and then drew a pair of eye-prisms from the clutter. Once they were snug on his nose, he looked at the three Gelfling more closely.

Huh! I think this is the first Mystic with glasses? Even though skekOk wears multiple glasses, his counterpart urAc wears none.

... Although I’m seeing on the wiki that skekOk wears glasses just to look smarter. Amazing.

urLii recognizes that this is Amri’s first time in the Tomb and explains he was looking for something, which he doesn’t remember now, when a shelf fell on him.

Amri decides to ask for urLii’s help in finding the firca.

While Amri described the firca to urLii, as casually as with a sibling, Kylan tried to quiet a sudden pulse of jealousy. It was a bad feeling, and he didn’t like it one bit. Not only did the Grottan have access to such a trove of ancient treasure, but they knew one of the Mystics like a family friend? He sighed and tried to wave the feeling away. There was no need to be in competition with Amri, who was only doing everything he could to help them.

If you didn’t hate being underground so much, I’d suggest asking Maudra Argot to adopt you. She seems cool. And Amri could be your brother!

But, yeah, no, it’d never work.

urLii believes he knows where the firca is. Although he’s waffling a bit on which way that is and keeps getting lost and wandering from chamber to chamber.

While they follow him, Naia asks why Amri didn’t mention that he knew a Mystic.

“Mystic? Um... I guess he is pretty mystical, now that you say it! urLii has taught the Grotan clan for ages. He’s a master song teller, and he taught us all to dream-etch. We call him the Storyteller. Our younglings travel to the Sanctuary when they come of age to learn... Is that strange? Are there others like him?”

Kylan’s heart ached. A friendship with one of the Mystics, those that were as wise as the Skeksis were shrewd! Yet in all his ancient knowledge, Amri didn’t even know how lucky he was.

Naia speculates how cool it would have been if urVa had lived with the Drenchen and taught them and mentions that urLii could probably teach Kylan a bunch of songs he’s never even heard.

Oof, kinda inadvertently putting salt on the jealousy wound there, Naia.

It’s not explicitly mentioned but I imagine that the fact that all Grottan learn dream-etching and can read has got to contribute to his feelings of inadequacy and jealousy. Dream-etching was his special skill that he brought to the group but they’re bringing Amri along and he can do it too.

urLii eventually finds a shelf that he insists is where the firca is, even though Kylan is pretty sure they’d searched that shelf twice.

The Storyteller searched the shelves with all four long-fingered hands at once, picking up small chests and shifting things aside, looking and grumbling hmm, hmm the whole while.

Oh, to have four arms and super good at sorting...

Amri asks if he’s sure that this is the right shelf, I guess having the same misgivings as Kylan. Aw dangit, Amri is even misgiving better! Poor Kylan!

But urLii insists! He’s a very organized relic keeper! Since Gyr the Song Teller was a Sifa, he put it next to the Sifan Charms of Zale, a sextant, some Nebrie hide, and charms.

Amri suggests instead that urLii moved it or maybe it fell when there was a booklanche in the other room.

The Gelfs all split up to cover more ground again but in the same room.

Kylan stayed near urLii, waiting for the courage to speak to the Mystic. They worked side by side while Amri joined Naia on the other end of the room. Kylan had questions, and he wanted to hear everything the Mystic had to share, but no matter how long he waited, the courage never came. He could not ask about Gyr, or the firca, or even whether the Mystic race knew their Skeksis counterparts had broken the Heart of Thra. Instead they looked in silence, Kylan’s lungs filling with dust as he uncovered dozens and dozens of shelves, finding nothing.

Naia eventually declares that the firca isn’t here, prompting urLii to shake his head and respond “Oh, where, then?”

Is that catty? Can Mystics be catty?

I know they can be sassy, especially urSol, but I didn’t know catty.

Oh, and then Tavra comes in with the cedar box the firca is in, which she says she found two chambers over.

Womp womp.

She also notices urLii but doesn’t really respond to a Mystic being here. Like ‘well this might as well happen.’

Instead of presenting it to Amri, who could have been said to be the owner of the box on behalf of his clan that protected the Tomb, or to Naia, who had been their unofficial leader through everything, Tavra brought the box to Kylan. He accepted it in both hands.

“Here’s your firca, Song Teller,” she said.

See, now that definitely sounds catty or perhaps spiteful.

Naia encourages Kylan to crack open the box but he takes time to savor the moment or perhaps just to examine the box in detail so as to set the scene. It really is a great box.

Etched in great detail on the lid was a drawing of a bird, standing next to a grove of trees to demonstrate its fantastical size. Its head was all beak with an eye on either side, wings half-spread over a clutch of boulder-size eggs. The only thing peculiar about the etching was a character burned into the corner of the drawing, the symbol for S. The etching still felt warm, but then again, everything in the stuffy chambers did.

You have good taste in boxes, Gyr. And/or whoever boxed it. Possibly urLii?

Hmm, I wonder if the etching on the box is etching etching or dream-etching.

And I wonder about that S.

S forrrrrr Song Teller?

Kylan imagines the firca before opening the box, something that looks so similar to the tiny instrument he learned to play but just oh so much cooler and more powerful and also capable of saving the day against the Skeksis!

Which I’m not sure about. There’s like a hundred pages left.

Though, just finding the thing isn’t the end of the story. They still get to use it to graffiti the truth absolutely everywhere.

Kylan cracks the box open and.... aw dang.

Resting in the padded box was a collection of white fragments - bone, no doubt, and some still large enough to show intricate carvings. There were just enough pieces to know what it had been, and what it could never be again. All that mattered now was what it was: Gyr’s bell-bird firca, smashed into a thousand pieces.

What a shaggy fizzgig story.

#dark crystal #the dark crystal #Song of the Dark Crystal #liveblog #Kylan #Naia #Amri #Tavra #urLii #the Storyteller

11 notes · View notes