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the-king-andthe-lionheart · 3 years ago

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The Fundamentals of Gendrya

So I just want to establish the possible foreshadowing Arya and Gendry have that hints at a possible romantic relationship in the future, as well as the romantic undertones present in their story. I’m not really going to focus on symbolism in this meta (although it will come up a couple of times in a minor way), as that will be a focus for future meta. This is only meant to establish the fundamental basics.

First I want to say that when I’m talking about the romantic possibility of Gendrya, I mean future Gendrya, as in once Arya is older. However I will posit and say that because we are viewing this in the world of Westeros (in a pseudo Medieval world that GRRM exaggerated and sensationalized from real Medieval sources as well as rumor) and because GRRM has established he has no problems with placing his younger characters in romantic or sexual situations (see Mercy TWOW) I think it would be remiss to think GRRM would not take Arya and Gendry here if that was his plan all along. After all, there is plenty of precedent.

This also leads me to remind everyone that Gendry is not an adult when he meets Arya, and the age gap between the two is one of the least egregious age gaps in the books as most of the age gaps are between adult men in their 20’s and 30’s with 12-16 year old girl’s. I think a lot of people think of the age gap as Arya being 9 the whole time and Gendry being 16, but this is in fact wrong. According to the timeline, Arya and Gendry meet at the beginning of 299 AC, right around Arya’s 10th birthday. In 299 AC Gendry was only 13/14 years old. He was born in 284 AC and is not the same age as Robb and Jon, like Ned surmises. Gendry is just big for his age, and it’s highly likely Gendry doesn’t even know how old he is. When Arya and Gendry separate in ASOS Arya is almost 11 while Gendry is 14/15 years old.

Regardless, this is fiction, and doesn’t reflect real world morals. So what I’m getting at is that if anyone disagrees with this meta because of their ages I suggest you don’t read any further.

Foreshadowing

Our first hint of foreshadowing happens in Arya’s very first chapter:

She frowned down at them with dismay and glanced over to where her sister Sansa sat among the other girls. Sansa's needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. “Sansa's work is as pretty as she is,” Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. “She has such fine, delicate hands.” When Lady Catelyn had asked about Arya, the septa had sniffed. “Arya has the hands of a blacksmith.” - Arya I AGOT

This quote is later followed up with:

[...] “I ruined that gown Lady Smallwood gave me, and I don't sew so good.” She chewed her lip. “I don't sew very well, I mean. Septa Mordane used to say I had a blacksmith's hands.”

Gendry hooted. “Those soft little things,” he called out. “You couldn't even hold a hammer.” - Arya VII ASOS

In the same book Lem Lemoncloak says this to Gendry:

“You must be a lackwit, boy,” said Lem. “We're outlaws. Lowborn scum, most of us, except for his lordship. Don't think it'll be like Tom's fool songs neither. You won't be stealing no kisses from a princess, nor riding in no tourneys in stolen armor. You join us, you'll end with your neck in a noose, or your head mounted up above some castle gate.” - Arya VII ASOS

At this point Arya is indeed a princess, but Lem also makes an obvious reference (to the audience) to the Knight of the Laughing Tree, which I think we can safely say was Lyanna. The fact that Lyanna is Arya’s literary mirror, tells me we can connect Arya to Lem’s comment, not to mention the inclusion of “princess” just kind of seals the deal. We also know that Arya is the spitting image of Lyanna and Gendry the spitting image of Robert Baratheon. I think it’s worth noting also that after Acorn Hall, Lem takes it upon himself to make sure nothing untoward happens between Arya and Gendry (he thought Gendry was taking advantage of Arya after they wrestled) as he starts sleeping in between them, which is seen in Arya V ASOS when they are at The Peach. Lem saying “Don’t think it’ll be like Tom’s fool songs neither” is also interesting because at Acorn Hall we specifically get Tom singing a love song directed towards Arya and Gendry.

Speaking of Lyanna and Robert being reflections of Arya (in both appearance and personality) and Gendry (in appearance for the most part) this is said in Eddard I AGOT:

We were meant to rule together. If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done."

Now this quote may be referring to Sansa and Joffrey, but I do think it’s foreshadowing for Gendrya and this is just a misdirect. After all, Joffrey is not Robert Baratheon’s son by blood, but Gendry is, even though he is illegitimate. To me this also sounds like a promise. When you think about it, the story truly begins at the Tourney of Harrenhal with the events that broke the betrothal between Lyanna and Robert, so it would be very cyclical for the ending to do what the beginning could not, binding a Stark and a Baratheon together in marriage.

There are also several references about Arya marrying an apprentice/blacksmith:

“[...] Or if it is marriage and children you desire, tell me, and we shall find a husband for you. Some honest apprentice boy, a rich old man, a seafarer, whatever you desire.” - Arya II AFFC

We also have a comment made by Jaime:

“Not all,” said Jaime. “Lord Eddard's daughters live. One has just been wed. The other...” Brienne, where are you? Have you found her? “...if the gods are good, she'll forget she was a Stark. She'll wed some burly blacksmith or fat-faced innkeep, fill his house with children, and never need to fear that some knight might come along to smash their heads against a wall.” - Jaime I ADWD

Now I know what you are going to say, that Jaime is referring to Sansa possibly marrying a blacksmith or innkeep, but if it weren’t for Jaime’s thought’s in the middle towards Brienne, you’d never guess which Stark daughter he is referring to because Sansa was only just recently married as well. Also it’s Arya who is associated with a blacksmith (Gendry) and a fat-faced innkeep (Hot Pie). So while Jaime is referring to Sansa here I think we are meant to actually look at the reality behind this and reverse the foreshadowing back onto Arya, because it wasn’t Arya who was recently wed, that was Sansa. It’s also Arya who is legitimately trying to forget she was a Stark (Sansa isn’t trying to forget, she is only pretending to be Alayne to ensure her protection) and like I mentioned it’s Arya who had a blacksmith and future employee at an inn as companions for two novels. So I think it’s a foreshadowing switcheroo. And I think it’s also worth mentioning that while Jaime sent Brienne out to save Sansa, Brienne spends her whole journey almost exclusively hearing news and following leads about Arya.

There is also a reference in Brienne VII AFFC that makes mention that Arya may marry an apprentice boy:

Gendry was the closest thing to a man grown, but it was Willow shouting all the orders, as if she were a queen in her castle and the other children were no more than servants.

If she were highborn, command would come naturally to her, and deference to them. Brienne wondered whether Willow might be more than she appeared. The girl was too young and too plain to be Sansa Stark, but she was of the right age to be the younger sister, and even Lady Catelyn had said that Arya lacked her sister's beauty. Brown hair, brown eyes, skinny...could it be? Arya Stark's hair was brown, she recalled, but Brienne was not sure about the color of her eyes. Brown and brown, was that it? Could it be that she did not die at Saltpans after all?

“One day that little girl [Willow] will make some man a frightful wife,” Ser Hyle observed. “That poor 'prentice boy [Gendry], most like.”

Willow is very obviously a Arya stand-in which makes this specific quote about Arya and Gendry, not Willow and Gendry.

Arya IV ASOS has the strongest case for future romantic Gendrya. Not only does Gendry follow after Arya and invite her to look at the forge, Gendry opens up to her about his life right before he was uprooted, and does this:

Gendry reached out with the tongs as if to pinch her face, but Arya swatted them away.

Gendry is being playful and open with Arya during most of this scene in the forge, teasing her in a manner that verges on flirting, telling her a story about his past, laughing and having fun with Arya. And then this happens:

Gendry put the hammer down and looked at her. “You look different now. Like a proper little girl.”

“I look like an oak tree, with all these stupid acorns.”

“Nice, though. A nice oak tree.” He stepped closer, and sniffed at her. “You even smell nice for a change.”

“You don't. You stink.” Arya shoved him back against the anvil and made to run, but Gendry caught her arm. She stuck a foot between his legs and tripped him, but he yanked her down with him, and they rolled across the floor of the smithy. He was very strong, but she was quicker. Every time he tried to hold her still she wiggled free and punched him. Gendry only laughed at the blows, which made her mad. He finally caught both her wrists in one hand and started to tickle her with the other, so Arya slammed her knee between his legs, and wrenched free. Both of them were covered in dirt, and one sleeve was torn on her stupid acorn dress. “I bet I don't look so nice now,” she shouted.

Gendry compliments Arya’s looks and scent, only for Arya to think he’s teasing her about her appearance due to her intense insecurity when it comes to highborn conformation (Gendry’s laugh when he first saw her didn’t help matters in her insecurity even though Gendry most likely only laughed out of being startled at her transformation). This insecurity leads Arya into getting angry and starting a wrestling match with him. This wrestling scene also directly follows Jaime and Brienne’s very sexually charged sword fight, and could also be interpreted as foreshadowing a romantic and potentially sexual relationship in the future, like theirs did, when they are older.

Now I’m not saying that I think Gendrya is going to go NC-17 in the books, but I do think it’s likely to go PG-13 by the end of ADOS, considering we have precedent that GRRM has no qualms about writing these types of things as I mentioned above, and we know Arya is going to be 12 in TWOW and may be at least 14-15 when the series ends depending on how much GRRM can spread out the timeline in the next two books. But considering the amount of stuff that needs to happen, I think the next two books will span 2-3 years before the epilogue begins.

Then there is the love song GRRM specifically wrote for Arya. A song that has only appeared in one chapter, Arya’s chapter:

“My featherbed is deep and soft,

and there I'll lay you down,

I'll dress you all in yellow silk,

and on your head a crown.

For you shall be my lady love,

and I shall be your lord.

I'll always keep you warm and safe,

and guard you with my sword.

“And how she smiled and how she laughed,

the maiden of the tree.

She spun away and said to him,

no featherbed for me.

I'll wear a gown of golden leaves,

and bind my hair with grass,

But you can be my forest love,

and me your forest lass.”

Now we know this song is about them because when Tom O’Sevens is singing it, he winks at Arya, and later Lady Smallwood specifically says to Arya “I have no gowns of leaves”. The song specifically mentions yellow – a Baratheon color – and depicts the free spirited “Maiden of the Tree” who wants love on her own terms, which sounds like what an older, flowered version of Arya would want if she fell in love.

Romantic Undertones

Arya’s Crush

As she passed the armory, Arya heard the ring of a hammer. A deep orange glow shone through the high windows. She climbed to the roof and peeked down. Gendry was beating out a breastplate. When he worked, nothing existed for him but metal, bellows, fire. The hammer was like part of his arm. She watched the play of muscles in his chest and listened to the steel music he made. He's strong, she thought. As he took up the long-handled tongs to dip the breastplate into the quenching trough, Arya slithered through the window and leapt down to the floor beside him. - Arya IX ACOK

It’s very subtle but this paragraph tells us everything. Arya unintentionally reveals in this quote that she watches Gendry blacksmithing enough to know that the world falls away when he’s in his element. She watches the play of muscles in his back and notes how strong he is and even attaches poetic language to his work. Arya has a crush on Gendry. It’s not acknowledged and it’s likely she doesn’t understand it herself, but this seems to be the truth of it, especially with the way GRRM worded this. I don’t know how many times I’ve read a romance where the protagonist studies their love interest while watching the “play of muscles” in their back or their arms. It’s also interesting to note that Arya always mentions specifics about Gendry’s looks and notes details about him:

He blinked at her, startled. Strands of thick black hair, still wet from the bathhouse, fell across his deep blue eyes. "I'd hurt you." - Arya II ACOK

"It's me they want," Arya whispered back. His ear smelled of soap. "You be quiet." - Arya II ACOK

When she spied Gendry, his bare chest was slick with sweat, but the blue eyes under the heavy black hair had the stubborn look she remembered. - Arya VIII ACOK

"She's not alone." Gendry rode out from behind the cottage wall, and behind him Hot Pie, leading her horse. In his chainmail shirt with a sword in his hand, Gendry looked almost a man grown, and dangerous. Hot Pie looked like Hot Pie. - Arya II ASOS

Now most of these I’d normally chalk up to the author just being descriptive, but if that’s the case, why don’t we know more about Hot Pie’s looks, who Arya spent nearly a year with at the same time as Gendry? Why does she take special time out to describe Gendry so much? Honestly I think part of it is to keep reminding us that Gendry is a secret Baratheon bastard, but that doesn’t explain the first quote about Arya watching the “play of muscles” in his back and noting how strong he is. So I think it’s a combination of GRRM wanting to remind the audience that Gendry is a Baratheon and to also subtly show us that Arya has an innocent crush on him, but doesn’t know or acknowledge that this is the case out loud.

Their Mutual Jealousy

Starting after the events of Acorn Hall in Arya IV ASOS, it’s obvious that something shifts in Arya and Gendry’s relationship. One aspect is that Gendry can no longer ignore that Arya is indeed a highborn girl after seeing her for the first time dressed up as one. He knows what class differences will mean for their friendship. And another aspect, is that Gendry acknowledges that he may be romantically interested in Arya, or at least acknowledges the potential for those feelings to emerge in time. And because of this, combined with their class differences, Gendry knows that if he follows Arya to Riverrun where her mother and brother are, he would end up watching Arya grow into someone he could romantically love, only for her to be torn away from him due to an arranged marriage. Both of these aspects play a factor in why we see Gendry become more outwardly scathing towards highborns in the chapters following this and why his behavior seems to become one rife with jealousy.

In Arya V ASOS the Brotherhood Without Banners travel to The Peach and both of the above aspects I spoke of are present in this chapter:

"You don't even know what a brothel is."

"I do so," she insisted. "It's like an inn, with girls."

He was turning red again. "What are you doing here, then?" he demanded. "A brothel's no fit place for no bloody highborn lady, everybody knows that."

And when Gendry protects Arya from a pervert by saying that she’s his sister, this is what goes down:

"Why did you say that?" Arya hopped to her feet. "You're not my brother."

"That's right," he said angrily. "I'm too bloody lowborn to be kin to m'lady high."

Arya was taken aback by the fury in his voice. "That's not the way I meant it."

"Yes it is." He sat down on the bench, cradling a cup of wine between his hands. "Go away. I want to drink this wine in peace. Then maybe I'll go find that black-haired girl and ring her bell for her."

Arya doesn’t really understand the intentions of the pervert, despite knowing of sex, and is confused on why Gendry would say that he’s her brother, but when she asks him, he takes it the wrong way since he is already so sensitive about their class differences at this point in their story. That last paragraph is what makes this exchange really interesting though. Why would Gendry say this, when it’s already made clear and established in this chapter that Gendry has no intentions of sleeping with any of the girls, even when it’s offered to him for free? He is very obviously lying to try to get a rise out of Arya and the only way this makes sense is if we put it under a romantic lens.

Then we have this:

Arya whirled and left him there. A stupid bullheaded bastard boy, that's all he is. He could ring all the bells he wanted, it was nothing to her.

Now considering Arya’s defense mechanism (the mechanism that has her calling things or people stupid when she’s hurt or feeling inadequate by them to try to make the pain and hurt not seem so severe) the fact that she calls Gendry a “stupid bullheaded bastard boy” and proclaims Gendry ringing the bells of any girl was “nothing to her” tells us that it matters to her and that she’s upset. This is further reiterated in Arya VIII ASOS:

Arya wished she had another crabapple to bounce off his face. "My father had honor," she said angrily. "And we weren't talking to you anyway. Why don't you go back to Stoney Sept and ring that girl's stupid bells?"

So here we have Arya mention this three chapters later, likely weeks if not months later. If Arya didn’t care about Gendry ringing “all the bells he wanted” then why is she still so hurt and jealous? She’s obviously been stewing about this for a while.

In this same chapter we also see gems from Gendry that clearly proclaim that he’s still plagued about his class differences to Arya. It also clearly shows that Gendry is jealous of Edric Dayne once Arya befriends him, especially since she befriended someone highborn, like her, who just so happens to be a boy who we know has nearly the same coloring as Rhaegar Targaryen, which evokes the history repeating motif that is present in Arya’s arc of the Rhaegar/Lyanna/Robert love triangle.

"You have a knife," Gendry suggested. "If your hair annoys you so much, shave your bloody head."

He doesn't like Ned. The squire seemed nice enough to Arya; maybe a little shy, but good-natured. She had always heard that Dornishmen were small and swarthy, with black hair and small black eyes, but Ned had big blue eyes, so dark that they looked almost purple. And his hair was a pale blond, more ash than honey. - Arya VIII ASOS

And

"My lady?" Ned looked embarrassed. "I'm Edric Dayne, the . . . the Lord of Starfall."

Behind them, Gendry groaned. "Lords and ladies," he proclaimed in a disgusted tone. Arya plucked a withered crabapple off a passing branch and whipped it at him, bouncing it off his thick bull head. "Ow," he said. "That hurt." He felt the skin above his eye. "What kind of lady throws crabapples at people?"

"The bad kind," said Arya, suddenly contrite.

Gendry continues to encapsulate “ours is the fury” during Arya’s whole exchange with Edric Dayne.

I do want to add that I know Gendry’s class issues have always been there, and it’s definitely been made even more apparent to him during the War of the Five Kings during his time in the wartorn Riverlands with Arya, so it’s not exactly that far-fetched that Gendry may become even more sensitive and/or bitter about it. However, this extremity of his behavior only happened after Acorn Hall where he saw Arya looking like the highborn girl she is. And while I do believe part of Gendry’s increase of bitterness about their class differences does have to do with potential romantic feelings, I also think it has to do with Gendry also coming to terms with the fact that Arya’s family is also directly responsible for the carnage they have seen and experienced (even though he doesn’t blame Arya, as she seems to be one of Gendry’s exceptions when it comes to his dislike of the nobility). If it weren’t for the blatant flirting on his behalf in the forge at Acorn Hall and the jealousy, I would honestly chalk it up to Gendry trying to reconcile his own trauma and anger regarding highborns, including Arya’s family’s sins, but alas, that is not completely the case.

Post Separation

When Arya is kidnapped by the Hound and witnesses the Red Wedding, Arya contemplates where she may go and this crosses her thoughts in a very romanticized light:

She could stay with Hot Pie, or maybe Lord Beric would find her there. Anguy would teach her to use a bow, and she could ride with Gendry and be an outlaw, like Wenda the White Fawn in the songs.

But that was just stupid, like something Sansa might dream. - Arya XII ASOS

The fact that Arya follows this thought up with “that was just stupid, like something Sansa might dream” tells us specifically what type of fantasy this is. Arya isn’t fantasizing about an adventure, she’s fantasizing about love and romance, considering those are the types of flights of fancy Sansa always loses herself in. Now Arya isn’t outright rejecting the possibility of romance here, because there is more to that second paragraph:

But that was just stupid, like something Sansa might dream. Hot Pie and Gendry had left her just as soon as they could, and Lord Beric and the outlaws only wanted to ransom her, just like the Hound. None of them wanted her around. They were never my pack, not even Hot Pie and Gendry. I was stupid to think so, just a stupid little girl, and no wolf at all.

She rejects the possibility because she remembers that Hot Pie and Gendry abandoned her as soon as they could, and that all the Brotherhood did was use her, according to her perspective on the matter. And her perspective is entirely skewed because of her abandonment and low self-esteem issues, as well as not fully understanding the class issues as she honestly didn’t think that bringing Hot Pie and Gendry to Riverrun and Winterfell would cause any issues with their friendships, which is understandable for a kid to think. Especially one that hadn’t been in the highborn world for the past year and a half. In fact, Medieval children in the real world and in the books, weren’t reprimanded for playing together regardless of class, usually the highborn children played with the children of those who worked and lived within the castle walls, from other lords children to stewards children to the helps children. It’s just something children did until they reached a certain age where it just wasn’t allowed anymore. So it’s only natural for this not to really factor into Arya’s plans.

When Arya is about to walk into the House of Black and White, Arya comforts her fear with a memory of Gendry:

Suddenly she was somewhere else . . . back in Harrenhal with Gendry [...] - Arya I AFFC

Which indicates that Gendry is still very much on her mind at this point. I think it really says something as well that Arya takes comfort from a memory at Harrenhal of all places. I think this indicates how much comfort she took from their friendship. I also think she doesn’t think about Gendry with the Brotherhood to take her comfort because while ASOS has the most romantic foreshadowing for them and the two shared some nice moments, it was also the start of them truly fracturing, or so her unreliable narration interpreted it as. After all, she actually thought that Gendry was making fun of her looks at Acorn Hall, and she thought Gendry didn’t want to be her friend anymore as he “abandoned her” for the Brotherhood. So while Harrenhal was awful and they had their disagreements there, Arya still felt reassured with his companionship and likely found it uncomplicated in comparison to her other problems at the time.

When we next see Gendry in Brienne VII AFFC we see a drastically different Gendry. While Gendry has always been guarded and sullen with a chip on his shoulder, with little love for the nobility, this change is drastic enough where it’s unsettling to read at first. Not only is Gendry just flat out rude in a very mean way but he is filled with rage. Gendry joined the Brotherhood because he liked how they handled justice, but under Lady Stoneheart there is no justice and he doesn’t seem to mind. His beliefs have shifted as well.

And though his eyes had been that same deep blue, Lord Renly's eyes had always been warm and welcoming, full of laughter, whereas this boy's eyes brimmed with anger and suspicion.

Septon Meribald asked if he might lead the children in a grace, ignoring the small girl crawling naked across the table. "Aye," said Willow, snatching up the crawler before she reached the porridge. So they bowed their heads together and thanked the Father and the Mother for their bounty . . . all but the black-haired boy from the forge, who crossed his arms against his chest and sat glowering as the others prayed. Brienne was not the only one to notice. When the prayer was done Septon Meribald looked across the table, and said, "Do you have no love for the gods, son?"

"Not for your gods." Gendry stood abruptly. "I have work to do." He stalked out without a bite of food.

Gendry was at his forge, bare-chested beneath his leather apron. He was beating on a sword as if he wished it were a foe [...]

What would a knight be doing working at a smithy? "You have black hair and blue eyes, and you were born in the shadow of the Red Keep. Has no one ever remarked upon your face?"

"What's wrong with my face? It's not as ugly as yours."

Lord Renly was ahead of her, her sweet smiling king. He was leading her horse through the trees. Brienne called out to tell him how much she loved him, but when he turned to scowl at her, she saw that he was not Renly after all. Renly never scowled. He always had a smile for me, she thought . . . except . . .

While some people chalk up Gendry’s behavior as a result of trauma about what he experienced in the Riverlands, and I don’t deny that is a factor, I don’t believe it’s the only factor because we didn’t see Gendry like this post Harrenhal or even with the Brotherhood in ASOS. Yes he embodied “ours is the fury” at times and was jealous and bitter, and rude at times as well, but he wasn’t flat out cruel to people, nor filled with rage and vengeance. The Gendry before Arya was taken would never have led Brienne to Lady Stoneheart for the slaughter after she tried to save everyone in that Inn against Rorge and Biter and co. We can also see another difference in Gendry:

Lightning cracked to the south as the riders swung down off their horses. For half a heartbeat darkness turned to day. An axe gleamed silvery blue, light shimmered off mail and plate, and beneath the dark hood of the lead rider Brienne glimpsed an iron snout and rows of steel teeth, snarling.

Gendry saw it too. "Him."

While there is no emphasis on the “him” when Gendry sees the Hound’s helm, it’s an abrupt and emotionless statement. It’s one word without emphasis but it conveys a lot. Gendry recognizes the Hound’s helm and it’s apparent he’s not happy, thinking that it was indeed the Hound for a minute. And while I’m trying to avoid discussing symbolism, I just can’t ignore how the lightning that cracked in the south could also be symbolic of Gendry’s true mood. He is, after all, a bastard Baratheon, connected to the storm, the fury - thunder and lightning - as well as sharing a connection to the god, Thor in our mythology. This lightning could symbolically be linked to Gendry’s anger and vengeance. So why does Gendry act like this when he sees who he thinks is the Hound again? He had no issue with the Hound during his trial by combat, so what changed? The Hound kidnapped Arya. And while he knows Arya didn’t die at the Red Wedding, he and the Brotherhood aren’t entirely sure if the Hound sold Arya to the Lannister’s and if she is now Arya Bolton. So it makes complete sense why he would have issues with the Hound. In fact I think a lot of this behavior we are seeing from Gendry is the direct result of the Hound kidnapping Arya and not knowing if she’s dead or being brutally raped and tortured in the North.

Why do I think this? Because this behavior began between Arya being kidnapped in ASOS and Brienne VII AFFC. Only a few to a handful of months have passed since then. This, I believe, is the inciting incident. Another reason why I believe Arya is the reason is because of what he is doing. He is staying at the Crossroads Inn, one of the last known places Arya was sighted, and he’s helping take care of orphaned children. Arya took in strays as well and cared for them, like Weasel. And considering how Gendry in ACOK wanted to leave Weasel and Hot Pie and Lommy behind, it’s interesting to see that he’s helping by taking in strays himself now, as if he thinks he may be able to atone for not saving Arya. Another reason is because the Brotherhood is actively searching for Arya as well. She is ever present on their minds. So yes, I believe part of Gendry’s change has to do with losing Arya, which goes to show how much he really cared about her. Not to mention (a tiny bit more symbolism, oopsie!), Gendry’s stay at the inn, waiting for Arya to return (I believe Gendry and the BWB are hoping that Arya is alive and will return to the inn) is a romantic aspect to the mythology of Weyland the Smith and his Swan Maiden/Valkyrie, and the aspect about the Brotherhood + Gendry searching the realm for Arya is also a romantic Cinderella motif, hence why I feel Gendry’s behavior here is supposed to have romantic subtext.

Extra: Another interesting aspect that I think foreshadows this future relationship is the meaning of Gendry’s name. Gendry is a nickname type of surname for a person who has inherited his family estates from his father-in-law, deriving its origin from the Old French word “gendre,” which meant “son-in-law.” And as we know if Arya and Gendry married when they were older, Arya wouldn’t be taking his name, but he hers, due to her higher status. So by marrying into the Stark family, he would be inheriting from his father-in-law Ned so to speak, even if it’s just inheriting the surname.

So this is everything I’ve compiled so far about Gendrya, that relies on just their foreshadowing and romantic undertones in the texts we have available but I’m positive I’ll be adding more to this list once TWOW officially releases. However, I still have a lot more to share that focuses on their symbolism and motifs throughout the story, so I’m definitely not done making Gendrya meta, far from it and I can’t wait to share it with you all!

And if anyone is interested in Arya’s and by extension Gendrya’s Cinderella motifs, you can find it at this link: A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes.

#arya stark #gendry waters #gendry baratheon #gendrya #asoiaf

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legends-live-in-memories · 4 years ago

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Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century

AYO! Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle! Team Enemies-to-Lovers for the win. I bring you another oneshot. but this time i used 3 prompts like a dumbass.

Fics Masterlist

Daminette Oneshot 4.3K words (no warnings except slight cursing)

Summary:

“Marinette is invited to the Super-Rockin' Wedding of the Century and she needs a date. Alya is both her best and worst wingman.”

Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle, I used 3 prompts to make this thing: 1. "You don't have to like me, you just need to pretend you do." 2. "I like your costume. You look very cute." "Are you making fun of me?" 3. 'Write about a very unusual wedding proposal.' this is the culmination of all my efforts.

without further ado:

It was the biggest news on the internet. Global sensation, international rockstar, Jagged Stone, was officially engaged to childhood friend turned manager, Penny Rolling. Memes and fan theories stormed every corner of the web. Trending topics including #rockstar_wedding and #RollingStone permeated every social media platform. Guest lists were speculated, dress designers were tagged in every post that even mentioned the words ‘wedding’ or ‘bride’. It was total mayhem but none felt it worse than up-and-coming Parisian designer, M. D. Cheng, privately known as Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

The young adult was up to her neck in design templates, and was drowning in half-baked ideas and sketches. While the internet has only heard about the proposal for a solid two weeks at this point, Marinette was in the know for six months. Jagged Stone had contacted her in advance because he needed her help with the proposal itself.

And what a proposal it was.

Jagged had outlined his idea in simple terms but it was still so mind-boggling that Marinette needed him to draw some visual aids to completely convey his idea. Initially it sounded simple enough but the more the man spoke, the more Marinette felt her brain fry at the mental picture. It first involved recreating a scene from Penny’s favourite movie. Which sounded rather romantic, if you ignored the fact that her favourite movie was Bride of Chucky. Then it involved Jagged dressed as the Tinman from Wizard of Oz. Oh, and the proposal had to happen on Halloween because that was the anniversary of their first date apparently, and based on everything else this plan entailed it might as well have been. Marinette’s role in all of this was to simply re-make the white wedding dress Chucky’s bride, Tiffany, wore because Penny already had the leather jacket to match. Of course she did. She didn’t even want to know how Jagged acquired the Tinman suit. Not her barrel of monkeys.

While many thought Jagged was the eccentric one of the pair, due to his loud personality and being an actual rockstar, the more Marinette worked for the two of them over the years, the more she learned how absolutely wrong they all were. It turned out it was Penny’s idea for Jagged to dye his hair purple, and she was the one to ask him out on Halloween all those faithful years ago. Her calm and collected demeanor was an impressive cover for the absolute weirdo she actually was. And Jagged had planned a proposal that was undoubtedly perfect for her. Regardless of how abso-fucking-lutely bizarre it was.

To each their own and let’s move on.

The set-up for the proposal started with Jagged, dressed as the Tinman, playing the part of Chucky, who begins the body-switching chant from the movie. Everything from that point on was resting on Penny’s love for the movie. Without hesitating, Penny, dressed as Tiffany, and playing her part, knew the lines by heart and immediately began reenacting the scene with Jagged. Her lines involved telling ‘Chucky’ to kiss her while she reaches for a knife that’s supposed to be in his pocket. Instead, as Jagged was still dressed as the Tinman, Penny pulled out a slip of paper. On said paper, the words ‘All the Tinman wanted was a heart’ were written in Jagged’s almost illegible chicken scratch. When Penny was distracted with the piece of paper, Jagged had gotten down on one knee and pulled out the engagement ring. The actual words of his proposal were never actually said because, upon seeing the ring, Penny flung herself into the man, clipping her chin into his metal-plated shoulder, but she wasn’t complaining.

So that was how the proposal went.

Wedding planning started almost immediately since the newly engaged had already picked a theme. And this is where Marinette began to regret every life choice she has made since she was thirteen; starting with opening the mysterious box she found on her desk and ending with agreeing to being the main designer for the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. One thing that wasn’t well-known but not a secret about Jagged was that he was a superhero fan. He grew up enjoying the fictional ones in his childhood comic books and he adored the real ones he witnessed in his adult life. His song that he dedicated to the teenage Ladybug was only one part of his… appreciation. His hero-worship went so far as to beieve that a hero-themed wedding was appropriate. Or he didn’t, but also didn’t care about adhering to societal propriety and went with that theme anyways. So the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century was now the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. And twenty-three year old Marinette was incharge of the entire wedding party’s outfits.

Perfect.

As a small mercy from some god, both the bride and groom to-be had a rather short list of people in their parties. Marinette was also able to design appropriate hero-themed outfits for all of them and scheduled them for fittings in the coming weeks. That, surprisingly, was the easy part as there were plenty of heroes to draw inspiration from. However, that wasn’t the cause of her current crisis right now.

No. Marinette was up to her neck in unnecessary designs and ideas because she’s been avoiding one particular contingency in her acceptance of the wedding invitation.

She needed a date.

She needed a date because she had promised Penny that she wasn’t overworking herself and to prove it, she would bring a date to the wedding. Rather than call any of the people who expressed interest in her at some point in time, she designated herself to wallow in her situation and distract herself with designs. In the midst of her one person pity party, her phone rang under the sea of ripped out pages. She scoured for the device and hastily answered before she could accidently send the caller to voicemail.

“Hello?” She didn’t check the caller ID and was delighted at the sound of her best friend answering her.

“Marinette! How’s it going over there?” Alya’s voice was mixed in with the busy street life of Metropolis. She had moved there immediately after high school, snatching an internship with the Daily Planet and attending the local community college. She and Marinette don’t call often due to time differences, but when they do it’s like they’ve never parted. She always looked forward to her calls.

“It’s going great, Als,” if she ignored her current dilemma, then yeah, everything was perfect. “But you wouldn’t happen to have an available bachelor willing to be my date to the ‘Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century’ in your back pocket, would you?”

Alya’s answering laugh was both comforting and teasing and Marinette felt herself missing her even more. What she said next, however, took Marinette by surprise.

“Actually I do.”

“Pardon?”

“Well,” she took a pause to build suspense. “I know a guy who knows a guy. But it’s nothing shady, I swear.”

“That’s not comforting.” Oh god. What has she unintentionally signed herself up for?

“You know my coworker, Jon? The guy who does the photography for all my field work?” Alya had met Jon as soon as she had started her internship. Both of his parents were top journalists at the Daily Planet so he volunteered to act as tour guide for all the new interns. He and Alya, from the exasperated stories Marinette has heard from Nino, got along like a house on fire. If he was involved, Marinette was starting to doubt even further that this was going to end well for her.

“Yes, I know Jon. How is he by the way?”

“He’s fine, but I remember him telling me how he tried to set up his best friend on several dates over the years and how they all ended poorly. He’s as approachable as a brick wall; not just a prick but the whole damn cactus. Or so Jon says.” How does that sound like someone Marinette wanted to bring along with her to the wedding? “But he’s totally your type so I could ask Jon to wrap him up in bubblewrap and send him your way whenever you want.”

“How,” and Marinette said this with a lot of feeling, “is he my type exactly?”

“Green eyes with daddy issues.”

“ALYA!” Marinette was absolutely floored at her bluntness. She wasn’t even sorry about shouting into the receiver.

“Am I wrong? You have a type and he fits that type. Jon mentioned how this guy and his dad hit several roadblocks when they first met. And I’ve seen pictures of him so ‘green eyes’ checks too.”

“That is not my type of guy.” She can’t believe this was how this conversation was going.

“Adrien.”

“I didn’t even know who his father was at the time, Alya.”

“Felix.”

“His dad is dead! That doesn’t count as ‘daddy issues.’” She can feel her cheeks flaming as the call went on. Any hotter and she was going to set her sketchbooks on fire. “Besides, I dated Luka so he doesn’t fit the criteria.”

“He’s an outlier and that’s only because his eyes are blue.” Okay, fine she had a type. “And besides, you don’t even have to date the guy. You only need him to accompany you to the wedding and you both go your separate ways after. No harm, no foul.”

Right. That was true. No strings attached. She could do that.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but,” she held her breath and let it out loudly, ignoring Alya’s chuckle at her dramatics.” Give Jon my number to give this guy. And send his number to me.”

“Wahoo! Look at you, girl,” Alya was hooting and hollering over the speaker and Marinette found herself going along with the theatrics. “Okay, I will. But I gotta go, my cab is here. Bye!”

“Bye! Stay safe. Oh before you go, what’s Jon’s friend’s name anyways?”

“Uh, Damian, I think.” The call ended before Marinette could respond, but it was okay she mused. Tossing her phone onto her couch, she flopped down onto her floor and stared at her ceiling contemplatively.

What could go wrong?

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

When Alya had described this Damian guy as ‘not just a prick but the whole damn cactus,’ she was right. Marinette had been texting back and forth with Damian for a month, and the guy was making this idea seem less and less worth it by the day. Whenever Marinette tried to learn more about the guy, he would ghost her for days on end before replying with a half-assed response at best. She knew nothing about him other than that his first name was Damian and that he was from Gotham. She had no idea how the ball of life that was Jon was even friends with someone like Damian. She asked as much to Alya in their most recent call.

“How did they even meet?” She was pacing the floor plan of her apartment, ready to tear her hair out. “Did Damian bully him in school or something?”

“Apparently their dads knew each other and introduced them,” Alya sounded half awake, stifling a yawn; probably because Marinette had called her at 1 am, Metropolis’s time. “Their brothers being friends also forced them to get along.”

“And that’s another thing!” Marinette had paused in her pacing and was now staring intently at a potted plant in the corner of her living room. Any more rage in her glare and the plant would have wilted and died. “He doesn’t tell me anything about him. I don’t need to know all his personal information, but if he’s going to be flying out to Paris on my behalf, I think I at least deserve to know his last name.”

“Hey, M,” another yawn echoed through the speaker, “I love you, truly, but maybe this could wait for holier day time hours?”

“I guess,” a vindictive part of Marinette felt like this was payback for all those inopportune calls when Marinette was busy with clients. “Sorry for interrupting your sleep.”

“It’s no big deal. But have you tried talking to him about it? If he’s ghosting your texts, try calling him. If he ignores you then too then maybe you should try finding another person to be your plus one.”

“The wedding is in two weeks, Alya!” Marinette partially regrets waiting so long to vent her frustration about the situation but she had tried to tough it out. “I would have much preferred if you were my plus one. You sure there’s no way to convince your parents to skip out on the family trip?”

“Sorry, M. Once the news about the proposal hit the internet, I tried everything. I even tried to use work, saying that I could cover the ceremony for the newspaper. My folks won’t budge though. My dad’s aunt is important to him and he wants us all at the funeral.”

“Right, right, I forgot about that.” Now she felt like an ass. “Send you dad my condolences when you see him again.”

“Will do. Good morning, Marinette. And don’t worry too much about the guy. Everything will turn up great. I can feel it.”

“Thanks, Alya. Good night, get some sleep.”

The line went dead and Marinette let out a rather weary exhale. She had no idea how this was going to work. She pulled up her contacts and searched for what she had Damian saved as.

‘Douche’ flashed on her screen and she hit the call button without remorse. She didn’t care that it was also currently 1 am in Gotham. He didn’t deserve that much consideration from her.

“What?” His voice was gravely and deep. And also really pissed if his clipped tone was anything to go by.

“Damian? Hi, this is Marinette, the girl you’re accompanying to the wedding in two weeks?” Her voice was pitched as if she was dealing with an irritating customer. Fake and polite.

“I know who you are. Why are you calling me at this unreasonable hour?” Fair, but Marinette was still aggravated at him so she wouldn’t concede.

“I’m calling because we need to talk.” She heard him scoff over the line and she felt her blood boil even hotter. She took several calming breaths to reign her temper in. “Don’t hang up.”

“Look,” She didn’t give him a chance to refuse and kept talking, getting everything off her chest. “This wedding is important to me and I promised the bride I would bring a date. After that you can delete my number and we never have to speak to each other ever. You don’t have to like me, you just need to pretend you do.”

“Whatever,” he sounded less annoyed from when he first answered the phone. “I will act as cordial as the situation requires, and nothing more. I also have my attire secured for the wedding and accommodations in Paris already prepared. I will see you at the wedding.”

“Than—” The sound of the call ending interrupted her and her frustration was back tenfold. With a cry in anguish she flung her phone onto her couch and stomped into her kitchen to channel her rage into baking.

Three loaves of bread and a dozen eclairs later, Marinette felt calm enough to finish the final touches on her outfit for the wedding.

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

It was the day of the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. The Rolling-Stone’s, as they were asking to be called, had kept the ceremony small. Relatively. Only two hundred invited guests, few of which were asked to bring a plus one. Marinette was over the moon at the array of outfits people were sporting. Some chose full-on cosplay while others, like herself, went for more subtle nods to the heroes. In honour of a previous Ladybug, Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, Marinette based her outfit off of Wonder Woman’s uniform, Hippolyta’s daughter. A navy blue sequined halter top bodice that flows into a blood red A-line skirt. She paired it with a thick silver belt, silver gladiator heels rather than boots and broad silver arm cuffs. It was simple but effective. Besides, all attention should be on the bride and groom today.

A tap on her shoulder caught her attention and she turned only to come face first with red with black spots. Ladybug. Someone chose her as inspiration. How flattering. Looking up to see who was wearing the Ladybug-themed suit jacket, she stared at a pair of deep forest green eyes and a sneer to ruin that ridiculously handsome face. She recognized him from the photo Alya had sent some time ago. Damian.

“Hi, Damian,” at least one of them had to be civil and Marinette knew it was going to be her. But the idea that of all the heroes for him to choose from he chose her sent her into poorly stifled fits of giggling. Images of him going ‘Lucky Charm’ and ��Miraculous Ladybug’ were almost too much to bear.

“I don’t know what’s so amusing about my choice of attire,” his face was starting to flush in similar shades to his jacket and that made Marinette laugh harder. “Ladybug is a well respected heroine and I thought it appropriate to pay homage while in her home city.”

“No. No no. There is nothing wrong with it. I like your costume, you look very cute.”

“Are you making fun of me?” His irritation was rather cathartic for the still giggling woman.

“No, I just didn’t think you would have put that much thought into your outfit for today. You always gave me the impression that you were ready to back out at any time.”

“I made a commitment and I had all intentions to see it through the end.”

“Could have fooled me.” And her snark was back. Now was not the time to pick a fight with the guy, he did fly all the way to Paris on her behalf after all.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” and Marinette wanted to know how he managed to sound so condescending with that statement. “How did you even get an invitation to this wedding anyways? You’re not a celebrity and you don’t look like family either.”

“Actually,” she said it with more force than what was probably necessary but his slightly accusatory tone was just so irritating. “I am the lead designer for the wedding party,” her chest was swimming with confidence at the chance to talk about her job. “I’ve worked with the bride and groom for years; M. D. Cheng, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette will deny to her grave the rush of satisfaction at the absolute gobsmacked look on Damian’s face. A real fish out of water. Mouth open wide ready to catch flies. She wished she could capture this moment forever.

The moment was over too soon because Damian was regaining his composure and slipping into his default stoic expression. He cleared his throat and fixed a look at Marinette. It was rather intense.

“I believe I owe you an apology then.” He looked put-out at admitting something so menial. “I believed you were nothing more than a socialite chain climber.”

“A what?”

“When Jon reached out to me saying that a friend of one of his coworkers needed a date for an event, and when that event turned out to be the wedding of someone of such popularity, I figured you were only trying to increase your own social status by showing up with me on your arm.”

“And you said ‘yes’ anyways?” Marinette was confused but pieces of the mystery that is Damian were starting to fit in place. But something else stuck out as odd to her. “Also, how would you being my date increase my social status anyhow?”

He scoffs before answering. Bitch.

“What? It wouldn’t be the first time one of Jon’s set-ups ended that way. Besides, we’ve had an agreement that I can’t turn down an offer until meeting the person face to face.” Weird deal but some friendships are just like, Marinette supposes. “And being seen with me is enough to make anyone more popular.”

“...And you are?”

“Damian… Wayne…” He spoke as if he was talking to a small child. As if it should be obvious who he was like he was some celeb— Oh shit.

A name had flashed into her mind. On the finalised guest list, Marinette had only seen it once in passing, there was a name that belonged to someone Jagged was rather excited to see. He said the friend was an old college buddy. She remembered that much. She had completely forgotten that ‘a billionaire playboy’ was also attached to the name. Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne. Suddenly everything in the past few months made perfect sense. The cold shoulder, the ghosting, and his prickly disposition. He was overly guarded because he had justified reasons to be. Now she felt like an ass.

“Oh.” Real intelligent, Marinette.

“Oh? What, you didn’t know?” He sounded incredulous at the notion and he had every right to be. Marinette could only shake her head. Words were failing her now, her brain trying to rewrite the memories of every interaction the two ever had.

She was saved from further mortification by a call for everyone to find their seats. The wedding was about to begin.

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

The ceremony was beautiful. Penny’s dress was a silver grey, tied back with a golden belt. Instead of a long train, Marinette had attached a black cape that shimmered in the right lighting. Penny wore a tiara with two peaks to imitate the ‘bat-ears.’ A Batman-themed wedding dress was not something she ever saw herself making, but she was proud at how beautiful and confident Penny looked in it. Jagged was adorn in a royal blue suit with bold red lapels. He also had a matching red cape. His hair was styled in the familiar sleek way Superman wears it. The two made quite the pair.

The reception was a lively affair. Jagged had dedicated several songs to his new wife and they dazzled the crowd on the dance floor. Marinette didn’t pay much attention to the speeches beyond a quick glance at Damian when his own father stepped up to the podium. He had buried his head in his hands, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. A courtesy pat on the back was all Marinette gave to him.

The two hadn’t really spoken much since the revelation that they had completely misjudged each other. The awkward tension was almost palpable. As Marinette was gathering the courage to speak to him, to try and officially clear the air, she was being dragged by one of the bridesmaids onto the dancefloor. It was time for the bride to throw the bouquet. All the unmarried women were being corralled into a tight cluster and Marinette got swept up in the tide.

Marinette wasn’t focusing on the actual game, trying her hardest not to get trampled, when she saw something move in her periphery. Years of being Ladybug had left her with finely honed instincts so she could not be blamed when she immediately jumped and caught the incoming object. The bouquet. She had caught the bouquet. Oh that was just her luck. Deafening squeals of delight brought her out of her own head and she was suddenly being embraced in Penny’s arms. She returned the hug, sharing in her delight, before breaking away to sit down.

“Nice catch.” His voice had surprised her, she hadn’t expected him to speak to her for the rest of the night.

“Uh, thank you. Just lucky, I guess.” Damian didn’t get the chance to respond because he was being dragged by his own father to join all the bachelors in catching the garter. Marinette was equally uninterested in this spectacle and had let her mind wander to other things.

A loud uproar caught her attention again and her eyes zeroed in on Damian holding the tossed garter. He made his way back over to her, dropping himself into his seat gracelessly. The two sat in silence, contemplating the implications of them both catching the garter and bouquet. The games were done purely for tradition’s sake, with total disregard of what it was supposed to symbolise. Still. One’s mind couldn’t help but wander. Minutes ticked passed and Marinette was beginning to wonder if someone was going to talk about the elephant in the room.

“So,” Damian’s voice was slightly strained, like he wasn’t used to being this flustered. It was kind of endearing. Wait what?

“So.”

“While marriage seems far out of reach for right now,” Oh god. He was going to talk about it. “How does dinner sound, next Friday?”

“Wait,” he wanted to spend more time with her? After their disastrous first impressions? “Really?”

“Really. I believe we started off on the wrong foot,” he let out a soft chuckle, almost self-deprecating. “Which isn’t really new for me, but it’s not everyday I meet someone who doesn’t recognise me at first glance. I think you’re someone who I would like to get to know better. If that is something you are also interested in.”

“Yeah,” Marinette knows all about wanting to get acquainted with someone who she’s had a bad first impression of. Just look at her past relationships. Wow, she really does have a type. Damning thoughts for later. “Friday works for me. Seven pm?”

“Perfect. I’ll text you the details then.”

“Wonderful, I can’t wait.”

The rest of the evening was spent in companionable silence with small bouts of conversation in between. They shared a couple dances on the floor and parted ways at the end of the night with budding anticipation for Friday.

As Marinette was preparing for bed that night in the comfort of her apartment, she sent a text to Alya that her friend would see later in the day.

You were right, I do have a type :(

#maribat #daminette #maridami #mgi trope tussle #mgi- server event #enemies to lovers #speedrun #i #like a dumbass challenged myself to use three prompts and i delivered #i hope #i hope yall enjoy #tumblr do me a solid #dont hide my posts #please #im begging #ml x dc #mlb x dc #tumblr please stop hiding my posts #no beta this is tussle

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thegeneralguy · 4 years ago

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A good role model

Hello! Thanks to @amalianetwork for helping me out with this story. Its a bit shorter than what I usually post on here, but it struck some heart strings inside of me. I hope you enjoy it.

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“Come on Matt! We’re going to be late for the festival!”

The excited shrieks came from a young child not older than ten years of age. His wavy blonde hair was encased in a blue baseball cap, and he was wearing an old button shirt. He was grabbing the hand from an older young man, pulling him forward with haste. Both boys looked very alike, age being the most differentiating factor between them.

“Ease up Cole, your number starts at seven. There’s plenty of time.”

“Yes, but I want to rehearse one time before the show. Mrs. Davis said all kids in our class had to meet an hour before to practice our song”

Matt advanced reluctantly, feeling uneasy in his attempt at formal attire. He adjusted his badly-knotted tie and tried his best in accommodating his oversized shirt. But he knew it was a necessary sacrifice, because this was supposed to be Cole’s “big night”. He would do anything for his little brother, even if it meant dressing as a buffon. The boys were rushing through the parking lot of the local theatre, amongst a sea of other families heading to the entrance. They entered the building and immediately headed backstage to deliver Cole to his class. Matt made sure his small bowtie was in place, but when he tried to take the cap from him, Cole swatted his hand away.

“Cole, you know you’ll get in trouble if you throw a fit over that cap again. All the kids in your class have to be dressed the same.”

Cole pouted and grabbed his head with both hands, securing it on his head.

“Please let me keep it. I’m scared to perform without it.”

“Okay you win. Just this one time though. You’re a big boy now, there are some rules you have to follow.”

“You’re the best Matt!”, said the little boy hugging his brother.

“Just remember to have lots of fun! I’ll be watching you from the front rows. And remember, once your act is over we gotta go.”

“That's not fair! Mrs. Davis is gonna take us all for pizza once the show is over.”

“I’m sorry C. You know Aunt Gertrude doesn’t like it when we go out late.”

“I don’t like Aunt Gertrude. She’s mean.”

Matt kept a straight face not to give a bad example, but he knew what his brother was talking about. Their aunt was a real menace sometimes. Especially when her rules were disobeyed.

“Don’t be like that buddy. Aunt Gertrude has been nice to us, so we have to obey the rules of her house. Besides, I’ll take you for pizza on the weekend. What do you say?”

“Yay! Thanks Matt. I’ll hurry up after the show, I promise. See you later!”

Cole then turned around and sprinted towards his group. Matt looked at his brother tenderly, remembering all they have gone through together. The blue cap was originally his, a gift from their father. They never had a lot to begin with, and after his parents were gone, the cap was one of the only mementos he had from them. He remembered hugging it terrified, as the police explained to him with gruesome detail for a twelve year old how his parents had been killed in a mugging. Cole had been only five at the time. Their aunt was their only living relative, so they were placed in her house. Cole couldn’t stop crying during the first night, so Matt gave him the blue cap and told him as long as he had it, his father would be there with him. Five years had passed, and the little boy still took the cap everywhere. Convincing Cole to take it off to wash it was a real hassle sometimes, but Matt managed. He was a good big brother after all.

Matt went to his seat and watched the recital in silence. Group after group they performed, excited families bursting in applause every time their kid went onstage. The young man was growing increasingly nervous, watching the minutes turn into an hour. The show was taking too long, which meant arriving at his aunt’s too late and having to deal with her wrath. He was lost in thought when suddenly Cole’s group was onstage. He cheered and applauded his little brother, who along with his classmates presented a potpourri of popular songs. He immediately recognized him due to the blue garment sticking out of the sea of white shirts. Once the number was done, he stood up from his seat and went to meet his brother backstage to take him to their aunt’s.

Their Aunt Gertrude was a solitary woman, preferring to live alone and far away from any other neighbor. The little house stood right at the edge of the woods, standing lonely amongst the dark trees. The car was parked on the driveway, so Matt knew immediately their aunt was home. He prepared mentally for the fit she was about to throw when she saw them coming in through the door. Once they made it inside, he sent Cole straight to his room and went into the living room, where his aunt was sitting on her usual chair watching TV.

“So, look who finally decided to show up. This isn’t a hotel you know.”, said the fat woman looking hatefully at the scrawny teenager.

“I know Aunt Gertrude. Cole had a school event he couldn’t miss, so we stayed out until late.”

The woman sneered at Matt, and then continued watching her show.

“You know misbehavior has consequences right? You were out past dinner time, so there won't be any dinner for you.”

Matt felt the rage coming up from his stomach. He disliked the woman a lot, but he knew she was the only reason the brothers were allowed to stay together. She knew that too, so she made sure to exploit that fact every time she could. He didn’t mind missing dinner, he was used to it. But Cole had to eat, or his stomach would hurt again and he wouldn't be able to sleep.

“I can miss out on dinner today and tomorrow if you want, but let Cole eat something. It was a tough day for him.”

“You should’ve thought that before breaking the rules. Rules are necessary, or else you will end up like your good for nothing dad. He got my sister killed, you know. Only a bad person does that.”

Matt tightened his fists so hard his nails dug into his skin causing some bleeding. His father was his aunt’s favorite subject, always belittling and berating him. But he was a good man, very hardworking. A real example for Matt. His only mistake was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Don’t you dare talk about him…”, he grumbled quietly. His aunt let out a cruel cackle, and glared at him angrily.

“Or what? You are just like him, you know. A useless dead weight under my roof. But not for long. You got one more night. After that, you’re turning into an adult, which means you gotta earn yourself a life.”

Matt had been so busy with his brother that he had completely forgotten about his birthday the day after. His aunt had been telling him she was going to kick him out that same day, but he always thought she said that only to intimidate him. Thinking about leaving Cole with that monster alone sent a chill down his spine.

“Are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking you little asshole? As soon as you’re eighteen, you’re legally not my problem anymore. Besides, it’s good you learn how the world works. Not that your father ever taught you that. In fact, I think Cole was lucky to grow up without his bad example!”, said the woman laughing loudly. “Now, better get your shit ready. I’m calling farmer Joe tomorrow to see if he has some job for you. If you’re lucky he might even let you stay in the barn with the rest of his boys. Now, get out of my sight. My next show’s about to start.”

Matt just turned around and left completely speechless, hearing the loud music from the TV and his aunt laughing as he went upstairs to his room. Cole was already showered and wearing his pajamas, the blue cap still on his head. Matt sat down next to him on his bed, trying to keep his composure and not burst into tears.

“Listen Cole, I have to tell you something,'' he said, his voice faltering as he struggled to find the right words. “You know tomorrow is my birthday, right?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t forget. I even wrote it in my calendar to get you some chocolate.”, he said excitedly before realizing he just ruined the surprise. “Oh no, I just ruined your present.”

“No buddy, it's okay. You know I love chocolate.”, said Matt grabbing the little boy’s head. “But listen, tomorrow I’ll be eighteen. And that's a very special number. So special, that people invite you to participate in certain activities!”

“What do you mean?”, asked Cole with a puzzled look on his face.

“Well, farmer Joe has invited me to his special club on his land, so I’m very excited I can go now. There’s only one small problem, I have to go sleep there too so I can do everything the guys there do.”

Cole just stared at his brother, tears welling up behind his eyes.

“You’re gonna leave?”

“Don’t be sad buddy. This is a great opportunity for me! Besides, I’ll come to visit you every day, I promise.”

Cole threw himself at Matt, his little arms embracing him as strong as they could. Tears ran down his rosy cheeks, and he could barely articulate the words due to the knot in his throat.

“But I don’t want you to go! I don’t want to be alone in this house. I’m scared.”

“I know buddy, I know.”, said Matt hugging his little brother. “But listen, remember what I told you about that cap? As long as you have it, dad’s going to be here with you. And so will I.”

Both brothers embraced for hours, refusing to let each other go. Cole cried until he fell asleep, so Matt tucked him into bed and waited until it was late enough to go down and steal some food for the boy. His aunt went to bed just before midnight, so he had to wait until she was gone to go to the pantry. He was almost falling asleep when he heard the TV going off, and the heavy steps of his aunt going into her room. He hesitantly stepped out of their bedroom, and swiftly went down to get some food for Cole. His body was very light, so that helped him move silently on the wooden floor. He brought up some snacks, leaving them on Cole’s night table, completely missing the clock just striking midnight.

He went to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Taking off the horrible oversized shirt he stared at himself in the mirror. He was practically just skin and bones, lacking the proper nutrition and exercise for a good development during puberty. His dirty blonde hair was pulled back on a bun, looking just a shade darker than his brother’s. His aunt was right, he was pathetic, scrawny and weak. Barely a fitting example for Cole. But he didn’t want his brother to grow up without him. It was already bad enough he had to grow up without a dad, only to have his big brother be taken away too. He wished that both of them could stay together. That he was enough for his little brother, so he could provide him with the life he deserved.

The lights in the bathroom flickered, and the window was suddenly opened by a strong gust of wind, startling Matt. He started to get lightheaded, grabbing the small sink to prevent himself from falling. “It’s probably hunger”, he said to himself. But the more seconds passed, the worse he felt. He started sweating cold, drops falling down his face and his pale body. He watched a shadow creep over his skin, thinking he was starting to faint from starvation. When he raised his hand to touch the darkness, rough bristles greeted his fingertips. He was growing hair, all over his body. He watched it get longer and thicker, a thick mat covering his chest, and crawling down his flat stomach painting a thick treasure trail on his skin. Tufts of hair poked out from under his arms, his sparse armpit hair getting far denser. The shadow then climbed up his neck, fully flourishing on his face to form a short beard. Matt felt its roughness with the palm of his hand, fully enthralled by the sensation.

He then felt his bones elongate, shooting him a few inches towards the roof and lengthening his limbs. He looked like that creature slender-something kids were so obsessed about. Once his skeleton finished its growth, the muscles followed suit. He felt incredible heat emanating from his body, as each muscle twitched and grew to enormous size. Size packed on his chest, fully forming two massive pillow-like pecs sticking out from his torso. His cleavage was so deep he could probably put his entire thumb in it, and probably crush it too if he squeezed hard. Muscle packed on his shoulders as well, growing like two bowling balls. It made him look monstrously wide, fully condemning him to a life of having to go through doors sideways. His arms surged with power and grew as well, fully surpassing the width his legs had before. Thick hairy pythons hung to each side of him, resting at an angle due to the thickness of his triceps. His back then rounded out like a shield and expanded into a hairy muscular landscape. The lats were so big they looked like the could fall off of him at any moment.

He heard his stomach grumble, as it blew forward sticking out just a few inches behind his chest. Thick abs could be seen on the curve of his belly. His ass blew his dress pants into oblivion, each cheek swelling like a Christmas turkey. The legs followed suit, thickening into titanic proportions, powerful enough to sustain such a heavy top. Even his feet grew a few sizes, fully completing his transformation. Matt just stared at his new body speechless, feeling control over each fiber. He flexed his big arms, and bounced his heavy chest. A deep chuckle left his throat, and he realized his voice grew much deeper as well. He was so entertained by his new figure, he missed the clumps of hair falling from his head. His hair thinned out a little bit, and shortened itself into a clean cut, contrasting with its previous unkempt image.

Matt looked like a new man. His kid used to tell him he looked the size of a barn, just like that Disney song he liked from the film with the talking furniture. He was very bad with names, but he knew what movies his son liked. Matt scratched his head, confused by the thought of having a child. He was only eighteen, barely old enough to have a kid. But a body like this couldn’t belong to a young kid. A body like this took years of dedication, of pain and sweat, of discipline. He looked like the perfect dad, strong enough to protect, and big enough to climb over like a jungle gym. Matt smiled looking at himself in the mirror. His features changed and rearranged themselves into those of a masculine man. His nose was bigger and his brow stuck further out. Even a cleft formed on his now square jaw. He looked tough, but also lovable.

The maelstrom of memories fully blew Matt’s mind away, turning him into a perfect dad. He felt his dick snake up under his belly, and his balls drop lower and heavier like a mature plume, virile enough to spread his seed wherever he wanted. The rush of testosterone triggered more changes in him. His muscles got denser, more lived in. Crow feet printed themselves next to his eyes, and his skin got rougher fully aging two full decades.

“I’m one sexy motherfucker.”, grunted Matt, flexing before the mirror. He dedicated years of hard work and discipline to his body, and it showed. He loved the tight feeling of a shirt about to burst due to his titanic arms, or how the buttons popped open on their own due to his heavy chest. But even his glorious physique wasn’t his most valuable treasure. That was his son.

Reality rearranged itself around Matt, as memories of Cole growing up with him changed into those of a father raising his son. He remembered how tiny he looked when he held him in his arms, or how scared he looked when Matt dropped him in kindergarten for the first time. He remembered the recitals, the little league games, the birthday parties, the nights with Cole on his bed due to a nightmare, the camping trips. Everything he did, and had, was for his son. He was happy to grow up next to him, so he could teach him about the same hard work and discipline he put into his own life. Hopefully, Cole would grow up to be a good man like his father. And with those genes, hopefully big and strong too.

When Matt came back to his senses, he was standing in a nicely furnished bathroom. He adjusted the glasses on his face, and checked himself one last time before going out. The short sleeved shirt looked perfectly fitted to his big body, his arms almost ripping the tight sleeves apart. He came out of the bathroom to find the luxurious interior of a suburban home. He wanted his kid to have all his necessities covered. The memory of the tiny house in the woods and the monster within fully erased from existence.

“Come on Cole, you don’t wanna miss out on a good pizza, do you?”, he shouted, his deep bass shaking the foundations of the house.

“I’m coming dad!”

Young Cole came rushing down the stairs. His blonde hair shined brighter, and his blue eyes sparkled with excitement. He took his coat and headed towards the front door, where his dad was waiting for him. Matt noticed the small blue cap on the little table next to the door.

“Aren’t you gonna wear your cap?”, he said, handing it to his son. Cole just smiled at his dad, and turned the cap away.

“I’m not scared anymore dad. I don’t need it.”

Matt just smiled and opened the door for Cole. The happy family then headed out into the sunshine to live the rest of their lives together. Nothing would be able to separate them.

#musclegrowth #daddy #hairy hunk #reality change

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firelxdykatara · 3 years ago

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one of the most amusing things that i’ve seen come out of anti darklinas in the last few weeks is this idea that ‘oh, we’re only posting our bad faith read of the ship and why people ship it in the tag For The Kids, because children need to know they shouldn’t want these relationships irl!!!’ and it’s like... if these Straw Children are genuinely at risk of growing up thinking it’s perfectly ok for an immortal dark wizard to kill people then....... i think there’s something going on in their life that a condescending tumblr post is not going to protect them from lmfao

and frankly, tumblr is a 13+ website. no one should be on here who is under 13, and at 13, you’re more than old enough to understand that a fictional character did it too is not a good excuse for bad behavior. 13 is old enough to understand that just because two characters have a toxic or unhealthy relationship in a fictional book doesn’t mean they should be seeking that kind of a relationship out irl.

and like, i’m old enough to have lived through (with unfortunately vivid memories) the team edward/team jacob and ‘i’m just searching for my edward’ teen crazes but like... first of all, the difference is, both of them were presented by the narrative as ideal romantic partners, and in neither case was the abuse ever acknowledged. by contrast, darklina is comprised of a lovers to enemies arc and while there’s plenty to be said about the lack of nuance and care shown in his story on the page, at the end of the day alina killed him. and secondly, honestly??? like, i will talk all day about what i hated in the twilight books and the romantic relationships and how harmful it was to present an abusive relationship as The Ideal in novels marketed toward teen girls, but, at the end of the day, it still wasn’t meyer’s job to make sure that her audience grew up to understand why those relationships were bad, and i’d like to think that those teen girls grew up into women who knew what to look for in a healthy and supportive relationship and found one for themselves.

but if any of them did wind up in bad relationships, it’s not the fault of some author who wrote a handful of best sellers, no matter how bad the writing was or how ideally it portrayed abusive relationships. (and i’m not saying it’s the fault of the victims, either, but winding up in an abusive relationship is a lot more fucking complex than ‘i read a book as a teenager and thought the evil guy was hot so i wanted to date one of my own lol’)

so anyway, coming into a tag for a ship populated mostly by young adult women and older, and going ‘i just wanna make sure that any Straw Children around here know that this is a Bad Relationship uwu’ is beyond condescending and frankly inappropriate, not to mention highkey misogynistic (cause the real underlying basis there is ‘lol those silly girls couldn’t possibly decide for themselves how they feel about this fictional relationship so i must inform them that It’s Bad’)--because literally no one who is in this tag on this website for this ship needs you to tell them that. i promise you that we, as shippers, are more than capable of having complex and nuanced discussions about this ship (which y’all clearly don’t understand, because you keep throwing around buzzwords like ‘grooming’ without any understanding of what they mean and why they really don’t apply here) without your interference.

we really, really do not need people coming into the tag telling us we shouldn’t fall for some handsome immortal wizard who does bad things and kills people. no one here will benefit from that knowledge, because we already fucking know. we just don’t care! and we really don’t have to! and there are no children here that are young enough they need some random tumblr blog to ‘protect’ them! so please, save your condescension and your pretension. you aren’t saying anything new, and you are very irritating lmfao.

(and please, please, don’t go all ‘oh no i seem to have offended people uwu’ when you get replies from the people who regularly visit this tag and see through your bullshit lmfao. it happens almost every time and playing dumb is not a good look for any of you.)

#darklina #grishaverse fandom salt #salt for ts #the darkling #alina starkov #it is genuinely just getting so irritating at this point #and blocking them doesn't help bc it seems like every other week there's some new 'oh lol i hope any straw children in here don't think #this fictional hero/villain relationship is ok irl!' blog and it's like #who do yall think you're helping? genuinely?#long post

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drwcn · 4 years ago

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#9 【Carbon in the Steel】

cql au: everyone is an orphan except wwx; dark!twin jades

The Brothers Lan

There was once a little house, on the outskirts of a farming village beyond the tiered rice fields south of Meishan, far, far away from Cloud Recesses. Both Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji remembered that house. It was the house Father had built for Mother, and it was there that they were born.

It sat at the base of a hill where many tall bamboo trees grew, and in the garden, there had been gentians, indigo and violet, that bloomed beautifully every summer.

Lan Xichen would dream sometimes of that house and of the wonderful days in those early years.

Father, look!

Excellent form, A-Huan. Very good. Much improved. Now, remember to keep your balance on your front…

These days he could no longer recall Father’s face. His voice though, Lan Xichen still remembered as clear as a bell. On the other hand, his brother Wangji did not remember much of Father at all; instead, it was Mother’s smile that he could never forget.

Mother, can A-Zhan and I stay with you and Father tonight?

P’ease, Mo’her.

Lan Xichen remembered hugging his baby brother like a doll and strategically weakening his parents’ resolve using his baby pout and big puppy eyes. A-Zhan was always a trooper, so cooperative, so excellent at looking like a perfect toddler. Stoic though. So stoic for a baby. What a weird kid.

We had a bad dream.

Bad dweam.

Those were obviously lies. They never had bad dreams then; those would come much later, when their reality became worse than any nightmare they could ever imagine.

Jiujiu never needed to tell them that Mother and Father were dead, or what death was. They’d seen plenty of creatures die: the village’s cattle they butchered for the new year, the spinster's kittens that didn’t survive the winter, and the pheasants they caught and roasted for A-Zhan’s birthday.

Father had been a lifelong vegetarian, so eating meat didn’t agree with his stomach, but he never enforced such rules on his sons. In fact Father didn’t enforce any rules on his sons, except to show kindness where they could and to be true to their hearts.

Father probably didn’t anticipate just how difficult it was to be kind when the world had been so wholly unkind. Nor did he anticipate that he would die in such a violent and sudden manner without even so much as a goodbye.

I don’t remember what were the last words Father said to me. Wangji would confess to Xichen one day. I don’t even remember what Father looked like.

They were by the marsh catching lobsters with jiujiu when it happened. Mother suddenly appeared and spoke words that were foreign and frightening - Gusu Lan, cultivators, siege, pursuit, escape. Go. Now. She didn’t hug them or kiss them. Lan Xichen remembered Wangji reaching up towards her to be picked up and the confusion and heartbreak in his eyes when she pushed him back into jiujiu’s waiting arms.

A-niang...

At a certain point, jiujiu must’ve done something to them, because neither Wangji nor himself remember any part of their journey out of that village. When they woke up, they were somewhere high up and deep in the mountains. His little brother had looked at him and he had stared back and they both knew then that their parents were dead. Curled in their jiujiu’s arms, they cried themselves into another fitful sleep, and all the while, jiujiu didn’t wake up once, too exhausted by the endless days of travel.

To them, jiujiu - like all adults - was old, but it was not until they grew up that they realized that Zhao Zhuliu at the time of their parents’ demise had been no more than twenty years old, barely more than a boy himself.

Life with jiujiu was quiet, but after some time, they were able to find a sliver of happiness.

Zhao Zhuliu was a quiet man, always had been, and that didn’t change just because he now had two young children on his hands. But he loved them, his sister’s only blood left on this earth; by god, he loved them beyond reason.

Jiujiu was not a talker, but he was never distant, and though he was strict in his training of their cultivation and their swordsmanship, he was never harsh. So yes, life was quiet, but at least for a while there was a roof over their heads and food in their belly, and they never had to wonder where they would be tomorrow…

When jiujiu failed to return from his night-hunt, Lan Xichen knew that something had gone terribly wrong.

Lan Xichen was the older one; he was thirteen. Practically an adult, he told himself. If jiujiu never came back, then he was just going to have to take care of Wangji.

Whatever it takes.

His brother was not a needy child, but when he turned eleven, he seemed to have found his appetite and ate everything Xichen could get his hands on. Fishing was the easiest and hunting a big game lasted them a while if he could preserve it just right, but even if he collected berries in the mountains and wild herbs in the forest, he still needed grains, still needed new clothes for the winter, and still needed oil to light a lamp at night so Wangji could continue to practice his calligraphy.

He did try; you must know. Lan Xichen did try to do things the right way, but there was only so much money he could earn by book-keeping at a shop, or running errands for merchants, or even waiting tables at an inn. He was a child, and desperate, and nobody would pay him a dime if they could get away with a nickel.

It didn’t take long for Xichen to learn that the fastest way of earning money was often the most unsavoury and that he wasn’t above reaching for those means. There were no lengths Lan Xichen wouldn’t go to keep his brother safe and happy, no asset within his arsenal of skills and attributes that he wouldn’t hone and weaponize to make himself stronger. He got good at stealing, got great at cheating, and grew accustomed to killing. Every so often...if there were other offers available, well...Wangji would never need to know.

Morals do not matter if Wangji went hungry. I can’t let Wangji go hungry.

And, once a year, Lan Xichen would buy a box of osmanthus pastry, like the kind Mother used to make for them - flakey and fragrant, rich but not overwhelming - and he and Wangji would sit together under the stars and finish the box all in one go.

“Happy birthday, didi.”

Chewing slowly on the osmanthus pastry, Wangji would smile, and it would all be worth it.

“Thank you, xiongzhang.”

Then, three years after jiujiu was taken, a startling news broke out over the lands.

After years of internal strife, the dirty politics of Lanling Jin finally fractured the once glorious reigning sect. Jin Guangshan’s many children and their scheming “little mothers” formed factions and allied themselves with subsidiary sects all vying for control over Lanling’s seat of power. (小娘 xiao’niang = little mother, what one calls one’s mother if one’s mother is not the legal wife. The “real” mother of any children would always be the legal wife, while their birth mothers are ‘little mothers’.)

The details of Jin Guangshan’s demise was not entirely clear, but eventually it was his third son Jin Zitao who became the new Sect Master Jin. Being only eleven years old, it was clear to anyone who had eyes that he was a puppet, completely controlled by the whims of his regent mother, Jin Guangshan’s once favourite concubine, and the ancient respected Qin family who had promised their daughter Qin Su to be his bride once they both come of age.

People had praised Qin Su’s stepmother, Sect Master Qin’s second wife, for securing such an advantageous marriage for a daughter not even of her own blood, stating that with the Dowager Madame Jin’s clever mind and Sect Master Qin’s seniority and experience, surely the murky pond of Lanling would become peaceful once again.

The bigger question now was with three of the five major sects being led by minors - Qishan’s 14 year-old Wen Yuefan, Yunmeng’s 13 year-old Jiang Wanyin, and Lanling’s 11 year-old Jin Zitao - who then would become the next Chief Cultivator. Qinghe Nie seemed the most obvious choice at first glance, for they were the fiercest warriors, but given Sect Master Nie Heqiu’s most recent close encounter with yet another qi deviation, it seemed perhaps the real day-to-day leadership role was fulfilled by his first son Nie Mingjue. At seventeen years of age, he was certainly older than his contemporaries, but still a far cry from what was required to be His Excellency. (温越凡 Wen Yuefan = Wen Qing’s courtesy name)

Naturally, all eyes were drawn then towards Cloud Recesses, whose previous chance at obtaining the seat of Chief Cultivator had been dashed when its sect master at that time, Qingheng-jun, mysteriously vanished more than a decade ago. Now it seemed that Gusu Lan’s fortune was about to change yet again, when what once should have gone to Lan Cenrong now fell to his younger brother Lan Qiren.

News of his rise to power had spread far and wide, until every man, woman, and child knew his name. Until Lan Xichen heard from a gossiping bar-keep at a tavern. Until Lan Wangji heard from the children playing on the street.

One morning Lan Xichen returned to their temporary home to see Wangji sitting in front of the breakfast he’d prepared (when did he learn to cook???) and a purse on the table filled with silver coins and small gold nuggets.

“Wangji...where did you -”

“I don’t want you to go out at night again, xiongzhang,” said Lan Wangji bluntly.

Taken aback by Wangji’s tone and his implications, Xichen quickly gathered his wits and tried to maintain control of the conversation. “That doesn’t answer my question; where did you get the money?”

“I also went out last night, after you assumed I fell asleep and left.”

Xichen’s blood went cold. “You...went out? Out? In the middle of the night?! To do what?!”

Lan Wangji’s stoicism did not waver. “What one usually does to get paid at night. What you’ve been doing for years.”

In three long strides, Lan Xichen strode up to his little brother - his baby brother - and yanked him up by the collar. Grabbing his arms with both hands, he forced Wangji to look him in the eye as he exclaimed in a mad panic, “You didn’t! Tell me you didn’t!!”

God, Wangji, what have you done, what have you done - how could I let this happen - I should’ve done better -

Wangji did not blink, but after a long terrible silence, he said, “No. I didn’t. I just followed you. I saw.”

“You saw…”

There had been a man who eyed him with interest. Lan Xichen wasn’t looking for business - hadn’t been looking for months - but winter was coming and Wangji was growing so much he would need several new sets of robes. Xichen hadn’t been working as many hours as he’d been previously. He needed to train, to cultivate - they both did - so that one day they could do what needed to be done. The core melting technique was not to be trifled with lightly, jiujiu had warned them. They needed time to practice, to perfect it, time that couldn’t be used to earn income.

While yes he could steal and yes he could kill, Lan Xichen realized early on that those two options often caught the attention of local authorities or worse the local cultivation sect, especially if his activities were too frequent or too conspicuous. Sometimes it was just easier…

“The money, then?”

“Don’t you recognize the purse?”

Xichen turned around. He did. He did recognize that silk embroidered draw-string purse. It belonged to the man from last night. He had taken money out of it this morning to pay Xichen for his time.

And when they parted ways, Xichen had gone to a public bath house to get rid of any incriminating evidence on his body before going home to his brother. That was his routine... had been his routine for years…

“I shoved his body down a well. That should buy us enough time to get out of this town. You weren’t planning for us to stay that long anyway right?”

“Wangji…Wangji -” Lan Xichen turned away. He couldn’t face his brother, who now knew what he knew.

“Xiongzhang, don’t do this for me anymore.” Lan Wangji’s hand found his own, squeezing it tightly.

“It’s - it’s really not a big deal.” Lan Xichen tried to laugh it off. “I don’t do it that often. Really - I am your older brother, it is my duty to -”

“No. No more. From now on, if you go out, I go out. I’m old enough -”

“You’re thirteen, a child!”

“So were you.”

Lan Xichen closed his eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know I’m done waiting.”

Lan Wangji was talking, of course, about their vengeance. It was what they spoke of on most nights when they couldn’t sleep. For mother and father and jiujiu, they swore they would not rest until they razed Cloud Recesses to the ground and burned the core out of every last one of their disciples before slitting their throats.

Wangji came around to face him again and stared him down with his brows furrowed tightly above bright determined eyes. “It’s not fair. The Chief Cultivator was supposed to be Father! The heir of Gusu Lan is supposed to be you! Instead - instead...”

Tears welled up in his little brother’s eyes. “They hurt you, ge, I saw. I saw.”

Choking with shame, anger and a pain he couldn’t describe, Lan Xichen pulled Lan Wangji into a crushing hug. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Wangji. I’m sorry I couldn’t do better. I’m...” Words failed. As Lan Wangji cried into his chest, Lan Xichen looked up to their leaky roof and their bare, striped walls, and wondered what the ethereal Cloud Recesses would look like. All that should have been theirs, should’ve been his, belonged to someone else.

Lan Qiren is Chief Cultivator now. He’s still holding jiujiu captive. He needs to die. The people who killed Father and Mother; they all need to die.

“You’re right, Wangji, you’re right. No more.”

“So you won’t leave at night anymore?”

“I won’t. The world has taken everything from us, I think it’s time we take what we are owed. Once we are strong, we will save jiujiu and avenge A-die and A-niang.”

“And if people try to stop us?”

“Then we will destroy them and anyone else that gets in our way.”

#cql #the untamed #twin jades #lan wangji #lan xichen #cql ficlet #corie fics #carbon in the steel

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littleironi · 4 years ago

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Fairy Tale and the Real Girl

Amelia Pond "was like a name from a fairy tale", but Amy tries to shed fairy tale fantasies as she chases after real world adventures. For all that her story is a "bit fairy tale", Amy Pond was one of the most relatable characters that I and others had seen in so long.

When we first see her, she's a little girl praying to Santa about a mysterious crack in her wall that whispers to her as she sleeps. It is a scene of strangeness and invokes many a magical theme, but there is also a sense of reality to it. Children's worlds are strange and magical but it's not always just because they have the imagination and creativity to create them. Sometimes it's comes with a touch of necessity. Plenty of children believe in Santa but very few of them pray to him. Little Amelia Pond's prayer to Santa might not be just a quirk of childhood but also possibly a little girl making up her own belief system when there isn't an adult in her life who takes the time to show her one. Or at least an adult to listen to her problems so she doesn't have sit up all alone in her house praying to some mysterious being of incredible powers and kindness in the hopes of solving her problems.

It's a strange and almost magical story we're told of little Amelia Pond in a strange house with doors hidden out in the corner of her eyes. But it's also the story of a young girl left to fend for herself in a strange new country, in a mostly empty house with only a mostly absent aunt and her own thoughts to keep her company. She's "the Scottish girl in the English village" and the Doctor claims to understand how that feels, but in the real world out here, there are far more people to whom that feeling is just as familiar.

The door only seen through the corner of your eye is scary. And monsters that steal your form while you sleep are terrifying. But so is being a seven year old girl, all alone in a house in a strange new place in the middle of the night. And that is an all too real kind of fear. When we (and the Doctor) meet her, she's all alone well into the night, and everything in Amelia's behaviour suggests this is nothing out of the ordinary. The Doctor remarks that Amelia is "not scared of anything", but maybe fear becomes different when there aren't any people to listen to it and the only person to tell is some strange figure from myth, whether it be Santa (who might not exist) or the Doctor (who she never knew existed).

She is given the moniker of the girl who waited. For all it's whimsical tone, it's also something real that grounds Amy. It's not just the Doctor she waits for. When the Doctor says he'd be "right back". Amelia's response is that "people always say that". How many times had she heard it before she stopped believing it? Despite all the Doctor's insistence that he's not people ("Do I even look like people?"), he leaves her waiting for far too long just as she had suspected. Despite all the times he's said the words "Trust me. I'm the Doctor." and delivered his promise, he lets Amelia down exactly like she had become used to. And she waits exactly as she's used to.

Amy runs away the night before her wedding with an almost magical figure who flits in and out of time in a time machine. The Doctor belongs to myths and legends that she's never heard of. However, Amy herself and her desire to put her life on pause even for a little while is not alien. She's not running away because she doesn't want to get married but because tomorrow is just too soon. That feeling is a familiar one. To want to run away from your life not forever but just until you're ready to face it. To want to leave and come back and find your life waiting just as you left it.

With a name like it was "from a fairytale", a crack in her wall that was a gateway to another world, "the universe pouring through her dreams every night", an imaginary friend with a magical box and even the missing parents, it's easy to think that Amy Pond belongs to the fairy tales that surround her and fill her life, however the fairy tales as with all the other stories in Amy's life might be something she's a part of and something that's part of her, but in the end something so very real runs through them.

#doctor who #new who #amy pond #moffat appreciation day #mine #I started writing this a while ago #I always meant to add more about the rest of Amy's arc #i just kept writing and re-writing about the first episode #I think that first episode was this real moment of connection for me with Amy #As much I loved RTDs companions I never connected with them as much as I did with Amy #Maybe she showed up at exactly the right time in my life #But whatever it was she felt so real and relatable to me #I can't point to events or aspects of her life and say that's similar to mine #But there was something at the very core of her character and story that really spoke to me #So here's something that's years in the making #(even before I started writing this version)#And one of these days #I might actually write a bit more about the rest of her arc #Because I still have so many feelings about it

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hermannsthumb · 4 years ago

Note

Could you please write #43 grandparents/neighbors one?

43. we’re having our family meal at my grandparents’ house this year so fingers crossed your parents still live next door and you grew up to be even hotter

from winter writing prompts here

oh god this one got so long. sorry everyone! thank you to @k-sci-janitor for the alien bit because it was so fucking funny

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

Holidays have gotten a little weird to manage since Newt transformed into a fully-fledged adult with an apartment and a job and stuff, so while he hasn’t made it to the big Geiszler celebration in Germany every December since starting college out of elementary school, he still tries to make a point of dropping by his dad’s for dinner and a movie or something to fill his holiday quota. It’s fine by him; he loves his family, but they’re definitely overwhelming, and trying to submit final grades and work on syllabuses for the next semester all while distant relatives ruffle his hair and ask him when he’s going to hit his growth spurt is not his idea of a relaxing time. It’s a constant point of contention between him and his dad. This year more than most, apparently.

“Your grandmother misses you!” he tells Newt sadly over their Chinese takeout. “She calls me every week to ask how you are, and why you never visit with them. Every week.” He waves a fork at Newt. “You’re breaking her heart.”

“I’m in the lab, like, twenty-four-seven, dad,” Newt sighs. It’s a well-rehearsed conversation at this point, but it doesn’t get any less tiresome. Especially because he knows his dad is lying about the phone call thing—Newt is a great grandson and texts his grandmother plenty, thank you very much, he would know if he was breaking her heart. “I’m working straight through winter break this year. Seriously.”

“That’s what you did last year,” Newt’s dad says. “And the year before that…” Newt turns the volume up on the TV to cut his dad off before he can segue into the next part of his argument, which is (usually) that Newt needs to work on his personal life, maybe settle down, produce some grandkids of his own. Or at least adopt a cat. Also well-rehearsed.

He’s not sure why he says what he does next—maybe in a desperate attempt to distract his dad further. Maybe because of the sudden onslaught of childhood memories the mention of his grandparents’ house brought on. “Hey, do you remember that boy who used to live next door to grandma?” he says. “He had the weird haircut and always dressed kind of funny?” Old-fashioned, and a little too formal for the sort of things that little kids tend to do, climbing trees or playing in the mud—sweatervests and polished loafers and starched-white knee-highs.

Newt’s dad blinks at him. Newt half expects him to declare that Newt is nuts, and that he has no idea what he’s talking about, like this is one of those horror stories where the childhood friend turns out to be some ghost who died fifty years prior. The clothing would match up, he guesses. But he smiles in recognition a moment later. “You mean the Gottlieb boy?” he says.

“Gottlieb,” Newt echoes. It sounds familiar enough. “Hermann, I think. When I’d stay with grandma for the summer we would play together every day. I wonder what he’s doing now.” Hermann was a smart guy, a real geek like Newt; he used to carry a graphing calculator around in his pocket and build the most goddamn pristine model spacecrafts Newt had ever seen. Hermann’s dad shipped him off to a prestigious boarding school the last summer Newt spent there, when they were around twelve or so. Newt started at MIT not long after. “Dude’s probably designing rocket ships by now or something.”

“You could ask him yourself if you came with me,” Newt’s dad laughs. “The Gottliebs never moved away, and their children actually visit. I’m sure your Hermann visits, too.”

“Ha,” Newt says. “Yeah.”

It’s snowing by the time Newt and his dad finish their movie, and Newt (fearing his dad’s driving even in ideal conditions) declines the offer of a lift home to trudge his way through it to his T stop instead. It’s nice to have the chance to be alone with his thoughts, anyway, because he can’t seem to get funny little Hermann Gottlieb out of his head. What is he doing now?

A quick Facebook search on the train produces a few Hermann Gottliebs, but none of them promising—none of them have the brown eyes or strangely angular face (devoid of any baby fat even that young) Newt remembers, none of them are from the right German countryside, none of them went to a preppy English boarding school. Google (utilizing the information Newt does have) is a little more rewarding, and by the time Newt presses the button to request his stop, he’s scrounged up a decent amount of info: Hermann Gottlieb has a doctorate in astrophysics, Hermann Gottlieb publishes papers at a slightly terrifying rate, and Hermann Gottlieb turned out kinda hot.

As Newt stares down at a slightly grainy current photograph of his old friend—haircut and clothing unchanged, a cane in hand, some round librarian glasses perched on the end of his nose, wide mouth twisted into a scowl—he suddenly recalls another thing about Hermann Gottlieb: the summer Hermann was sent away to boarding school was the summer that Hermann kissed Newt goodbye, shyly and tearfully, under the shade of the tall maple tree in his yard. It was the last time Newt ever saw Hermann. It was Newt’s first kiss.

“Oh, boy,” Newt says.

He texts his dad when he gets back to his apartment. When do we leave?

Newt feels like the belle of the fucking ball when he steps into his grandparents’ house a week later, snow dusting his shoulders, small suitcase clenched in his hand. His cheeks are kissed; his scarf and hat and leather jacket are brushed off and tossed onto a coat rack; his hair is in parts smoothed down (too messy!) and ruffled (too flat!); he’s hugged more times than he has been in the entire last year, probably. “Still playing around with bugs in the dirt, eh, Newt?” his grandfather booms, tucking Newt into the crook of his arm with enough force to knock Newt’s glasses off.

“Actually,” Newt squeaks, scrambling for both what he remembers of his very rusty German, and his glasses before they can hit the ground, “entomology isn’t really my main focus at—”

“Newt’s studying jellyfish now,” Newt’s dad declares proudly. “He went on a diving expedition this July.”

“Diving? How exciting,” Newt’s grandmother says.

“Yeah,” Newt says. He pushes his glasses back on. “Yeah, it was fascinating, I was lucky to get the funding for it. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of—”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Newt’s cousin says.

“My little Newt’s a daredevil!” Newt’s dad says.

“It’s not that dangerous,” Newt says. “As long as you’re—”

“What happened to that nice man your father said you were dating?” Newt’s grandfather says. “With the, the what was it, the poetry? The poet? We thought you’d bring him!”

Newt flushes. Trust his dad to talk up some random guy Newt dated in March like it was a long-term affair and not an elongated one-night stand that fizzled out after three weeks. Though maybe that one’s on Newt—it’s not like he mentioned the one-night stand part to his dad, after all. He definitely didn’t mention that the guy ended it with a poem, too. “We broke up,” he says, weakly. He wriggles out from the throng of the crowd. “Look, it’s so great seeing you all, but I’m actually, like, really tired, soooooo…?”

“Oh, of course you are,” Newt’s grandmother says. She pats his head. “What a long flight you must have had! We’ll send someone up for you for dinner—you can have your old guest room.”

“Cool,” Newt says.

He scurries up the stairs.

The guest room he slept in during those summers is almost exactly the way he remembers it, but a little dustier—the floral quilt on the bed, his grandma’s sewing table crammed into the corner, the bookcase stocked with a weird combination of kid’s books and illustrated encyclopedias that Newt used to pore over for hours as a kid, often with Hermann. Newt draws back the embroidered curtains and peers out the window at the Gottliebs’ snow-capped house next door. Hermann’s window was directly across from his. It still is, technically, though the curtains (these navy blue and embroidered with little constellations) are pulled tight, and Newt has a feeling that Hermann hasn’t set foot in his old room in well over a decade. Two decades, probably.

He remembers the one summer he showed Hermann how to make a soup can telephone, and they managed to string it all the way across between their windows before discovering it kinda didn’t work as well as Newt said it would. He remembers when Hermann’s dad banned him from the Gottlieb house for tracking water all over their front hallway after he and Hermann went wading in the creek, but it was really Hermann who did it, because he forgot to take his shoes off and they got soaked, and Newt just took the fall for it so Hermann wouldn’t get in trouble. And when Hermann asked Newt to play astronaut with him, and Newt insisted on being an alien and mimed the chestburster scene from Alien, and Hermann freaked out so bad he fell in a mud puddle and got grounded for ruining his clothing, and Newt got grounded for that and for watching Alien when he wasn’t supposed to, and they spent the following few days staring sadly out across at each other before Newt’s grandma finally got tired of his moping and sent him to work weeding the garden. He remembers knotting a little friendship bracelet for Hermann out of embroidery thread he found in his grandmother’s sewing basket and Hermann vowing to keep it until he died.

Newt’s half of the soup can phone is still on the windowsill, though the string snapped and crumbled apart years ago. He picks at the peeling Chicken Noodle label, so distracted that he almost doesn’t notice the light suddenly seeping through at the edges of Hermann’s curtains, or the way they’re pushed open—almost.

Hermann—real, live, adult Hermann, botched haircut and round glasses and all—stares out at Newt with a shocked expression on his face. Newt drops the can with a clatter.

Then he waves.

“Hey, Grandma?” Newt says, poking his head into the kitchen. Tonight’s dinner is a massive pot of soup boiling away on the stovetop, dessert a mountain of cookies and tiny pastries on serving platters on the counters. Newt hasn’t had food that looked this good since he moved out, to be honest. The intersection of Newt’s sad lack of cooking skills and his attempts at vegetarianism means he eats a lot of boxed mac-and-cheese and frozen Vegetable Lovers’ pizzas. “Are you—?"

“Oh, Newt!” Newt’s grandmother says. She sets down her wooden spoon. “Are you feeling rested, then?”

“Yeah,” Newt says. “Grandma, I was wondering, could I—uh—maybe run some food over to the Gottliebs? To be…neighborly? We just have so much, and—”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Newt’s grandmother says. “They keep to themselves, mostly, but I can’t imagine they’d turn it down. You might even see your little friend again! What was his name? You were so fond of him.”

“Hermann,” Newt says, quickly shoving cookies into a red-lid plastic container. “Thanks, Grandma.”

He tucks the tupperware under his arm and nearly wipes out on the icy front path he runs to the Gottliebs’ so fast. Before he can so much as catch his breath and knock, their door swings open; Hermann, dressed in a tacky Hannukah sweater, arches an eyebrow at him. “I saw you sprint over here like a bloody madman,” he says, in blessed English. He must’ve remembered how shitty Newt’s German was when they were kids. “Hello, Newton. What’s so terribly important?”

His voice got deeper—expected—and he swapped out his German accent for an English one somewhere along the way. Probably at his stuffy boarding school. He also got taller—he’s got a few inches on Newt now, but Newt admits that’s not exactly hard. God, he’s even hotter in person. “Uh,” Newt says. Why is he here? Oh, right. He thrusts out the tupperware. “I brought some cookies over for you?”

Hermann peers down at the offering over his glasses. His forehead wrinkles. “How considerate,” he says. He pulls an olive-green parka on and steps out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind him. He taps at a peeling porch swing with the end of his cane. “Just leave them there. Would you like to take a walk?”

It’s freezing, and snowing, but for some reason, a walk sounds like the best idea in the world right now. “Yes, please,” Newt says, and chucks the cookies onto the swing.

“I must say,” Hermann says, after their meandering walk around the Gottliebs’ yard takes them to the old maple tree. The branches are bare, but thick, and shield them from most of the falling snow. Hermann’s breath puffs out white in front of his angular face. The last time I stood here, Newt thinks, he kissed me. “I really did not expect to see you.”

“I didn’t expect to see you, either,” Newt admits. “From what I remember, you and your family weren’t—uh—well, very close. I didn’t think you’d be coming back to share in the holiday cheer with them, is what I mean.”

The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitches up. “That’s certainly one way of describing it. Yes, I suppose you’re right—my father is a bit of a bastard, isn’t he?” Newt laughs awkwardly, unsure whether to agree or attempt to weakly the defend a guy who openly hated him for being a bad influence on Hermann most of his childhood; he’s grateful when Hermann continues and saves him the choice. “This is the first year I’ve come home in a long while. My brother’s just had a daughter, you see, and I thought I should start getting used to playing uncle.”

“Oh, congrats,” Newt says. Hermann shrugs, and Newt has the distinct feeling that this is Hermann’s older brother, who used to dissemble Hermann’s telescope and hide the pieces around the house when Hermann annoyed him, and tattled on Newt and Hermann to Hermann’s parents the one time Newt snuck in to see Hermann after he got banned. He always made Newt thankful that he was an only child. “Same here, actually. Not the uncle thing—I mean I haven’t visited since I was in college. Too busy.”

“I know,” Hermann says, and then adds teasingly (in a way that makes color flood Newt’s cheeks and his heart beat just a little faster), “I’ve looked you up online. Er—quite a bit recently, in fact. I was curious. You’ve made quite the name for yourself, haven’t you, Dr. Geiszler?”

“I,” Newt squeaks, and then coughs. “I mean, I guess? I like…science.”

“I oughtn’t be surprised,” Hermann says. “You were always giving me bugs, and salamanders, and funny little frogs—”

Newt liked bugs, and salamanders, and frogs, but he liked Hermann more, and the gifts had a lot more to do with the latter than the former, because what kid wouldn’t want bugs or salamanders or frogs, right? Not that Hermann ever appreciated them—especially not the worms Newt would pluck from the sidewalks after rainstorms. He thinks he got grounded for that one, too, because his grandma wouldn’t believe that he really wasn’t trying to terrorize the poor Gottlieb boy. “And what about you?” Newt says. He pokes his elbow into Hermann’s side. “Dr. Gottlieb? Guess those model rockets paid off.”

(“No, Newton,” Hermann would snap at him on the rare occasions he would allow Newt to watch him piece one together, “the glue hasn’t dried yet. You have to be patient, or else it’ll fall apart.”)

“Not yet,” Hermann says, “but I hope soon.”

Hermann smiles at him. A snowflake catches in his eyelashes—his long, pretty, dark eyelashes. “Do you remember when you kissed me here?” Newt blurts out.

“It’s hardly the sort of thing I’d forget,” Hermann says. He reaches out and tucks a piece of Newt’s hair up into his hat. “I like your tattoos—I saw the photographs on your social media accounts. They suit you.” Newt wonders if this means Hermann saw the shirtless selfie he posted on Instagram. “I’m also pleased to see you’ve gotten your braces removed. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience last time.”

Then he leans in and kisses Newt. Again, technically. It’s so light and brief Newt hardly believes it even happened. Their glasses clack together, and when Hermann pulls away, he straightens out Newt’s.

“I confess,” Hermann says, “that I’m wholly pleased to see how you’ve turned out. I hope that wasn’t too forward of me. I’ve been thinking about doing it all night.”

“Jeez, dude,” Newt says, blinking at him, his head swimming just a little. Hermann looks smug. “Not, uh, not too forward. So. Uh. You wanna get dinner or something this week and catch up?”

Hermann snorts, and nods.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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fanfoolishness · 4 years ago

Text

The Invitation (The Mandalorian)

Spoilers for the entirety of The Mandalorian S1 and S2. Din Djarin finds himself in dreams that seem realer than real, reminding him of his loss, but he begins to find a sense of hope again. A promise is kept. Bittersweet but hopeful, 2600 words. ***

He did not remember when he stopped dreaming of life before his armor. He was still so young when his dreams first began to show themselves through the filter of a beskar helmet, when he grew used to the sound of his voice slightly muffled and mechanized.

This dream seemed no different than his usual, at least at first. Sometimes they were soaring, vivid things; his parents’ faces that final day, memories of battles etched into his body and bones, lessons in his youth with the Covert. Other times they were merely soft, confused impressions he barely remembered upon waking. But always there was the familiar sense and weight of beskar.

Din sat now in the Razor Crest, hands resting on the controls. Something tickled at the back of his mind, a sense that this wasn’t right, but he ignored it. He checked the navicomputer, setting a course to a planet he didn’t know in a language he couldn’t read, and the starfield stretched before him.

A small noise beside him caught his attention. He turned to see Grogu there, poking flashing buttons, a mischievous look on his face.

“Hey now,” he said, with a sternness he didn’t really feel. “You know better.” It’s so good to see you, buddy. He smiled beneath the helmet.

The child’s ears lowered, the tips brushing his sturdy robes. He slowly raised his eyes to Din, and something about the way they gleamed, so bright, so present, cut Din to the core. For a moment, he wondered --

The dream shifted, beginning to buckle under the weight of the knowledge that he was dreaming. The Crest darkened and drifted around them, and he began to forget, began to lose himself. No! I want to stay with him -- please --

He reached out a hand, blurry in the faltering dream, to try and touch the child’s face one more time --

He awoke with a start, breathing hard, tears on his cheeks. He sat bolt upright in his narrow bunk, trying to remember just one more glimpse of the child. He closed his eyes, fixing the memory as closely as he could. There were not enough of them. There would never be enough.

He bowed his head. He’s safe. You did the right thing. The Jedi will protect him.

But the words felt just as hollow now as they did yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. The wound was still so fresh; it had only been a few short weeks since the rescue. He lay awake long into the night, the tears drying on his naked face.

***

Life continued as ever it did. He’d seen it many times before. One day your world shattered, the next, you kept going anyway. He told himself he’d do it again, and again, because what else was there to do but fight forward?

He knew what he had done on the bridge for the Child. Knew what the Armorer would declare, knew that the Children of the Watch would have rejected him utterly. Clan Mudhorn would be stricken from the records, the title Mandalorian stripped from his soul.

But he traveled not with the Children of the Watch now. He traveled with an heir to the Mandalorian throne, who wore her bare face as proudly as her armor, and when he slowly, cautiously, placed his helmet on once more, beskar still felt like home.

Each morning he tended to his armor: cleaned and polished the beskar with reverence, checked the clothing and leathers for tears, made repairs as needed with a miniature arc torch, with needle and thread.

Each morning he tended to his weapons: performed maintenance on his blaster, topped off fuel levels for the Dragon Flame, carefully adjusted the Whistling Birds, calibrated the Rising Phoenix, gingerly examined the unwanted Darksaber.

Each morning he held a little silver ball, brushing his thumb over its smooth surface, praying his promise had not been a lie.

He kept going.

This was the Way.

***

The sands of Tatooine. A faint desert smell even through his helmet’s filter, boots sinking into the dunes, Peli Motto’s droids chittering away to themselves. Din and Grogu sat against the landing gear of the Crest, Grogu leaning against Din’s hip.

“Hey there, kid,” Din said softly. He reached down and stroked the tip of one of Grogu’s long ears. “You having a good time?”

Grogu turned his head and looked steadily at him, face and ears spreading into a small smile.

Din reached into his bag, pulling out cookies for the child. Perhaps they weren’t the most nutritious food, but Grogu ate plenty of protein, and Din had the extra coin for a treat today. He handed a cookie to Grogu, a little blue stack of sugar, and the child bit into it, watching him expectedly.

“Oh, you want --” Din looked around, searching for shadows, figures. The droids and the mechanics had melted away. “You want me to try one?”

Grogu’s shoulders jumped up in excitement as he finished his cookie. Din handed him another, then held one between his gloved fingers, considering.

He lifted his helmet slightly, just enough to expose his mouth, and took a bite. Grogu let out a sweet little sound, almost like a giggle.

Happy, Din thought. Or felt. He wasn’t certain how he knew it, but he did. Was he happy? Was Grogu? It was difficult to tell where he ended, where the child began, here in the gritty sand beneath the cloudless skies, here in the dream --

He woke up reaching for the little silver ball, and clasped it to his chest, remembering.

***

The dreams, though rare, stayed with him: a humming presence in the back of his mind even as he traveled between far-flung stars, speaking words of war and battle with the other Mandalorians, fighting for a forgotten world. Things were in motion now that he had never meant, had never dreamed when he was a foundling boy first given his helmet. The Darksaber hung heavy at his hip, a reluctant weight.

He trained with the others in the ways of the Rising Phoenix, in the wielding of the Darksaber, in the history of Mandalore. It was difficult, sometimes, being around so many after long years spent mostly alone. But in quiet times, the empty spaces of new journeys, Din studied. Ways of ancient Mandalore, Ways of different clans whose names he had never heard spoken, new understandings of what the Creed meant.

He found a comfort there: he found a path his own.

He stood on the soil of a dozen different moons and planets. The mossy loam of Endor, springy beneath each footstep. The white salt fields of Crait, red sand clinging to his boots. The rain-worn rocks of Eadu. The desert sands of Savareen, caressed by ocean waves.

He stood beneath a dozen suns and moons, his helmet cradled beneath his arm. The wind tossed his hair; the rain lashed his face; the sunlight warmed his cheeks. He breathed deep of each world, of the scents of fern and tree, wind and water, and he was not ashamed.

He was a Mandalorian.

***

Din looked around. The Razor Crest again, each inch of it his well-remembered home. But his view was not quite the same as he best recalled it. He reached up. He felt skin beneath his gloved fingertips, not beskar.

Grogu burbled on his lap, little green hands resting on the instrument bank. Din bowed over him, his face working into a smile. He was still learning the different ways his expressions could be used, a skill he had never learned as an adult. The smile felt clumsy, but Grogu’s delighted coo let him know he had gotten it right.

“Grogu,” he said, and the little one leaned against him, safe in his arms.

“You like it here, huh?” Din asked quietly. Memory flickered, filtering in through the comforting warmth of -- was this a dream again? He faltered. “I’m afraid I don’t have the Crest anymore.”

Grogu gazed up at him, clearly puzzled. Din closed his eyes. “They destroyed it. When they took you away.” His throat burned, eyes stinging. How did this feel so real? So clear?

Grogu’s ears dropped, his little face falling. Din took both of the child’s small hands in his, holding them gently.

“I’m sorry, Grogu,” he murmured. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them from taking you.”

Little hands gripped his own. A thought, a feeling, a knowing.

I... did everything I could. He understands.

He held his child until the dream dissolved, and he woke up in the dark, his face damp again.

***

Weeks drifted into months. Months threatened years. He earned new scars, new weapons, a new ship. The Darksaber still felt foreign, but it was a weight that he could bear, at least for a little while.

The dreams continued, always sporadic, but growing a little clearer, a little longer every time. Sometimes they were on Sorgan, sometimes Nevarro. More recently, they were starting to be places Din had traveled but Grogu had never seen; and he had not dreamed of the Razor Crest since he’d admitted to Grogu that it was gone.

He wasn’t sure what meaning to ascribe to this. They were merely dreams, after all, visions crafted by heart and mind and memory. The only strange thing about them was that feeling, that sense of realer than real that left him grieving and grateful both every time he awoke.

No matter. He only knew that the dreams comforted him, reminded him of what he still fought for every day. That was enough, wasn’t it?

***

He stood on Mandalor, the ruined skies above him, the blasted earth at his feet. It tore at him. Bones of the mythosaur had been ground into the dust long ago, and his people’s sorrow was heavy all around him. He had never been here before. Had he?

He turned to Grogu, clinging to his shin, and picked the child up. In his other arm he held his helmet. “We don’t fly the Crest anymore, when I meet you here,” he said suddenly. It hung between them, a query, an accusation.

Grogu gazed at him, Mandalor’s sun glimmering in his eyes.

“... ever since I told you the Crest was gone,” he murmured.

Realization. Understanding. He knew what I said. And the dreams changed. Din froze, his heart pounding. Could it --

“Grogu,” he said carefully. “Are… are you here?”

Grogu clapped his hands together in delight, then reached up, his fingertips brushing against Din’s cheek. He cooed with contentment.

“How?” Din whispered.

Flashes, fierce and vivid. Tython. The seeing stone. Grogu seeking, seeking --

“I’m not a Jedi,” Din said mulishly. “How could you --”

Grogu leaned against him, tucking his head under Din’s chin.

Grogu meditating, face calm and concentrating, the Jedi seated beside him --

A heavy stillness in the air, the indefinable sense of something greater; visions of certain places where power flourished, places where the child could reach beyond --

The bond between them, a force its own -- his own face shining in the child’s eyes --

“I don’t understand, kid,” said Din desperately, fighting a rising sense of hope, confusion, wonder. Sunlight slanted through the skies above them, banishing the ruined clouds. Grogu was content in his arms, curled up, fighting sleep --

And Mandalor shimmered around them, whole and beautiful once more, falling away into the stars.

***

Din jerked awake, breathing hard. He fumbled for the little silver ball, holding it so tightly his fingers throbbed with the beat of his heart.

“It’s him,” he whispered, his voice a faint, shocked murmur sinking into the ship’s stillness. “Dank farrik, kid!”

He laughed so hard he nearly choked, tears streaming down his face.

***

The days arced away, seasons changing between the stars, and he pressed onward. Beskar was home, foundation, protector, salvation. He carried it into the greater galaxy with honor. It gleamed to all, a symbol of Mandalore and the Way.

But he wore new armor beneath his beskar, secret, sustaining, a burning hope. Strange he had once forgotten how it felt. He carried with him a certain knowledge, a joy that bettered the long days beyond measure.

He knew the dreams were real.

He knew, truly, that Grogu had not forgotten him.

***

There was a final dream.

Din sat in the grass, gray-streaked hair lifted by the soft breeze beneath a yellow sun. Birdsong chimed in trees tall and elegant and beautiful. He scented rich flowers on the air. In the distance, a temple rose from beyond the trees, its form as natural to the landscape as the hills themselves.

Grogu sat beside him, only a little bigger than Din remembered. He looked peaceful, calm, assured. He smiled, ears tipping upward.

“I miss you, kid,” said Din simply.

Grogu dipped his head in something like a nod, then leaned against him, sighing. Din rested his hand on the child’s shoulder, where it belonged.

A sudden sensation at his side. Din reached for the silver ball, but it wasn’t there.

It hung before them, gleaming, rotating in the bright sunlight. It looked just as it did in the waking world, with one side worn smooth and dull from long handling.

Grogu gazed up at him. The ball spun.

“Go on, take it,” said Din.

The ball sank into Grogu’s outstretched hand. His small face creased into a silent laugh, and he rested his other hand on Din’s leg, a look of focus settling into his expression.

Din closed his eyes. And he saw --

He saw a name, clear as day, Aurebesh letters searing into his mind’s eye.

Saw coordinates, precisely laid out, leading to a system, a planet, a temple.

He saw an invitation.

“I’ll be there,” breathed Din. He gathered Grogu into his arms. “As soon as I can.” They held each other as the sun slipped beneath the horizon, as he slipped back into waking once again.

***

The ship soared through the air, seeking a point of touchdown. Din checked the coordinates again, his heart racing. What if he’d been wrong? What if all of this was some kind of madness, some trick of the imagination?

The temple crested the horizon, ringed with those tall, beautiful trees, rising against the sun-soaked hills. He let out a shaky breath.

He landed near the temple in a flat clearing. He checked his belt, touched the silver ball once more, and made his way out onto the grass.

Motes danced on the air in the golden sunlight streaming through the trees. The evening light was warm on his beskar. Birds in the canopy sang with familiar voices, calling him onward, and he held no weapon in his hands.

There was a small sound, the tiniest sensation at his hip. He brushed his hand against his belt. Where did it --

The silver ball hung in the air before him, gleaming in the golden light.

Din stared at it. His chest rose, then fell, his shoulders heaving. His vision blurred as he reached for his helmet, as he wiped at his eyes with an unsteady hand.

The ball drifted forward, spinning a perfect orbit along a controlled and steady path. Din Djarin followed.

He knew his child waited.

***

The Jedi stood peacefully near the seeing stones, his faithful droid beside him. Far beyond him, two figures approached each other, one small and clad in simple brown, the other tall in shining silver. For a moment they stopped, frozen, the distance between them miniscule and yet immense.

The Mandalorian sank to his knees, helmet forgotten beside him, arms opened. The Child stepped forward into the waiting embrace, something silver flashing in his small hand. And on the gentle breeze, the Jedi heard the sounds of laughter.

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

(Author’s note: We know that canonically, seeing stones or other places of great Force power can magnify a Force user’s powers, including telepathy. Din is not Force-sensitive, but Force users with powerful bonds can reach those people more easily. I like to think that Grogu kept sneaking out of the temple to go sit on those damn things and call on Din when he could reach his mind in sleep. I also like to think Luke let him.)

#the mandalorian #noromo mando #mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #grogu #please reblog if you liked!#and if like me you also needed assurance that they will Be Okay!#my Mando fic

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somersetmummy · 3 years ago

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(A/N) This is a TNA one shot, taking place immediately following book 1 chapter 12 (the gala balcony scene). Characters, some storyline and some dialogue property of Pixelberry.

Story told from point of view of MC Katie Hide. Internal character thoughts are written in italics.

I tried to think about how they would get through the rest of the gala after their little extra curricular activities on the balcony….so here it is!

Original characters: Katie Hide (MC), Sam Dalton, Vivienne Dalton, Mason Sr Dalton, Carter

New characters: Laney, Ryan

Content warning: Some light adult language

Summary: Nanny Katie Hide and her boss Sam Dalton finally take their relationship to the next step on the night of the gala, but just when they should be feeling elated, things spiral quickly. Can they get through the rest of the evening together now that things have changed for good?

Word count: 3462 (I’m out of control!)

- Bonus social edits at the end -

Alone on the balcony, looking out over the city's twinkling lights, she should've been basking in the afterglow of the best sex of her life but instead she feels empty. Her resolve held strong in front of Sam as he skulked off seemingly full of regret but now, her mind races through every minute detail of what had just happened.

Instead of taking the time to carefully ingrain every delicious detail of their time together into her memory, she painfully second guessed every move, every touch, every whispered promise. Once her exhausted mind began to fray she decided to sweep the whole thing under the carpet determined to save face, for now. Collecting herself, she absentmindedly ran her fingers up and down her arms, goose bumps standing proud, finally giving in to the cold night air.

On her way back towards the ballroom, while wondering how the hell she was going to get through the rest of the evening, she prolongs her return to reality by ducking into one of the lavish bathrooms to freshen up. The room is quiet, an older lady leaves as she enters, another younger girl, probably around her age, is refreshing her makeup by one of the opulent vanity's. She sits down on the plush velvet ottoman in the middle of the vanity area with a sigh, not really sure what to do next.

"Well you look like you've been through the ringer!"

Turning towards the kind voice, the girl who was doing her makeup, a warm glow pours out to her as the stranger looks her up and down with genuine concern. Her face is one of those which feels familiar, like someone she could’ve known her whole life. It is enough to encourage her to open up a little and feels like a relief to have someone to talk to after feeling so alone out on that balcony.

"I'm sort of having the best night of my life as well as the worst. And to top it all off I've left my purse in the main room..." She gestures towards her untidy hair and slightly smudged makeup by way of an explanation.

The stranger offers a knowing look in reply.

“So are you here with someone? Your dress is divine by the way."

Smoothing the front of her dress, Katie replies absentmindedly, "Oh no, I'm just here with my boss, filling in an empty seat at the last minute." Hesitant to share more with someone she'd just met, she kept the more intimate details to herself.

"Me too, well sort of. I'm a stylist, one of my clients insisted I join them to make sure they look perfect all night long, god forbid her dress creases when she sits down for dinner!" She waves Katie over to the vanity and the open make up case. "Here, use whatever you need." She continues watching as Katie gratefully grabs a brush and some powder. "I'm really just starting out but figure these sorts of events are great publicity if I can dress the right people. I mean they're all living on another planet of course but they love to be in the spotlight and gush about their outfits, which is great for me!"

The pair chat easily together for a while before Katie glances at the time on her phone screen realising she'd been gone much longer than anticipated. She’d enjoyed having an ally and getting her mind off the car crash of a moment with Sam, truth be told, she’d much rather stay here in the safety of her mirrored cave and the kindness of a stranger than plaster a smile on her face and return to the Dalton’s table. With a wistful smile she turns to the stranger.

"I suppose I should be getting back, although I can't say I'm looking forward to it."

"I'm Laney by the way." She holds her hand out to Katie and they share a gentle shake.

"I'm Katie. I've really enjoyed hiding out in here with you, thanks for everything." Leaving Laney to pack up the overly large purse full of beauty treasures, Katie heads back towards the bustling ballroom. Barely making it into the room, Laney breathlessly catches up to her holding out a business card.

"Hey, I thought maybe we could meet up for a coffee sometime, you know if you want to have someone in the real world to spend time with!" She points over to someone across the room and continues animatedly, "You said you went to NYIT right? I'm sure my friend Ryan would love to meet you too, he did his Grad course there and always loves a trip down memory lane!"

Taking the card, Katie’s eyes are drawn to Sam over Laney's shoulder. He looks just as he did before the balcony, the ever professional businessman, as if nothing had ever happened. He gives a slight tip of his head in Katie’s direction, motioning for her to join him back at the table.

The new friends share a quick hug promising to catch up soon and she makes her way over to Sam who won't quite meet her eye. Despite the frostiness between them, he's a gentleman at heart and doesn't think twice about pulling out her chair, tucking it in gently as she sits. As the bustle of dinner being served continues around them, the thorny silence between them grows thick with unspoken feelings.

After a whirlwind of Sam and his parents catching up over the exploits of various family friends and tales of the boys, Vivienne turns to smile at Katie.

"Now dear, we're being rude talking around you as though you're not here. Sam tells me you're quite the budding scientist yourself?"

She looks to Sam to see him offering a helpless smile and shrug of the shoulders and can’t help but wonder whether he’d shared anything about his previous employees with his mother, or if she was the first. As Katie pulls her eyes away from Sam’s, she pushes down all the feelings which bubbled up inside her and plasters on her most professional smile.

"Yes, Mrs Dalton, I have a Masters in Chemistry and up until recently was managing projects for Panacea Labs."

Being the expert that she is at reading people, Katie astutely notices how Mr Dalton’s ears prick, he clearly didn't know that there was more to her than being 'just a nanny', whatever that means.

"Please dear, you're practically family, call me Vivienne."

A warm glow fills her body at the thought of being accepted into the fold of the Dalton family. Smiling back at Vivienne, she continues to share stories of her experiences in the industry, her passion for science and her love for exploring through the twins eyes.

"Mickey and Mason are such a brilliant example of how a love of science can be developed at a young age. They're so curious and passionate about exploring, it's such a pleasure to be a part of."

Next to her, barely able to disguise the pride he feels for her, Sam tries his best to remain outwardly impassive while watching the rest of the table listen attentively, completely captivated by her storytelling. He'd meant it earlier on the balcony when he'd agreed that she was meant to be by his side, a partner not a secret he had to hide his feelings for. He just didn't know how to make it a reality, trapped within his own life. But in this moment, his feelings bubble to the surface and it takes everything he has not to take her in his arms in front of everyone and let them come flooding out for all to see.

After all, it wasn’t Katie’s fault that his true feelings for her hit him like a tonne of bricks earlier that evening while he watched her effortlessly talk Selene into keeping her shares. In front of his parents no less. Right there, everything he loves about her shone out for everyone to see and he realised he was deeply and helplessly in love. It just wasn’t with his fiancée. Hell that's the reason he took Katie out to the balcony in the first place, to steal a moment to share how he really feels but as always he was too much of a coward to do anything about it in fear or letting everyone else down and jeopardising his sons future.

He knows that the only way to try to push through it all is to detach himself from Katie as much as possible, even if it means becoming the bad guy. In his mind, she deserves better, she deserves the damn fairytale and that's just not something he's able to give.

As they move through the plentiful courses of dinner, Mason Sr continues to interrogate Katie on her knowledge and opinions of various scientific and business theories, although his directness falters as the meal goes on and they both seem to enjoy the lively debates. Vivienne occasionally interjects with questions of her own about Katie’s family, her life back in England and whether it's difficult to be far from home. To Katie, it almost feels like she’s on a 'meet the parents' date which in her mind could be going a lot worse.

When coffee is finally offered, Mason Sr stands abruptly, eyes focussed on Sam.

“Ladies, while this evening's discussions have been...interesting, I think it's time we get down to some business." He nods curtly at Sam before gesturing towards a quieter bar area off the back of the room.

Sam stands to follow him but not before turning to Katie and instinctively placing a hand on her shoulder. She involuntarily shudders at his touch as her mind races back to the last time they touched on the balcony.

"This shouldn't take too long, will you be ok here?"

"Of course she will darling, I'm not going to bite her!" Vivienne cuts in before she can reply. Sam nods in approval towards her and lingers for a moment before walking away to meet his father. Katie's shoulder still tingling at the memory of his touch.

Katie looks across the ballroom taking in the general splendour and jovial atmosphere while Vivienne takes the opportunity to really look at her, contemplating how much to share with her. After taking a few sips of coffee, she turns herself to fully face Katie and offers a warm smile.

"I can see why the boys are so taken with you...all of them."

The honesty of her comment takes Katie by surprise. Unsure how to respond, she slowly turns to meet Vivienne’s eye, raising her eyebrow slightly in question.

"You're all the things Sam said you were. He was right when he told me we'd get on well."

The intensity of Vivienne’s gaze is so strong Katie daren't look away.

"I want to thank you for everything you've done for them all. They've come alive again since having you in their life. Poor Sara was taken from him far too soon, from us all really...it was all so hard on Sam and the boys." She trails off clearly lost in memory. "I know he cares for you and wants you to feel part of the family."

“Shit” she thinks to herself. Feeling like a rabbit caught in headlights, Katie's mind races. Does she know? How can she, they've only met once before, surely that's not enough to make her suspicious?

"I think Sam's just taken pity on me because I'm so far from home and he knows I don't have any family around. He and the boys have been so gracious in making me feel welcome."

Hoping she sounds convincing she takes a sip of coffee, relishing the opportunity to hide her blushing cheeks behind the cup. Vivienne suddenly looks up with Katie follow her gaze over her shoulder. Behind her, Laney is standing with a cowboy-next-door handsome man in tow, a welcome interruption. His dirty blonde hair is slightly unkempt, his frame more lean than Sam's but he still carries an athletic look, he smiles charmingly at Katie.

“Excuse me" Laney directs to Vivienne before turning to speak to Katie. “This is my friend Ryan who I was telling you about earlier."

Katie reaches out to shake his hand which he is already holding out towards her.

"I hear you're a fellow NYIT grad? You look far too respectable to have hung out in the sort of dives I used to find myself in!"

"Try me..." she challenges with a twinkle in her eye.

Laney rolls her eyes with boredom and escapes, business card in hand, to fawn over an awkwardly dressed woman at another table.

"Would you like to dance? I promise not to break out the old NYIT match day chant moves!"

She can't help but laugh at his natural charm. After looking to Vivienne, who waves her hand in approval, she lets Ryan lead her out to the dance floor where they sway together at ease in each other's company reminiscing. It’s a far cry from the intimate dance with Sam earlier that evening, instead Katie could relax into it knowing that she wasn’t trying to hide anything, and it felt freeing.

As Sam's discussion, or more accurately argument, with his father comes to an end he heads back to the table where he notices his mother is sitting alone.

“Where's Katie?" He asks forgetting to hide the panic in his voice, worried for the second time that evening, after she had disappeared to the bathroom for half an hour, that Katie had thought better of compromising herself for him and fled the gala.

Vivienne nods towards the dance floor, Sam's eyes follow and a bolt of jealousy hits him right in the heart as he sees her in the arms of another man.

With a steely glare he starts towards her but is stopped by Vivienne's hand firmly holding him back by his arm.

“Leave her be, she's enjoying herself."

Letting out an almost inaudible sigh he sits down next to his mother but can't pull his eyes away, so enthralled that his mother's voice is almost a whisper in the background.

"She really is wonderful darling, I know even your father is impressed, of course he'll never say it." Her arm still resting on his, she studies Sam's face before continuing, "What a shame you’d not met her sooner.”

Allowing himself for a moment to hope that his mother's glowing reference suggests she is in approval of his relationship with Katie becoming something more, Sam smiles and leans forward ready to gush even more. He catches himself just in time as the ever repeating voices in his head remind him of his responsibility and everyone else's expectations of him, instead he brings it back to the boys.

"Yes she's brilliant with Mason and Mickey, they're lucky to have her."

Dancing and talking together with Ryan, Katie had almost forgotten about Sam and their earlier tryst on the balcony, grateful for the distraction and if she was being honest the attention. It's not every day that she goes to the effort of dressing up at the last minute and schmoozes the un-scmoozable to help her sort-of-boyfriend look good, it's nice to have someone sweep her off her feet and put her first for once.

"Your boyfriend doesn't seem too happy about us dancing together" Ryan nods towards Sam who is trying to get their attention, his parents behind him appear to be getting ready to leave.

"He's not my boyfriend."

Ryan's eyes widen sensing an opportunity. “Well I guess that's good news for me...can I call you sometime, take you out for dinner?"

She drops her gaze, shaking her head slightly.

“I'm sorry, I don't think it's a good idea..." trailing off, he gently lifts her chin to look up at him.

"But you're single...?"

"No, I...it's...it's complicated" she stutters while looking over his shoulder at Sam, who looks less than thrilled.

"Well, if you change your mind, Laney has my number." With that, he kisses her hand and watches the silk of her gown cling to her hips as she walks away.

Returning to the table, Mason Sr takes Katie’s hand and shakes it almost warmly.

“Pleasure to see you again Katie. Excellent damage control with Selene earlier...very impressive."

He moves to Sam, impassively shaking his hand as Vivienne envelopes her in a hug, kissing each cheek.

"Wonderful to see you again dear, give those grandsons of mine one of these from me!"

Katie smiles tenderly back at her, nodding in agreement.

After the Dalton's leave, Katie and Sam remain at the table, sipping their drinks in awkward silence, steadily interrupted by acquaintances of Sam's wanting to talk business. Finally, noticing Katie’s arm propping up her tired head, Sam stands.

“I think that's enough shop talk for one night, let's get you home."

Waiting for the limo to pull to the front of the building Sam notices her shiver in the cold night air. He takes off his jacket and wraps it around her shoulders, the most contact they’ve had all evening since being intertwined on the balcony together. His gaze lingers on hers, neither able to look away. She tries to read his thoughts as she looks deep into his eyes but all she sees is a muddle of pain, confusion and longing. It doesn't make her feel any better.

"Mr Dalton..." the driver says with a small cough as he stands by the open limo door.

Sam pulls away and walks her over to the limo with his hand hovering behind the small of her back, not daring to touch. Once settled in their seats it doesn't take long for the gentle motion of the car to send Katie to sleep, her head lulling and dropping onto Sam's shoulder.

It takes everything he has for him not to wrap his arms around her, his mind conflicted thinking of the nights events. The incredible connection they shared on the balcony, the fire within him burning hotter and brighter than ever before, his mother's glowing review, hell even his father had been impressed and suggested during their conversation in the bar that Katie’s role within the Dalton empire might be wasted as just a nanny. But none of these thoughts could quite suppress his feelings of guilt at falling for another woman, his responsibility to his sons, the business and their legacies. At least not in his mind.

Back in the penthouse, Sam makes his way into the open plan living area to find, thinking him for his help with the boys. Katie hangs back, not wanting to make small talk in front of Carter, who is incredibly astute and would no doubt piece together that things were not as they seemed.

"Miss Hide, you're a vision!"

Walking towards the elevator, Carter beams at her like a proud dad seeing his daughter on her wedding day.

“I didn't get the chance to see you before you left, my my..."

"Thank you Carter. And thank you for watching the boys, I hope they weren't too much trouble?!"

He taps his nose, keeping secret whatever mischief they got up to that evening. She smiles back at him knowingly as he steps into the elevator and the doors close.

As she turns back towards the living room she is halted by Sam standing right in front of her, so close, she almost crashes into him. Sheepishly she hands him his jacket as he offers a bottle of water in exchange.

‘You should never go to bed dehydrated" he blurts out, trying to fill the gaping silence.

“Sam...."

"Goodnight Katie, thank you for your help this evening, I appreciate you coming."

Unable to muster up enough energy to argue push any further, Katie drops her gaze to the floor as she shakes her head disappointedly. She walks away without a word, her heart aching more than she thought possible.

TAG List: @shewillreadyou @chemist-ana @txemrn @silma-words @thefrenchiemama @secretaryunpaid @sfb123

- Bonus - photo posted by Katie the morning after followed by a conversation with Jenny (before Sam drops the Italy bombshell and she was supposed to have the day off!)

#the nanny affair #tna #fanfic #sam dalton #sam dalton x mc #sam x mc #choices

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shabre-legacy · 3 years ago

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A Pirate Wife for Me Chapter One: What Must Be Done

Four Days Left

Corso stared at his hands as he sat on the rough bench outside the farmhouse. He didn’t know how to do this. How was he supposed to explain this situation to Vesha? He was supposed to marry her in 4 months. They’d made all the arrangements and announcements. How did he explain that he had to marry someone else? That the situation was worse than most were being told, nearly awful as was feared. How did he explain that without hurting her? He loved her. Or at least he thought he did. There hadn’t been a lot of romance in his life so far. But he was pretty sure that he loved her. Enough to sacrifice so that she’d be safe, her family would be safe, so that she didn’t have to do this. He could do that.

The bench tilted a bit as Vesha settled onto it, her hand coming down to rest on his shoulder. “What’s going on? Papa said you needed to talk and sounded pretty broken up? Is it your family? Did something happen? Was there another attack? I didn’t hear about another raid.”

She was chattering, she always chattered, usually it was fine, but he couldn’t deal with it today. Not with everything going on.

“Vesh, Vesh, I need you to stop talking and just listen. Please.”

She shut her mouth instantly, staring at him, He never told her to be quiet. Usually he just followed along with whatever she said, so that she would be happy.

He reached over and took her hand, trying to look at her, but failing. “I’ve been sitting here, trying to think of how to explain this. It’s a real mess. And I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you. But this, everything, it’s so far beyond our control.”

Vesh was just staring at him silently still. He didn’t know what to make of that.

“I tried, you know I tried. I was out there with my blasters every time the seps hit. I tried. It’s just not enough. Me and the folks met with the council. It’s bad Vesh. Worse then….” He just shook his head. They were adults. Old enough to understand the situations, but they were young, he was just 19, Vesh 18. They should have been finishing wedding plans, he should have started on their house by now. They should be moving to their future.

“They’re going to kill us, Vesh. We don’t have the fortifications or the resources to hold out, not with how frequent the raids are. If we don’t do something, most of us won’t make it to the next planting season, let alone the harvest. The Ronto’s will last us awhile, but eventually we’ll run out of feed for them if we can’t get out to take care of the fields.”

“I know, that’s why we asked those karking pirates for help. But Papa said they wouldn’t help.”

He sighed, this was going to be the hard part. “Not for free, they won’t. That’s why I had to meet with the council. Apparently, they said that they only protect their own. But the council made a deal. Got the pirates to treat the village and all our farms as one family. Apparently they’re run by one family, so make a pact between ‘Families’ and they’ll treat attacks on us like attacks on them and help protect us.”

“What are you saying Corso, What kind of pact do they want? We aren’t rich. We don’t have a lot of money, even if the whole village pooled all their money together.”

“They don’t want money.”

“Then what do they want?”

“They want someone to marry the daughter of the family.”

“WHAT!?”

“Apparently, the pirates want a marriage between us and them. They have a woman about our age and that’s their condition.”

“That’s insane! Even for Ord, that’s crazy! I mean they’re pirates. Why would we bother? Who’d even agree to a deal like that?”

He couldn’t say anything. He’d always been better with a blaster in his hands than talking with Vesha. He was better with blasters then almost anything.

“Corso...Did you agree to this?”

He sighed “I’m so sorry, Vesha, but it’s the only thing that anyone can think of that might actually save us.”

“Are you Karking kidding me! Four months before our wedding and you up and decide you want someone else instead!”

“I don’t want someone else! I want you to live! There are only 2 of us who aren’t already married in the age range that they’re finding acceptable. It’s you or it’s me, and Vesha, I know you. You wouldn’t do well among the pirates. They’re too rough. I can’t put you through that. I can’t make you deal with that, with marrying her, or losing your family. And I can’t bear to lose mine either. This is the only way. The only way that our families live, that you get to go on and live your life.”

She stood up and stared down at him. “If you want to make excuses, make them. But don’t lie to me. You’re just bailing because you can. You’ve humiliated me. I thought I knew who you were, but this… Choosing some pirate scum over me. I never would have expected this from you.”

“I’m trying to keep you alive, Vesha, to keep everyone alive.”

She ignored him. Walking into the house and slamming the door. The finality of it broke something and he buried his head in his hands. This is what he hadn’t wanted. He’d hurt her. He knew it would, but had hoped she’d understand. This was the only way to save everyone… To save anyone and they were the only two options. If he did this himself, she didn’t have to. That didn’t make it any easier.

Luckily, however her family felt about him, they didn’t bother him. Perhaps her father had an understanding of how hard this was. He didn’t bother Corso, no confrontation for hurting Vesha. He’d expected that, but it never happened. It took a few hours before he felt steady enough to leave.

He could leave, but he didn’t feel up to going back to the farm. Not yet. His parents had called the family together, they were going to explain the situation while Corso went to explain it to Vesha. They had three days. Tomorrow his parents would meet with the council and the pirates and formalize the agreement. There’d be documents for him to sign after. Two days after that, he’d be married off, at least he’d be able to help protect his home. That would be a good thing. It would provide plenty of reasons to stay away while he got to know the woman he’d be married to. This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go.

His hands seemed to have a mind of their own, guiding the old rickety speeder into town, rather than back to the farm to face his entire family and all their questions. He parked it near the edge of town and started wandering. No destination, no goal, just walking out his thoughts. He thought about heading to the Cantina for a few drinks, but his mama would likely kill him for that. She’d always made him promise he’d never drink his emotions away. She’d lost a few uncles and cousins to that and didn’t want her sons following that path. Time passed without him even being aware of it. At some point though, he noticed someone watching him.

The woman was leaning against a nearby building. She wasn’t a local, he’d never seen her which meant she had to be part of those karking pirates. Mirialan, if he wasn’t mistaken; going by the dark green skin and tattoos across her face and arms; white hair cut short and messy. Short sleeves, fingerless gloves, blasters on both hips and a belt full of what he was fairly certain were dets and grenades. She looked wild and dangerous and… strangely fascinating.

Tama

Five Days Left

Tama leaned forward and stared at the two pictures her aunt placed in front of her.

“Charlie says that these are the only two in the area who are close to your age and not married.”

She picked them up and leaned back reclining on the couch in her mother’s quarters and looked at them. Her mother and her three aunts filled the rest of the room. Their personalities taking up the space of more people then they personally did.

“Does he have an idea on which of these two these dustball farmers are going to go with?”

She wasn’t sure this was the best idea. Sure, having access to more farms and properties would be useful for moving cargo. And having legit businesses would make hiding profits from both republic and imperial customs officials, and other government agents, easier. It would help as they moved in on other areas of the underworld and started their fleet in on conquering the whole damn thing. Still though, an arranged marriage made her squeamish. She wouldn’t have considered it, but as the unofficial princess of the unofficial queen of the fleet, she was the first of the cousins to be approached, and she was promised her own ship. She’d have to get it herself; but when she did, the family would let her keep it. She loved her aunties and adored her mother, but she wanted more independence than they were willing to give her.

The freedom, the opportunities, the good of the fleet and advancement of the plans she’d helped draw out details for, she could marry one of these two for that. Plus if she didn’t like them, she could always give them a room on the other side of the ship and scare them into staying there, or just dump them back with their family, or just ‘lose’ them on a raid. It wouldn’t be hard. Farmers like this were always easily intimidated.

Her aunt Ilma answered her question “Charlie thinks that based on the local culture, either the village itself will settle on the man there, name of Corso, or this Corso will volunteer himself so that the girl, Vesha, doesn’t have to.”

“So rural backwards so-called “chivalry” is still a thing on this rock. That’s just great.”

She tossed the pictures on the table. The more she thought about this, the more she disliked it. But she’d agreed and told her mother her terms. They’d make those happen. “I’m going to get a drink, or a few drinks. Just…” She stood and sighed. “Just let me know when arrangements are made, or if they give you any fuss about my terms. I’ll handle it.”

Her mother came up and gave her a hug, before letting her leave. They’d already been through this over and over again. Sorting out the details and drawing up the contracts, preparing their offer for the oh so desperate farmers of this part of Ord Mantell. They were going with a two-phase approach. First the group they would negotiate with would agree to be treated as a single family and have an arranged marriage to bring them into her fleet’s ‘family’. It would give them the protection they wanted. Then after they agreed and selected the individual they wanted, then her aunts would present her terms. It would be their last chance to back out. After that, everything would be signed and sealed.

They normally wouldn’t bother with this much paperwork. In their world, your word meant everything. If you said something would happen, it was on your reputation and it was reputation that was the legal binding of the underworld. Paperwork and signed contracts, much less so. But it’d give the idiots on this karking dirtball some sense that they weren’t going to be screwed over. Which to be fair, they weren’t planning on. What good would getting working farms to hide their stuff between acquisition and auction, if there were no workers to work the farms. The crews certainly weren’t going to.

It’d only be about a week probably. She’d wait until the decision was made by the village and then go and meet the guy. Best to get an idea on how she was going to handle him and cut off the dead weight early. After all, she was never one to let anything tie her down.

Corso

The woman noticed that he noticed her, pushed off the wall and sauntered towards him. That was the only way to describe it. Swaying hips and a confident swagger. If he’d been in a better mood, he’d likely have been entirely drawn in.

“Hey there, handsome.” Her voice, rolling with an edge of mischief and recklessness that made him certain that this was a dangerous woman. Was this the Pirate he was supposed to marry or just another one of the rabble? 13 ships, that’s what he’d heard they had; 4 big ones and 9 smaller, more mobile ones. He wasn’t sure what kinds exactly, blasters and vibroblades were more his thing. With that many ships, they were bound to have more than a few scum hanging around.

“Can I help you?” He asked. He wasn’t in any mood to deal with anyone after the day he’d had.

“Only if you know where I can find the strongest drinks in town. Thought about that Cantina” At that she gestured over her shoulder at the town's only cantina. “But it don’t look like it's got much more than weak ass swill.”

“Seeing as that’s the only cantina in town, I’d say that’s the only place with any drinks.”

“That’ll have to do then, they’ll have to order in decent stock. You nerfherders ain’t got much on this dirtball.”

Did this woman really have nothing better to do than to insult his home? He’d never hit a lady, but he was starting to feel like it. “It’s Rontos, not Nerfs ‘round here, and we’re farmers not galactic scum. We actually have things to do other than drinking.”

She started laughing, actually laughing, he’d expected… Well, he hadn’t known what to expect, speaking with a pirate, but it wasn’t laughing. “So one of you actually has half a spine after all. Good.” She moved a step closer, her voice dropping ever so slightly back into the same tone she’d begun the conversation with. “What’s your name, handsome?”

“Corso Riggs.” It wasn’t worth lying. He never liked to lie anyways, and it wasn’t like the pirates wouldn’t know who he was in a few days anyways.

She stepped closer, bumping his shoulder as she passed and turning to look at him as she walked backwards up the street towards where a group of what appeared to be more pirates were approaching. “Well, Corso Riggs, appreciate the tip, toughen up that spine though. You’re lucky to have one, you’ll need it.”

What did that mean? “Wait… I never caught your name. Who are you?”

She laughed at him again. “You’re right, you didn’t.” She spun around and stalked off to the pirates, same swagger in her step, his eyes glued to her as she walked to the pirates, paused to say something then continued on. It took a couple of minutes before he could process enough to move out of the way of the crowd heading to overwhelm the cantina. Whoever she had been, he was pretty sure he didn’t like her.

Three Days Left

Corso sat at the table between his parents staring at the documents in front of him. His parents had insisted that he had the right to be part of the final negotiations and so he’d come to the meeting. The pirates had not done the same. He had gotten to meet his future aunt in-laws, they were an intimidating bunch. The leader of the pirates, they kept referring to her as “Commodore”, hadn’t been there. It had taken several hours to finalize the paperwork and he wasn’t fully happy with it, but his parents and the council assured him it was likely the best they were going to get. Honestly though, he didn’t need them to tell him that; he knew. At least he wouldn’t have to put in all the extra work to build a new house, and he’d get to see space again. That’d be nice. He’d loved traveling and seeing different planets during his time with the Peace Brigade. It was a silver lining to their insistence that he move aboard the ship with his new wife instead of her moving onto his farm, where he could stay close and help his family, could keep them and Vesha safe. He’d objected, he was doing this to protect his family, how could he do that if he wasn’t there? There’d been statements of non-negotiable, and that his farm would have extra protection. He’d caved eventually.

They were the desperate ones, the ones who needed this to work. The pirates had more flexibility, they could walk away whenever they wanted. He couldn’t. At the end though, they’d managed to reach agreement on every point and all there was left for him to do was to sign everything. The biggest hassle had surprisingly been getting the three Captains that had been sent to actually write the changes and agreements into the documents rather than having them as a verbal agreement. He couldn’t decide if it was a way to try and get away with not fulfilling their side of the arrangement or if they just didn’t believe in written contracts. Not that even those were worth anything unless both sides upheld them. But it made his parents feel better, or at least his mother.

He sighed and picked up the pen and after closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he signed his life away. A few quick strokes of the stylus across flimsi and it was done. There’d be festivities in a few days, but he already belonged to the pirates.

He stared down at his hands as the documents were gathered and handed over to the pirates and they prepared to leave.

“One last thing”

He looked up to see one of the pirates, Captain Ilma, if he wasn’t mistaken, had remained at the table and was looking directly at him, the other two stood behind her.

“We’ll return these to the Commodore and her daughter for their signatures. Our people will be in touch to return your copies and finalize the plans for the ceremony by the end of the day. Don’t worry about that.

She placed an additional piece of Flimsi on the table with an ominous clack of nails on wood and slid it over to him. “Corso, in case no one has bothered to inform you, you will be marrying Tama Riczu, the Commodore’s only daughter and heir to command of the whole fleet. Lots of responsibility there, we expect you to meet your obligations. We’d hate to have to pull our support from the village because you failed to perform.”

With that, Captain Ilma stood and the three of them walked out of the room leaving him staring in mild shock. These karking pirates. They just kept getting more difficult.

He picked up the flimsi from the table and looked down at the holo. There was the mirialan pirate he’d met the day before, but she wasn’t alone in the picture. There was another Mirialan girl, two identical Twi’lek girls, A Nautaluan, and a blue-skinned girl with red eyes; he wasn’t familiar with the species. The six women appeared about the same age and were crowded around the controls of starship, the imperial sigil on the panel and their lack of uniforms indicating it was likely a ship they’d either raided or stolen. There weren’t any names, but given context he could assume that his bride to be “Tama” was among these women and the others, likely her close friends. He tucked the holo into a pocket and as he walked out, he couldn’t help a small part of him that hoped it was the white-haired pirate from before. At least he’d met her, and there was something… just something about her. He didn’t like her, but still… Maybe she’d be the one he was stuck with.

Tama

Tama collapsed onto her bunk and stared up at the ceiling. Having a private room was great, especially on nights like tonight where she was thinking too much. She’d prepared everything, got her mother to add her terms to their agreement, signed the final documents and had them sent off, even had a plan for taking her own ship. They’d leave the day after the wedding. She’d wanted one of the nice Republic command ships, but there weren’t any fitting the right circumstances. She’d have to settle with a smaller Imperial ship. But that was ok, it’d be the start of her own fleet. One that would quickly outnumber the fleet as it currently stood.

She wasn’t quite as apprehensive now that she’d had a chance to talk to the guy. He’d seemed upset, but had still managed to stand up to her, a tiny bit, but it was enough for her to know he wasn’t completely useless. She might eventually be able to tolerate the guy. If nothing else, she had to admire the jawline. He was certainly pretty. She hadn’t been able to stop herself from flirting just a bit when she’d gone out to find him.

She wasn’t sure how quick he’d take to pirate life, but he’d learn. Just like the crew would learn to follow the rules for going to the cantina in town. They didn’t like them, they didn’t have to follow them in any other Cantina on Ord Mantell or anywhere else. They would follow them here. She was putting up with a lot in order to get what she wanted. She wasn’t going to allow the ruffians of the fleet to lose it for her.

She reached over and grabbed her datapad, starting some music through the room. Before she could really settle in though, the door burst open and a pile of her girls burst in. Dhytie, a pretty, green Nautaluan jumped onto the bed next to her, “Time to go Tama”

She sat up on her elbows looking at her best friends “Where are we supposed to be going”?”

Her cousin, Cani, a tall purple Twi’lek laughed and started pulling her up. “You’re getting married, whether you like the guy or not, means you get your own ship.”

Cani’s twin Konis threw her jacket at her face “Your own ship and a wedding, it’s an excuse to get drunk and cause some trouble, so get your ass up.”

Kihisa, a lively Chiss woman, who’d been in the doorway with Niyu leaned forward “We already got the ship ready and we got a plan on where to hit. Lucn is covering for us with the Commodore. We’re getting away from this rock for a few hours.”

These were her favorite people in the galaxy. They always had the best ideas. Trouble and drinks were an irresistible combination. She grabbed her jacket and her friends and they rushed out to one of the small ships her mother kept aboard. Niyu already had her holocomm and credit chit and tossed them to her as they left her quarters. They passed her last cousin Lucn on their way. He simply smiled and waved at them as Niyu and Konis pulled her down the hall, clearly in the know about what the plan was. She didn’t need to know the plan with them. Not tonight anyways, she’d planned enough, tonight she was going to celebrate with the girls she’d grown up with. The rest of the crew would be at the festivities. Tonight was for the 6 of them. Well, starting tonight. Technically, she had 60 hours until her mother would need her back. It was time to see how much mischief they could cause. They could probably even push further if they wanted to. She’d always had a nose for trouble. Tonight they were seeking it out for fun.

#my writing #a pirate wife for me #corso riggs #smuggler #corso/smuggler #tama riczu #arranged marriage au #pirate!tama au #swtor #fanfiction #my fics

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thelefthandersdilemma · 4 years ago

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Dining with Hands with Muslims

I didn’t always think about my handedness. Being left-handed means being subjected to a series of minor inconveniences that affects the fabric of everyday life. But it’s mostly invisible. There are times, though, when situations force me to confront my handedness. Like when someone sees me writing and they feel compelled to point out that I’m left-handed. Or when my handedness clashes with another’s culture and deep-seated beliefs. Like in this story I’m about to tell you. Bear with me here, this will be long—mostly because I want the world to meet the man behind the most absurd(?) extraordinary(?) experiences of my life.

Two of my friends and I were flying to India via Kuala Lumpur International Airport. Because it was a cheap flight, there was a 6-hour gap between our arrival in Malaysia and our flight to India. BUT instead of checking in early like responsible young adults, we hung back and waited at the last minute to check in. Like the idiots that we were.

At this point, I must note that Filipinos need a visa to travel to India. You could either get a visa beforehand or get one upon arrival. It’s a long story, but my friends got a visa beforehand while I opted to get a visa-on-arrival. In hindsight, I was the one idiot here.

We took our sweet time and arrived at the check-in counter with only 15 minutes before the flight took off. The girl at the counter looked at my visa-on-arrival papers and paused. She called to her supervisor, shuffled my papers around, and talked between themselves. Then the supervisor looked at me and said, ‘You can’t take this flight’.

What.

‘You don’t have a hotel booking. You need a hotel booking for your visa.’ He went on to explain that if I get denied a visa, the airline would have to shoulder the costs of my flight back to Malaysia. And then I’d have to book a flight back to India. It was too much trouble for everyone involved. He kept looking at his watch.

“But... But...”

‘Look, there’s a computer shop there.’ He points at a shop directly behind us. Does this happen often enough that it actually made sense to put a computer shop right by the check-in counter? ‘Run to that shop, book a hotel, and print it. The flight is in 10 minutes. Go go go!’

So we ran. I rushed to book a hotel, any hotel. But the supervisor burst into the shop and called out desperately, ‘they can’t wait anymore the plane is about to leave!’ Just as I received my booking confirmation.

‘I’m printing it out!’ I shouted just as desperately, watching him herding my two friends to an attendant.

‘We’re not leaving without her!’ My other friend cried out as the escort took them.

‘If you stay here, you’ll all have to buy new flights!’ We were backpacking. I guess we looked the part.

Running, my friend looked back at him and hollered, ‘Take care of her!!!’

‘I will!’, he hollered back.

Jesus Christ. Was I in a movie? It wouldn’t have been more absurd to me if my friend turned into a pillar of salt. But my disbelief waned quickly. I went back to the shop and had my booking printed. It was about 10pm. At least I was in Kuala Lumpur, right? There was bound to be a hotel just a stone’s throw away from here. I walked out of the shop to find the supe standing there, waiting for me. There was no one else to turn to. He took me back to the counter to buy the earliest flight to India. It wasn’t until mid-afternoon the next day.

‘Are there any buses or cabs that could take me to the nearest hotel?’, I asked. Apparently, buses only ran until 10pm. And we were not in Kuala Lumpur. Kuala Lumpur was 45km away. And no taxi would take me there at this hour. And he himself would take me to the nearest hotel. The movie in my head was turning into a thriller real quick.

To prove he was trustworthy, he gave me his business card. Mr. X Nizam. 100% certified employee of Air Asia. Nothing in there about whether or not he liked to kidnap stranded backpackers on the side.

We passed by the bus station and there were people lined up to board it. I don’t remember now if I asked him where those buses were going and why I couldn’t ride those. I just blindly followed this guy to a dark parking lot, gave him my bag, which he dumped into his trunk, and then sat on the passenger seat. I didn’t even realize he had a ‘talking car’.

‘Door unlocked. Door open. Door closed. Door locked.’ It announced ominously, in what I could now only describe as a Hello Kitty voice.

All the blood was draining out of my head as we drove farther and farther from the airport. I had no Internet, my cellphone battery was dying, and I didn’t have the appropriate plug adapter for Malaysia. The road was dark and the ride was long. I had one hand on the door latch and the other on the seatbelt latch. Where was he taking me? To his house? To a dingy motel room?

Then a building with blue neon signage came into view. A hotel! An actual, not-shady-looking hotel! But why was he going in with me? He insisted on carrying my bag and talking to the clerk. He then escorted me to an upper floor. Oh god, what if this was a secret human trafficking ring? He opened the door to a room, dropped my bag inside, and gave me the key. Did I have everything I needed, he asked. I told him about my charger situation. (WHY!)

But he did not cross the threshold. He stayed right outside the door as he bid good night and promised to come by the next morning.

He arrived at exactly 8am the next morning with a plug adapter in hand. We had plenty of time ‘til the flight—he thought he’d take me to a traditional Muslim breakfast and a tour of KL while we waited. By this time, I was 90% convinced that he was not a human trafficking crime lord.

LEFT-HANDER CONTENT STARTS HERE

He took me to a Muslim family eatery. The food choices were all burning red with spice—I couldn’t tell them apart! When I sat on a table with my plate, I immediately got confused.

‘Why aren’t you starting?’ He asked.

‘Where can I get utensils?’

He let out a chuckle and called to a staff, who chuckled along with him. The staff excused herself and went to the kitchen and prepared some utensils for me. ‘We don’t eat with utensils here’, he explained.

‘Oh, are we eating with our hands? I’m sorry, it’s fine! I can do it. I’m a Filipino. I know how to eat with my hands!’ I quickly dipped my left hand in the washing bowl and proceeded to grab some food from my plate.

‘Nooooo!’ He exclaimed, an unmistakable expression of disgust on his face.

‘What?’

‘You don’t eat with your left hand!’

‘Why?’

He lowered his voice in a whisper, ‘that’s what you use to clean your butt when you poo...’

Should I have told him that I was left-handed? That I actually use my right hand to clean my butt? I didn’t. If I did, he’d probably be even more disgusted. Probably lose his appetite too. So I took a deep breath and used my right hand instead. Having breached a major law of hand-eating conduct, he decided to observe as I flailed about with my right hand.

‘You eat like a 5-year old’, he concluded. ‘That’s how I ate when I was 5, before my mom taught me how to eat properly.’

‘You mean there are rules?’ The tide has certainly changed now but during these times and as I was growing up, eating with your hands was looked down upon, especially among the upper-middle class. You definitely won’t see people doing it in restaurants. Even in small family eateries like the one we were in, it would be pretty rare to see someone using their hands to eat. Some people wouldn’t even admit to knowing how to do it. This is of course rooted in our colonial past. In our history class, we were taught that one of the “good things” our colonizers “gave us” were the spoon and fork (and occasionally the knife).

To discover that hand-eating actually has a dignified, deeply-rooted tradition was a revelation to me. It definitely gave me a sense of pride in my cultural identity—an identity that centuries of colonial oppression tried to erase.

’You have to teach me!’ It was one of the most educational dining experiences of my life. One that I will now teach anyone bored enough to read this long-ass post.

Mr X Nizam’s Lessons on Dining with your Hands

Use only one hand*. Your right hand. Because your left hand is “dirty”. X_X

Rest your left arm at the edge of the table across your chest. Place your right elbow on the table and keep it there. Don’t lift it. Only your forearm should move at an angle to reach the food.

If you’re eating meat, pull a small, bite-sized chunk of meat with your fingers. Then pinch some rice and push them in to a small, bite-sized clump at your fingertips.

Use your thumb to push the food into your mouth.

Keep your hands clean. Keep your food on your fingers—absolutely no food should reach your palms. Anything you put on your fingers should go to your mouth.

Remember I mentioned the food being full of spices? Well, it did a number on both of us and we had to run back to the hotel to, erm, relieve ourselves. Don’t you just hate it when you meet someone through strange circumstances and then suddenly you need to drop big noisy ones just hours into knowing each other? I just sat there, enduring the noise he was obviously hearing from the other side of the room. And when I was done, I had to stop, pause, and reflect. Not because I just dropped a deuce noisy enough to wake the entire hotel, but because I now faced a dilemma. A LEFT HANDER’S DILEMMA. *dun-dun*

After what I’ve learned about dining with your hands and the left hand’s place in its etiquette, was I really going to wash myself with my right hand? What if we eat with our hands again for lunch? How would that make me feel then? But I couldn’t use my left hand. I had no idea how to do it. As far as I know, it was always bidet on the left and cleaning on the right. So I had to what was “right” for me. Heh. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and washed with my right hand.

---

*There are some types of food where you’re allowed to use both hands, but there are rules about it. Sadly I can’t remember them anymore. :(

#leftie #lefties #left handed #kamayan #left handed problems #left handers #left handedness

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rosy-wooyoung · 5 years ago

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The incident | Jeong Yunho

Word count: around 3.1k (wow, I’m impressed, it’s the second time I manage to do this lol) Pairing: single mom! reader x doctor! Yunho (I need to calm down with single parents AU) Genre: fluff, light angst if you squint (mostly the reader being sad that her daughter doesn’t have a dad.) A/N: I’m sorry if you find that the fic is sometimes “flat”, I tried to settle the atmosphere to make go at a “normal” pace... I also had this idea of Yunho as a doctor for a while, but @iis4d managed to give me a great ending plot, thank you so much!! The gif isn’t mine and as nothing to do with the fic, he’s just cute there (san too but shht) Disclaimer: I have no absolute knowledge of the medical world so if you see any incoherencies... bare with me.

You were stroking your daughter’s head, a groan of pain escaped from her mouth. After work, you picked her up from preschool and she begged you to take her to the park. You had found a quiet corner near a playground, where she was playing and having fun on the slide as well as the swing. You were sitting at a picnic table in the shade, reading a report to save time for tonight. A piercing scream followed by cries pulled you from your concentration, recognising your daughter's voice. Several adults had rushed to Haerin, who was holding her leg at the foot of the slide, violent sobs shaking her. "Haerin, darling," you whispered, stroking your daughter's head, very worried. You touched her knee and she screamed in pain; her cries crushed your heart, and you were helpless. "You have to take her to the emergency room," a dad said and got you out of your concern. You nodded, trying to stay as calm as possible, not wanting to pass your stress on to your daughter. Trying to lift her in a way that would cause her the least harm, you couldn't help but grimace when Haerin clung to your shoulders. A mother handed her son to her husband and gathered your things for you, wrapping your jacket and bag around your shoulder. You thanked her and headed to your car.

Haerin's sobs didn't subside, screaming in pain despite your careful driving. You avoided the sharp turns and the speed bumps, but nothing helped, she yelled with each car's movement.

"We're there soon, darling, we're going to take care of you, okay? Mommy stays with you." You were trying not to panic and contain your tears, but it was hard with your daughter's sobs that served as background noise to the hospital.

When you got there, you rushed out of the car and opened the back door. "Do you see the doors over there?" You questioned your daughter, unfastening her seat belt. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and nodded, a cry came out of her mouth when you lifted her. “People will take care of you there. It’s their job, they’ll be very nice to you, don’t worry." "Mommy, it hurts." "I know darling, but you're strong, it will be okay, Mommy promises." You walked with your daughter in your arms to the sliding emergency doors and the hospital world overwhelmed you. Everyone was running, screaming some vocabulary you didn't understand, people in beds between life and death were passing by you. A young nurse saw you standing in the middle of the hallway and ran to you. "My daughter," tears came to your eyes as you saw him approach you, your anxiety suddenly taking control of your body, "she fell from the slide, I wasn't looking after her, her leg hurts a lot and-" "Breathe, Madam, we'll take care of your daughter. Hand her to me, I'll put her in a bed.” Despite her pain, Haerin didn't want to leave your arms. She was very shy by nature and had no father by her side, she always had trouble going into the arms of a male relative or your friends. The nurse softly smiled at your daughter's whims, who had plunged her head into the crook of your neck to avoid the eyes of the nurse. "Hey," he said, stroking her cheek with his finger, looking up at you to get her name. You whispered it to him, and he continued, "Haerin, my name is San and I'm here to help you. If you let me carry you, I will put you in a bed and you will feel a bit better. Mommy will follow us, but you two will be more comfortable. What do you think about that?" Haerin pouted at the nurse and looked at you as if she wanted to be sure that she could trust him. You smiled at her, reassuring her that she was safe with him. She nodded and San took her from your arms. She continued to cry but San reassured her by softly rubbing her back while whispering comforting words. Another nurse came to take notes of the incident.

"I'm going to call the paediatrician, but I think your daughter needs an x-ray. Given her screams, her leg must be broken." You nodded, your hands shaking when the nurse handed you a pen to sign some papers. "But don't worry, the paediatrician working here is an expert, he’ll take good care of your daughter." "Thank you, sir." The man smiled at you and left to enter an office, a few doors away from you. You returned to your daughter, who was now lying in a bed, her leg immobilised. She had dozed off and the male nurse was at her bedside. "Your colleague told me it was more serious than it sounds," A tense smile appeared on his lips. "It’s likely yes, but first we’ll see the paediatrician’s diagnosis, he should be there soon." You nodded and sat on the other side of the bed, stroking her cheek.

Someone knocked on the door and entered. A tall man in a white coat and a stethoscope around his neck appeared in the room, holding the papers you signed in his hands. He was followed by the male nurse with whom you spoke in the hallway. "Hello Madam, I am Jeong Yunho and I am the paediatrician that will take of your daughter.” He held out his hand to you which you shook and smiled weakly. The smile he sent back was reassuring, but you didn't pay much attention to it. "So Haerin fell off the slide, right?" "Yes, unfortunately. I was reading a report while she was playing. It's my fault, I haven't watched her enough. If I had paid attention to her, she wouldn't have fallen, and she wouldn't have broken her leg, and all this would not have happened." "Ah kids, you always have to be careful with children, they are real little balls of energy. They sometimes think they are stronger than they are and troubles like that happen. But we're going to take care of it. San, did you give her painkillers?" "Yes," replied San, "but not much given her age and size." Yunho nodded and sanitised his hands. He grabs your daughter's leg with measured delicacy, his digits softly feeling her bones. His neutral face didn't reassure you at all.

"From what I can tell, your daughter has a severely broken leg. I could put a cast on her directly, but I want to be sure of the state of her leg by doing an x-ray, and, according to the result, it will have to be operated. Yeosang, please go prepare one in the paediatric ward. " "Immediately, Sir." The medic named Yeosang left the room, his medical phone in his hand. Yunho turned to you. "Do you have someone, your husband or... I don’t know, a friend who can bring you things in case you have to stay longer than expected?"

You bit your lower lip, doubtful, thinking about who you could call. Under the stressing situation you were currently into, no one came to mind. "I don't know who could help me," you replied, avoiding his gaze. Yunho looked surprised but said nothing. Yeosang entered the room again, warning the doctor that everything was ready. He ordered San to take your daughter there and he removed the brakes from the bed, taking her out with Yeosang's help.

"We're going to do an x-ray and during this time, you can go back home and take all the things you need. We'll take care of her, don't worry." He placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder and you nodded. "I know you are worried about your daughter, but-" "I know who I can call," you suddenly cut him off, fumbling with your pocket as you searched for your phone. You dialled your colleague's number and explained the situation. She immediately agreed and you sighed in relief. You went out to join Yunho who was waiting in the hallway, giving you some privacy while you made your phone call. "Did you find someone?" "Yes, she's coming." "Very well, then. Follow me, it's over there."

Haerin was terrified of going alone in the machine. You were trying to reassure her as best you could, but your anxiety must have shown so much on your face that she was even more opposed to going, tightly holding your hand. You sighed and San gave you a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry, I'm wasting your time..." "You know, we've already had more temperamental children. Those who yell for nothing are much more annoying than your daughter. She is stubborn but she's adorable. And Doctor Jeong has a lot of patience, so don't worry."

The latter approached your daughter and crouched down to be at her eye level. He whispered something to her, taking out a small pink teddy bear from his pocket, waving it in front of her face with a huge smile. He made the little bear speak and your daughter laughed, her cheeks all red. He handed her the plushie which she gently took in her little hands, hugging it close to her. "Yeosang, it's all good, you can hand her to Jongho." You hug your blazer tightly as you watch your daughter’s bed go away with Yeosang and Jongho, apparently the radiologist. He brightly smiled at Haerin, noticing her worried face. San stayed by your side, trying to bring you a sort of reassurance.

"Have you eaten anything? You are livid." San looked at you from the side with a frown, waiting for an answer. "Not since noon," you admitted, still looking at the door your daughter had gone through moments ago. "Go eat something, I don't want anything to happen to you." "But I want to be there when she returns." "It won’t last long, but you have plenty of time to go buy something to eat. Please do it for your daughter, but for you too."

Once you bought a snack and a drink, you were about to close the elevator doors when a familiar figure entered your field of vision. Your colleague was there, holding a travel bag. You called out to her, blocking the doors to get out. "Thank you so much, I will return you a favour for that." "Don't worry about it. I tried to put everything you could need; I hope I didn't forget anything. How is she by the way?" "She's in radiology right now, I'm scared for her." "Will you be okay? Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything." "I hope I will. Thank you so much, you're amazing." She hugged you and left, letting you head again to the elevators to find Haerin.

Ten minutes after entering the room, the door opened onto a bed. Haerin had her whole right leg plastered and she was sleeping, still tightly holding the small pink teddy bear against her. Yunho and San entered your room, the latter blocking the bed wheels and immediately leaving, after smiling at you.

"Your daughter's condition is stable, but her leg was in worse condition than I thought." Yunho opened the file and sat on the chair next to you, showing you the x-rays. He explained that the fall had caused a significant fracture in the tibia, but it had also caused a breach that went up to the knee, hence her hellish howls. “Haerin was very courageous, a true little warrior. The x-ray and the plastering went well, she didn't flinch. However, she needs to stay in the hospital for several more days. Do you think you can stay by her side or...?" "No... no, I'm going to have to take time off from work." Too many thoughts and remorse were jostling in your head, tears coming to your eyes. "I'm such a bad mother." You murmured, bursting into tears. Yunho frowned, closing his file and placing it on the edge of the bed. "Why would you say that?" "If I hadn't read this report, if I had watched her, we would not be there. We would be at home without a broken leg. I take care of her on my own, I have always managed like this since her birth. It's in cases like this that I wish I had someone by my side to help me." "But all of that doesn't make you a bad mother, it's quite the opposite. You are full of courage and talent. You have managed to do everything on your own for the past four years, you can be proud of yourself. It's certainly easier and more practical to raise a child with someone else, but your situation proves that you can also do it alone.” He handed you a tissue to dry your tears, which you gladly took. You could feel that he wanted to comfort you but other than words, he didn’t really know how he could make you feel better.

“Do you work 100% every day or are you sometimes off-peak?" “I work from 8am to 6pm every day, my only off-peak hours are my lunch breaks." Yunho grimaced at your answer. "Well. I will assign the two nurses you saw to look after your daughter and I will come and see her sometimes. Is that okay with you?" "But aren't you overworked?" You wiped your sobs with the back of your hand while clutching the tissue in your other hand, looking up at the doctor. "You know, I'm not the only paediatrician on this service, I can assign tasks to my colleagues. Some take advantage of the fact that I love my job to let me do everything, but I will make them work until Haerin is back on her feet. I can do this to discharge you, there is no problem." "Aren't you going to get into trouble because of us?" "No, I assure you, and that doesn't annoy me at all. Haerin is a nice, polite little girl, you educated her well. She remained calm and quiet when she was asked, it made our job easier, believe me." He smiled and dared to rub your shoulder for comfort. "Thank you, Doctor." You murmured, your voice laced with tears as a shiver ran through your body. “Go home and get some sleep, you have to be healthy for work. Your daughter wouldn’t want to see her Mommy like this. We will keep you updated if there is any problem."

A few long days after her accident, you were relieved to see Haerin awake and in great shape. Yunho and the two male nurses took great care of her, treating her like a princess and she absolutely loved it. This closeness to men she didn't personally know made you realise that, everything would have been easier if she had a father. You sighed, a twinge in your heart appearing, regretting not being able to give her the manly figure she needed. He left you as soon as you told him the happy news. You had hoped he would have come back for her birth, but he never did.

You knew you weren't the only single mom on Earth, yet you couldn't help but feel ashamed when someone mentioned a potential partner you could have or the missing one. You blamed yourself for not having chosen someone trustworthy enough to make him Haerin's father. "Mommy?" A frail voice pulled you from your thoughts, "Mommy, are you crying?" You wiped away your tears quickly and smiled at your daughter. She narrowed her eyes to see you better, the morning rays of the sunshine tapping in her room made her look like an angel coming straight out from Heaven. "No darling, don't worry. Everything is fine." Haerin continued to stare at you, not understanding your sad face. She was too innocent to understand your situation. Preventing her from questioning you further, Yunho and San entered the room. Haerin's face lit up, arms reaching for the two men, her actions surprising you. San ruffled her hair and she wrapped her small arms around Yunho's forearm.

"Haerin! How are you? Did you sleep well?" Yunho looked up, smiling. He saw you, surprised to see you here so early in the morning. "Ma'am! Aren't you at work? I thought that- " "I know, I should be at work, but my boss heard about the accident from my colleague and ordered me to come here. She walked me out of the office and drove me there." You answered with an amused look. "Good, I'm glad you're here." He stared at you with a slight smile, a little too long according to San, who cleared his throat, bringing Yunho back to reality. "Yes, well. Once your daughter is out, she will have to recover by staying still. She's young but small, the crutches are likely to make her tired very quickly. I can either offer you to keep her here for another week or two or send you nursing staff to come and provide care and supervision." Yunho turned to your daughter and gave her a big smile which she immediately returned. "What do you choose, Haerin?" "If I go back to Mommy, will you come home to take care of me?" You almost choked on your own saliva at your daughter's boldness. You frowned and corrected her. "Haerin! This is inappropriate!"

The two men laughed at the situation and Haerin looked at you innocently. "Normally not," Yunho answered, drawing your daughter’s attention again,"but I can visit you and your mom from time to time if you want." "And you don't want to see Yeosang or me?" San added with a pout and smiled at your daughter, tilting his head towards her. You gave her a stern look and San smiled again, his dimples appearing. Haerin didn't know what to say, and honestly neither did you. Before, she was shy around every man she encountered, but here she can't even decide between the three men. "Can't the three of you come?" Haerin whispered and San chuckled. "Haerin." You interrupted the discussion in a firm voice. "We don't live in a mansion and you cannot ask for this! It’s impolite! You should already consider yourself lucky to have one of them coming to see you! I didn't raise you like that." You were embarrassed about your daughter's behaviour, but San shook his head and reassured you with a smile.

"Okay Haerin, I'll come." Yunho turned to look at you. "I hope you don't mind?" "Don't worry, I just hope there will be enough room for three." You murmured. San's cell phone rang, walking out of the room as he answered. Yunho sat down on the chair next to you and turned his back to your daughter. "Are you really sure? I don’t want to be assertive." "No, no. It’s already nice of you to give my daughter so much time, she’s never been that close with a man. And then Haerin will have company, she will be happy. It's the only thing that matters to me."

Yunho nodded, a smile decorating his lips. His cheeks and ears were slightly red. He rummaged in the pockets of his blouse and took out a piece of paper which he handed to you. You discovered a phone number messily written and looked up at the doctor. "It's... this is my private number, call me if you need anything. I'm bringing Haerin home Tuesday afternoon, is that okay?" "It's perfect, thank you very much, Doctor." "Call me Yunho, I think we're going to be spending a lot of time together, from now on." He smiled at you and stood up, waving at your daughter, leaving you in your chair, processing the words he had just said to you.

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flowesona · 5 years ago

Text

Wheel of Fortune - Yandere! Namjoon x reader

The Tarot Series

It had been a relatively uneventful Tuesday when Namjoon stumbled across her for the first time. He’d been reluctant to try online dating, much less looking for a sugar baby, but he was bored and a primitive part of him was lusting for pleasure in a way that adult movies couldn’t fulfill.

Something about her was intoxicating. Maybe it was the warm look inhabiting her (E/C) eyes, or the beautiful smile that tugged at her lips. It was enough to compel Namjoon to message her without a second thought.

KNJ: How’s your day going, beautiful?

His adrenaline slowly settled into an acidic regret, worried that he hadn’t said enough. He should have been more eloquent, more unique, maybe offered her a large sum of money so that he’d be worth her time. Such plagued him for thirty seconds until a shrill tone told him that he’d received a reply.

Adore: Better now that you’re talking to me, handsome <3

Namjoon’s heart thumped, enraptured by her words.

Adore: I’ve been looking for someone like you to take care of me for a long time. Will you be my daddy?

His hands shot to the keyboard much faster than he would have been proud to admit.

KNJ: I’ll give you anything you want, darling.

Adore: You’re amazing, daddy <3

KNJ: Send me your bank details right now.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

He only ever worked for her now. Every second that he spent in his office, slaving away at paperwork was spurred on by the thought that he could satisfy her and draw out that beautiful smile. He’d been rewarded with precious pictures of her, posing as if she was showing her beauty to the world yet he felt that her smile was reserved just for him.

Nothing could end their ‘relationship’. Not even the teasing of his friends, telling Namjoon how he was chasing after a girl who just saw him as a chore, just another man in her harem for her to please. Whilst he brushed those comments away at the time, at night they haunted him until after a few months he reached breaking point.

KNJ: Do you talk to other men?

He sat back in his chair, resisting the urge to bite his nails anxiously.

KNJ: Be honest with me, please.

Those few minutes had been complete agony as he waited for her to reply.

Adore: I have to, daddy. I still love you the most <3

Namjoon hissed through his teeth, hurt by the statement despite thinking he could handle the truth.

KNJ: Am I a fucking joke to you? Nearly a hundred million won and I’m still not worthy of your sole attention?

The sick pleasure that came from scolding her didn’t even out with the sunken feeling in his stomach, leading Namjoon to abandon his computer for once in a blue moon, choosing instead to water his abandoned house plants.

His dejection didn’t last long, however. It had barely been three days before he logged back onto the website, impatiently clicking on his inbox. He was met with nothing from her, just plenty of messages from people eager to take her place. His mind was only on her.

KNJ: Please darling, I’m so sorry about being angry with you. Please just respond to me.

His apology wasn’t enough. No matter how many messages he sent he never received a response. Even after how much love and money he’d showered her with, it wasn’t enough and such made Namjoon want to tear his hair out.

The few selfies she’d sent him had been able to tide him over for a while, become the source for late nights of pleasure. But it wasn’t enough. He needed much more. He needed to see her face in real life, to cradle her body close to his, to act on every dirty promise she’d made to him. The young girl had become the object of a fatal attraction, and she was going to suffer greatly for it.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

The ring of a doorbell drew the young girl away from her gripping book. She abandoned the story to answer it, but was met with a terrifying sight. One of the men that had paid for her college tuition, standing on her doorstep with a bouquet of flowers.

“Is Adore home?” His question was innocent enough, but sent shivers down the woman’s spine.

“I-I think you have t-the w-wrong house.” Her attempts to close the door were thwarted by his superior strength, holding open the door enough to push his way into the house uninvited.

“Where is she?” He was still grasping the flowers, paper crinkling slightly.

“I-I don’t know what y-you’re talking about.” The young woman’s collar was caught in his grasp as he dropped the flowers in favour of searching for something in his pockets until he finally found what he was looking for. A handgun, being held to her chin.

“Where is my Adore?” Namjoon snarled. “Do I need to bring the police into this? I can and I will if need be. They kiss my feet, all of them, and you will too.”

“I’ll talk! There’s just something I need to tell you!” The young woman yelped.

“The thing is- fuck it, I’m Adore. I just used pictures of my friend (Y/N) to get a bit of cash for my student loans. I’m sorry!” Namjoon’s face dropped.

“(Y/N)?” The only thing he could choke out was the name as Adore backed away, reaching for her phone. She was stopped by him grabbing her, shaking her slightly.

“You’re going to tell me everything about (Y/N). We’ll forget about the money I’ve given you if things go smoothly.” Adore nodded, regret for her actions swelling up in the light of how she’d doomed her friend to be the doll of a psycho.

*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*

(Y/N) had been having a relatively peaceful Friday. She was sitting in front of her vanity, applying light makeup in preparation for her tinder date when she heard a loud thump from the hallway. Immediately alarmed, she reached for her keys to defend herself before making cautious steps out of her room.

However, her caution wasn’t enough. When she was only a few steps into the kitchen, glancing around warily, a hand smothered her mouth and another hand tangled in her hair and tugged it back.

Suddenly it was her worst nightmare, as two invaders ignored her flailing and started to talk back and forth.

“We need to get out of here before she does anything.”

“You’ve got it all? Boss will have our head if we’re short.”

“You deal with the girl, I’ll check the list.”

At the mention of being “dealt with” (Y/N) had a rush of adrenaline, determined to survive. She elbowed her attacker in the crotch, successfully sending him reeling backwards.

“Somebody help me!” She screamed, desperately praying that her neighbours weren’t busy and they could hear her.

“You-” The robber scrambled to restrain her. “If boss hadn’t been so specific we could have drugged her or something.”

“Hey!” A shout stopped the fight as the parties saw a man stood in the doorway. It was almost cartoonish the way the criminals backed away, yet the stranger’s attention was not directed to them at all, not even stopping them as they dashed past him out of the door with a sideways glance.

“Are you okay?” The situation was almost fantastical, like fiction, but (Y/N) didn’t dare question her saviour as she took his hand and let him lift her to her feet.

“D-do I know you?” The man hesitated, his muscles tending before they relaxed and he answered.

“Kim Namjoon. I was just checking out an investment potential in this area.” He said smoothly. “But witnessing a robbery makes me a bit more cautious.”

“Y-Yeah, it doesn’t happen all the time, it was just so sudden and I don’t know why they would target me, I don’t even have anything worth taking-” As (Y/N) rambled, Namjoon’s eyes didn’t leave her once. He was unflinched, much too cool for the situation (Y/N) had been petrified over.

“It’s good I was here to help you, (Y/N).” Namjoon stopped for a second, realising what he’d done but the hysterical girl was too caught up in her own mind to notice.

“Do you want some tea to help your nerves?” (Y/N) sniffled and nodded, not even thinking to question his motives or remember the date she had been preparing for before the incident.

“T-Thank you.” She finally managed to say.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m here to help you.” But as he turned his back to prepare the tea, unspoken words lingered in his mind.

‘As long as you’re only mine.’

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