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xreaderbooks · 2 years ago

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All I Breathe (5)

Pair: Azriel x Vanserra Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: mentions of sexual assault, death, violence, ptsd, language

Summary: Y/n recounts her past with her enemy, making a new 'friend', Azriel makes his appearance in the Autumn Court known at the ball. (angst)

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The sound of the door clicking shut made you stir in your sleep, your eyes were crusted by the tears you shed overnight made it twice as hard to open them. You managed to blink the eye that was not on the side of your face nuzzled into your pillow, a familiar tall dark figure made his way over to you and you were suddenly more interested in being awake than asleep. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and the next thing you knew he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

You watch him warily as he fully turns his body to face yours with legs crossed, you wordlessly sat up, matching his position. His silent watchful stare made you feel more vulnerable than you had been last night, it was as if he was afraid you would break if he spoke so much as a whisper.

“I’m not fragile,” Your throat was sore as you spoke. “Say something.”

A mellifluous tune resounded with the one word he replied with, “Something.”

“So you’re a jester now?”

His laugh sang to your heart and you straightened at the odd feeling. You ignored it, your eyes traveling to his spy wear and shot him a look that questioned his presence.

“I thought we should have a check-in on how your end was holding up since we never got the chance to do so yesterday.” He alluded to the both of you not speaking for a whole day after the argument where not-so-kind words were said. You got a flashback of the screaming match where his true feelings towards you were shown. That made it much more difficult to comprehend his actions only a couple of hours ago.

With an exhale you recounted what Beron told you, he listened without a single impertinent remark. “He expects the ‘prisoner’ to be brought to him once you’ve caught him.”

“I’ll handle it,” He says.

“I could help,” You offered hesitantly.

His tone held finality, “I said I’ll handle it.”

You didn’t care if he said he’d handle it, if there was one way to prove you could be of use to your new court, to prove your worth; you would formulate a plan so that Azriel’s main focus could be the alchemist. You could deal with your family but for now, you would let Azriel believe you won’t play a part in it.

You cleared your throat, “I suppose if we are to be allies, you deserve an explanation as to what happened last night.”

“There’s no need-” He started.

“It would make me feel better if we share even the tiniest bit of information about our lives, I can’t trust someone to ‘handle’ something if I don’t know the person I’m trusting.” You persuaded, “It is the reason you can’t stand to be near me after all.”

He didn’t move an inch in response, simply watching you in quiet contemplation as you began to tell your story. “Before I was a spy for Tamlin, I worked for my brothers. I was coerced into their plans of entrapping men who owed them money or who had committed crimes, anyone who escaped them. Whether they had conned their way out of my brothers' grasp or if they were imprisoned and pardoned, if my brothers wanted them it was my job to get them. They made me wear the most attractive dress and made certain my face was painted in a way that would capture the attention of any male. They controlled what I ate, ensured that I train if only so that my figure be the suitable size.”

Your lips curled in distaste, “They taught me the best ways to seduce a male to bed though they never let them get that far. Eris said I wouldn’t be useful if I were spoiled goods, if word got out nobody would want me, not that I cared at least if I were ‘spoiled goods’ it would all stop. They never let them get close enough to do that damage but they definitely got close, too close for my liking and yet not close enough for my brothers to stop them.” Azriel's chest rose and fell in a rhythm you weren’t sure if he was breathing correctly.

“Every night I would take them to a hostel owned by my brothers, after some flirting and a couple touches that made me want to bathe in poison, some were easier to persuade than others. Once I had them pursuing me to the same room that I would take every other male, my brothers would be just around the corner. I swear sometimes they would wait longer just to torture me.” You scoffed at the memory of one night when you plead to the mother they would come quickly, from what you knew of the male he was a thief and a horrible person and loved to touch you in places you always made sure to set your boundaries. Most of them respected it, depending on the male, and until you got to the room it wasn’t a problem.

“One night I had to capture the attention of a lesser fae around my age who owned a carpentry shop left by his father who was very much in debt. He didn’t fall for any of my usual tricks, in fact, he laughed and asked me if I really thought he was that easy. I told him that most are, he got serious after that and offered to walk me to where I was staying, he didn’t know that I was the high lord’s daughter then or that I was sent to lure him into his death. He asked to see me again the next day and every day after that.” You smiled as tears welled in your eyes, “We were together every day for half a year, after the first three months I confessed to what brought me to his store and he confessed to having already fallen in love with me. Even after I told him the truth he still loved me and I loved him, Gods I loved him more than I ever loved anything. Like everything else in my life, it was ripped away from me by my brothers. When they found out about him they tore him apart, I found Lucien near where they dumped his body, they knocked him out so he couldn’t stop him.”

“I had to follow through with every male that they told me to pursue, they let them have their way with me and did whatever they wanted to the guy after. It was my punishment, Lucien couldn’t step in or they threatened to kill me. I played my part for years until Lucien met Jessminda. My father murdered her and soon Tamlin was stepping in and took me and Lucien in. Tamlin and I faked a courtship and marriage for my protection, Lucien became his emissary, and the rest you already know.”

Azriel’s nostrils were flared, and his eyes held something within them that you have seen directed at you far too many times to mistake for anything other than pure rage, though this time you weren’t sure why. “Did they do that to you?” His gaze rested on your eye that had a going from a couple of inches above your brow to your cheekbone.

You shook your head, “Amarantha. She wanted Tamlin for herself and when he denied her, his excuse being me- his wife- with a nail, she cut deep enough to leave the scar. The same eye as Lucien’s to match. The humorous part of it all was she wanted to make Tamlin despise looking at me because of how hideous I look now when he never wanted me in that way.”

There was a tension in the air you didn’t think either of you wanted to address, you climbed out of bed and tied your hair back. You glanced around the room hoping to find something else to focus on. Some invisible force drew you to him, you resisted and instead noticed how his fists were clenched so hard they were white. His hands were covered in scars, you’ve noticed them before but never cared to ask the story behind them.

For an inexplicable reason, his rage made you want to tear the world apart, to try and ease the ire he had in his heart, you sat directly where he was with his legs crossed. His back tense and his wings stiffly folded in, your hand reached for his hand reluctantly. His skeptical gaze made you want to retreat but you would not falter, not after all that you shared.

You made him unclench his fingers taking his large scarred hand into both of yours and to your surprise he let you. “Tell me what haunts your dreams, Shadowsinger,” You say.

“I do not take orders from demanding little girls,” He fakes an authoritative tone yet doesn’t pull away. Your mouth widens into a smile, gratified to hear him joke with you.

“Little girl!” You snorted. “That’s a new one.”

Shock displayed on his face, “That’s a new laugh.”

“You wouldn’t know, now would you?”

“I suppose not,” The solemn expression was brought back. You cursed whatever force tore down the wall of fury you had whenever you were around the spymaster. All you wanted was to hear the sound of his laugh and not the bitter bite of his words. “My brothers burned my hands when I was eight.”

Your hands went slack in his, pieces of the puzzle that was Azriel formed in your mind, that was why he couldn’t touch you. Last night was an exception but the reason he was so distant, the reason he refused to touch you not only because he hated you but because you were made of fire. You lived with fire in your veins, the power that burst out of you when you were hurt or angry, Azriel had multiple reasons to hate you and this one made the most sense.

With that in mind, you released your hold on his hand. Everything was taking formation in your mind, fragments of moments you had spent with Azriel, you and he are more alike than you thought. Your brothers, his and yours, were assholes.

“They were also older and didn’t much care for me, their mother kept me locked in a dungeon for 11 years and barely let me see my mother for more than an hour once a week.” He concentrated on telling you the story, and a crease formed on his brow. Though you couldn’t stand him on a daily basis with his baseless comments on who you are as a person, you felt for him. The more you learned about him, the more his treatment of you made sense. You still wanted to throttle him but there was a part of you that felt him.

A short knock on your door and what sounded like a note slid under the gap of your door. Azriel went to retrieve it, handing it to you with a letter opener. You sliced it open, it was a letter from Eris, informing you of the ball your father was hosting tonight in your and Azriels’ honor.

Azriel was expected to arrive in the Autumn Court tonight and clearly to make an appearance at the ball. You couldn’t remember the last time you attended a revel, it was sure to be interesting and you had to admit to being excited in seeing the shadowsinger in that setting. The fact that it was your family hosting it wasn’t ideal, however, it seemed to be the only time the people of Autumn got to enjoy themselves.

“We are to attend a ball this evening,” You handed the opened letter to him your fingers brushing. You were keenly aware of how much contact you were making with him.

He placed the letter down on your writing desk by your door, he opened your wardrobe, you didn’t realize he had a black bag in there. He unzipped it and pulled out his knives, strapping them to their sheaths on his body. “If you need a weapon don’t hesitate to take any from in here. I’ll be back in time for the introductions.”

With that he faded into his shadows, winnowing away to his mission.

~~~

You slowly made your way down the steps to the ballroom, it had been dressed to fit the occasion. Dark velvet colors, gold trimming, all autumn-themed colors. A feast of food laid out on the tables that lined the walls, servants waiting on stand-by to serve. Those who were at the meeting had brought their families, villagers from the market were invited, it was a large party that you hadn’t been a part of in a long while.

Unfortunately, you knew that once a certain hour came, the families will depart and the revelry will truly begin. Strangers would be found the next morning on the ground, still drunk on faerie wine or other worse scenarios you didn’t want to conjure up in your mind yet.

You were late to the main introduction, not that it was needed but Beron like Rhysand (as you’ve witnessed in the Court of Nightmares) liked to make a show and parade his children to the crowd.

You felt a tug come from somewhere deeper into the crowd, a certain coldness around your ankle, you couldn’t see what it was even if you wanted to. You wore a long red off-the-shoulder satin lace ball gown, courtesy of Beron. The servants brought in the dress as soon as they were down making up your face with dark kohl around your eyes and a red rouge, and dressing your hair down with two strands that framed your face and two thin braids that met in the back of your head, held together by a ruby hair clip.

He wanted to show you off to the Court, show them the daughter (he couldn’t care less about) that was their princess, you were home and it would give them someone to celebrate.

As soon as you entered the chatter around you paused. You didn’t expect to be greeted the way you were, bows and curtseys to your feet were given as you passed and stopped when you reached your father.

At his throne, beside him your mother was sitting, Beron had his hand in hers no doubt halting her from going to you. You curtseyed as low as you could, knowing it would please him, maybe if you did things his way just this one night- he would let you speak to your mother. He waved his hand lazily, careless of your efforts, and signaled for the music to continue.

That was when you went in search of the spymaster. It was surprisingly hard to find him, even with the invisible force that drew you to him as a moth to a flame, the females that had formed a line around him hid him better than his shadows could. You stifled your laughter as you saw his fluster. There was no doubt he could get the attention of any female he wanted by just a look- though you would never tell him that aloud- you were puzzled by the sudden shyness.

The cold whisper came back, this time around your neck beckoning you his way. You conceded and made your presence clear to the females around him, they cleared a path for you, not daring to get in the Princess’ way.

You could sense their lack of hope when you reached your enemy, not that they knew you had no interest in him and that they could have him. Part of basked in the fact that for now, at this moment, he was begging for you to save him.

“Enjoying yourself are you?” His jaw was set a look of annoyance in his eyes.

“Quite so, yes. They appear to be fond of you.” You teased.

He grimaced, “They wouldn’t be if they knew what I was up to just two hours before this.”

“Sounds like it would be an interesting story then,” You held your hands behind your back and peered up at him eager for him to give you the details. “Do tell.”

He shot you a look that you knew meant he definitely wasn’t going to tell you what you wanted to hear, especially not in front of guests. His arms were folded, completely guarded, he wasn’t at the Night Court but he was entirely vigilant for any sign of a threat.

You sighed, “Do you ever have fun?”

He gave you a side-eye. You scrunched your nose up at him in response, which got him to lessen the harsh lines on his face. “It’s a party, Shadowsinger.”

His tone was quiet as it always was, but somehow even more so, “You know it’s not just some party, Y/n.”

You gave out an exasperated breath and rolled your shoulders, “I just saved you from the clutches of bloodthirsty females and this is how you repay me?”

“Your court, your people, your problem.” He shrugged.

“First of all no to all of that,” You glanced at the refreshments table where you longed for a drink but your brothers were surrounding it like sharks. “Second, I’d be most appreciative if you brought me a drink, I’m parched and though I may regret this comment later- you’re the only one I trust to bring me an unpoisoned drink. Nor do I think they would dare poison you.”

His gaze softened as he walked to the pool of sharks without question.

~~~

A circle of fae was created to make room for dancing the quadrille, though you weren’t fond of where you were currently and the dress made to prove you were owned by your father, you clapped along and laughed with everyone. You watched in amusement as a little girl twirled around the couples, strategically maneuvering through, giggling as she went.

You paused mid-clap, your smile fading as you saw the girl about to faceplant into the ground. Panic struck as you saw Eris catch her from tripping, he held her tiny wrist and spun her around once sending her on her way. He straightened his lapels and his posture, heading in your direction. You prepared yourself for what would most likely be an interesting interaction. Azriel who took it upon himself to be a sort of bodyguard for you in the truce you both agreed on, went to the washroom, so you had no comfort.

“Allow me a dance?”

He didn’t give you a chance to respond as he pulled you into a respectable distance, a hand on your waist and the other in yours. The position was familiar as he was the one who gave you dance lessons when you were as young and loved as the girl he’d just saved. A light tune played by the string quartet was in the background as you routinely flowed around the ballroom.

“The dress compliments you, Sister.” Eris took both of your hands in his and pushed you outwards then inwards, giving you a twirl, and stopped to where your back was to his chest, swaying to the right and again to the left. He spins you again to his front, “You’ve gotten better.”

“You look quite stately yourself, brother.” The name tasted bitter in your mouth but if he was behaving, so would you, there was a show to be put on anyhow. “And what with how seriously you took my education in the waltz, how could I not?”

He looked almost proud at how you’ve kept up, a deep part of you preened at the thought. Others who were on the floor struggled to keep up with the pace you and your brother had set.

“He won’t allow you near her until you bring him what he wants,” He whispers in your ear. Of course not, you school your features to hide your furious thoughts. Your mother was your only weakness, the only kind soul who loved you and your brother, Lucien.

Azriel wanted to capture and deliver the ‘escaped prisoner’. You weren’t going to let him do it on his own in the first place, this only gave you more reason to disobey the orders that he had conveyed. You would find a criminal as you always had and lure him into a trap, one you would have to figure out later and deliver him to your father.

Your mind wandered as you floated through the rest of the dance. With a final bow to your partner, Eris spoke softly as he passed you “He hasn’t stopped admiring you since you walked into the room.”

You whipped your head around but he was gone, worming his way around the excited bunch of fae by the refreshments.

The song had ended and a longways dance was set up, more people joined making a long vertical line from the throne to wear the door was. What shocked you was that Azriel had joined on the male side of the line, you kept your position, and you knew the surprise was written all over your features.

A barely visible smirk whispered on his lips as your bodies passed each other in the first line switch, your backs turned, and your hands found his as you moved to the music. You hopped along with the other fae, switching partners and giggling as you went. The same pattern sequenced; facing your new partner, right wrist barely touching theirs then your left- switching sides with a turn, footwork with energetic hops, pulling in-pulling out, and moving on to the next.

It happened twice more before you were finally met with Azriels beautiful face. Your chest heaved from breathing heavily, and your heart raced, pounding like horses running in an open field. You felt euphoric from the air, the dancing, the energy- him. No, not him. You quickly shut down those thoughts.

“Are you alright?” He stepped in your direction.

You took a step back, nodding your head with enthusiasm. “I’m amazing, I didn’t know you could dance.”

He didn’t look convinced by the state of you, he placed a hand at the small of your back and guided you away from the crowd. “Hardly.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” You teased further.

With the way his gaze held yours, you suddenly couldn’t find yourself making eye contact with him. Your corsets felt like they were suffocating you, “I’m going to go to freshen up.”

You didn’t give him a chance to answer as you fled. You wanted to see your mother, she was the only person who could tell you what was wrong with you, the only person you could trust. She was granted leave by your father and escorted out of the ballroom before your dance with Eris.

You wandered along the halls, assuring your steps were quiet but with every corner, you turned you felt yourself being followed. You tested your theory by going the long way to your mothers' chambers, whoever it was that was pursuing you either didn’t care that you knew they were following you or is just plain lousy at their job.

You took a right and attached your back to the wall to catch your stalker off guard, hoping to gain an advantage. You heard the heavy footing of your pursuer and went in for the attack only to be slammed onto the wall opposite where you posted yourself.

“You forget where you learned all your tricks, Y/n.” Your second eldest brother sneered close enough to your face you could smell the faerie wine on his breath. He held your left wrist in a tight grip behind your back. You bared your teeth at him as you inched your other hand to the dagger you had hidden under one of the layers of your skirt.

He tsked in mock disappointment, “You know you’re not allowed near her. For someone who acts like they're smarter than the rest, you don’t seem to think.”

“It’s awfully bold of you to question my wits,” You tilted your head to the left.

“You came back for a reason” He glared suspiciously, “Are you here to take your revenge? Is that why you’re with them, with him? You’re going to finish us off with the executioner you brought with you and end us all.”

“What are you going on about?” You had no clue what wild insinuations your brothers or your father held in their small brains, you supposed you should be glad that they were so far off the true reason for your appearance.

If he wanted to be paranoid about you wanting to take revenge for his maltreatment of you when you were a child, then so be it.

He pulled you from the wall and slammed you against the wall so fast your neck bent back enough for your head to hit the stone. “Answer me!” He shouted.

You managed to grip the tip of the dagger’s handle, and with a flick of your wrist, you sliced the knife against his abdomen. He let go of you if only to observe his wound, you cut deep enough to draw blood, lots of it.

“You bitch!” He growled and lunged for you, yet he never got the chance to touch you.

A shadowed figure with great big wings had knocked him to the floor, Azriel held a lethal aura, he lifted your brother by the collar of his shirt and had him against the wall the same way he had you, except, his forearm was pressed against his throat. His tone in every way threatening, the murderous fury in his hazel eyes meaning every word.

“Touch my mate again and I will kill you.”

Mate.

Betrayal, pure betrayal you didn’t deny yourself, you didn’t hide your thoughts from him. You let it show in every line of your face, every movement of your body. You took several steps back, disbelief was the one true emotion that didn’t allow you to process.

“Y/n-”

“No, don’t come near me.”

He was overwhelming you with his scent, everything about how you were recently feeling around him now made sense. All your senses came into place the night you touched for the first time. Now all you could think about was; how long had he known. Why would he keep this from you? When did the bond snap into place for him?

You left him standing there with your brother who was frozen with fear. You turned your back on him and went to find your mother.

The guards standing post at her door reluctantly let you in, she was sitting in front of her balcony, just now removing her jewelry. At the sight of you, she dropped everything and opened her arms, receiving you in a hug.

~~~

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fanfics4all · 4 days ago

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Bruises

Request: Yes / No Thank you @badthingshappenbingo for my card!

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Alicia Clark x Male!Reader

Word count: 1868

Warnings: Physical abuse and Sexual abuse

Y/N: Your Name

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Alicia has been my best friend since we met in elementary school. She was always the sweetest and was the only one who befriended me. I was always an outsider in school because I was ‘nerdy’ looking. I had the glasses, always had my nose in a book, and was really shy until she came along. Alicia helped me get out of my shell and I couldn’t be happier. Sure I was still the ‘nerdy’ guy, but I wasn’t as shy anymore. People stopped making fun of me so much and I got a girlfriend. She was way out of my league as people would say, but we didn’t care. It was all nice in the start until she started slowly changing. I thought she was just stressed about all the tests at school, but boy was I wrong. It started with her being a bitch during our study sessions.

“You really are a nerd, huh?” She asked with a slight sneer. I looked at her confused, but she quickly smiled and giggled.

“Maybe you could just do this shit for me.” She pushed her schoolwork towards me. I shook my head and gently pushed it back.

“If you don’t do it, you’ll never learn it.” I said with a small smile. She glared at me and shoved it back at me.

“Listen here, you’re gonna do my work and get me good grades or there’s gonna be some consequences.” I was so confused.

“Kelly, what are you talking about?” she just laughed.

“You do my work and I’ll reward you like the good boy you are, but if you don’t I’m gonna punish you.” I tilted my head like a lost puppy and tried to wrack my brain on what she was doing.

“Huh?” She rolled her eyes. She smacked me in the face and my glasses were crooked from the impact. I stared at her with wide eyes as she pushed her homework right in front of me.

“Now, be a good boy a get to work.” I looked down at her work and just blinked a few times.

“Well? Do you wanna get hit again?” I gulped and decided I would just do the work and chalk this up to her being kinky right now or something. She smiled as she saw me starting to work.

“Good boy… Now I can reward you.” She crawled under her desk, I stared at her with wide eyes as she settled between my legs and pulled my half-hard cock out.

“This is it? Pathetic.” She said but put it in her mouth anyway. I gasped as I felt my first blowjob begin. I closed my eyes and rested my head back. She pulled her mouth off after a few seconds and bit my thigh hard.

“Ow! What the hell?” I asked, looking down at her.

“I told you to do my fucking work, now do it.” She gave me a harsh glare. I quickly picked up the pen again and got back to work. It was hard to focus as she sucked my cock, but every time I didn’t she would hit me or bite me. I wasn’t sure this was how I wanted my first blowjob to go, but Kelly was so much hotter than I was and she was a lot more popular too, I guess I would just suck it up for now and try and enjoy myself.

After that day everything in our relationship changed, Kelly became both verbally and physically abusive. She would make fun of me in front of her friend and wave it off as just joking. She would force me to do her work all the time and hit me if I didn’t. I tried leaving once and that just ended with her yelling and hitting me.

“You’re a fucking nobody, Y/N! You’re just a fucking loser and should be kissing the fucking ground I walk on for even giving you the time of day!” She shouted and threw a shoe at me. It hit me in the neck and really fucking hurt. I was just so happy the heel didn’t hit me because that could have penetrated my skin. There was a nasty bruise, but Kelly just passed it off as an awesome hickey she gave me. I was trapped and scared. I knew I had to get help and I knew Alicia would be the one to help me.

After I left Kelly’s place for the night I rushed over to the Clark household. I knocked on the door and Alicia answered with wide eyes. I probably looked crazy since I was crying and shaking. She instantly pulled me inside and sat me on the couch.

“What’s wrong?” I sighed.

“K-Kelly is crazy…” I whispered.

“I could have told you that.” She chuckled but saw how serious I was.

“Hey, come on, what happened?” She gently touched my arm and I flinched, her eyes widened.

“Y/N, please talk to me.” She begged.

“Kelly has been hitting and sexually abusing me for months…” It felt so good to say it out loud.

“What!? I’m gonna kill that bitch!” She growled.

“No! Alicia, she’s crazy!” I grabbed her hands.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna let her touch you ever again. I’ll take care of it.” I shook my head.

“No… she’ll hurt you too.” She gripped my hand tighter. I could see anger in her eyes, the fierce determination, She was ready to fight for, something I hadn’t felt from anyone in so long.

“Y/N listen to me, you don’t have to be scared anymore.” Her voice was gentle but firm.

“You’re safe here, and I’m not gonna let her hurt you ever again.” I tried to look away, the shame of it all catching up to me, but Alicia tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet her gaze.

“You don’t deserve any of that.” She said softly.

“She has no right to treat you like that and you shouldn’t have to carry this alone.” The relief of finally letting it out, to finally feel heard and understood, was overwhelming. I felt tears welling up again, but for once they were tears of relief. Alicia held me as I cried, her arms strong and steady.

“We’re gonna figure this out, okay? You’re not alone, I promise.” She whispered, running her hand gently along my back.

Alicia helped me make a plan, and for the first time, I started to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could be free. With her by my side, I felt hope for a new beginning, one without fear, where I could finally feel safe and whole again.

“My Mom will know exactly what to do. She’s dealt with people like Kelly before, and once she’s involved, I promise, Kelly won’t be able to come near you again.” I hesitated. I trusted Madison, I knew she was strong, but letting anyone else in on this felt terrifying. Alicia seemed to sense my hesitation and her grip on my hands tightened.

“Whatever you decide, Y/N, I’m here for you. We can go to Mom if you want, or we can take it slow. I just want you to feel safe.” Her words wrapped around me like a warm blanket.

“Okay…” I slowly nodded.

“Okay, let’s talk to her. But… can we do it tomorrow?” Her face softened and she smiled reassuringly.

“Of course. You can stay here. I’ll make sure you’re comfortable. We can deal with everything else in the morning.” A wave of relief washed over me, and I allowed myself to exhale, feeling a little lighter. Alicia stood up, gently guiding me toward the guest room, but I paused, looking back at her.

“Thanks for everything, Alicia.” She pulled me in for a quick, reassuring hug.

“You’re my best friend, Y/N. I’d do anything to make sure you’re safe.”

The next morning, I woke up with a faint sense of dread. The events of the night before rushed back as I blinked away sleep. But there was also a sense of calm and safety that I hadn’t felt in months. I knew today would be hard, but with Alicia by my side, I felt like I could face it.

I made my way into the kitchen, finding Alicia and Nick sitting at the table. There were three mugs of coffee and a plate of pancakes sitting in the middle to share. Madison was at the stove finishing the rest of the pancakes. Alicia looked up and gave me a gentle smile.

“Morning, how’d you sleep?” She asked, handing me a mug. I took a sip, savoring the warmth.

“Better than I have in a while.” I admitted with a small smile. She gave me a reassuring nod and reached across the table to squeeze my hand. Nick raised a brow, but Alicia just shook her head at him. He shrugged and continued to shovel pancakes into his mouth.

After breakfast, Nick left and it was just me, Alicia, and Madison sitting at the table. Alicia and I shared a look, and she gave me a nod, silently encouraging me.

“Mom, can we talk to you about something?” She asked. Madison’s gaze shifted between the two of us, her expression immediately serious.

“What’s going on?” I took a deep breath, feeling my hands tremble slightly, but Alicia reached over and held one.

“Mrs. Clark, I’m… I’m in a bad situation.” I began, struggling to find the words.

“My girlfriend, Kelly, she’s… she’d been abusive. She hits me, yells at me, makes me feel like I’m nothing… and she… she forces me to do sexual things. I… I don’t know how to get out.” Madison’s face tightened, a flicker of anger flashing in her eyes, but she kept her voice calm and controlled.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry you’ve been going through this. You did the right thing by coming to us. No one deserves to be treated like that. We’ll help you, promise. Do your parents know?” She asked and I shook my head.

“No… Mom’s been dealing with Dad moving out because of the divorce and I just… I didn’t know how to tell her…” She nodded.

“We should tell her, but we can keep it between us for now.” I felt a wave of relief, but the fear was still there, gnawing at me.

“Kelly… she’s dangerous, Mrs. Clark. I’m scared she’ll come after me if I try…” Madison leaned forward, her expression fierce and determined.

“Then she’ll have to go through me first. I’ll make sure she knows that if she ever tries to lay a hand on you again, she’ll be sorry.” Alicia nodded, squeezing my hand tighter.

“We’ll keep you safe, Y/N.”

Madison helped contact some friends who could help get me a temporary restraining order against Kelly. She even said I could stay with them until I felt safe again. Alicia was by my side every step of the way, her support unwavering. Madison convinced me to let her talk to my Mother and explain everything that was happening.

“You’re taking your life back.” Alicia whispered a proud smile on her face.

#fanfic #prompt #fear the walking dead #fear the walking dead imagine #alicia clark #alicia clark imagine #alicia clark x male!reader #alicia clark x reader #alicia x reader #alicia x male!reader #tw: bruises #tw bruises #bruises #bad things happen #bad things happen bingo #tw: abuse #tw: abuse mention

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littledollll · 2 years ago

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Little angel

Lucifer Morningstar x little!angel!reader

Request by @shesgaysandtheys: Can you write a Lucifer × little space reader where the reader is an angel and a gift from god as a lover for Lucifer because Lucifer helped god with something? Lucifer is happy to oblige as their caretaker once they learn about their little space?

Warnings: none I can think of, pls mention if u think I should add any

I’d like to mention this is 100% sfw, even though I write nsfw I will never mix agere and nsfw together, do not sexualize age regression it’s a coping mechanism. If you don’t like it, if you think it’s weird scroll.

A/n: this was an absolute joy to write, it was honestly a breeze once I got the start down, I love doing agere stuff it’s so cute and there’s not enough of it out here.

Read part two

Lucifer usually didn’t accept requests from God. Why would they? But when the requests is help with a common enemy they decided to take Him up on the offer, after all, a little extra help would never hurt, and having God himself owe them a favor? That was sure an offer nobody would dare ignore. As payment for their cooperation and help, God sent them an angel. “The purest, truly, beautiful and with a heart that loves all.” He described, Lucifer wouldn’t pass this up.

____

“Are you here willingly, angel?” Was the first thing they asked you, tone oddly soothing, caring, which confused you at first considering all you’ve heard about them. “Truly, I didn’t have much of an option.” Even though your words were bitter they sounded soft, Lucifer smiled at that, seems like God didn’t know you all that well, ironic.

“Do you not wish to be here?” They asked, and you smiled at their concern, you already like them more than you anticipated. “I never said that, Lucifer.” You were playful, unafraid to speak, carefully thought out words but not filtered or sugarcoated. Your first meeting, and they already liked you.

The following weeks had been full of conversations, dinners, othertimes just keeping eachother company, sometimes Lucifer would even admit to missing your presence whenever you didn’t come around, though they respected your space and privacy, they understood wanting to be alone sometimes, they just didn’t know the reasoning, and you never gave one, which they again respected.

By contract you were meant to be lovers, but thankfully Lucifer actually had an interest in you, to know you and spend time with you, not just lay with you and show you off as a gift from God, maybe to them you were just something to keep them busy or from being lonely but you somehow knew that wasn’t the case. You felt comfortable with them, so much so that it became a problem with hiding your regression, you felt safe, taken care of, and would sometimes slip unintentionally into that younger headspace, making up a random excuse to get scurry away and hide.

Though you grew to trust them you never really knew how to bring up the topic of your regression, if it was rare in humans it was even more rare in angels, you were afraid of being rejected, judged, so it was a secret. It didn’t help that Lucifer’s caring nature (at least towards you) made you want to slip, they treated you gently at all times, not because they thought you were weak but just because they thought you deserved it, some sense of comfort in hell itself.

The relationship grew and you found yourself actually fitting into the label of “lovers”. And while you loved every second of that, soon after the questions started coming, of course they had a right to know, as your partner where you ran off to at random times during the day and why. You put it off, always with the same answer. “Maybe one day, I’ll tell you” you appreciated they wouldn’t push any further after that.

And one day, the secret was out. They always sought you out for comfort, not really asking anything of you but your presence. With a stressful day came the end of your year-long secret. Your old quarters from when you first came to hell had become your hideaway to regress now that you shared a room. They were speaking when they came in, which got cut off when they took in the sight of you.

Sat crisscross on the floor in front of a coloring book, a blanket safely wrapped around and on you, different supplies and toys scattered around you, bottles, pacifiers, stuffed animals, a lot of those, they took a mental note of that. An open case in the corner, they guessed that’s where you keep everything. You’d never been caught before, you honestly didn’t know what to do and you were currently far too small to think of an excuse and play pretend. Your eyes just welled up in tears threatening to spill and they immediately ran over, sat on the floor, pulling you into their arms when they took notice of that. You clung to them.

“Oh don’t cry little angel, please don’t cry. You have nothing to be scared or embarrassed of. You could have told me love, is this where you run off to? Every time you hide, because of this?” You sniffled and nodded into their chest. “Little one, you’re alone when you’re small? My precious little angel all alone, you could’ve told me darling, it’s okay” you slightly parted to look at them, Lucifer wiped your tears away and kisses your head waiting for you to speak. “dont think its weird?”

They practically beamed at you, Lucifer, smiling, openly, joyfully. Think about that for a second. “Weird? Little one you are absolutely adorable, you’ve immediately made my day.” Now it’s your turn to beam at them. You giggled hiding your face again this time out of shyness. “I am upset about one thing though” you looked at them wide eyed despite their playful tone. “You’re telling me you’re running off and replacing my company with all of them?”

They glared at your stuffed animals, you giggled again. “Nu-uh, cant replace luci” Lucifer feared their heart would burst right then. “Luci?” They questioned. “mhm mhm, u wanna meet them!?” Your attention span was certainly shorter since you completely ignored their questioning after simply stating that yes, this was your name for them. You ran jumped off their arms and went on to point and name all of your plushies, introducing them all to “luci! u know bout them!”

They chuckled. “Did you tell them all about me?” “mhm mhm they know all da secrets! Shhh.” They exaggerated a gasp. “All of them!? Are they good at keeping secrets? Because those are very important little one” You looked offended. “‘course they are, u didn find out bout me till now!” They nodded in understanding, truly you made a good point. “Very true I guess I can trust them too, then.”

You nodded excitedly. “Can you promise me something, little angel?” Lucifer asked and you muttered a small “depends” with a mischievous look on your face. “I’m definitely questioning you on that answer later, but for now. Can you promise to tell me when you slip? Don’t hide away from me little one, allow me to take care of you, not just this once, I’d like to be your caregiver.” You tilted your head at them. They found it adorable. “u wana?” And once they nodded you ran up and hugged them again.

You held up your pinky and they gave you a confused look. “pinki promis.” You stated as a fact. “Oh of course!” They laced their pinky with yours. “cant never ever break that” “I wouldn’t dream of it, My little angel.” Lucifer briefly looked around the room before they spoke again. “Now why don’t we go through all your stuff so I know all about what you have and need. We can also get you some new things, how about that, tiny?”

You pouted. “Tiny?” “Are you trying to tell me you aren’t?” You crossed your arms. “Meanie, m telling all my plushies bout this. u in big trouble.” They kissed your forehead and nodded. “I’ll deal with the consequences of my oh so terrible words gracefully, little angel.”

Read part two

#the sandman #the sandman lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar the sandman #sandman lucifer #lucifer sandman #Lucifer sandman agere #cg!Lucifer sandman #sfw agere #sandman agere #lucifer morningstar (the sandman) x reader #the sandman lucifer #lucifer sandman fluff #cg! sandman lucifer #Little angel (Lucifer x little!reader)

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karahofthedawn · 2 years ago

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You Owe Us One (part 7) - Our Girl

Fred Weasley / George Weasley x reader

Y/N gets approached by her ex, who is extremely jealous of the scene at the Yule Ball.

Protective Fred and George.

Words: 3.6k

**Contains some violence and physical assault.**

No smut in this one, just slowly building towards an idea with these chapters.

I wanted to thank everyone who reblogs and takes the time to even read my stuff. It keeps me going, and I have had such an absolutely lovely experience on this platform so far.

The golden rays from the morning light light up the Hufflepuff dorm and cascade where you lay wrapped up in your comforter. Nobody noticed that you had left on the night of the Yule Ball, though that didn’t stop the questions about you snogging George Weasley in the middle of the dance floor. So far, you’ve been able to dodge the biggest question of all: “Is he your boyfriend?”

Truth be told, you aren’t entirely sure if you are or not. The brothers said they would ‘share’ you, which put an end to their rivalry with each other, though they had never specifically stated that they wanted it to be an official relationship. The time and place hasn’t worked itself out yet for you to clarify it either. Between classes and excitement of the next part of the tournament, it was hard for you to even meet with them. The nice thing is that The Weasley brothers do take the time to greet you in the Great Hall every morning. That was a step up from being unsure if they’d even want to acknowledge you around others or not.

You sit up and run your fingers through your knotted hair as you gaze out the window. Soft fluffy clouds float through a bright blue sky. Fresh snow had fallen overnight, leaving a smooth untouched blanket of white over the grounds. You go over what your plans are for the day in your head as you start getting dressed.

Breakfast, study, write an essay, practice charms and visit the greenhouse, more studying, dinner and then bed.

With a full day ahead and your goals in your mind, you head to the Great Hall to grab some breakfast. The room is already bustling with students laughing and chatting with full plates in front of them. The Gryffindor area was so packed together, you couldn’t get a clear view of either brother. You sit alone and begin sifting through the food, an open book to your right so you can get some light reading in. Even if it only cuts out five minutes of what you have to do later, it is still free time that you can appreciate then.

You’re so caught up in multitasking that the person next to you has to clear their throat several times until you look up from the worn pages. A shaggy blonde hair boy with bright blue eyes was watching you, a familiar smirk worn across his face. Matthew Starling - your ex boyfriend, and the last human on earth you want to talk to. You shoot him a polite smile and refocus back to your book and hope he gets the hint.

He leans closer to you with his black, green and silver robes draping over his broad shoulders. His thin fingers tap at the corner of the page with persistence until you give him your attention again through narrow eyes. This was the first time he has acknowledged you since your break up last year right before term ended. It was a volatile relationship, and your very first. He was selfish, rude and all around a terrible person to have your first romantic and sexual experiences with. Him cheating with a Ravenclaw girl was the final straw that let you break free from him and his games.

Matthew didn’t take it well. He made a scene in the out on the grounds, then stormed away in a rage. You were sure that he would try and beg for you back, but he didn’t. Thankfully for you he already had his talons in someone else.

You suppress the urge to get up and leave. You were sitting here first, afterall. It was only a matter of time until he would try and make you feel uncomfortable.

“Studying this early in the morning, are you?” Matthew asks while still tapping the page you were previously reading.

“Just trying to get a head start,” you reply, trying to hold back the malice in your voice. What did he really want?

Matthew beams at you. Your stomach turns with uneasiness. “Always were the hard worker between the two of us. Glad to see that hasn’t changed.”

You furrow your brows and glance back down at the book, which is immediately snatched from your vision. The blonde boy was holding it up to his face. His pupils scanned a few lines before placing it down in front of him, his forearm blocking so you can’t easily grab it back.

“But,” he jeers, “I know you have more interests than studying. I saw the way you were snogging one of the Weasleys during the Yule Ball.”

That’s it, that’s what he has found you for.

“So what if I was?” You snap and cross your arms. “It’s really none of your business.”

His pupils shrink as you make eye contact with him. His wild smile became increasingly forced with his jaw cocking to the side. “I just find it rather funny that you don’t mind flaunting yourself around with one of Hogwarts biggest prats, but refused to even kiss me in the Great Hall when we were dating - was it, six months?”

“I don’t remember,” you lie. Seven and a half. That’s how long you had to endure a relationship with Matthew Starling. “I really should get going anyway.” You quickly go to grab your book again, but he blocks it and slides it even further away

“Oh come on now,” he laughs and runs a hand through his blonde hair. “We are just having a quick chat, no need to rush off.” There was something different in his voice that you had never heard before. Your gut was screaming for you to get out of there. “I just never pegged you as the type to let a guy like that touch you. A Gryffindor. A Weasley, at that.”

You hold your arms tight against your chest as you stare at him coldly. Your cheeks are starting to get hot as your temper rises. “Who does or doesn’t touch me is really none of your business, Matthew. Now, give me my book back so I can leave.”

Matt forces a smirk and he hoists a leg over the bench so that his entire stocky body faces you. Before the next sentence of, what you guess, would be a string of insults of either you or the Weasley’s - Fred pops up in between you and Matt.

“Good morning!” He says cheerily.

Another voice comes from your left. “Good morning, Y/N! We thought we would stop on by.” You see George sitting next to you closely, a broad grin across his face.

“We didn’t mean to interrupt all the fun,” Fred jests and shoots a blank look at Matt. “Oh, but I’m sure you don’t mind!”

“Oh, he definitely does but that's okay!” George agrees, then moves in closer to place a hand on your lower back. You stare into his calm demeanor, a beacon of safety amidst this chaotic morning.

Matt was scowling at the two brothers as they huddled around you. “Well actually, we were having a bit of a private chat.”

“We really weren’t,” you interject with a frown.

“In that case,” Fred starts and reaches behind Matt and grabs your book, then slides it to the front of you. “Don’t let us stop the conversation.” At this point both of the Weasley brothers were sitting on either side of you. Fred had practically pushed Matt out the way so that he could wedge himself in between. “I’d like to hear more about, what did you call us again?”

“Hogwarts biggest prats,” George answers.

“Yes! That’s it!” His brother exclaims. He props himself up with both elbows, his back against the wooden table.

There is a moment where the boys stare each other down. Matt’s visual anger and disdain did nothing to sway the twins, who sat by your side like statues. Finally, the blonde boy chugs his drink, slams the cup on the table and storms off.

Relief floods over you as the sound of his footsteps fade away. George, who has had his hand firmly on your lower back the entire time, slides a few inches to give you some space.

“I owe you one,” you say shakily as you take the book in your hands. As you bend down to return it to your bag, the words you just said sank in. “Not like that,” you add hurriedly.

The brothers laugh. Fred tilts his head and smiles as you sit back up and face him. “We won’t hold you to it, don’t worry.”

“Unless you want us to,” George adds with a shrug and nudge of your shoulder.

You smile at them as you get to your feet. In the times you've spent with them, the subject of Matthew had never come up. Part of you was glad for that, since it's a bit of a sore subject.

"That wasn't how I wanted to start my day," you say with a sigh. For just a flash of a second, they both frown, then cover it with a forced grin. "But, thank you. Matt is a bit of a-"

George interrupts with, "giant headed moron?"

"I was going to say a boil infested blast-ended skrewt," Fred adds and shoots you a wink. "I could think of a few other names, but that one seems the most appropriate."

George nods and stares off in the distance wistfully. "It sure will be, especially in a few minutes."

Your brows raise and you glance between the two of them. "What did you do?" You ask, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face.

They both stand up and shrug in unison.

Fred slides his hand into the pocket of his robe and pulls out an empty vial. George answers with, "let's just say, we helped him find his true form."

You gasp and cover your mouth. "You didn't!"

Their eyes are gleaming with glee, there is no need for an answer. Whatever was in that vial is now running through Matthew's system, and considering the crazy concoctions the brothers normally come up with - you can only imagine what will happen to him next.

"That should teach him a lesson or two," Fred says with a nod.

George gestures to where a crowd is forming right outside of the Great Hall, Professor Sprout is sprinting and asking students to move aside. "Looks like class has started, then. Let's go watch the show."

Your attention flicks between them and the ever growing crowd out in the hall. "I can't, I'm sorry. I have to study, but I'll see you both later."

The three of you head in the same direction, then break off right as the scene of Matthew Starling covered in massive red boils unfolds in front of you. Your heart swells as you turn your back to the chaos, knowing that they did that all for you. You're not sure who else would have intervened at a moment like that, but you were so thankful for the twins.

—---------------------------

The library is unsurprisingly barren, being that it was so early in the morning. The only other person, aside from Madam Pince, is a girl with a curly mane of hair sitting behind a massive stack of books. Even with her face concealed, you know at once that this is Hermione Granger.

You find a spot close to the middle of the room and begin unpacking your belongings onto the chipped dark wood table - parchment, a quill, a few books. Your hand lingers over the olive cover of the book that Fred had rescued from Matt. Studying was necessary, but you long to be with the Weasley brothers more than ever.

Maybe if you just buckle down and try to get this done early, there will be time for you to find them and show them just how much you appreciate them standing up for you. Your stomach fills with butterflies as the thought of being tangled in their arms floats to the forefront of your mind. Then, with a quick shake of your head the fantasies disappear. If any of that is to happen, then you need to focus. You have to get all of this out of the way.

There was nothing but silence in the room for the next few hours, aside from the occasional turn of a page or scribbling on parchment. Some other students came in and out of the room, but nobody stayed longer than fifteen minutes or so. Hermione’s stack of books was slowly being organized into two sections. You periodically glance up and watch as her full undivided attention was on whichever page she was reading at the time. If only you had even part of the drive that she does, then maybe you wouldn’t even be in this mess to begin with.

Your eyelids are starting to get heavy as you reach the bottom of the parchment with your quill. One more page to go and then that part of Flitwick’s homework assignment is complete. You’re determined, but your stomach is growling loudly. Then it dawned on you that you completely forgot to eat anything this morning after the event with Matthew. It was still early, around 11:30AM, so taking a quick lunch break wouldn’t hurt your progress.

With that thought convincing you, you start packing up your things and stand to leave. You glance one more time at Hermione, who is smiling at you from behind the wall of text books. She lifts her hand and beckons you with a discreet wave. You step to her with your leather brown bag hanging in the front of your legs.

She leans over the pages of an open book as you reach her table. “You’re Y/N, right?” You nod and her smile widens. “You were George’s date to the Yule Ball?”

“Right,” you reply simply, the sound of his name makes your cheeks flush a bit.

“I thought I recognized you,” she says. “He really seems to like you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so..” she trails off as Madam Pince shushes her from across the room. With a softer whisper she continues, “so happy and, I don’t know, open about this kind of thing.”

You shuffle your feet a bit hearing this from Hermione. You know she’s been a long term friend of the Weasleys’, so her input of the twins’ behavior is about as accurate as it can get. Especially from someone this perceptive.

“I like them too,” you blurt out, then try to cover it up with, “George is just great.” They agreed to share you, but not both be public with you.

Hermione’s brows lower for a moment. “That’s great, really.” She shoots a quick glance at Madam Pince before continuing with, “and if you ever need to talk to someone about them..”

You tilt your head and take a step back. She knows. She really caught that little slip up. Maybe talking to someone perceptive was a bad idea after all. Would Fred and George be upset with you about this? “I have to go,” you mutter with your eyes glued to the floor.

“Listen,” she persists as you turn to leave. She stands and has both hands splayed on the desk as she leans forward. “I’m not going to say a word to anyone, I promise.”

You loosen your grip on your bag and turn your head. It was a lot to keep to yourself, which is something you never really realized before. Being unable to talk to anyone about your feelings about not just one, but two separate boys, did leave you feeling a bit isolated from the rest of Hogwarts.

You meet her eyes and smile. “Thank you.”

With that, you head to the door and push your way into the hall. The foundation of a new friendship was forming, and it made a new fire in your soul ignite at once. Getting another girl’s input on the situation would be enlightening. Though, some details would be much better left locked up in that secret room for only the Weasley brothers and you.

Your wistful excitement is torn away immediately as you turn the corner and see Matthew Starling leaning against the wall. His shaggy blonde hair is covering half of his red boil infested skin which makes you wince on sight. As you retrieve the wand from your pocket, he lurches forward and grabs you by the wrist.

“What in the bloody hell did you do to me?” He yells. His thumb digs into your sensitive soft flesh, making your fingers let go of your wand. It falls with a soft clank to the floor.

“I didn’t do anything to you!” You shriek and attempt to pull away from him.

His grip tightens around your sore wrist and he jerks his arm forward so that you’re against his chest. Some of the boils over his scowling face were repeatedly popping, puss rolling down his flushed cheeks. “Don’t you dare lie to me,” he hisses between gritted teeth, spit spraying your face.

“I’m not.” You try to fight back the tears as he stares down at you. You aren’t about to sell Fred and George out. The last thing you need is for them to get in trouble for protecting you.

Matthew forcefully pulls at your already extended aching arm again and you let out an audible gasp of pain. He smirks, admiring your terrified expression, then spins and slams you against the wall. The impact forces all of the air from your lungs. He keeps you pinned between himself and the stone, stopping you from fully catching your breath.

“What’s wrong?” He growls. “Don’t like when I touch you anymore?”

You struggle against his weight while staring up into his snake-like eyes. Your stomach twists with fear and disgust as he lowers his distorted and slimy face, his lips inches away from yours.

Then you hear a voice echoing out at once, “petrificus totalus!”

There is a flash of light, then Matthew immediately goes stiff as a board and falls back to the floor with a thud. Your head is spinning and your sight is still going into focus, when two arms wrap around you. At first you go to fight the figure, until you recognize that familiar earthy cologne.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” George coos and strokes your hair. “We’ve got you.” You collapse against him and take a sharp breath of relief. Tears pool in your eyes and flood down your cheeks.

“You’re absolutely mental,” Fred yells and you hear his foot meet Matthew’s stomach. “You’re bloody lucky I didn’t bother using,” a pause and he gave another kick. “The crucio curse.” A third grunt came from Matthew. “On your pathetic excuse of a-”

“That’s enough!” A girl yells from the end of the corridor. Even with your face still pressing against George’s sweater, you recognize it as Hermione.

“I’m not done with him,” Fred chokes out in anger. His face is bright red with rage and he gives the blonde boy on the floor another swift kick. “You just wait until I am, you’ll be begging for -”

“Stop,” Hermione demands and wedges herself in between them. “I understand you’re upset but-”

“Upset?” George laughs out in disbelief. “He fucking assaulted Y/N.”

“I know,” she explains quickly. “But the last thing you both need is to be expelled.”

“I’m willing to go to Azkaban at this point,” Fred snaps.

You pull out of George’s arms and yell, “no!”

“That’s not what she needs,” Hermione explains. “She needs you both, here, at school with her.”

Fred looks at you and his face drops. His white knuckled grip on his wand loosens and he steps over the now bloody mouthed Matthew Starling. He takes your hands gently, his eyes scanning where the skin on your wrist is raw and tender. His expression hardens, and he swiftly turns on his heel and charges Matt.

Instead of throwing another punch, he kneels down next to him and grabs a fist full of his hair. “Look at me,” he hisses. The boy’s blue irises dart up from the floor and into Fred’s. “If you ever come near our girl again, I promise you that boils will be the last of your worries.” Matt’s eyes widened.

George places a hand on your lower back and steps forward. “We will make sure that even your parents won’t even recognize you once we are done.”

Fred smiles coldly, “and that’s a promise.” He drops Matt’s head to the floor and gets to his feet.

Hermione winces as she steps over the boy. She walks to you, worry written all over her face. “Are you okay?”

You wrap your arms around Fred and nod, your eyes still burn from the salty tears staining your cheeks. There were so many words you wish you could say to all of them. If they hadn’t stepped in, who knows what Matt would have done. Your skin crawls with the thought of his blistered lips on yours.

“Can we go?” You ask while looking up at Fred.

He smiles and strokes your hair. “Of course.”

Hermione offers to clean up the Matthew situation so that you and the Weasley brothers can leave.

They both have their hands on you the entire time when walking through the halls and the passageways. There is still silence between all of you, even when curled up between them in that small bed with the fireplace burning nearby. The tears eventually stop falling when the shock of the events finally completely dissipates. You are thankful for Fred. For George. For Hermione, your new found friend.

You take their warmth and allow it to warm even the coldest part of your heart, which is still partially fearful of what Matthew might do next.

But you know, if he has any sense in him, that he will take the Weasley brothers’ threat seriously.

You are, after all, their girl.

#fred and george weasley #george weasley #fred weasley #george weasley x hufflepuff!reader #harry potter fanfiction #fred and george weasley x reader

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weird-writes · 1 year ago

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Spare Change (The Mandalorian, E)

Title: Spare Change (10k)

Series: Part four of Creed, a non-linear series about Din Djarin and his favorite... distraction.

Description: When bad dreams wake you the night before your wedding, you find only two things will make you feel better: a certain helmet - and your future husband.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

They'd won in the end, as you'd known they would. The big one had held you down while the tall woman wearing armor tightened the restraints around your wrists and ankles. Then your thighs and waist and - horrifyingly intimate, close enough that your breath fogged the beskar of her helmet - your neck. Once the last buckle flipped shut you nearly passed out, immobility so much worse than the comparatively straightforward act of being kidnapped.

You threw up again, this time without the encouragement of a boot to the gut. With your neck strapped to the chair you couldn't lean over, and had to suffer the indignity of gloved fingers sweeping through your mouth to check your airway after you were done heaving.

The yellow helmet said, as if you weren't even in the room: "Be careful. We need her alive."

Warnings: torture, trauma, revenge, slightly more than canon-typical violence, PTSD, sexual content implied, canon what canon, no betas we die like men

Tropes: battle couple, angst, hurt/comfort sorta, "want me to kill him for you?", happy endings, the helmet comes off but not like you think, is dark fluff a genre option?

Author's note: GUESS WHO'S BACK LIKE A HEART ATTACK

***

You haven’t had a night like this in so long you've forgotten what it’s like. The images aren't as vivid as they once were but the panic is the same, the adrenaline spiking through your bloodstream still enough to hurl you back to consciousness without warning. There's only the dream - a blur of yellow, the snap of your head going back, the smashed porcelain feeling of teeth coming loose - and then awake: warm blood replaced with sweat, your clenched fists wound tight as magcuffs in the sheets.

It takes a few seconds before you can untangle yourself without screaming.

It's late. Din and the kiddo must still be asleep. In the bad old days, you'd make noise. Sometimes you woke yourself; sometimes Din's light touch pulled you out instead. But that was a long time ago now. You haven't needed him to guard you from your dreams in years, hadn't even had that particular dream at all in what... ten months? Twelve?

Last time it had been no more than a few quick flashes. Half-formed faces, the taste of sand - then gone, drowned in mundanity as your sleeping mind sorted through the events of an unremarkable day.

This time was bad. This time details you'd thought were gone had found you, slicing into the soft meat of your memory with the precision of a surgeon reopening an old wound. Hands holding you upright. A damp cloth moving across your cracked lips. Bacta knitting you back together under the padding of the restraints, cool compared to the warm desert night. Tell us where he is, and none of this has to happen again. You heard him-- you don't owe him anything. Your throat, dry and swollen, barely able to swallow water. So you spat it instead, tinged with blood and mucous, right into the face that was telling you such tempting lies.

Then the one constant, the moment that replayed every night for months after your captivity ended: the helmet. Beskar, though Maker knows where they'd gotten it. Scored and dented by heavy combat, yellow paint peeling and flaking to show the metal underneath, dangling carelessly from the hand of the woman who'd plied you with questions and later with pain. Even if you hadn't known already, the state of her armor would have been enough to tell you that this little collection of nobodies was far outside of tribe and clan - if they'd ever had them in the first place. You didn’t believe a word they said, because what good was the word of a Mandalorian who was no Mandalorian at all?

That was right before she'd raised the helmet, fingers hooked casually inside the visor, and smashed it across your jaw.

The dream ends there, the impact of the helmet jolting you awake. But you don't need to be asleep to remember what came next. After the blow, an instant of reflexive amazement: somewhere out there in the universe, someone in charge had made a mistake. Nothing could hurt this much. Then hot on the heels of astonishment had come something much worse. Realization. It could hurt this much, you'd feel every bit of it and would go on feeling it even after they decided to stop.

You had just opened your mouth to scream when she hit you again, with the visor this time, and your teeth snapped shut so hard you were sure you'd bitten off your tongue.

You'd blacked out after that, the force of brain meeting skull erasing you from existence for a while. Ironic that right before you'd lost consciousness is when the dream always spits you out. No rescue, no resolution, just the slam of beskar into tender flesh and bone and then reality. Launched back into the present with all the kindness of a missile strike.

Even without the blankets tangled around you, your bunk feels too small, too much like - but there's nothing good at the end of that thought, so you breathe out hard through your nose, pull the curtains back, and listen. Silence except for the comforting hum of the ship's usual routines, recycled air sighing past your feet as you dangle them off the edge of your bed and drop lightly to the floor.

Standing up helps a little, but only a little. You must have been quiet, though, because Din hadn't come to find you. For the past few weeks he's taken to sleeping with the sliding door to his own bunk wide open. He called it a gesture of trust. You called it tempting fate, or at least you had the first time he'd leaned his visor against your forehead as he did every night and then crawled into his rack.

You followed his cue, moving to fold out your bed from its niche. You'd been just about to climb in when you'd heard the shuffling click of Din's helmet unlatching, loud in the soft hum of hyperspace.

"Hey," you'd called softly, making sure to keep your eyes on the bulkhead. "Did you forget to close the door?"

"I didn't forget," Din answered back, equally soft, and then in his typical Mandalorian way said nothing else, leaving you to work out the implications.

You hesitated. "Din, is that... wise?"

When Din responded, his voice seemed almost strange without the modulator - too warm, too human, more like one of the embarrassingly tender daydreams you used to have about him than the real thing. You'd heard his unfiltered voice before on rare occasions: through a wall; when you stuck your head into the 'fresher to ask a question with the door of the sonic firmly closed. Never like this, though, never so close.

So when he said, "I trust you," as simply as he would state that water is wet or planets orbit their suns, you had to clamp your hands down on the edge of your bunk to keep from... from what? Shouting at him that he's being stupid, maybe. Anything that would push against the weight of the thing he's just handed you with as nonchalantly as he would caf or Grogu's favorite toy. When Din decides, he decides, and then he stares down the galaxy until it bends to his will.

You already know he won't spend another second worrying that you could end his entire way of life with an accidental turn of your head.

That, of course, is why you're marrying him.

But it doesn't mean you're not nervous about it.

And maybe that's what's brought ancient monsters out of the deep. How many brides before you haven't been able to sleep the night before their wedding? If you even are a bride - Din has been somewhat vague on exactly how the Children of the Watch solemnize their bonds, saying only that the process is simple and requires no special preparation. His reassurance only goes so far, and something in your chest has been cinching tighter as the numbing routines of long spaceflight bring you closer to Mandalore. No wonder you're not sleeping well, your jangling nerves drawing out the old familiar enemy. You may have forgotten the dream, but it clearly hasn't forgotten you.

It would be a bad omen, if you believed in bad omens. You don't. You've never really believed in anything you can't see or hear or smell or touch - except for love, and probably not even that before a certain bounty hunter.

Which is why you grimace at the smell of your sweat-damp shirt but make for the galley instead of your chest of fresh clothes. You haven't needed it in months, not since the last time you had this particular dream. It had been in the cabinet full of spare parts but things on the ship don't tend to stay in one place, not with the womp rat around, and you're almost sure you saw it somewhere in the galley when you were looking for pirjanad.

Easing the cabinet doors open quietly enough not to wake your companions is hard enough, but easing them closed again when you don't find what you're looking for is harder. The last one bangs just a little as the cheap polymer latches and you pause, listening closely for blankets rustling or the telltale coo that means Grogu is awake for good. You let go of your held breath only when all you can hear is the soft hiss of the vents. Your solitude is safe for a while longer.

It's while you're frozen, head cocked towards the corner that you know contains the Child's cradle even if you can't see it, that you spot it. A flash of yellow, shoved behind the plasma heater and the kettle and the battered tin pot that you should really replace, since Din never will. You shove the cooking implements aside, still trying to stay quiet.

Somehow you’d forgotten that it takes both hands to lift it, the beskar nearly as heavy as its contents. You cradle it in your cupped palms like an offering bowl.

It's absurd to compare the helmet in your dream to the real thing. In the dream, it's enormous, weighty with despair, the hand that holds it all-powerful. But awake, in the dim light from the sensors that are the galley's only illumination, it's nothing at all. Still heavy - but awkward, a thing meant to be worn, not wielded. The paint has flaked away even more, leaving only ragged patches of yellow behind. Din keeps your spare change in it, small denomination credits as well as the bits and pieces of local currency that aren't worth the rates to exchange but might still be useful. The metal rattling around inside has done nothing to keep the padding intact... but it's been years. You're probably all a little worse for wear.

Years. At times when you look back it’s almost impossible to believe you're still here. Impossible to imagine the bloody, gutting details of all you’ve been through fading into something as mundane as this: Din, breathing soft and even in the darkness of his rack, sleeping as soundly as he would the night before a battle; you, awake, alight with nerves and memory, unable to contemplate tomorrow and so thinking only of yesterday. The painfully ordinary helmet in your hands, a reminder of one of the worst - and best - days of your life.

You carry the helmet out into the cargo bay, settling on the floor with your back against a crate, and contemplate the visor between your crossed knees.

***

They'd thought you were your fucking sister. Again. Just like the last bounty hunter had, months ago - and just like him, it didn't end well, although at least Mando had restrained himself to only breaking your heart and no other important bits. This lot jumped you six on one and kept knocking you down until you went limp enough to drag. They hadn't thought to check your fingerprints or your retina or the scattering of burn scars across your palms, unique evidence of a lifetime of mucking with sharp wires and small explosives. They shoved your whole head in front of a facial recognition scanner instead, then made smug, self-satisfied noises when it confirmed what they thought they already knew.

Considering the amount of inconvenience she was still managing to put you through, sister was maybe too generous. Clone would be more accurate, although you'd never liked the word. But it was true that even if they had sequenced your genetic material instead of relying on your bone structure, the information that flashed across the screen would have been the same. Your father had been a little too curious about military technology, a little too adoring of the Old Republic, and possessed of a little - okay, a lot - too much money with nothing else to spend it on. And there you were, one half of his pet project, more than fifteen years out from under the family name and still paying the price. Eating sand as your newest captors hauled you through the back alleys of Mos Eisley.

The blood dripping into your eyes kept you from seeing much. After a while, the hands that had been pulling you by the ankles finally dropped, and you heard the sound of a heavy metal door banging open. Then the grip on you returned. Your smeared vision went from glimpses of desert sky to darkness, the smell of rust, the sense of a cavernous space above you. A warehouse?

As soon as you were sure you wouldn't faint you'd be on your feet, making for Pelli Motto's hangar and the relative safety of the docks, which had to be nearby. Clearly the Guild had finally reassigned your bounty: the tall figure who'd taken you down first was wearing armor that looked suspiciously Mandalorian. Considering the terms of your puck, they probably wouldn't kill you if you tried to escape, and if you got to Pelli's she'd hide you and you could stow away on a ship outbound after repairs. You'd done it before. It had been a while since you'd last disappeared, but you had the knack.

If you hadn't just been thrown repeatedly into an alley wall, you would have realized the implications of that warehouse. Bounty hunters would turn you over for the reward, not take you to an empty building in a decrepit part of town. And even if the warehouse had escaped you, the chair wouldn't have. Heavy steel bolts held it to the floor, and it had the same padded straps that a medtech might use until the sedation spike hit. There was only one use for a chair like that, and it wasn't one that bounty hunters would ever require.

Of course, you'd figured out the chair just fine when they'd levered you upright long enough to try and sit you in it. At the first touch of metal your body worked out what your brain hadn't and reacted accordingly. There had been a bad moment where you thought you might lose control of your bladder, but you'd lost control of the rest of you instead: kicking and biting everything in reach, smashing your forehead into the nose of the man who leaned over you so hard that you both reeled back in an explosion of mutual stars. By the time they got you under control you weren't the only one dripping blood, and a sample from the right place on any of them would have yielded both your DNA.

The yellow helmet said, as if you weren't even in the room: "Be careful. We need her alive."

***

It's the nightmare that upset you, or at least that's what you tell yourself. But it's not a convincing lie, even to you. You know it's not just the nightmare; it's the nightmare and the uncharted territory of tomorrow. The stress of the - the phase change, from one thing to another. No matter how much you reassure yourself that you and your Mandalorian have been together for years and that's the same as married, it's not true. It's the thought of Din without his helmet for the first time and every time after that. It's the idea of his face - will you love it? Of course you'll love it. Will you hate it? You could never hate it. Oh Maker, what if you hate it - standing in for the promise of a shared future and all the uncertainty that entails.

After a while it isn't even the nightmare and tomorrow anymore, it's everything: your family and your past; your close calls; your narrow escapes; decades worth of bumps and bruises to your soul. You get down to the business of crying as quietly as you can, tears rolling down your cheeks and dripping into the assorted coins inside the helmet. You're not even sure you're sad. Not exactly. You only know that something huge and tender inside you is trying to get out and it seems to require quite a lot of lubrication to do so.

Eventually you stop sobbing with every inhale. The small details of a ship at rest begin to return: green status panel. Red emergency shutoff. You try to straighten up but clearly whatever's inside your chest isn't the only thing that's now well-lubricated because the helmet, slick with old grease and fresh tears, slips out of your grasp. You lunge for it but miss. It clunks to the floor, the noise as loud as a bomb going off in the silence.

Din finds you, of course, about five kriffing seconds later. He's far too much the bounty hunter to ever sleep so heavily an unexpected noise won't bring him out of his rack in record time. For a childish moment you hope if you hold still he'll just go away; you could really live without your immediate-future husband seeing you clutching a stupid helmet with snot all over your face. But he can't help finding you despite the dark any more than he can help being a light sleeper.

His own helmet must mean he sees every detail of your expression. He doesn't ask questions, just sinks to the floor beside you and hauls you into the protective circle of his arms. "We don't have to," he says soothingly, burying his visor in your unbound hair and letting it rest against your skull. "We don't. We can go to Batuu instead - pick some fights, lose some credits at the tables. You love spending my money."

A guess. A good guess, and an offer more generous than you deserve. You're crying again, which is absurd, but tonight your tears have their own agenda. In fact, you're crying so much that you can't even tell him he's wrong, that you do want to get married tomorrow. All you can do is shake your head in denial.

"No? Mos Eisley then," jokes Din. That only makes you cry harder. His grip on you tightens. When he speaks again, his voice is pained, uncertain. "Mesh'la? Tell me what's wrong." He's upset too and trying to hide it. He thinks you don't want this, that you've changed your mind after all, but you know he'll never admit it.

"Not you," you finally hiccup. "I was sleeping-- the dream--"

"Oh." You feel most of the tension leave Din. He sounds relieved even through the modulator, which you find forgivable under the circumstances.

"It was bad," you confess. "The worst in a long time."

The helmet behind you makes a sympathetic noise. The helmet in front of you is still staring, the inverted T of the upside-down visor empty and silent.

"Din," you say abruptly. "You've been-- at night. Without the helmet. Does it count if I can't see?" You really don't know. He's never taken the helmet off in your presence before, not even with you blindfolded or in total darkness. His Creed doesn't work like that. To a Mandalorian, to do something halfway is to do it completely, in spirit if not in fact. And the spirit is what matters. "Can you take it off now, if I promise not to look?"

He doesn't wait for a promise, doesn't even hesitate. His arms leave you as he reaches upward. There's a hiss and a click and then the silver helmet is in your hands, as heavy as the yellow one in your dreams. This time the weight is comforting.

"Does it help?" His voice feels like you're still dreaming: rough with sleep, low and velvet and only inches from your ear. You shiver. You could get used to this.

"Yes," you say contentedly, leaning back into him. You put the silver helmet on your lap and let your fingers wander over it: the smooth transparisteel, the curves of the cheek guards. Your mouth twitches as you trail up to the ridge of metal running over the crest. You have fond memories of that ridge.

More than anything else about him, the helmet is Din to you. When you think of his face, you think of the helmet. It will be strange to learn a new face, another Din - but you realize with a warm flip of your stomach that you're looking forward to it.

You give the helmet one last caress then hand it back back awkwardly, careful not to look over your shoulder. You wait for the rustle of adjustment and the buzz of the modulator as Din puts it back on, but neither comes. There's a quiet thump, as if he's set it down beside him, and then his hands return to find yours. His voice, still unfiltered: "Better?"

"Better. You know I want tomorrow, right?" It comes out a little flat, but if you cry any more you'll dehydrate like freeze-dried rations.

Din doesn't answer. He picks up one of your hands instead and pulls it over your shoulder and kisses it. The first press of his lips to your skin feels - ordinary. Just a brief, dry pressure, breath warm compared to the cool cargo bay, the soft strands of his mustache tickling your palm. It's clearly meant to be comforting, not seductive.

You think you might lose your mind. You have to close your eyes hard to keep from looking. Fuck getting married, you could die right now. You can't die right now, you have to make it at least through tomorrow so he can do it again. So he can do more. No, don't think about that, not when you can't do anything about it -

With you tangled together like this, you're sure he feels your reaction. You can certainly feel his broad chest quake as he laughs at you. "Mesh'la? Is something wrong?"

"Shut up," you say, not meaning it, and Din laughs again, a quiet puff of air in the dark. You cast around for a lifeline to preserve your dignity and come up with a complaint: "I don't know anything about Mandalorian marriage. Is a wedding public or secret? Do you wear any sign of being pledged to each other?"

"Public but only within the tribe. And you won the right to wear my clan signet a long time ago, so that won't change. Why, do you want a promise ring? We already have each other's tracking beacons."

"How romantic." But that's your Mando, practical as ever. "I thought for sure there'd be something else, something... intense. A tattoo or something."

"A tattoo? What would that do?"

It seems obvious to you. "You know. A sign of 'til death do us part' or whatever. Your people are always so committed. It seems... very Mandalorian."

Din sounds confused. "A tattoo would be inappropriate. Tattoos are meant to be permanent."

Have you fundamentally misunderstood the nature of this arrangement? "And marriage isn't?"

"It's a hope, not a requirement," Din says, as if he's explaining something you should already know. This, too, must be part of his religion. "Mandalorians don't believe in an unbreakable marriage bond. There's no honor in something you can never walk away from. The Way is in the choice to stay together, made over and over, and in the struggle to keep each other, always tested. Every day made new."

Your heart stops for a moment. You sometimes forget he can be like this: your sensible, hard-headed Mandalorian. Din isn't a sweet-talker, and he doesn't waste time wooing you with words unless it's in bed. He doesn't need to. He knows he has you, as surely as you know you have him. But sometimes you forget what drew you to him in the first place - his hard-fought skill, his well-earned pride, his sense of honor. His Creed. He believes, simple as that.

And now he believes in you, too.

There's so much you've never done together. Never bathed together. Never eaten the same meal at the same time. Never slept next to one another except out of exhaustion or in forced proximity. You know the exact trigger pressure of the IB-94 blaster he prefers. You know that when he's feeling philosophical he likes to coax you into the cockpit with him, one arm around your waist as he pulls you into his lap to quietly contemplate the stars. You know the shame he still carries from the time, years ago, when he considered Grogu a bounty and not his son. You even know about the stash of cheap adventure holonovels he keeps in his crate for when he thinks you're not looking. You would know him in the pitch black of deep space from the warmth of his body and the raised constellations of his scars.

You've never seen his face.

Tomorrow will change everything and nothing at all.

***

Your captors weren't so stupid that they thought they could keep you restrained indefinitely. They pulled the straps off you every few hours, as though they were acting on advice from the same clinician who donated the horrible chair. The smallest one kept a blaster trained on you from a few paces away as one of the others hauled you upright and made you stumble outside into the alley to stretch your tingling limbs and relieve yourself. The first time you crouched against the wall for as long as you dared, hoping that a stray passerby might spot you. The second time you fell over, unable to feel your feet. The third time you didn't even pretend anymore, just stood dripping blood into the sand until they forced you back inside. Some of the fear you'd felt at first had faded, replaced by buzzing numbness. You'd spent all your endorphins enduring the first twenty minutes and now static was the only thing left.

By then the yellow helmet had made it very clear what it would take for them to let you go, and it wasn't a bounty payment or even a ransom sourced from your father's dwindling estate - not that you would have been able to access it anyway. No, you were just a little fish in their net, and she promised the instant you proved yourself useful they'd throw you back into the murky waters of Mos Eisley. They had a bigger catch in mind.

They wanted Mando.

And they wanted you to tell them where to find him.

You could have argued the point from several angles. You weren't who they thought you were, for one. You weren't sure where Mando was for another, considering he hadn't seen fit to tell you his travel plans before he said he was done with you and then dumped you in this Maker-forsaken town. Presumably he'd turn in the bounty you'd caught together, but after that he could be headed anywhere in the galaxy. You had no idea if they'd believe you, but that was the truth. You could have at least tried to convince them.

You didn't.

At first, before the helmet and everything else that led to you leaking bodily fluids in an empty warehouse, you told yourself it was because you were taking the high ground. He might not want you anymore but Mando had still believed you weren't your sister, taken you in when you needed protection and a place to lay low. He'd often been strange and silent, aloof and hard to read, but he'd never been impatient or rude - at least, not until the very end, not until you'd pushed the matter further than he was willing to go. And regardless of how he felt about his own behavior, he'd never taken advantage of you. You had been a willing participant and in his own way he'd treated you generously, in and out of bed. You weren't in the habit of rewarding kindness with betrayal.

That excuse held up for a surprisingly long time, right up until the first tooth dropped out of your swollen mouth and clinked against the metal of the chair.

After that, it was sheer spite, and you couldn't even decide who you hated more: the tacky, embarrassing excuse for Mandalorians in front of you or the stoic, picture-perfect Mandalorian who left you to be snatched up like an ash-rabbit the first place. You weren't stupid - you'd never been a soldier but you'd certainly been around them plenty, back when the New Republic had dragooned your talents into the service of a cause you didn't even believe in. You'd gotten drunk with plenty of former Rebels and you knew that no one, no matter their motivations, holds out forever under torture. But you were going to make them kriffing work for it.

The medic was their mistake and your salvation. When they'd pulled you out of the chair this time you'd collapsed, your abused legs unable to take your weight. They'd been standing over you bickering about who would carry you outside when a pair of boots you didn't recognize came into your field of view.

"You idiots," was the first thing the new voice said: another woman, you thought, low and clear and confident. "How long has she been like this? You're going to kill her from dehydration, if hemorrhage doesn't get her first." A steady beeping noise came from somewhere nearby. The newcomer was using a handheld medisensor. "Yeah, thought so - look. Dehydration, bruised kidneys, cranial swelling, broken jaw and skull fracture, bleeding into the abdominal cavity. If you're planning to use her as bait you'd better do it quick."

"Kriff," groaned one of the ones you did know by now - the big one who was always the first to unbuckle your restraints and the first to put them back on. He sounded more inconvenienced than regretful. "We tried to give her water but she won't drink it. Spit it right back at us. Keva lost her temper."

The woman you thought was a medic gave an unsympathetic snort. "She's gonna lose her hostage, too, if she doesn't let me help. Let me talk to her."

The sound of boots moving away from you, the squeal of the big iron door opening and closing. Only one of them left to guard you, which would have been the perfect opportunity to grab for a blaster and get far away, if only you could move more than a few pathetic inches at a time.

You'd just geared up to at least try when the door banged open again. You spent a precious bit of energy rolling your eyes instead - fuck's sake, had none of these people ever run a covert operation before? Or were they just so sure no one would come looking for you? Maybe that was it. They'd been following you; they'd witnessed your very public repudiation. They knew they didn't need to worry about a rescue. You were on your own, just like Mando had said.

The thought made you want to lay your head against the stone, close your eyes, and wait for whichever of your fatal injuries would be the first to cross the finish line.

"He's not going to come back for her on his own," came Yellow Helmet's voice, unmodulated. She must have taken the helmet off again. She seemed to spend more time holding it than wearing it, which irritated you an absurd amount considering the circumstances. "If we want to use her, we're going to have to get the word around and wait for him to come to us. It could take weeks."

"She doesn't have weeks unless you get her to a real medbay." The medic again. "Whoever kicked her in the gut about eight times and broke her skull made sure of that."

Silence. You concentrated on keeping your head up and your breathing as even as you could. Whatever was coming next, you wanted to see it before it got you.

"Fine," Yellow Helmet gritted out at last. She sounded annoyed. "We can spare one. That means after this we go easy on her. There's plenty that will make her talk without killing her."

"Lucky her," said the other woman with just a touch of sarcasm, then: "Hold still." This last was directed at you. As if you could do anything else.

You were still digesting the implications of make her talk without killing her when there was a thunk and a rustle from above you. A heavy canvas bag dropped to the floor just in front of your face, marked with the universal sigil for medical supplies. A moment later you felt a heavy sting on the back of your neck. You yelped and tried to roll over but succeeded only in bucking helplessly, too weak to fling yourself against the intrusion. Your heart was hammering in your ribcage - what was that? What exactly were they planning to do?

"That should tide her over." The medic sounded satisfied.

"It had better," Yellow Helmet said. "I'll be damned if she's getting another. We were lucky to get as many as we did."

What had they just given you? A stimpack would explain your heart rate, but stimpacks were for combat soldiers, designed to get them up and fighting again on the assumption that real medical attention would be available once the shooting stopped. And you'd had stims and this didn't feel like that. It didn't feel like a sedative either; no warm haze reached out to pull you oblivion. Instead, a strange sensation prickled across your scalp. It was a little like cool water over a sunburn or the pump of cold air from a ventilation shaft. You found you were suddenly more alert, could feel parts of yourself that you hadn't realized had gone numb. You thought that in another few minutes you might be able to stand, and walk, and talk, and do all the normal things a person does that had been stripped from you in your purely animal pain.

You were considering putting this hypothesis to the test by rolling over when something else happened. Somewhere in your abdomen, a feeling like a balloon popping but in reverse - slowly and then all at once. You blinked and swallowed. You hadn't even been able to tell how unfocused your vision had become; now it was like watching one of those hyperrealistic holovids, colors flooding in so brightly everything seemed oversaturated. It wasn't that you didn't still hurt: you could feel the bruises on your jaw, the cut on your scalp throbbing. And it wasn't that you weren't exhausted because you still wanted to fall asleep right there on the floor.

It was just that, suddenly, it seemed possible you might live.

"Get her up," commanded Yellow Helmet. Hands shoved themselves under your armpits to hoist you to your feet. The big one's touch was familiar at this point, and you found it almost comforting. This time when your feet touched the floor you were able to stand.

"You two, take her out. Deng, keep that blaster handy - we don't know how she'll react."

Good, you thought, with a giggle. She'll react real good. You weren't sure if you'd said it out loud.

"Come on," said the big one coaxingly. "Atta girl. Let's get you outside and you can have a nice walkabout."

Your mouth was too gummed with dried blood to come back with something smart, and you really did want to move even if it was just to see if you could. You concentrated instead on putting one foot in front of the other.

By the time you reached the alley, you found you could not just walk but maybe even run if you had to. Whatever they gave you was humming along your nerves and everything was sharp and clear, from the rustle of your garments as you stretched to the sound of Yellow Helmet and the others arguing about something in a language you didn't know.

Your newfound awareness was what saved you both. You saw the glimpse of silver in the loading dock across the street, tucked deep behind another half-shattered door. Your chemically-enhanced synapses stopped you from reacting almost before you realized what you were looking at. Your two guards were watching you closely. You deliberately let your gaze drift back down to the ground, trying to to look vague and unthreatening. It must have worked because neither of your captors seemed to notice anything amiss.

After a few long seconds your eyes wandered back over to the loading dock, but whatever you'd seen in the shadows was gone.

***

"All right," said Yellow Helmet from startlingly close behind you. It was your fifth time being let out of the chair to pee and this time, thanks to whatever they'd given you, you'd actually passed something resembling normal urine instead of blood. You knew it was the fifth time because you were keeping track. Other prisoners might scratch the days on the walls of their prison; you, in a somewhat less dignified arrangement, kept count via your bladder and hoped every piss wouldn't be your last.

Yellow Helmet was talking to your minder. "Here's the plan. We're getting off this sand-sucking rock as fast as possible, and we're taking her with us. Deng stays behind to put the word out. If Djarin is here, he'll hear we've got his little pet and come looking. Him and his fucking honor, Mandalorians are so predictable--"

The first shot was so unexpected you didn't understand what was happening. All you registered was an ear-splitting crack and a roar from one of your guards before the smaller one, the one who had been assigned to hold a blaster to your head, staggered back and collapsed against the wall as if he had decided to sit down on the job. It wasn't until you saw the dark bloom across his tunic that you realized he wasn't suddenly drunk or insane: he was dead.

Someone was screaming, but it wasn't you. The noise almost masked the whining pop of return fire as you whipped your head towards the alley entrance, despite the protest from your injured jaw, and saw -

A mountain of silver advancing through the narrow passageway, pulse rifle notched against one shoulder and coolly steadied by a familiar, orange-gloved hand.

Your other kidnappers were scrambling across the open ground, finding cover behind ruined walls, ducking behind doors already hanging crazily off their hinges. Two more blaster bolts whistled by your head and you flinched, watching them ricochet off the Mandalorian's beskar chestplate as if they were children's toys.

The pulse rifle fired again, punching straight through one of the doors. The energy field might have lost momentum going through the metal, but it didn't matter. You saw shrapnel finish the gruesome job as the body of the big man - the one you'd almost managed to feel fond of - reeled backward, the flesh of his face and throat no more than shreds of yellow and scarlet.

More screaming. It might have been you this time. You couldn't tell.

Another shot. This close, the sound was incredible to your heightened hearing, so loud it made your eardrums ring like gongs. You were glad to be temporarily deaf; you didn't want to hear what noises the woman across from you was making as she clutched her hands to the river of blood gushing from her side. You'd never been so relieved to see someone in your life and at the same time you were terrified, desperate to run, hide, anything to avoid the eerily calm attention of the man who was coming down the street towards you like a landslide.

The Mandalorian tossed the pulse rifle into the sand and drew the blaster holstered on his hip. A lucky shot from someone - Yellow Helmet, maybe - grazed his arm at the elbow, burning through the duraweave, but he hardly seemed to notice. Your quaking body crammed you into the wall as he went past, making yourself as small of a target as possible. He didn't look at you, didn't seem to see anything past the helmet besides the three mercenaries still returning fire from the end of the alley.

Something in your flailing brain tugged at your attention despite the panic. Three. Three, including Yellow Helmet, still cowering behind their poor excuses for cover. Three more down, one still cursing and two dead.

Where was --

You were up and moving before you even realized it, launching yourself through the door of the warehouse like a badly aimed slugthrower. You collided with someone just inside, kneecap popping ominously as you both hit the floor and rolled with a clatter of metal. You pulled yourself halfway to standing despite the pain, desperately scanning for what you knew had to be there - slamming a shin into the concrete as you lunged -

The medic's blaster was in your hands and her face, which you hadn't been able to see before now, was like a dream below the red dot of the targeting system. She was kneeling too, arrested in the middle of rising after you'd knocked her down. She had a plain face, broad and open, and could have passed unnoticed in any marketplace on Tattooine. Your finger twitched, finding the trigger.

"Don't," said the medic. "Please don't."

"You would have killed me," you said. It was the first time you'd spoken to one of your captors and the words felt strange in your mouth.

"I saved you," the medic said. "They would have let you die." Her voice was perfectly steady.

"You were going to shoot him," you said. Your brain had done the calculation without any conscious input from you, as it had several times in the past few days. Three in the sand of the alley. Three still fighting. One missing: the latecomer, the medic. The smart one, who had stayed in the darkness of the warehouse and waited for the Mandalorian to walk past. She would have taken her shot at his back, aiming for the unarmored arteries in the leg and groin. It's what you would have done too.

"He's killing us," she replied.

"Good," you snarled, so savagely you didn't recognize yourself. "He should."

"It's not personal." She was still talking, the way you would talk to a wild animal: calm, soothing, a gentle stream to let it know you're only human. "Strictly business. It was never about you. We didn't even want your bounty, we just wanted the Mandalor--"

It wasn't that you were an especially good shot. She was just so close you couldn't miss. The blaster bolt took her square in the sternum and she went over backward with the hollow thunk of skull meeting stone. You half staggered, half crawled a few steps, staring at the dead face, the empty eyes. You wanted to say something clever like, Yeah, well, so do I, but you just gaped like an idiot instead, chest heaving as the weapon dangled from one slack hand.

There was a tremendous clang from outside, followed by the scream of metal on metal. You turned to see the warehouse door flung fully open by a silver figure half-dragging, half-supporting a woman in yellow armor -

You pulled the trigger entirely by instinct. Luckily your aim was just as good as last time and the bolt hit the yellow breastplate dead center, ricocheted to ping off the Mandalorian’s silver helmet, and vanished into the ceiling in a cloud of dust.

"Hey, watch it," came the familiar, modulated voice.

Relief hit you harder than any alley wall, pulling the adrenaline out from under you like a rug. You sat down hard on the concrete. Your hands were shaking so badly you dropped the blaster.

You didn't pick it back up. No need, not anymore. You found to your surprise that you couldn't raise your head, couldn't meet the dark glass of the visor. You felt-- you didn't know what you felt. Furious that he was the reason you were here, and grateful to be rescued, and embarrassed to need it... and somehow deeply, obscurely ashamed.

Another clang as the Mandalorian dropped his armored prize like dead weight to kneel beside you. "Mesh--," he started, and then stopped, then started again. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

There was no good way to answer that question, so you just pointed at the yellow figure on the floor.

"Yeah," said Mando, sounding more certain. "This one was giving the orders. I saw the cha-- I saw some of the things she did. I thought..." He paused for a moment, as though considering what to say next. "I thought you might like... right of first refusal."

Right of first refusal. What a Mandalorian way to put it. I thought murder might make you feel better. Some part of you wanted to take him up on it but you had already killed today, had already broken your vow, and for a better reason than revenge. You shook your head.

"In that case," said Mando easily, and reached for his holster. You stopped him with a hand on the arm, though it took you another few seconds to find words. When you did, your voice was so cracked your still-ringing ears could barely hear it.

"No," you said. "Enough killing for one day. Leave her on the steps of the New Republic office and let them handle it."

You'd only ever given him orders once before, and never like this.

Mando shrugged. He had an uneven way of moving his shoulders that surprised you into remembering it. It had only been a few days and you were already losing details, the things that made the Mandalorian himself despite his usual silence.

You'd spent so long watching, studying, hoping and you'd just... forgotten.

Something black and awful, worse than the first touch of the chair's straps, opened up in your stomach at the thought. It drove you upright, beyond ready to be done with this place, these people.

"Get her up," you croaked. "You go in front, I don't want to see her. We'll drop her off." You seriously doubted your ability to walk that far, but you would try. You couldn't not try. "And then-- and then take me home."

There was no question of what you meant by home. The Mandalorian didn't protest, didn't argue or even apologize. He just nodded and picked up his captive and went out of the warehouse door in front of you as you commanded, into the blinding sunshine.

***

Din holds you until your breathing evens, silent and patient in a way you've never learned to be with yourself. Your own tolerance gives out long before you run out of tears, and this time you're more exasperated than upset. It makes you careless. "Why I am still crying?" you whisper fiercely to Din, shaking the last of the saltwater from your lashes and trying to sit taller in his grasp. "That was years ago. It's just a stupid fucking helmet."

There's a sound like a sigh behind you, and too late you remember Din's feelings about his own stupid fucking helmet. Kriff. Does it matter? It's not like the yellow helmet came from a real Mandalorian. But maybe it had, once, and you're dishonoring their memory or something by saying it. Kriff. If you try to fix it now you'll just sound stupid and insincere. Not for the first time, you wish you knew more about the Children of the Watch and their customs.

"Mesh'la," Din says from behind you, and the word is slow and heavy in a way that makes your stomach drop. It was a thoughtless thing to say out loud, sure, but you didn't think you'd fucked up that badly.

"About the helmet," he continues, and you're almost sure he's going to say something like, If you feel that way about it, are you sure about tomorrow?

But what comes out instead is, "Do you want me to... take it off?"

"What?" you respond, bewildered. "It's already off. And I haven't looked."

"I know," says Din. "I mean... do you want me to take it off and.. leave it off." It doesn't sound like a question. "So you can look."

"What?" you say again. Then: "What?"

"I will, you know." His unfiltered voice is calm and serious, in contrast to your suddenly sweaty palms. "Turn around right now if you want. You can."

Your mouth is hanging open. You shut it with a click, swallowing hard. "I'm not... I'm not... I don't want to-- Din, why?"

Another sigh. "It would be worse if... I want you to know you don't have to marry me to see my face."

"That's not why I'm marrying you," you say, confused. The implication stings. "That's... Din, you would -- the covert -- the clan --"

"I know," he says again. "I lost them once. The covert, the clan, being a Mandalorian -- I lost everything. And I'd do it again, for the same reason."

For the same reason. Your heart flips in your throat. You know what he means. Last time, for his son... this time, for you.

You could see his face. You could see him. You wouldn't have to do Maker-knows-what tomorrow in front of everyone, endure blank stares from unfamiliar visors. You wouldn't have to tiptoe around his beliefs. You could keep going as you have been, partners and lovers and friends, but sharing the same bunk, the same food. You know he wouldn't offer unless he meant it.

You could have Din to yourself. You wouldn't have to share him with the demands of his Creed ever again.

He would be yours, and yours alone.

You’re suddenly glad you’re already sitting down.

You have no idea what to do next, so you stall. "I already said yes, though. We're six hours out from Mandalore. Wouldn't this... change that?"

Stupid question. Of course it would, in every possible way.

"Yes." Din is still unperturbed. "It would."

"Why?" It's surreal to be having this conversation without looking at him, without even the set of his shoulders to tell you how he really feels. Maybe if you understand, you'll know what to do. "Why now? Why like this?"

The arms around you drop away, letting cold air seep under your flimsy sleep shirt. Din takes a long pensive moment before he answers. "I've broken the Creed before, and returning to it almost killed me. I survived. I could survive again, if I had to. The Way says, Keep your oaths. Return loyalty with loyalty. But above all else, guard your honor. Asking you to marry me with conditions -- letting you think the choice was marriage or never really -- it would be worse. It would be worse than..."

He trails off. You know what he means. Marriage with conditions. He would never really know if you had pledged yourself only to finally see his face. You hadn't, of course... or at least you didn’t think you had. But he would never be sure. And, you realize with a deep ripple of shame, neither would you.

The yellow helmet is still in front of you. The visor seems very dark, the faded paint bright in the dim light, but it no longer has the power to frighten you outside of your dreams. Instead, it's become a fetish, a talisman of your own power. Of what you are capable of enduring, and what your endurance meant to the man behind you. Just like Din’s helmet is a talisman, a tangible symbol of his care: every blaster bolt meant for you his armor has taken instead, every drop of blood spilled to keep you safe.

You'd almost pleaded with him to leave it when he pulled the helmet off your captor's head before tipping her unceremoniously onto the steps of the New Republic Security building. It had taken months for you to be able to look it straight on. On the way back to the ship, you'd kept your face resolutely turned away, walking on Din’s opposite side. Insofar as you could walk; by the time you'd finally made it up the gangway, he had been half-carrying you.

You don’t need to recall what happened next, the memory burned into you as indelibly as a brand. The way you pleaded touch me, please touch me to Din, half out of your mind with whatever drug they'd given you and the need to know he was there for real, not just another means of escape for a mind petrified by terror. The way you choked on a scream when he turned you to face him, the lines of his own helmet echoing across your broken face like another slap from unyielding steel. The way he touched you when he bandaged you, first too soft and then not soft at all.

His quiet words, more confession than request. Stay with me, and let me prove my honor to you.

And just like that, you know what to do. It's not a decision, because there was never any decision to make. You just... know, the same way you know every curve and plane of the helmet before you. You stand up, careful to keep your eyes ahead of you on the empty bay, and reach behind you. Din’s hand closes over yours, warm and callused with a thousand acts in your name. You take a step forward, pulling him to his feet. You still don't look, but you can feel the span of his broad shoulders behind you anyway, his breath in your hair.

"Put your helmet on, Din Djarin," you say softly. "And go back to sleep. I can wait until tomorrow."

***

[series masterlist]

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #pedro pascal #din djarin x female reader #reader insert #star wars

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lovelessrage · 10 months ago

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any advice for an aroallo whos questioning being on the aplatonic spectrum?

I think it depends on some specifics: there's a lot of ways to be aplatonic!

I'd say first off, it's good to evaluate YOUR personal experience with friendship, platonic attraction, and platonic love - how do you personally feel about it? It's easy to start off questioning by comparing yourself against others or trying to measure up, but I feel from personal experience it tends to prolong or confuse things. While goimg off the testimony for others can be useful for starting out, don't hold yourself to the standard you MUST be like them or you aren't aplatonic.

Second, consider what relationship you want to have going forward with friendship and other platonic things; just because you've been friending in the past doesn't mean that you have to continue to be friending in the future if you feel you're more comfortable that way. Every apl's experience will be completely different from the next, even if they look similar from a distance; if you still want to personally keep friends, of you're undecided, or if it depends on the day, this is all up to you.

Third, research is great, but don't feel beholden to walking the well-trodden path. If you feel specific labels or identities aren't quite right, don't force on a shoe that's uncomfortable to wear. Sometimes, ambiguity is a comfortable place to be!

Fourth, it's okay to be wrong! Never go into questioning with the idea this has to be permanently binding! Identity is fluid and hard to pinpoint sometimes. Letting go of the expectation of permanence can relieve a lot of stress on needing to make an often-thought-to-be permanent decision.

And, finally, it is COMPLETELY up to you who you tell or what you do with your identity. As with gender, sexuality, and other things, nobody is owed the details or disclosure of your aplspec identity. Only come out when you are safe in the company of safe people! It is very unfortunate, but it does happen where people come out to aplphobic people close to them because they feel obligated, and they end up hurt from it. If you are considering coming out, maybe ask the people you intend to come out to their opinions beforehand; try to obtain a snapshot of their opinions, and feel free to offer info if you have the energy. All this considered, you never have to tell anyone; it is never going to be a must. Be safe if you do, be safe if you don't.

#aplatonic #aplspec #apl #questioning apl #aspec #scowl corner

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bafflement · 1 year ago

Text

Ozqrow Day 7 - Alternate Prompt - Soulmates

Well, that's the lot that ended up being completed this year. So far, at least. The two outstanding prompts should be linked later, but we'll see I guess.

I wrote each of these on the day I posted them to tumblr. It's definitely been an experience!

Soulmates were a known quantity in Remnant. Everybody had one, after all, even if they weren’t always the best matches. It was said that each match was the one closest to your heart, but there were enough tales of pairings that had gone drastically wrong to mean that everybody took that with a serious grain of salt these days. Ozpin’s splashed around his upper arm like a bracelet, though he had been very scared it might have faded when the merge took place. Ozma had informed him that that happened sometimes, depending on the, well, the sexual preferences of the newest host. Sometimes it was replaced with the marks of just how Salem would kill that particular incarnation, though Oz was incredibly glad that his had not. He’d never felt any real attraction to women, after all, though he hadn’t really fallen for any men either. Maybe his was platonic? That happened too, after all nobody was really sure just how soulmates even worked. In a number of ways, he felt lucky to have had his already by the time the merge started. They tended to appear somewhere in the teenage years, and Ozma’s whisper had been there since, well… as long as he could remember. He owed a serious debt of gratitude to whichever incarnation had decided to hold off on the merge as long as they had. From the memories they provided, that couldn’t have been easy, He only hoped he would have a similar level of patience when it came time for him to be the voice.

Oh, but finding out that his invisible friend had, in life, been the last king of Vale had been interesting, to say the least. He hadn’t really believed him, at first, but all the research had matched up. It was probably the fact that he was the king of Vale that had driven him to flee so far away from that damn mausoleum that he had once called a home, after all. He’d been thinking Vacuo might have been his best option, but the images Ozymandias had placed in his… their? Head had swayed him, in the end. He quite liked the idea of what had been described as a paradise and Vale, though anything but in reality, had seemed so much less corrupted than Atlas had to his painfully young eyes.

Oh, he probably shouldn’t have given in to temptation, shouldn’t have listened so hard to Vale’s council and their joy over him being the next wizard. Being theirs in a way he still chafed at, even years after the fact, echoes of his father and his pride in what was then his only choice in an heir holding him back. No, no he wasn’t going to think about that. If he thought too hard on that, he might decide he really was unworthy of whoever it was that had marked his skin. He just hoped, viciously and probably futilely that whoever it was would be someone his father disapproved of. Even if he never knew, never found out, the image of that man spinning like a wheel axle in his grave was an amusing one. Not that that mattered. He’d had enough time and distance now to realise that anything that man thought he ruled would crumble one day. Oh, Brothers, absent gods though you very much were, protect his siblings. Try to make sure that, when the reckoning came, however many he ended up with weren’t caught in the crossfire?

He closed his eyes briefly, too caught up in the past to concentrate fully in the list of incoming students for the year. Well, hopefully at least some of them would survive initiation? They had to, right… last year was a fluke. They’d been well trained, coming from the primary academies for the most part, surely they could understand something as basic as landing strategies?

He winced again, scanning the names. There were several from prominent families that he recognised at a glance… though Ozpin, if he actually existed, probably wouldn’t have done. There was an almost depressing amount of Atlas runaways sprinkled throughout the pack, too. He tried not to think of just how Atlas’ current Headmistress might choose to take that. After all, the word treason had been thrown about far too much already. He was deeply aware of the slight Atlas twang that lurked in the back of his own voice, after all… it had been bought up a few times now. He tugged at dyed black hair in brief dismay, what if someone worked things out? It wouldn’t be easy but he was pretty sure he’d known some of these students, at least in passing. Could they see Wes in his features, he wondered… though, no. Hair dye was a wonderous thing and as for the contact lenses tinting his gaze an artificial brown? They were all but a godsend. He chose not to think too deeply about where his contact must have sourced those from. After all, it was heavily frowned on to alter your appearance by any means bar a semblance, and even then… he briefly cursed the war. Color and expression mattered, of course, but it shouldn’t really stop those amongst the populace that had a legitimate need to hide. He’d seen the bulletins his father still put out on occasion and had to admit that the obsession with coloring was a very good thing in this case. Nobody expected him to be dark haired and dark eyed, after all. Nobody was looking for that combination. He was probably safe enough. He bent his concentration back to the list in his scroll. Maybe one of these students would prove to actually be good enough to pass initiation?

Qrow sweated, feeling majorly uncomfortable in the fancy uniform everybody was wearing. He knew the academies had a reputation to maintain, but… really? If they wanted to look good, then why would they choose such an itchy material. It was probably nerves though, his last name damned him as much as it did Raven after all? Was that why they had been let in in the first place? To be here just long enough to fail at initiation… to fail in such a way that the tribe finally cut all ties with them both? They might have been the adopted children of the chief, but they weren’t actually his blood, weren’t truly his responsibility. Qrow’s semblance alone had raised enough concerns amongst the more long standing members that he knew the man was just itching to cut them loose. Hell, nobody even knew what Raven’s semblance was. What if it was even worse than his, what if the losing streak that had sparked this insane plan in the first place was caused by both of them. He closed his eyes, trying not to think about the likely outcome of that. As a boy, he had been relatively safe after all, but Raven was more vulnerable. He’d back her in any fight if it ever came right down to it, of course, but that didn’t mean that she’d win if the odds changed. Considering the possibilities, he wouldn’t put that past the tribe as a whole. At least they’d both go down fighting? Like hell he’d leave her to fight that battle alone.

Best not to think about that, any more than he should think about the soulmark splashed across his right arm. Raven hadn’t got hers yet, so maybe that meant he was meant to meet whoever the poor bastard was first? Imagine, a life of being chained to Qrow of all people. A life of ill luck, a life of misfortune. A life that might yet be claimed by the tribe that had kidnapped him… the life he was trying so desperately to escape. Whoever it was on the other end of the connection, he devoutly hoped he would never actually meet him.

Snapping back to reality, his eyes strayed to the stage where the new Headmaster of this place was about to give his introduction. He blinked at the ink black hair, the brown eyes glinting from behind dark tinted glasses. But most of all he baulked at the sheer youth of the figure. Young, fresh faced and several inches shorter than him. He knew he was tall, but surely an adult shouldn’t look this much like a kid? Was this a joke, he wondered bleakly. At any moment, surely an exasperated parent would appear and haul this brat off the stage? But no, from the looks on the faces of the upperclassmen (And brothers, there were so damn few of them, weren’t there… what did that say, exactly, about the standards of this place?) they recognised the kid. Had expected him. He knew academically that Beacon’s headmaster was meant to be very young, but surely there had to be some form of a mistake somewhere? How old even was this boy, anyway? He didn’t look old enough to be attending Beacon, much less heading it.

From the muttering of those around him, he wasn’t the only person to realise that. He could hear Raven swearing behind him and resisted the temptation to join in by the skin of his teeth. For an academy with one of the best reputations in Remnant, first impressions were leaving a lot to be desired.

There was something almost magnetic about the kid on the stage though. For all he talked and talked and talked, Brothers did the kid ever shut up? He definitely had the presence of a leader. It was admirable in a way, though if it was actually as it appeared and he was actually Headmaster, someone needed to teach him to dress the part. The suit would have looked smart on an adult, but as it was, it ended up looking strangely ill-fitting for all it had to be hand tailored. Who had let him take the lead on colors, anyway? He admitted that the green suited him… Ozpin, apparently? But the gold looked strangely out of place against the emerald, for all they were complimentary colors.

Qrow rolled his eyes, listening in a daze while hating himself. This was what he got for having Raven as a sister, a close analysis of fashion that he neither wanted nor desired. Maybe that was more the fact that he was Mistralian, though? It was hard to tell, really. Oh good, the speech had ended, the boy had hopped down from the stage. He blinked as the kid seemed to deploy a cane of some sort, limping noticeably now. Eh, he could take him easily enough, if push came to shove. From the interested glint in Raven’s eye, she thought the exact same thing. This might almost be fun, after all.

After a few months, though, both twins could admit they might be outclassed. Ozpin had run all of two training scenarios and yet he had beaten all comers with an ease that was admirable. Maybe there was something in the prodigy rumors, after all? Either way, they could agree that they might not want to face him in a fight.

A surprising number of them had passed initiation, five teams worth, in fact. He was strangely relieved to be on a team with his twin, though it felt like either the worst oversight ever, or a calculated move on Ozpin’s part. The boy was hard to pin down as any one thing, though all public records claimed he was twenty one, Qrow didn’t buy that in the least. What twenty one year old would be that short, yet simultaneously that lanky? All the boys had been there, or their own equivalent thereof, a few years prior after all. He was aware of several betting pools that had sprung up with the sole purpose of ascertaining Ozpin’s actual age, but he was pretty sure that he knew the answer. He was probably about sixteen, a year or so younger than his youngest students. His mind boggled at the implications slightly, but then that was Vale for you… he had no real trust in any one government to do what was right, and whatever this was ‘right’ didn’t begin to cover it.

He sneered slightly, even as a notification popped up on the scroll they had all been given on entry to the Academy. Most of the students thought it was an amazing gift, especially considering the price of them. Qrow was bleakly certain that they were all bugged to high hell. Why else would they be given them, but as a spying device?

Oh look, it was his turn to be summoned up to the ivory tower Ozpin seemed to reside in. He sniggered slightly, mind jumping to the old tale of the princess in the tower. Oh, Ozpin was no princess any more than he was a knight, but considering their strangest professor’s love of fairy tales, it seemed strangely apt right now. Whistling slightly, he got up. After all, if the Headmaster called then it would be out of character for the boy he was portraying not to answer the call. He sighed again, adjusting the collar of his uniform self consciously. Why did they have to make these things so tight, anyway? It felt like he couldn’t breathe. Heh, it wasn’t like he was nervous or anything. For all he was no longer certain he could take the other boy in a fight, surely no ambush would be this public. They had been called up one by one, after all, if he just disappeared then that would be noticed. He chided himself for a fool, stepping into that stupid elevator that had been installed instead of stairs. He’d prefer the stairs, it would probably take less time.

Ozpin looked up as the scruffy form of Qrow Branwen stepped out of the elevator and he shot the boy a smile. He was aware of how Qrow saw him, after all the youth was too callow yet to avoid broadcasting it for all to see. He thought him young, untried. That would even have been true, at least debatably, under any other circumstance though as it stood it was almost laughable in its naiveite. Judging people by their looks in Remnant was never a plan of action that ended well, after all. Even living to your teens took a certain amount of luck, considering what haunted every shadow, drawn by the emotions most couldn’t supress.

He was aware, too, that he may suppress too much, too scared of the sort of creature Salem might send after him if he ever showed his own fear, his own self loathing. She’d done it before to previous incarnations, after all. He shivered remembering the carnage one of those monsters had left in their wake. Oh, it was lifetimes ago now, but nobody had ever lived long enough to give the thing a name. Or nothing beyond monster and screams beyond the capability of a voicebox not on the edges of giving out to accomplish.

He shook himself back to the present, noting by the look on his face that young mister Branwen had noticed something in his own gaze that had unnerved him. He shot another grin at the boy, though it didn’t seem to help much and glanced back at his scroll. He read the history, well, the fabricated history, with one eye out for any threats. He knew who they were, these twins. He knew why they were there, though Qrow showed slightly more promise than his sister in terms of prying them out of what was really a desperate situation.

Qrow seemed to tense, staring at him in real, unfeigned confusion and Oz sighed aloud this time. It had been too much, too far, but he wasn’t yet truly adept in controlling the memories he had been granted by the curse he had fallen under.

“Greetings, Mister Branwen,” he said, hesitantly. “Having gone through your file, I must admit to being rather impressed. The scores yourself and your sister achieved back at Sanctum are truly astonishing, as I’m sure your old teachers would agree with. Why, I thought I might contact them, let them know the good news about your enrolment here.” It was a calculated risk, but by Qrow’s rapidly paling face it had paid off. One hand shot out, grasping Ozpin’s upper arm like an amulet, or maybe more like an anchor. Ozpin’s own hand wrapped itself just as securely around Qrow’s own right arm, their eyes meeting. Both let go as their respective marks seemed to pulse. Oh. Well, then, that changed everything, now, didn’t it?

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