#anyway please understand when i draw them its not with the purpose of making ship content | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tessiete · 3 years ago

Note

TESS! Hope you are well!!!! Prompts prompts prompts! If you’re not already inundated with requests, allow me to add my own greedy submission to the pile: “Who gave you permission to fall asleep?” for Qui-Gon and Obi if you feel up to it! 🤟🏼❤️

WELL HELLO FRIEND!! I absolutely feel up to it. I'm just, you know, bad at time management, so I apologise for the delay. Please accept my many, most sincerest thanks for sending the prooompt in the form of this....thing. What I wrote. SOME BABY-WAN WHUMP, AND DAD-CARE!

You're absolutely wonderful! THANK YOU!

On The Clock

The sun never sets on Coravian Bast. It says so on all their coins, and all their dataries. It is stamped at the summit of every federal building, and pressed into the plastoid casing of every holobook, every datapad, every speeder and tug and ship they manufacture. It is both an astronomical truth, and the rallying cry of a people who, for centuries, have remained proud, and strong, living beneath the ever-burning glory of their sun. But now, that sun is burning out.

It is not by sabotage, or ambition, or folly. It is not brought about by anything more malicious than the passage of time, and it is a tragedy which has been predicted now for many years. And for many years, the government of Coravian has been planning. With the aid of the Republic and the support of several high ranking senators, Coravian has made arrangements for the mass migration of their population to new homes on new worlds. The sun will set on Coravian Bast, but never on her people.

Yet some do not go willingly. Some resist the edicts, and declare they will not leave. Some declare that they do not mean to let anyone else go either, and for this reason, the Jedi Council has seen fit to assign a Master-Padawan pair capable of overseeing the evacuations. Up to now, the population has been peaceful. The protestors have been loud, but cautious. They do not expect anything of note to happen. Master Jinn gives his padawan a sardonic grin and suggests that perhaps someone will give an impassioned speech.

“Coravinians are known for their philosophical debates,” he says. “Nearly every city has an ampitherium. It’s like a park filled with tall platforms wide enough only to stand on, but tall enough to see over the head of a grown wookiee.”

“What do they do on them?” Obi-Wan asks, in awe.

“They talk,” his master says. “Sometimes for hours.”

“About what?”

“Oh, this and that,” he says. “The longest recorded was a discourse on the nature of sentience in ancient korarchetropes of the protopaleo era, four thousand four hundred million years ago.”

“Oh,” says Obi-Wan, his brow furrowed in thought. “Did the korarchetropes leave many written records?”

“No, my padawan,” replies Qui-Gon. “They were a primitive, single-celled form of life.”

“Oh.” There is a pause, longer and more uncertain than before. “Will we have to listen to one while we’re there?”

The master smiles. “Not unless you are particularly disobedient.”

“Then I’ll be on my best behaviour,” Obi-Wan swears with a smirk. “I promise.”

It is not a difficult thing for him to be, his master thinks, and indeed he is the very picture of deference and decorum during the two weeks they are there. Every day, he walks at his side, three steps behind and one to the left. He is unobtrusive, and observant. He speaks intelligently when spoken to, and remembers every obscure custom and tradition that their hosts play out in preparation for leaving the planet, and Qui-Gon is proud. His padawan has come such a long way from the desperate little waif he’d found on Bandomeer, and yet not so far as to have lost that youthful naivety, and trust in the world. He will make a fine Knight, if Qui-Gon is careful enough. If he is restrained enough. And cautious. And aware.

And yet, no sooner does he conclude this than all his plans are torn apart, for the next day, as they stand upon the viewing stage to watch another transport of refuges lift off and head for space, there is an attack. The Coravinians do not fight with words this time, but with bombs and grenades. A sonic blast throws him from the platform before he can draw his saber, and in another instant the remains of the stage goes up in flames and it is all he can do to leap free and regain his bearings.

One of the federal aides is dead, lying torn and bloodied a few feet away. Another staggers forward, coughing in the smoke. Obi-Wan. Where is Obi-Wan?

He searches around him, frantic, but there is nothing he can see except fire and ash. In desperation, he turns his focus inward to pluck at the little strand of light between them, hoping that it may ring out clearly even amidst the chaos. It is still new, and still very slight. The thread tremors beneath the weight of his mental touch, singing its note high and sweet and very much alive.

“Obi-Wan!” he cries out, surging forward, following the thread as it draws him along its path until he comes to a heap of steel and stone. He reaches out in the Force, and with his hands, scrabbling at the pile of debris. With a single thought, he moves a heavy cement boulder, and he pushes back twisted steel and rebar.

“Master!” It’s Obi-Wan, and his voice is strong and steady. “Master, under here!”

Qui-Gon can feel his own fear clogging his throat. It tastes like oil and charcoal, and he spits to clear it from his mouth, working as fast as he can to reach his padawan. A few more seconds, and he discovers a pocket of air beneath the scrap. A pale hand, smeared in soot reaches up through a gap, flailing blindly for purchase.

“Padawan!” he cries, and he falls over the rubble to catch that small hand in his own, feeling the soft palms, and smooth skin, as yet unweathered by age or strife. “Obi-Wan, are you alright?” he asks.

“Yes, master,” his padawan replies. “I think - only, I think I hit my head.”

“Are you bleeding?” He does his best to keep his voice steady. To stay calm. To leave the thread taut and unplucked in his mind. He strokes the back of Obi-Wan’s hand in comfort.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan says. “It’s dark down here. Master -?”

“I’ll get you out,” he says. His grip slackens, and for a moment, Obi-Wan’s tightens in reflex, afraid of letting go, but he quickly masters himself and allows Qui-Gon to slip away.

Relying more on brute strength than the Force, Qui-Gon tears at the rock until it falls away, and he can reach inside the cavern to pull Obi-Wan free. Whether Obi-Wan is lighter than Qui-Gon anticipates, or whether his arms are fuelled with terror and fear, his padawan comes out of the rubble with enough momentum that he is sent staggering into his master’s arms, nearly falling to his knees. But Qui-Gon catches him, sets him aright, and is soon crouched before him, running his hands up and down his arms, over his shoulders and back, and along his scalp searching for injuries.

He finds one just above Obi-Wan’s left ear, hidden in his hairline. But even his thick, tawny tuffets cannot disguise the slick of blood, and his padawan winces as his fingers skim over the open wound.

“Anywhere else?” he demands.

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “No, master,” he says, but his legs buckle, and his fingers clench around Qui-Gon’s forearms as he tries to resist the pull of nausea in his gut.

Qui-Gon frowns. “We need to get you to a medcentre.”

“No, master!” Obi-Wan protests. “The bombers. They’ll get away!”

“Little One, there is no chance they are anywhere close enough to be found. That is the purpose of a bomb. Did you feel anything amiss in the Force before it detonated?”

“No,” he says.

“Then you understand,” he replies. “If they were near, they would have surely stood out in a sea of otherwise placid civilians.”

“But still -”

“No,” the master insists. “You must be tended to first. You will not help me if you collapse while in pursuit of ghosts. Do you understand?”

Obi-Wan says nothing, but he nods, his chin dropping to his chest, and his fingers flexing in the folds of Qui-Gon’s robes.

“Now, stay close, and follow me,” says Qui-Gon. He straightens again, peering through the smoke to find salvation. The wind has picked up. The ringing in his ears has stopped. He can hear the cries of dozens of injured people, but none that are near enough for him to help. Some ways away, he sees the ash of the explosion recede and finds sunny daylight beyond. With one hand to guide his student at the elbow, he makes for that.

Obi-Wan stumbles along, tripping over rock and rubble. With each step, he grows more and more uncoordinated. To Qui-Gon it seems as though he is half carrying him before they’ve gone more than a hundred yards.

“Master,” Obi-Wan mumbles, as his toe catches on a stone and his legs give out. He hardly makes any effort to save himself, but his fall is aborted by Qui-Gon’s hand at his arm. “Master, I don’t feel very well. I’d like to lie down.”

“Not yet, Obi-Wan,” he says, between gritted teeth. In the distance, he can make out a mass of emergency responders, all frantically attempting to organise the pandemonium into something civil and orderly. He drags his padawan on.

“M’sleepy,” Obi-Wan protests. And then, as if to prove his claim, his head drops and the full weight of his body swings into Qui-Gon, hinged at his arm where his master supports him still.

Qui-Gon grabs him around the middle, and attempts to prop him up, giving him a little shake. Obi-Wan’s head rolls on his neck, his eyelids fluttering as he fights for consciousness.

“Stay awake,” Qui-Gon urges. Obi-Wan frowns. “Stay awake. Listen to me. Obi-Wan?”

“I’m listening, master…” he insists, but the words come out slurred, and his eyes close again. He slumps forward until his forehead falls against the pommel of Qui-Gon’s shoulder, and his body falls into his master’s arms.

“And yet you disobey me, anyway,” Qui-Gon huffs. He taps at his cheek, trying to make him laugh, or smirk. Anything. “Obi-Wan?” he prods. “Who gave you permission to fall asleep?”

“Mm,” his padawan says.

“Do you remember what I said? About the korarchetropes? You promised to obey me, didn’t you?”

“Yes, master,” Obi-Wan says. His voice is hardly more than a whisper. “You said they talk for hours. M’listening.”

“Then do as I say,” he stresses. “Stay awake.”

He feels him nod against his chest, but his breathing has slowed, and he doesn’t stir himself to reply. Qui-Gon coughs, and begins to speculate.

There is still smoke. Fires burn nearby, hot and stinging. They are not getting any closer to help, and he can feel blood seeping through his tunics. Though Obi-Wan is no longer as slight as he once was, Qui-Gon doesn’t hesitate to sweep him into an embrace, wrapping one leg around his waist, and throwing the boy’s arms around his neck. Like the child he so recently was, Obi-Wan presses close, his head tucking neatly beneath Qui-Gon’s chin, trusting and unresistant to being carried. He has not yet the dignity of adolescence to embarrass him. Nor the consciousness to suggest it. With his padawan held tight, Qui-Gon walks out of the darkness of destruction, and back into the light.

#my fic #prompt fill #asked and answered #obi-wan kenobi #qui-gon jinn #obi-whump #gigglesandfreckles is the bee's knees #and other 20s superlatives #sw #fic #this fic is everything

73 notes · View notes

jincherie · 5 years ago

Text

tentacledipity | six

➛pairing: jimin x reader ➛genre: alien au, space au, soulmate au, wanted au, smut, light angst ➛rating: m ➛words: 9k ➛warnings: cheeky shenanigans on the outskirts of the palace grounds, smut, vaginal fingering, light nipple play, squirting,light dirty talk, light angst ➛notes: I cannot believe this one long scene is fucking 9k, I’m out of control. Anyway! Here’s the relief you’ve all been waiting for!! There aren’t any tentacles yet but it will be worth it when they finally arrive FJBHGHV. p.s. this does have a read more!

This tale starts, as any good fiction does, with a girl crash landing on a foreign planet. And, like any good fiction, it follows a theme of serendipitous happening, and tentacles. Behold, serendipity and tentacles— or dare we call it…. tentacledipity.

— posted; 30.04.2020 // ↞ prev. || six || next ↠

In the entirety of your life, you’d probably been truly nervous approximately… three times.

The first time was when you were a child. On a trip to the store with your guardian at the time, you’d wondered off to the section that had all of the rows of sweets and candies in clear boxes with scoops so that you could make your own mixed bag. Even when young, you were apparently still very self-indulgent at your core, and a little too quick to entertain the urges flitting through your gut. Urges that were also a little too quick for your brain to catch and filter them. You loved candy, or more specifically you loved Purple Planets, something like a gobstopper that changed flavours with each layer of the candy that wore down in your mouth. These little candies were the equivalent of magic in your eyes, and the second you caught sight of them in that row you wanted one. Of course, you’d wondered too far from your guardian and they weren’t nearby for you to ask them. That was when you got the urge, the sinful little whisper in the back of your mind that maybe you could just sneak one—taking a single candy couldn’t hurt anyone, could it? You quickly decided that no, it couldn’t, and reached in and swiped one of the orbs with nimble hands. You threw it in your mouth straight away, and when you looked up you met eyes with a cranky-looking older woman that had evidently been staring at you the whole time. She’d leaned over the boxes and whispered to you, “You’re going to go to jail now. The guards are on their way.”

Understandably, you’d run away to find your guardian after that, too young and trusting of adult authority to realise that woman was just being nasty and old. You’d been so nervous while leaving the store, clinging to your guardian, that you’d nearly passed out. Of course, no one was waiting to arrest you outside the store like you feared, and once you were on your way home you decided you hated old people because they’re mean and liars.

The second time you truly felt nervous was when you were leaving your home planet for the first time. By that point you’d become more than disillusioned with Earth, but still… you worried that leaving would be a decision you’d regret, and that the life in store for you beyond its atmosphere wouldn’t be anything like you hoped and dreamed. You were also, understandably as a first-time flyer, nervous that something would go wrong as you left the planet and the ship would blow up, or something along those lines. That, of course, didn’t happen—and you quickly decided to never be nervous about anything like this again because you really didn’t like the feeling.

Which brought you to the third time you’d ever felt decidedly nervous—which, incidentally, happened to be right now.

You were standing outside Jimin’s room, impressed with yourself that you managed to find it but unable to enjoy the pride for the nerves currently rioting in your stomach. Why you were nervous, you couldn’t quite pinpoint—you were reluctant to even attempt it because you had a feeling that you weren’t going to be too fond of the reason you unearthed.

You had no idea what he’d called you here for – possibly part of the cause for your nerves – and so hadn’t known exactly how to dress. It was a hot, humid night though, something that persisted even despite the breeze that filtered through spacious halls and bare windows. So you’d simply worn one of the singlets you’d brought with you to this planet (a nice change from the usual high neckline of kelkie dress) and some of the loose, satiny pants that have slits up the side of the legs, all the way to just below your hip. You’d assured yourself it was a practical choice and not just one you made because your most base instinct is to seduce a certain alien.

You also had to do some guesswork on what was meant by ‘midmoon’, and went with the assumption that it was like midday but for night time—so midnight. You really hoped you weren’t too wrong with this one because if you were late you had a very strong feeling that Jimin wouldn’t let it go for a long time. Which was something you decidedly didn’t need, considering how pissed he’d seemed earlier this evening.

This, you’d realised, was probably a big factor in the rare appearance of your nerves—apart from the fact that Jimin had never been truly angry at you before, you also had no idea what had pushed him so far earlier that he looked so pissed. He was angry and had called you to be at his room at midnight and you had no idea why. You decided that just this once you couldn’t blame yourself for being nervous, especially when you recalled how many times you’d joked about finally making the kelkie snap. You sincerely hoped that this wasn’t karma, but you weren’t feeling too optimistic about it considering how much she’d been riding your ass lately.

A while ago you’d turned your gaze to the window in the hall that opened onto Jimin’s gardens, wanting a distraction and finding it in the luminescent foliage that glows beneath the moonlight. You didn’t realise just how out of it you were, standing there staring into the untamed beauty of Kilkea’s flora, until a voice sounded beside you and you honest to god almost jumped right out of your skin.

“You’re on time. Good, I won’t have to track you down.”

“Holy FUCK, Jimin!” you whirled around, hand flying to your chest and wide eyes finding him quickly in the almost-dark. Your cheeks heated at the squeak you’d let out in fright before, and then further at the way the alien’s eyes were boring into you, dark and swirling. His gaze raked across your collarbones and then up the length of your neck before it settled and met your own, a trail of prickling heat rising in its wake across your skin. “Please don’t scare me like that, humans can die of fright, you know.”

His brows rose, the intensity of his eyes lightening slightly and allowing you to breath. “I did not know,” he murmured, taking a step closer and sending your nerves haywire once more. “I will keep it in mind, petal.”

You tried not to watch his mouth as he spoke, but his pillowy lips proved too much for you to resist, especially when he was this close. Swallowing, you tore your eyes away and attempted to get some sort of control back in this situation.

“So, uh…” You began, trying to take a step away as discreetly as possible. You weren’t as successful as you might have hoped, his eyes tracking the movement easily. “Why did you call me here? At this time? I’m sorry about the whole, uh… thing, earlier. It wasn’t on purpose, I promise. That bastard Seokjin kicked my stool—”

Up until you mentioned Seokjin, Jimin’s expression remained so neutral that you might have been inclined to believe that he’d forgotten, or at least forgiven, the incident entirely. As soon as the other male’s name fell from your lips, though, something like irritation flitted across Jimin’s features. As soon as you noticed it, you snapped your mouth shut; you decided you probably shouldn’t push your luck too much tonight. You know, for survival reasons.

“There is something I have to do,” he said, cryptically. His brow quirked and in the next second he was turning on his heel and beginning to stride away. “And since you made such a mess of helping out earlier, I figured that you may as well make yourself useful where I can see you. Come, this way. We’re going outside the palace.”

You were confused and also kind of turned on at how bossy he was being; hastily you started after him, attempting to keep up as best as you can. True to his word, he was leading you in the direction of one of the exits that sits in the back of the palace, near the kitchens.

“What do you—uh, I mean we, have to do that we have to leave the palace?” You asked, arms swaying as you walked. He had a quick stride tonight, not as attentive as he usually was to how fast he was going in comparison to you. You feared that by the time you reached your destination, wherever that may be, you’d be a dripping, sweaty mess.

Jimin hummed, as though he was pondering whether to give you the answer or leave you hanging; you liked to think you were getting better at reading him, but you wouldn’t put any money on it. He turned his head slightly, eyes catching your own over his shoulder—if it weren’t for the magnetic draw they currently had to them then you might have been hypnotised by the shimmering mauve colour of his marks instead.

Actually, there was a lot about him tonight that threatened to distract you completely. His arms were out, sleeveless silken shirt hugging each curve and dip of the muscles in his back; the material of his pants did a fantastic job of emphasising his behind, too. The last one was almost your undoing when you were so focused on your observation that you nearly missed the words he threw your way.

“A lot of the plants on this planet present a beautiful front during the daytime hours, but some only truly bloom beneath moonlight.” Jimin turned the next corner that approached the second he finished speaking, almost losing you in the process. You had to hurry to catch up to him, glimpsing an amused quirk of his lips as you did so. Bastard, now he’s just being a pain. “There are some fruit we need to harvest for some of the dishes on the menu for the celebration. They sit on the furthest reaches of the grounds, almost outside of them, and the fruit are only revealed at night.”

“Oh,” you said, thoughts rushing to catch up before getting caught on one thing in particular. You wondered, did this mean there would be pies on the menu? Oh, you hoped so. The chefs in the palace kitchens really knew how to make good desserts, and you didn’t doubt they could take any ingredients they wanted and turn it into a mouthwatering dish. Gods, you were so excited already that you swore you just felt your stomach rumble.

You followed Jimin out of the palace and onto the grounds, the two of you finding one of the stone paths and proceeding down it. To your credit, you didn’t bother him all that much, for once. He seemed to notice, if the curious looks he was shooting over his shoulder every time you were silent for more than a few minutes were anything to go by.

Although, to be fair, it wasn’t just your fantastic self-restraint that you had to thank for your sudden ability to shut up for more than a few minutes at a time; you were, for a majority of the walk, caught up in looking at the scenery around you. Just as you mused earlier, you didn’t think you’d ever get sick of looking at the environment here. The luminescent hues and hypnotic patterns that trail along branches and swirl across leaves and petals; it’s breathtaking, and you’d never get used to it.

Despite the fact that you’d actually listened earlier and therefore knew that you were heading to the edge of the palace grounds, you were still surprised by how far out the two of you were venturing at this time of night. You weren’t scared, had no reason to be, and your surroundings were actually illuminated nicely by moonlight and the glow cast from crystals and stones that line the edge of the path, so you didn’t have to worry about stumbling or anything like that. It added to the magic of the moment, if anything.

You thought it couldn’t get any better, or any more beautiful, than this, but you were quickly proven wrong when you trailed after Jimin around a curve in the path and came upon a dead-end of sorts. You audibly gasped at the sight before you, rooted to the spot in awe—you don’t even notice the weight of a gaze on you. “Oh my gosh… it’s so pretty…”

In front of you was a clearing of sorts that backed onto a looming cliff face, lush shrubbery peaking over the ridge, the descent covered in thick, curling vines that glowed turquoise and emerald beneath the moonlight and danced jubilantly in the breeze. The flowers that bloomed across the cliff were rosy, petals curling back like lilies and speckled with bioluminescent blue, but at the very centre of the flowers was a fruit that you instantly longed to put in your mouth. It appeared like a blackberry, but supersized—it was plump and juicy looking, and if you had to guess you’d say it would probably be about the size of your hand.

Surprisingly enough, the fruits weren’t the first thing to catch your attention. No, that was the waterfall that split the cliff face to the right, shimmering waters flowing into a large, deep lake at the base. Black pebble-like stones lined the shore, and larger obsidian chunks jutted into the water along its girth. The way the water danced beneath the moonlight almost had you well and truly hypnotised, if it weren’t for the sound of Jimin’s voice breaking through your thoughts.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it.” He hummed, and you didn’t realise he’d begun to walk away until you turned and caught him moving to the side. Any questions you might have had as to why were quickly answered when you saw him procure two woven baskets from a weathered table by the cliff. He turned back and halted when he saw you in the same position as before. “Come on, petal, these aren’t going to pluck themselves into our baskets.”

Cheeks flushing for some reason unbeknownst to you, you hurried over to take one of the baskets in his hold, following him when he moved to the part of the cliff closest to the table and furthest from the lake. Well, you decided that you didn’t really have any reason to be so nervous earlier. Yet another reason to banish the emotion from your being.

“These are pippura,” Jimin informed you when you approached him, looking to make sure that you were listening. You offered him a bright, shit-eating grin to reassure him and he rolled his eyes before turning back to the vines. You caught the way his lips had quirked before he did, though, and filed it away in your victory drawer for later gloating. “They only grow on cliff faces near running water—we are lucky enough to have such a place as this on the grounds. If we didn’t, then we would have to venture much further to procure some.”

“Are they special?” you found yourself asking, swinging the basket around your wrist idly and then stopping immediately when he sent you a warning glance. “I mean, are they important for celebrations?”

“They are used in a lot of traditional dishes that feature in celebrations such as this one,” Jimin confirmed, muscles of his back shifting as he reached to grab one of the fruits hanging a little above his head. “You will be happy to know that many of those dishes are desserts.”

He was right—you were happy to hear that. You couldn’t stop the stupid, excited grin from slipping onto your face at the thought of all the delicious possibilities you were going to be able to try for the first time. If these fruits tasted as good as they looked, then you were going to be in for a good time.

Jimin might have been somewhat tense at the beginning of this little venture, but as the two of you went about plucking the vines bare of their fruits and filling your baskets with their bounty, he seemed to ease into himself a little, growing a little more playful and a little more sassy. Which is to say, he returned to the Jimin you knew and loved. Of course, the second you noticed this, you were unable to help yourself from resuming your usual shithead antics. You poked and prodded at him playfully with a few verbal jabs, all of which either got you a small snort and a grin, or a look loaded with tension and restraint. It was exhilarating—you didn’t realise just how much you’d missed this! Granted, it hadn’t been all that long since you’d been a thorn in Jimin’s side, but you were a simple girl who enjoyed the simple things in life.

It was still a humid night, and although the breeze did help some in keeping you from overheating, you still found yourself casting longing looks towards the water behind you. Gods, it had been so long since you last swam—now that the idea was in your head, you couldn’t get it out. Of course, that idea followed the path in your brain that most thoughts take these days, and your gaze flicked from Jimin, to the water, and then back to Jimin. No… you shouldn’t. You only just got back in his good graces, you didn’t fancy another near death experience today. But still…

You couldn’t rid the thought from your head, trying not to let your scheming show on your face. Jimin was a lot sturdier and a lot stronger than you, so the only way you’d even be able to get him in the water by surprise would be to full-body tackle him. You didn’t think you’d come out of that unscathed. Still… the longer you stewed in the humid air, the weaker you found yourself becoming to the idea. By this point, you knew you were going to end up going for a midnight swim in that lake, it was just a matter of whether you were going to be able to convince Jimin. Well, admittedly your definition of ‘convince’ was becoming looser by the minute, so the nature of Jimin’s impending entrance into the lake was, at this point, very subject to change. There were a number of scenarios playing out in your mind’s eye.

It was when your basket was nearing overflowing, and you grabbed one last fruit a little too hard and landed yourself with a hand covered in sticky berry juice, that you had an idea. The juices were an odd, shimmery dark blue and seemed eager to stain, just like the berries you knew from earth. Fantastic. You shuffled closer to Jimin, who had become so enraptured in the task by this point that he didn’t even pay you any mind. You were planning on pretending to trip, but karma had its kiss for you and you ended up actually tripping on a rock on your way to him, like a loser. As regrettable as it was, it did get the job done all the same.

“Oh shoot—sorry!” As would be the natural instinct of any red-blooded woman, you’d reached for Jimin’s bicep when you fell and ended up bursting the fruit against it, spilling its juices all over him. You did feel a little bad, despite the fact this had been your plan all along, but you were more surprised when instead of recoiling like you’d expected, Jimin had whipped around and attempted to catch you from tumbling to the ground instead. You didn’t have time to relish in the resulting flutter of your heart, because he quickly realised what you’d spilt on him and proceeded to send you an exasperated look.

“Are all humans such trouble? You are almost as clumsy as Namjoon,” he remarked, but you caught the twinkle of amusement in the darkness of his eyes as he righted you to your feet.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” you informed him, before pulling out your most innocent smile. “And at least there’s a lake here to wash off in!”

Jimin’s eyes flicked back over his shoulder, taking in the body of water nestled against the cliff. He hummed for a moment, before shrugging and letting you go to place his basket down and make his way over to the pebbled shore. “I wouldn’t need to wash off if you had watched where you were walking, petal.”

You rolled your eyes, watching for a moment as he slipped his boots off, placing them by one of the rocks wedged into the shore and proceeding to roll his pants up before stepping into the water. You snapped yourself out of your staring—now was the time to strike!

“Is it cold?” you asked, trying not to betray your intentions as you slipped your own shoes off and began to creep over. He was bending slightly, trying to scoop some water into his palms, and if you had to hold yourself back from being a bastard a second longer you were going to combust.

“Of course not, it’s lovely,” he muttered, somewhat absentmindedly. His marks shimmered neutral blue as his fingers swirled through the water. Now that you knew you weren’t going to make him freeze to death by pushing him in, you had no qualms acting on the urge that had been bothering you for the better part of the last ten minutes.

“Oh, good,” you remarked, before taking a moment to accept the very real possibility of death after this. As soon as you were at peace with it, you disengaged your rational thought machine and enacted your plan. Quick as you could, you darted across the grass and planted your hands on Jimin’s butt with all your strength (not! For the reason one might be thinking! It was a purely strategic move to make him most unbalanced), miraculously succeeding in pushing him off his feet and, subsequently, into the water.

“Y/N—!”

The way he just barked your name in shock made you as excited as it did scared for you life—although, if you were being honest, the line between those two had been getting more and more blurred lately. Tumbling into the rippling waters of the lake he went, deep enough where he fell that for a moment he was completely submerged. You couldn’t help the laugh that tore from you at the sight, but it quickly tapered into an alarmed scream as he burst back to the surface, absolutely drenched, and sent you a murderous look.

You’d been intending to get in right after him, but perhaps it would be more prudent to run while you still could—

“You little—” Jimin’s sputtered words were all the warning you got before he launched towards you, tearing through the water and up the shore much, much faster than you had ever anticipated. You yelped, spinning on your heel and scrambling across the pebbles, stumbling in your attempts to flee before he reached you. Of course, as you knew from the second he locked eyes on you after exiting the water, you hadn’t stood a chance of getting away; you would never be a match for his sheer speed and strength. You barely got three steps in before two strong hands snapped around the small of your waist, water seeping into your shirt where his fingers pressed into the material.

“You are such a pain,” he chastised, twisting you and throwing you over his shoulder so quickly that it almost made you dizzy.

“Aw, come on, it was an accident! I’m sorry!” you lied through your teeth, scrabbling for a grip on the drenched shirt that was sticking to his every line and curve like a second skin. “Let’s be rational about this—”

Smack!

You yelped, back curving slightly as your hand flew to your ass in shock, the likes of which was now smarting as a result of the firm smack he’d just delivered. Your entire face flushed with heat, brain flatlining as the raven-haired alien carried you back towards the lake; the sight of the grass growing further and further away, along with your chances of survival, was very condemning.

“Be quiet and accept the consequences of your actions like a good girl, petal,” Jimin said, voice so low and raspy it was almost a purr; you couldn’t see his marks from this angle but you were dying to know what colour flushed across them when he said that. You felt your stomach drop and butterflies swarm to replace it, giddy anticipation tingling up your spine. You didn’t know if you were in a place emotionally where you could deal with being this horny right now.

You made one last attempt at pleading for mercy, “I didn’t know that you’d fall in! I thought you had more balance than that! It’s not my fault youAAAH—”

Evidently, Jimin was not in a merciful mood. He didn’t even wait for you to finish talking when he reached mid-shin in the water and promptly threw you from his shoulder and into the depths. It happened so quickly you could do little more than yelp before the water cut you off and you were sinking below the surface, the lake so cool against your overheated skin that you almost let out a blissful sigh before catching yourself just in time. Your feet found the smooth, pebbled bottom and you propelled yourself back up, breaking the surface with an affronted gasp. “Hey! That was rude! Do we even know how dirty the water is?”

At this point you were just being annoying, but he simply rolled his eyes before trapping your own in his gaze, the heat contained in the dark pools making you shudder. He began moving towards you, striding back into the lake like a predator, so smoothly that the most the water did in response to his entrance was ripple around his legs. “It’s not dirty,” he informed you, a sly look crossing his features for the barest second. “There is a certain type of algae in here that means it is self cleaning—actually, the algae is part of the reason why the pippura vines grow here.”

You launched yourself backwards as he grew closer, spouting off little tidbits of information like he wasn’t currently in the process of cornering you in the lake; your arms couldn’t seem to propel you fast enough, because each second you spent splashing about frantically he gained on you. By the time he was about a metre away from you, the water was up to his ribs and he looked like he was preparing to pounce. So, you did the only logical thing you could think of in that moment, and used your legs to kick a massive splash of water in his face.

It smacked him dead on, drenching his hair once more and making him sputter, hands coming up to wipe water out of his eyes. His marks shifted rapidly, from rose to teal to petal pink and then back again. You didn’t know what it meant, but you knew your time was running out.

“y/n,” he said, voice low as he flicked water from his face and levelled you with a heated look, lashes wet and sticking together. “Didn’t I just tell you to be a good girl?”

His words made your stomach flip and a shiver roll down your spine, and yet you were too proud to let it show. Instead, you offered him an innocent expression and a flippant, “Oops?”

That seemed to set him off.

You spent the next few minutes cackling as he attempted to grab you, apparently much less graceful in the water with slippery pebbles beneath his feet than he was on land. Something about games with a chase, like tag, just made your blood sing— and from the glimpse you got of his lively expression as he tailed you through the water, the feeling was mutual. You didn’t know how long you managed to evade him before he caught you, but it was long enough that your pride remained safe by the time his hands landed on your shoulders and you were promptly dunked beneath the surface. When you returned for air, you splashed him for cover and made a break for it once more. Fun, it was so much fun it felt like you were floating in your elation.

Every time you would just barely manage to slip from his grasp with a mad giggle, you’d hear a laugh of his own tumble into the air, the sound downright melodic and so decadent against your ears you immediately did everything you could to hear it again. This was a side of him that you’d hand to wrangle out with your bare hands, but damn if it wasn’t worth it to see the way his eyes shone and disappeared into crescents with his smile.

Of course, though you were incredibly gifted in many areas (not to toot your own magnificent horn) stamina sadly wasn’t one of them. Jimin might have been engineered for speed, agility and athletic grace, but you most definitely weren’t. It was only a matter of time before you grew too tired to continue fleeing as well as you had been up until that point.

“I give up! I surrender!” you announced, proceeding to flop backwards and float, almost panting. The water had cooled you down greatly but it was still a warm night and Jimin was unfairly fast. You’d been kept on your toes the whole time.

“I am surprised that you lasted so long,” he mused, sinking down in the water until it was up to his neck. The mirth had yet to fade from his eyes, his marks still glowing an exuberant teal that fluctuated between bright green and cyan.

“I’m full of surprises,” you informed him, still somewhat breathless. You shifted from your floating position, treading water lazily as you leaned back and sent him a cheeky look. You just needed a moment to recharge, then you’d be giving him a run for his money once more.

Jimin hummed, breaking the hold he had on your gaze for a moment to glance up at the sky; your breath caught in your throat at how beautiful he was in that moment, raven hair an unruly mess and water still dripping down his skin, freckles luminous and the entirety of his form bathed in the kind of moonlight that made him seem ethereal. You snapped out of it a second later, propelling yourself slightly behind him so he wouldn’t catch you slipping if he happened to look down.

You’d only meant to hide your face and the current heated nature of your cheeks from him, but as you floated behind him your goblin brain, of course, came up with another idea that would rile him up. You weren’t sure if you should enact it so soon, when you hadn’t even caught your breath completely yet, but you were also aware that he wasn’t going to be distracted much longer, especially when it was you in his company. By this point he’d learnt the hard way to keep his eye on you.

Twisting your body in the water smoothly so that your feet braced against the bottom once more, you prepared to jump. You needed to get a good grip, or else he would throw you off too easily and that would be nowhere near as fun.

Throughout the whole time you were plotting that move, you forgot completely about what lined the skin of his lower back— you were soon to be reminded, however, when you proceeded to pounce on him from behind and he stiffened immediately in your hold.

Your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms around his neck, but he was more slippery than you accounted for and you had to fight to keep your grip. This, of course, meant that you were pressed that much tighter against his back.

“You—” he seemed at a loss for words for the briefest moment, stuttering slightly as his hands whipped to your thighs.

“Boo!” you announced belatedly with a ruffle of his hair, even as you felt your grip begin to slip. Well, it seemed it was time to cut your losses and jump back into the water— you were completely prepared to do so, until he twisted slightly beneath you and you slipped prematurely.

Having expected to fall back into the water, you were surprised when Jimin managed to turn in your grip and scoop you into his hold, saving you from an abrupt reunion with the surface of the lake. It didn’t do much for the state of your heart, however, when you realised that now you were clinging to his front, legs around his waist and his hands supporting you at your ass and thigh. Uncharacteristically— or rather, quite characteristically since this was Jimin you were dealing with— you were at a loss for words, reduced to simply blinking at him with wide eyes and mouth slightly ajar in shock.

If the position alone hadn’t been enough to send your heart racing, then the way he was looking at you would have definitely finished the job. His marks were flushed deep, dark rose, and his eyes were so intense as they bore into you that you felt goosebumps raise across your skin. You felt oddly… vulnerable, for a moment, but you didn’t have time to ponder that realisation before his lips were quirking slightly in something like triumph.

“You are full of surprises,” he agreed, head tilting slightly; water lapped lightly at your skin and it took you a moment to realise he was moving towards the cliff, near the cluster of large, obsidian rocks that skirt the edge of the waterfall. “But you are also very predictable, petal. You pulled the same move twice.”

Huh, well. Maybe you did! What’s it to him?! You opened your mouth to express just that, but all that came out was a squeak when his hand shifted its place on your thigh and slipped through the slit in your pants, palm cool against your heated skin. For a moment you forgot how to breathe— this was just like what you told Seokjin. Going from nothing to a lot of something, just wasn’t a situation you were equipped to handle!

“Oh,” you managed to say, finally. He seemed amused at your fluster, and you were willing to bet that he was probably enjoying the way the tables had turned since you’d first arrived here. Cocky of him, but hot nonetheless. You just called it as you saw it. “Well, maybe this was my plan all along, and you played right into it. Victory goes to me, peach cheeks.”

His brows rose, apparently thinking it very bold of you to be bringing back that pet name when it was you currently at his mercy, as much as you might have currently been trying to make it seem otherwise.

“Your plan, or mine?” he asked softly, holding your gaze as he halted and you felt cool rock press against your back. You shivered, unable to help it, and he let out a pleased hum. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it most definitely wasn’t for him to rock his hips forward, grinding against you and pinning you to the rock all at once. The gasping noise that came out of you was kind of embarrassing, but he didn’t seem to think so.

Once more, he had you at a loss for words as you attempted to process his utterance amongst the pleasant, heady sensations burning through you. It didn’t help your ability to think either, when his hand slipped from your thigh to trail up your side; with bated breath, you felt it as he dragged his fingertips over your ribs, skirting the underside of your chest before dancing up your sternum, where your neckline ended and his fingers met your skin. It wasn’t all that much, but the action alone had been enough to leave a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. When his gaze flicked down momentarily, you were slightly embarrassed to see that his wandering hand had also elicited another unwitting reaction from you, your nipples standing beneath the material of your shirt. Wearing a bra tonight would have been prudent, but you hadn’t exactly accounted for this, had you?

This felt surreal, almost. For however long and loudly and explicitly you had expressed your desire for him, for some reason you hadn’t ever counted on being in this position. It was almost like you had to acclimatise yourself to it, but you didn’t have time to ease yourself into the scalding heat of his touch and the sinful burn of his gaze against your skin. You had been fully immersed and molten desire was devouring you whole.

His fingertips had remained at your sternum, but his gaze flicked along the column of your neck and it wasn’t long before his hand followed suit. Over your collarbones, the dip of your shoulder where it met your neck, and then up the column of your throat. His touch was gentle as his thumb settled under your chin, fingers slipping into the hair at the back of your neck, and ever so slowly he tilted your head backwards so the expanse of your neck was bared to him.

Your gaze now centered on the stars, your breath hitched when a hum drifted through the air and he nosed along your neck, the occasional brush of his lips against your skin eliciting shiver after shiver. Of course he would enjoy toying with you, not that you could blame him.

He didn’t make you wait all that long, though, before his pillowy lips finally pressed to your skin over your pulse, soft and silken as a petal. You didn’t doubt he could feel, if not hear, the way your heart was racing right now.

“Always so bold,” he murmured, pressing his lips directly over your throat, and then to your collarbones. You could barely breathe, feeling dizzy from just his proximity alone. “But you’re awfully quiet now, petal.”

“Can you blame me?” you said, eyes fluttering closed as you felt his tongue brush against your skin. “I’m only— only one woman—”

Your ability to speak ceased completely when his teeth made an appearance, scraping ever so tantalisingly against the junction of your neck and shoulder. He hummed against you, pulling back a moment later.

“Look at me.”

With his grip beneath your chin eased, you tilted your head back somewhat dizzily, head a little hazier than before.

“I want you to answer me seriously when I ask these,” he said, and there was no room in his tone for any of your usual cheeky behaviour. You nodded obediently, holding his gaze and watching as his marks shifted colours hypnotically.

“Do you want to feel me?”

He rolled his hips, a prominent bulge grinding against your core and making your nerves tingle to life as he did so. You nodded, breath catching and your hands coming to grip his arms.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

His hand drifted from your throat to your shoulder, finger slipping beneath the strap of your shirt and waiting. You nodded, more fervour in the movement this time, and slowly, oh so slowly, he dragged the strap of your singlet down over your shoulder. He seemed to be attempting to hold himself together too as he continued the movement and pulled the rest of your shirt with the strap, peeling it from your chest until it slipped beneath the curve of your breast and bared it to his gaze.

Almost with a sense of reverence, the back of his fingers brushed along the swell of your breast, forefinger coming to trace around your areola before his thumb finally shifted and swept across your hardened nipple. You had all the time in the world to prepare for it, and still you were unable to help the sharp mewl you let out in response, heat flushing across your face and chest. Jimin’s dark eyes flicked back up to your own, lips parted ever so slightly as though in awe. Idly, his thumb continued rolling your nipple, the sensations making your thighs clench in their grip around his waist; instinctively, his hips rocked into your own, and you registered in the back of your mind that something smooth was brushing against your feet.

The two of you had drawn closer without even realising, his eyes hooded slightly as they bore into your own from beneath damp lashes.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

For a moment, your heart stopped. This time you didn’t nod, the whisper escaping you of its own accord. “Yes.”

He didn’t need any more confirmation beyond that. Before you could blink he was dipping forward, fingers digging into your ass for a better grip as his lips finally met your own and the heat swallowed you whole.

When his mouth moved against yours, lips just as plush and pillowy as you’d dreamed, it was as though something shifted, snapped into place within you. There had never been an absence or a void inside you, and yet the second his lips caught your own in a kiss, it was like something had returned home. Like your insides before had been messy and muddled, and he had brought clarity and order and everything had fallen into place.

You sank into each other like clockwork, every move of his lips and tongue against your own all but stealing the breath straight from your lungs. So inebriated in the touch, smell, taste of him were you that you hardly batted an eye at the sensation of something thick and firm curling around your ankles and up your legs.

Suddenly emboldened, you nipped his bottom lip with your teeth, before sucking it into your mouth; the groan that escaped him in response was guttural and low, hips rocking into your own roughly. He only let you play for a moment, though, before he was reclaiming control of the kiss and the situation in one go.

“So eager,” he gasped a moan when he broke from your mouth to suckle along your jaw. “The smell of your desire is so strong, petal— intoxicating…”

You should have been embarrassed to discover he could smell your arousal, but at this point you were beyond shame. He nipped and sucked along the column of your throat, each one wringing out a new, special noise from you just for him. You forgot to keep track of the rest of him until you suddenly felt his hand shift, fingers toying along the waistband of your pants.

“I’ll give you what you want…”

In the next moment his grip had shifted and he was lifting you up with ease, placing you onto the surface of a rock just to the side; from this position your hips were at the same height as his shoulders. He wasted no time adjusting his position, moving closer and slipping your pants down in such a fluid movement that you were reeling for moments after. You felt no shame in being almost completely bare before him, not when he was slipping your thigh over his shoulder and easing forward, looking at you as though mesmerised by what he saw. It was a heady look that swirled in his eyes, molten and promising. As he moved closer he rose slightly, almost hovering over you and pushing your leg back to your chest.

His mouth parted, words on the tip of his tongue but unable to pass as he simply drank you in. The fingers of his free hand came to trail up your slit, collecting a generous amount of slick as it did so. The look Jimin then gave you was full of such heat that you almost felt lightheaded; the sensation of being completely at his mercy was absolutely intoxicating.

“So wet,” he murmured, pushing his finger a little deeper between your lower lips and making your hips cant up slightly. It was like he was no longer even aware of the words tumbling from his mouth. “So pretty… I wonder how well you would….”

You weren’t left wondering what he could have meant for long; in the next second he was pushing a thick finger to brush your entrance; the anticipation alone was almost too much for you, more arousal gushing forth to greet his inquisitive touch.

“Jimin,” you gasped as his thumb brushed your clit by accident, the noise making him double back and go again. “P-please…”

He met your eyes, and for a moment you thought he might have made you ask for it, might have made you beg, but to your surprise a small smile slipped onto his lips and, without a word, he pushed his finger completely into you.

Of course you were so absolutely turned on by this point that there wasn’t a stretch, but the sensation alone of being filled, even a little, was so delicious that you didn’t even have the presence of mind to try and squash the abrupt, keening moan that escaped you. You hadn’t realised how much you’d ached to have something inside you before now, clenching around even a single finger like a wanton whore.

Jimin swore in his native tongue, groaning at the tightness you offered. He pumped once, twice, finger a torturous drag against your walls as he did so until he added a second finger and was rewarded with more unwitting noises from you.

“Fuck!” You gasped as his fingers curled, searching for something along your walls that it didn’t take him long to find. He seemed all too pleased to have found your sensitive spot, and that knowledge in combination with the way he began working his thumb over your clit as he pumped his fingers into you was what ultimately spelt your doom.

“Does it feel good, petal?” he asked, breathless. When you nodded, he rewarded you with a third finger— the noise you let out in response was positively sinful. Pleasure thrummed along your limbs, burning beneath your skin and turning your bones to magma. So much pleasure throbbed in your core at his slow, purposeful strokes that you felt like you were going to lose your mind.

And then he decided he wanted to pick up the pace.

Your hands scrambled for purchase as he began to fuck his fingers up into you in earnest, each pump slamming into you and ending with his fingers curling into your g-spot and making colours explode behind your eyelids. You didn’t realise your eyes had closed until you felt something soft brush your chest and they shot open— only to flutter closed once more in the next second as Jimin’s lips wrapped around your pebbled nipple and he sucked it roughly into his mouth.

“Jimin—!” The words caught in your throat, “F-fuck, please d-don’t— don’t stop—”

Jimin’s fingers weren’t long, but they were thick, and the sensation of them dragging against your walls again and again and again was absolutely heavenly— but the way he stimulated your g-spot with each roll of his wrist drove you absolutely mad. You weren’t one to usually reach your end all that quickly, but already at his ministrations there was a ball of tension forming in your stomach, more and more ready to snap with each sharp jolt of pleasure to your core.

Jimin trapped your nipple between his teeth, tugging it lightly before releasing it and moving his mouth to your ear. “Let go for me, petal. I want to feel you unravel around me.”

A low, heady murmur dripping with desire and promise. He returned his mouth to your chest, and you didn’t even have time to tell him you were close before he hit the final nail into your coffin.

While he’d been maintaining long, precise strokes before now, he suddenly shifted tactics. Within the blink of an eye he began fucking his fingers into you that much harder, that much faster— but it was the combination of his fingers pressing into your g-spot and his thumb rolling your clit that sent you well and truly over the edge.

The coil within you snapped and you gasped out his name in a lilting moan as your orgasm burst forth and you came hard, pussy clenching around his fingers like a vice as your back arched off the rock in the woes of your pleasure. Even so, he continued to fuck his fingers into you as you rode out your high, only stopping when you placed a trembling hand against his chest and tried to squirm away from overstimulation.

It took a moment for you to come back to your senses somewhat, gaze centering back on Jimin; you were surprised to see droplets glistening along his arm and across the damp silken material of his shirt, but quickly realised with heated cheeks that he’d actually made you squirt. He didn’t seem to mind; if anything, he seemed to approve, expression strained as he gazed over the mess you’d made of him.

As he gently slipped your thigh from his shoulder and set it down, giving you a quick rinse with the water before slipping your pants back down, your ability to speak finally began to return to you.

“H-holy fuck…” you murmured, slipping from the rock and back into the water as soon as your pants were back on. It might have been a mistake to move so fast, though, because your legs were jelly and you almost dipped beneath the surface were it not for Jimin’s hands coming to brace you. You fixed your top as you looked at him, taking in the tension riddling his firm and the shadows swirling in the water behind him— now, of course, you recalled a certain predicament that affected him. You read the heat and desire still burning in his gaze and moved forward, slipping your hands to his waist. “Now, to return the favour—”

To your surprise, the alien halted your movements, shaking his head. Your confusion was only increased when a light smile slipped onto his lips. He closed his eyes a moment, taking a deep breath, and you caught it from the corner of your eye as the shifting shadows in the water behind him began to still and slip out of sight.

“It’s okay, I will be fine,” he assured you, tone soft and just as airy and mellifluous as ever. “We should really be getting back.”

“Oh… ok.” For the third time that night, you were rendered speechless. Except this time, it was out of sheer confusion. He placed a hand on your back, guiding you from the lace and back up to where you’d left your baskets; thankfully, a part of you reflected as you emerged from the water, the material of your pants was comfortable and unlikely to chafe even while dripping with water.

As you retrieved your baskets, Jimin offered you a somewhat strained smile, before tilting his head in the direction of the castle. “Let’s go, petal.”

And then he turned and simply began on his way back, leaving you to follow and trail behind him distractedly. Something twinged behind the protection of your ribcage, replaced only by a sinking sensation that settled and weighed down your stomach and didn’t leave for the entire duration of your trip back to the palace.

The high you’d felt earlier was quick to fade in the wake of Jimin’s odd behaviour. He’d literally just fingered you to completion, you should be euphoric right now. And yet… for some reason, it felt as though something had been carved out of your gut and left a gaping hole in its wake. He wasn’t even being mean— hell, he’d smiled at you! Twice! So why did you suddenly feel so...down?

You struggled to entertain a plausible reason for Jimin’s odd behaviour, but you were coming up dangerously blank. In the wake of it all, you couldn’t stop the self-destructive thoughts you usually fought off so well from slipping in amongst your thoughts.

Had he done it just to get you off his case? Had he just been… humouring you?

The thought of it made you feel sick.

The trek back to the palace passed in the blink of an eye, and before you knew it Jimin was easing the basket from your grasp and you were in front of your door. The walk had dried you off enough that now the only true reminder of what had happened in the lake was the current damp and unruly state of his hair and the way his marks had been stained dark maroon ever since leaving the clearing.

“Thank you for your help,” he murmured, drawing your gaze to his own at the sound of his voice. “Go and get some rest, petal.”

With that, he leant forward and pressed a soft kiss, the barest brush of his lips, against your temple. Your heart suddenly hung heavy in your chest, stomach wringing in tumult. You watched him pull back and begin to move away, words caught in your throat.

“Goodnight.”

He was gone before you managed to say it back, disappearing into the darkness of the hall like a shadow returning to the night.

Returning to your own room had you vulnerable, the walls a chamber for your sudden loneliness to echo back and hit you in the face. You tried to brush the feelings aside; it was fine. You were tired and overthinking it, reading too much into the little things.

After all, if he didn’t like you then he wouldn’t have kissed you on the forehead.

...Right?

a/n: as always i hope u enjoyed,, tysm for waiting so long and for reading!!! lmk what u think and whether u enjoyed with a like or rb,, it helps keep me going lol. thank u i love u!!! <3

↞ prev. || six || next ↠

#jimin smut #bts smut #jimin x reader #bts au #bts series #jimin series #alien au #alien jimin #alien jimin x reader #jimin x reader smut #tentacledipity #my work #wanted au #space au #tentacle smut #fun right #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic

1K notes · View notes

keenmarvellover · 4 years ago

Text

POSTS FOR YOU - 1

Some links to posts with valuable content you want in one place.(BASICALLY EVERYTHING IS THERE)

Suggestions and Recommendations are appreciated and accepted.

Last Updated : 16/10/2020

NOTE: Some of these post are written in a crude and unruly fashion. But they contain valuable tips, guidance and information. If you can't/don't want to read such posts, then don't read.

Mental Health

Do you need a Hug?

Maybe you’re having a stressful day. Maybe you just need a deep breath. Maybe you just didn’t realize how stressed you are. You can get your comfort here.

Some stuff to help you sleep

This is definitely not a google drive full of the sleep stuff from the Headspace app, including sleepcasts, music, and wind down meditation, that normally costs 17.99 a month, no siree and you definitely shouldnt share this with people

Anti-Anxiety Tools

Some tools to help you before, during or after an anxiety attack

100 Reasons NOT To Kill Yourself

READ IT. SHARE IT. REBLOG IT. Save a Life.

HOBBIES MASTERPOST!!!!!!!!

A really excellent way to reduce anxiety is to pick up a new hobby. Find something you’re interested in, learn it, then use it as a healthy and productive way to cope.

Health

Some very Important Lists for Rating PAIN, FATIQUE AND MENTAL HEALTH

It is MUST share

PSA Rregarding Hospital bills

Also how to pay hospital bills when you are broke.

How to differentiate between COVID-19, FLU AND COMMON COLD

Anyway, as we enter cold & flu season in the YEAR of corona, this will come in very handy.

Treatment for HIV

VERY IMPORTANT. Please Read and Share.

What does the Color of your Period mean?

A must read for individuals who get periods.

How to differentiate between Period Cramps and Appendicitis

A MUST READ

From a Person who is Hard of Hearing

Types and levels of deafness

General Tips for Vagina Health

Some stuff they don't teach in sex-ed.

Undo the damage of Sitting

Are you always sitting down? Then these are some exercise you should probably try out for better health.

Guide to Proper Bra Fitting

Guide to Proper Bra Fit and Measuring. Please Read and Share.

Washable, Reusable Menstrual Pads

(Part II)

Reusable menstrual hygiene product, and are an alternative to disposable sanitary napkins or to menstrual cups.

Artists

Art Masterpost

How to draw *insert whatever you want, its there in the list*?

Book Binding

Some video links to different types of DIY Bookbinding

For Artists who Need Photoshop

If youre an artist who cant afford photoshop, definitely DO NOT go to this google drive to pirate the program, that would be so bad!!!

Do’s and Don'ts of Designing for Accessibility

Please consider this when designing for ANYTHING. For BUSINESSES and ARTISTS.

Writers

Color Synonyms

For both ARTISTS and WRITERS

How to make a Masterlist

Simple but efficient instructions to make a masterlist

ULTIMATE NOVEL WRITING RESOURCE MASTERLIST

This is an ultimate masterlist of many resources that could be helpful for writers.

List of AUs and Ship Tropes

For when you run out of ideas.

AUs

Ship Tropes

Legal sites to get some much needed Info

If there was only a way to find out all of this rather edgy information without getting yourself in trouble…

Resources for Describing Characters

For writing about physical appearances, character traits, talents,and skills and other related stuff of your characters, here is a comprehensive list.

Resources for Describing Emotions

Having trouble writing jealousy, happiness, motivation. Here you go!!

Some Resources for your Writing

Body Language

Reverse Dictionary

Character Traits

Things to Keep in mind when naming Characters

Valuable advice. Trust me

Words to Use when Writing Smut/Romance

This is for smut/romance writers. Kinda like a thesaurus.

Tips to write Pain

How are you supposed to write about pain you’ve never experienced before?

References for Greek Mythology Characters

Link to an extensive site every single detail of Greek Mythology from Gods to Family Trees.

Tips to write Blind Characters

Some tips that might be invaluable when writing character that are near-blind or blind

Things to Remember when writing a Highly Emotional Scene

Just small things that could make a great difference

How to write with Multiple POVs

Tips on how to write multiple POVs with diverse characters

Synonyms and Antonyms

The person who made this list is a blessing to writers. Just saying.

Good Qualities for Female Characters

Females don't always need to be protected and be weak. Make them more realistic.

Words to Use instead of ‘Said’

Every single situation is listed. Check it out.

Limits of the Human Body

All extremities listed

Readers

Legal Sites to Download Literature

From children’s books to rare books, from philosophy and religion to nonfiction. I guess you can find anything here.

The Rights of the Reader

And some (lots of) bashing of Helicopter Parents.(You want to read only the rights. Here it is)

Wet Book Rescue : Steps to save a Wet Book

Valuable information if some of your prized books were affected by recent flooding. The video even shows you what to do if you can’t dry the book out right away.

Cheatsheet to Navigate AO3

Makes your time on AO3 a little more easier and interesting

How to trick Writers into giving you More Fanfic to read

Works for Comics and Art as well.

Get a Book Suggestion

This book website gives you the first page of a random book without the title or author so that you can read it with no preconceptions

Books written by POC Writers

Only POC authors included in the list.

Students

Basic ASL (American Sign Language) Movements

ASL Hand Movements for beginners.

Tips for studying with ADHD/a>

Made by a person with ADHD themself.

Resources to Learn New Languages

Ten fairly useful general language resources

How to properly take notes

It helps. It really helps.

FREE ONLINE LANGUAGE COURSES

Here is a masterpost of MOOCs (massive open online courses) that are available, archived, or starting soon. I think they will help those that like to learn with a teacher or with videos.

A Thread of Tips

A thread of tips to help High School and College students academically

LEARN THINGS FOR FREE

FREE ONLINE COURSES (here are listed websites that provide huge variety of courses)

Google like a BOSS

Some life hacks which make student's lives easier.

625 words to know in your Target Language

If your learning a new language, these words will help you build a strong foundation.(Some tips and sites are include too)

Miscellaneous/Life Hacks

How to add music to your Blog

How to add your very own, custom homemade playlist to your blog?

How to Walk with Purpose?

Some tips on how to hold yourself in public and why.

Cheatsheet for Laundry Rooms

Saves a lot of money in the Laundry Room

How to Gird up your Loins?

A lesson in how to gird your loins.

How to Disappear Online

Please read and spread for the sake of abuse victims or stalker victims.

What to do during a Nuclear Attack

I hope you never have to use it but here are some guidelines to follow in the event of a nuclear attack

How to pull an All-Nighter.

A to-do list

Write a Thank You letter after your Interview

It leaves a good impression on your interviewer and increase your chances of passing the interview.

Laundry Tags: Meanings

A life hack that you’ll definitely need at some point.

Where to find free Movies and Series Online

Lots of sites. Lots and Lots of sites. I am not Kidding. Now go and chill without netflix. (Part II)

How to get a Refund?

Get your stuff or a refund.

HOW TO DO EVERYTHING FROM SCRATCH

This starts at the most absolute basics of gardening and planting, provides definitions, and hopefully is easily understandable. This is a MUST-READ. (Farming)

Discuss your wages

It’s your right to share your salary, not doing so could be holding you back.

Youtube Tutorials for Basically EVERYTHING

This is a big, giant list of Youtube tutorials that will teach you all the basic life skills you need to know in order to be a functional adult.

Safety

Emergency Evacuation - Items to Gather

A text list of suggested items to acquire in the event of an emergency.

If someone you know is in an abusive relationship

AN ABBREVIATED GUIDE TO ‘Holy shit!!! My friend is in an abusive relationship what do I do’ and what not to do.

Defense Tips for Women

Defense and Safety tips a woman MUST know. (Part II)

An app that informs your Emergency contacts if you are inactive in a set period of time.(Could prevent rape attempts if used correctly)

If a Man gets Physical

How to check if a mirror is one way or two-way

If you are trapped in a smoke-filled apartment: What to Do

How to get out of Hand-binds

How to get out of the bunker of a Car

How to track Anonymous asks.

How to pick a Lock

Traits and Warning signs of an Abuser

What to do if a bigot pulls your Hijab (from behind)

What to do if someone pulls of a Muslim Woman's Hijab? (To do List for both Men and Women)

#safety #health #mental health #writers #readers #micellaneous

562 notes · View notes

my-writings-and-musings · 4 years ago

Text

I have another lovely commission to share! This one is a sequel to the last, with the Brave Police spending more time on the Lost Light to answer questions, and it's just as precious in my opinion!

"Now, now, there's room for everyone. Single file please!"

Ultra Magnus thankfully had ample experience and skill getting his voice to fill the entire classroom, and so the crowd was able to take their seats in a mostly organized fashion at last, filling up the entire room from back to front in short order. Scarcely a single bot on the ship wasn't present for the day's presentation, and one glance at the tightly packed rows of tables made that obvious. No one wanted to miss the long awaited event.

At the head of the classroom, Ultra Magnus murmured about the ill manners being displayed to their guests before nodding at the bots in question. Sitting in their own row at the raised stage, the Brave Police looked like a full representation of all the reactions possible for the center of attention. Some were happy, others flustered, and a few quite casual about all the fuss. Deckerd, ever the responsible leader, held his small collection of notes tightly as he nodded in return to the much bigger bot. Rodimus took that as his cue to hop on stage.

With a single whistle, the captain reduced the fog of chatter to absolute silence, something he took with a proud smile before speaking.

"Alright, everybot, you know the drill! The Brave Police have been kind enough to agree to this little Q and A panel, so let's show them the proper courtesy while they're up here." he announced happily, looking about the crowd and lingering his optics on a few potentially troublesome bots in particular. Making sure to use his Captain voice, he leveled a serious look at each as he issued his warning. "That means no talking unless you get called, and no hogging the mic when it's your turn."

"Discipline will be administered if anyone breaks these rules." Ultra Magnus said, finalizing the warning with an undeniably serious threat. Beyond a few nervous glances, the room remained frozen in total silence after the big bot went back to his dutiful watch. No one present would dare risk incurring the wrath of Ultra Magnus, not even for the questions that they wanted answered more than anything.

"Sooo…" Rodimus interjected, taking back the stage briefly to try and bring some life back into the event. Gesturing to the main guests, he gave the best parting warm up he could before stepping off the stage. "Without further ado, I'm going to give the show over to them. All yours, Deckerd!"

Clearing his throat politely, the police cruiser stood up on his spot, briefly taking hold of the rim on his hat-like helm accent as he often did when nervous. Taking hold of his notes, he spoke up with the somewhat ineffectual tone of a practiced but uncom public speaker.

"To start, we would all like to offer our thanks! For everything you've done, and for allowing us this opportunity, you have our deepest gratitude." the well mannered bot said humbly, briefly glancing at Rodimus for a flash of pointed thanks before returning to his notes. The captain couldn't help but puff up a little, quite proud of his suggestion all over again, but he was otherwise still and silent as he watched.

"Now, I understand you have many questions, and we are happy to answer them as a group or individuals." he explained, looking to his teammates for group confirmation. Each gave some form of assent, ranging from Duke's proper and stiff nod to Gunmax putting his pedes on the table with a vague gesture of agreement. Deckerd merely narrowed his optics for an instant before returning his smile to the crowd. "Through the system, I will begin the process of selection!"

A button on the desk, intended as a method of selecting students to answer questions, was activated. Every bot froze in anticipation that they might be selected first, with each hoping they might be the lucky winner. Magnus had mandated the algorithm select at random to prevent any cries of unfair choice for good reason…

So of course it was quite fitting that Whirl of all bots get the first question.

A group groan was cut off by another Magnus stare, yet the orderly mech was clearly beyond apprehensive at the possible chaos about to unfold. Uncaring of the tension his selection created for the crew, Whirl merely cleared his vents and stood up with obvious purpose, having planned his potential query well in advance of the moment. Looking to the bots on stage, his optic betrayed little emotion as he spoke. "So uh, were you guys actually built by humans? From scratch? Processor and all?"

There was an immediate cringe amongst the entire crew, as the question was immeasurably rude by Cybertronian standards, but the Brave Police didn't flinch.

"Yes!" Deckerd replied happily, completely unaffected by the cultural faux pas he'd just had directed his way. "Each of us was constructed by the Japanese police force, starting with myself."

"Except for Duke, he was made by the Scotland Yard." McCrane specified, drawing attention to the brightly colored and reserved mech at the end. The attention actually seemed to fluster Duke, who flashed an expression of surprise to be singled out before dropping his gaze and quietly confirming the fact.

"That is correct."

There was a moment of mixed murmuring amongst the crowd, with Whirl looking satisfied to have gotten his answer along with getting the ball rolling, and he sat down to allow the next bot a turn. It took just as little time for the next selection to occur as the first.

"How recently was that, exactly?" Swerve said, looking confused but happy to be the central figure of the moment. It was a much less disrespectful question by Cybertronian standards than the first, and the bots on stage appeared equally content to answer it.

"As of this date, it has been four years and five months since my activation." Deckerd replied casually, unintentionally sending a wave of disbelief through the entire room. This mature, well rounded bot was barely more than a protoform?!

"We were constructed seven months later." McCrane said, speaking for the Build Team with a gesture that only deepened the shock in the room. Deckerd was young even by human standards, yet he was still the oldest one on the team? How young was the newest among them?

"Shadow Maru was next, by about a year, then six months later I joined up!" Drill Boy declared loudly, loving the surprise each answer drew from the crowd. Gunmax, equally a fan of stirring things up, smirked confidently as he leaned back in his chair.

"I haven't even been kicking around for a year." he declared smugly, adding to the shock of the bots several times over. Sure, Cybertronians were ready to go in mere hours, but no one had been born in so long… to be confronted by a mechanical being so young was nearly unfathomable. Not to mention that the oldest among them was still so inexperienced! A fresh wave of hushed gossip washed over those assembled, only to fade out into silent anticipation as the next opportunity for a question presented itself.

"What kind of criminals are you fighting? Most of the time, anyway." a bot in back asked, making the Brave Police perk up as a group. Like anyone, the opportunity to retell their adventures was hardly one they'd ever pass up, and even the humble Deckerd was a little boastful as he set up their panel to reply.

"Our division is uniquely suited to handle threats too powerful for humans to safely combat. The criminals we face have a multitude of motives, and it is not uncommon for us to face creatures designed to cause maximum destruction. I will allow my team to recount some of these events in greater detail." he said, opening up the discussion with a smile and a nod. There was a shift in the classroom as if every being leaned forward at once in anticipation.

"The underground bug people were my first mission!" Drill Boy announced proudly, unintentionally creating far more questions than he could have ever hoped to answer in a single sentence. Gobsmacked expressions were shared all through the crew, even by Ultra Magnus and Rodimus at the front. While they'd figured their new friends got into some wild adventures, like themselves, there was clearly so much more to the group than they'd let on…

"There was a giant moth one time." Dumpson recalled thoughtfully, only adding fuel to the fire with his calm expression of thoughtful recollection.

"Don't forget the giant panda." McCrane said helpfully, the tiniest hint of a smile hinting that he was perfectly well aware of the reactions they were getting. Rodimus had to admire the skillful stirring of the pot. Some bots were taking notes now, especially as the list continued to grow and the Brave Police grew no less unpredictable in their retellings. Brief tidbits about mind control, ghosts, aliens and cults were undoubtedly going to spawn some incredible conversations at Swerve's later on.

Drill Boy finished the segment with a beaming smile. "Without the Boss, I don't think we'd have been able to catch that brainwashing nun!"

While every single adventure would have probably called for a panel of questions in its own right, that statement alone made for an excellent segway into something every single Lost Light bot had been curious about, and the moment the next bot was selected they said what everyone was thinking. "Who's this "Boss" we keep hearing about? Are they a bot like you?"

"Our Boss Yuuta Tomonaga is a human boy, and the first being I ever met. He became my first and most trusted companion." Deckerd replied, smiling affectionately at the description. It had been clear from the onset he cared deeply for his mysterious "Boss", yet most had assumed them to be something like an Amica, or perhaps an older mentor bot. To hear they were a human, and one that sounded exceptionally young at that…? Deckerd recognized the confusion, and while obviously a little bashful to be so open, he was more than happy to talk about the achievements of his dearest friend. "I owe him my life, several times over."

"Many of us have gained human friendships." Power Joe said helpfully, taking some of the pressure off their leader and bringing the attention to himself. Not missing the opportunity to brag, he gestured proudly to himself. "I've befriended many of Yuuta's classmates, they see me as a superhero!"

"Yuuta's sisters are compatriots of mine." Shadow Maru said in a polite and subtle one up, setting the stage for the others to continue naming their friends.

"Hmph, I'm the only one besides Deckerd to have called Yuuta by his first name." Drill Boy bragged.

"Colonel Seia has taught me much through our professional relationship." McCrane said calmly, returning the focus to one of individual bonds over boasting. Unfortunately, Dumpson chuckled and quickly took aim at the comment.

"Are you sure it's entirely professional?"

McCrane froze for a second, optics widening and face flushing, before he calmly folded his hands on the table and replied. "I could say the same of you and Ayako."

"I suppose Shunsuke and I get along okay." Gunmax said somewhat dismissively, cutting off Dumpson before he could stammer out something he'd regret. The fact that every bot seemed to have a complex and long standing relationship with humans was quite the surprise to many crewmembers, especially those who only knew the species from second hand accounts. The Brave Police weren't too different from Cybertronians, so if they could find friends amongst Earth's inhabitants, maybe it was possible for everyone? More than a few of those in the audience were considering visiting to see for themselves when the attention turned to the only member who hadn't given an answer.

Lowering his helm to hide his optics from view, Duke appeared to be blushing as he spoke into his microphone, his volume barely more than a murmur as he did so.

"My Lady, Regina, is very important to me…"

While the statement undoubtedly had plenty to unpack, Deckerd mercifully chose to move on, selecting the next lucky audience member. Tailgate stood up in a flash, getting up on his chair and raising his arm so everyone could see him. Smiling with excitement, he was nevertheless quite polite in his tone when he asked his question. "You can transform, right? What are your altmodes?"

"I transform into a police cruiser." Deckerd said simply, earning some nods of approval from the audience. That was a fairly solid alternate mode, from their perspective, and fit quite well with his appearance and abilities. As the team each volunteered their own altmode, there was little fanfare.

"I'm a dump truck."

"My alternate mode is called a power shovel."

McCrane was the first to smile, though his good humor was shared when he gave his answer. "A crane, fittingly enough."

"I have two; a drill and a jet!" Drill Boy declared with a puffed out chest, and the mood went from calm to shocked all over again. Though he had no concept of a triple changer, the young bot knew that having a plurality of modes was special, and the audible gasps confirmed his guess. Rodimus cast Drift a look of surprise from the stage, speaking without words as they so often did. Not only did this guy have two altmodes, but a drill and a jet? Could you get any more wild? Drift replied with an equally stunned but good natured shrug.

"Like Deckerd, I transform into a police cruiser." Shadow Maru said simply, giving his younger friend a look that drew out a very unhappy pout. Sitting up with a smile, he continued and made very clear why his companion was so upset, and in doing so only made the room erupt once more. "I can also take the form of a tank, a jet, and a canine."

Gasps filled the classroom, and even Ultra Magnus was too shocked to silence them, his jaw dropping in total disbelief at what he'd just heard. Five modes?! Not only that, he was a beastformer to boot?! The ninjabot smiled somewhat smugly at the reactions, getting a few looks from his friends that ranged from jealous to bemused as whispered conversations rushed through the bots. Most had never even heard of such an ability, and yet here he was, a bot from earth with so much talent! Several made a note to ask him for tips as Duke took advantage of the chaos to get his simple reply out of the way.

"I am an ambulance."

The medics of the ship all shared a look at what only they seemed to hear, wondering if perhaps the shy bot knew a few things about human medicine he might share with them later. In the murmurs that followed, however, there came a considerable silence as everyone realized the most anticipated answer had not yet been given.

Gunmax leaned back further in his seat, making a face few could decipher when all the attention zeroed in on him. Pretending to cough, he spoke just loudly enough for his mic to pick up his answer. "Don't have one."

Somebot made a comment about "Monoformers'' before Deckerd stepped in, reading the emotions of his friend as well as the room to skillfully redirect them. It saved Rodimus the trouble of jumping in to make an example of the bot who'd made the comment.

"Gunmax typically has a motorbike, one that he can merge with to form a very powerful weapon." he explained, looking at the visor that allowed the mech in question to hide so many of his emotions. A flash of gratitude behind the veneer of apathy allowed him to continue with a smile. "When I combine with J-Decker, I can utilize that weapon for defeating extremely powerful foes."

"We can also combine!" Drill Boy added enthusiastically, pointing to the Build Team and perking up the entire crowd with references to "combining" of all things. Combiners were a precious rarity amongst their own kind, could the humans have truly mastered such technology in addition to multiforming?

"Yes, Dumpson, Power Joe and myself form the Build Tiger." McCrane replied helpfully, gesturing to the group of them and further compounding the confusion. How could they all transform into a single entity, their colors didn't even match! Not only that, but the name absolutely baffled those who had been to earth and those who hadn't. The crane bot only continued his talk and further confounded his audience. "With Drill Boy, our abilities are increased, and we form the Super Build Tiger."

Deckerd, wanting to discuss other things, was granted mercy when he selected Brainstorm via the system.

"What kind of energy do your weapons fire?" he asked, having observed the holsters and folded rifles some of them carried. Being intensely curious as to whether earth had progressed beyond the initial steps of plasma based projectiles, he waited eagerly for a reply.

"Most are based on shells, similar to what humans utilize but on a larger scale." Deckerd said, helpfully taking out his pistol to show what he meant. Metallic bullets fell from the chamber and into his cupped palm, unintentionally shocking the scientist and the more ballistic trained crewmembers. Primitive lead based projectiles, fired by simple chemical reactions?! How were these bots just as intelligent as themselves but defending their lives with the Cybertronian equivalent of stone age technology?!

"Yes, that's what my shotgun fires." McCrane added, patting the sizable weapon on his back as Brainstorm noted a million potential improvements he might offer before they left.

Shadow Maru, somewhat for the sake of dry comedic effect, unsheathed a blade from his back and shrugged as he held it up. "Personally, I prefer swords."

Laughter rippled through the audience, though Rodimus caught the clear sight of Drift looking far more like he wanted to applaud the other bot who seemed to gel so well with him. Unable to keep a grin off his face at the friendship forming before his optics, the captain considered setting up a communication line on earth so they could all stay in touch going forward.

"Where do you all live?" a shy bot said when selected next, bringing to mind how their home planet didn't seem to be built for beings as large as themselves.

"I stay with Yuuta each night, in the garage. His family has made it my personal home, and I keep them safe." Deckerd replied, describing the situation quite wistfully despite the uncertain expressions that flashed before him. The idea of staying within a single room, like a machine for storage… even bots who didn't mind resting in their altmode couldn't wrap their heads around the idea.

"The rest of us stay at the base, but we're free to go where we please when not on duty." McCrane added, wanting to dispel any ideas that they were at all confined. His words did indeed provide some reassurance, especially considering that a few had been considering "liberating" their new friends if necessary.

"When we travel for work, we live wherever we can." Dumpson said, recalling the many times they'd each had to go across the planet undercover. That notion was quite relatable to the group of travelers, especially those who had gone long periods of time without any home to speak of. Needing to find somewhere suitable while moving undercover had been their existence for years.

Gunmax perked up a little at the topic sitting forward a bit so he could be heard as he extolled the wonders of driving around on his bike. "The roads go on for miles, and some have pretty nice views."

When the next question was called, the Brave Police as a group found it was their turn to be surprised.

"Do you like earth?"

In another turn of events that no one could have predicted, it was Duke who spoke up first, saying his piece simply but confidently before returning to his usual silence.

"It is the only planet we've ever known, and I would have it no other way."

"Earth has everything dear to us." Deckerd confirmed, a barely contained gleam of pride shining from his optics, both for their home and his friend. Everything about the planet was dear to him, from the life that flourished there to the people who had made him, and he wasn't at all ashamed to say as much. That was something each and every member of the Brave Police could agree on, and in order, they all expressed the same sentiment.

"Earth has everything we could ever want." McCrane added plainly, looking like he wanted to say more but was held back by his own reservations. The simple smile on his face spoke volumes for him, thankfully. His past mentions of friendship and more with humans resonated deeply with certain bots in the audience.

"We fight lots of bad guys, but that's to keep all the good humans safe, and they're more than worth it." Dumpson said, sharing a glance with Power Joe, who immediately agreed. The big bots many small friends made his answer and confirmation quite easy.

"Most of the people that live there like us, and we like them too. They have a lot to teach us." he said, recalling his love for martial arts as well as everything else he'd ever been passionate about. The need for patience, the importance of seeing the bright side of life, mentoring the younger beings around oneself… Speaking of the younger, Drill Boy jumped in to reply with his own experiences.

"They've invented all kinds of cool games and sports for us to play!" he said happily, tapping the soccer ball in his chest to emphasize his point. The sport was a genuine passion for him, and without humans he wouldn't have it to enjoy. Slightly more bittersweet thoughts of the many adventures he'd had, and the beings he'd met and lost, but wouldn't trade for anything made him smile far more softly. Tapping his digits together, he added a soft addendum to make his point. "Plus they make lots of other cool things."

"There's not much better than going for a drive on earth, or watching the sunset." Gunmax said in agreement, nodding and closing his optics as he played the memories in his mind. The crew talked plenty about their home of Cybertron, and while it sounded wonderful, he doubted anything could ever surpass his home. One of his first memories was going for a drive on a beautiful day, and he didn't believe any planet could ever offer anything more. Not that he'd be opposed to visiting somewhere else...

"It's our home, and it always will be." Deckerd concluded, unintentionally making the crowd a little emotional with his dedication. A far quieter whisper of conversations briefly passed through them all, this time centered almost entirely on the planet in question. Sure, these bots hadn't ever known another world, but they made their own sound quite wonderful. The many who'd never had a chance to see earth were suddenly feeling quite a bit of longing and curiosity of their own. When the quiet descended once again and Deckerd selected the next bot, the query was hardly a surprise.

"Can we come visit you all sometime?"

The entire team exchanged a look, and Deckerd glanced at Rodimus with the kind of knowing smiles leaders could share when they knew what was happening. While the logistics of such a thing would be a nightmare, there could be no denying the eager faces all around, and any potential benefits were far too great to ignore. Though it would be an impossible amount of work, they both nodded to one another in agreement.

"We would be honored to have you as guests, just as you have taken us into your home."

#transformers #maccadam #mtmte #more than meets the eye #lost light #lostlight #idw #tf #ll #brave police j decker #brave series #deckerd #rodimus #my writing #my commissions

83 notes · View notes

maria-scribbles · 4 years ago

Text

cocoa

sick of hearing his parents fight day after day, reggie goes to the one person who knows exactly what he's going through: the pretty violinist who lives next door.

fandom: julie and the phantoms

ship: alive!reggie x reader

word count: 1.5k+

featuring: swearing (as always), fighting, allusion to an abusive relationship, general sadness, mention of a family member’s death

a/n: day 2 of my holiday challenge: hot chocolate! this is kind of depressing and i'm sorry, sad!reggie was stuck in my head and he wouldn't leave until i wrote this but it has kind of a hopeful ending tho so i guess that counts for something? this is also my first time writing for this fandom so forgive me if it sucks. as usual, unbetaed so all mistakes are my b.

come join my holiday challenge!

December 1994

They were fighting again. It was the same old story: his dad being an ass on purpose, his mom taking the bait, wash, rinse, repeat. Their shouts rang harshly throughout the house, gloomy and miserable despite the cheerful decorations strung up in every room and the massive Christmas tree downstairs, dressed in its festive best and looking like it came straight out of a seasonal catalog.

Reggie had gone to them at the beginning of the month, begging them not to fight, please; his everyday life was already ruined by their screaming matches and the only thing he wanted for Christmas was some peace, quiet and civility to celebrate his favorite holiday. His father had pretended not to hear his son's pleas, ignoring him completely like he always did while his mother offered a tight-lipped smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"We'll try, honey." She'd said and he knew it was a lie. His mother always lied, his father always threw a plate at her head, Reggie always wished he had the courage to run away for good, like Luke did. But he wasn't Luke, he never would be, and he just didn't have it in him to leave them, even though he was the one who came out worse for wear after each fight.

The distant shatter of ceramic drifting up the stairs was his cue to go until things cooled down again -he never stuck around after the first dish got thrown, not anymore, the scar on his arm the perfect reminder why- and so he jimmied open the window of his room and climbed down the trellis into the salty air, the crashing waves of the Pacific covering his escape like a blanket.

(He could've stormed down the stairs and slammed the door behind him and his parents still wouldn't have noticed he left but something about sneaking out and risking a broken bone made him feel alive, the same rush he felt when he was on stage, bass humming in his hands, performing alongside his bandmates and knowing they felt it, too.)

Even outside, the echoes of his parents' angry voices still rang in his ears, haunting him all the way to the house next door, its sparkling lights shining brightly and guiding him through the darkening night like a beacon. The driveway sat empty, sans for one lone bicycle haphazardly lying on its side in front of the garage and he carefully propped it up on its kickstand before climbing the stairs to the front porch.

The faint sound of a slow, somber violin came to a stop as he knocked on the door, followed by a quiet, familiar voice Reggie knew like the back of his hand.

"It's open."

He found Y/N alone on the couch, eyes downcast and fingers fiddling with the strings of the violin on her lap and she glanced up at the tap of his boots on the hardwood floor, face brightening the slightest bit at the sight of her friend rounding the corner into the living room.

The girl didn't speak as she gently placed the instrument aside and stood, meeting him halfway and throwing her arms around his neck to draw him into a crushing hug. His own arms wrapped around her waist and held her just as tightly, his head resting on her shoulder, and the warm vanilla scent of her soft hair tickling his nose helped calm the storm in his heart.

"I'm sorry, Reg." Her voice was low and soothing in his ear and he didn't know how he could possibly hold her any tighter than he already was but he managed as he replied, "I'm sorry, too."

While his parents fought like wildfire, explosive and loud and raging with the wrong type of passion, hers were like a deep freeze, icy and cold and desolate in the worst possible way. Too many times Y/N was left to her own devices, all alone in an empty house with her thoughts and a violin her only company (at least they had given her that, the gift of music and a beautiful, expensive instrument to prove their love was real, albeit superficial).

It was some time later before she pulled back just far enough to look him in the eye and brushed a wayward strand of his dark hair back from his forehead with one calloused finger. "Okay, pity party's over. It's almost Christmas and we're not spending it being sad about shitty parents. Deal?"

She held out her pinky with one eyebrow raised expectantly and grinned when he nodded and hooked his pinky around hers. Reggie loved really liked that about her, the way she could just make all the heartache and pain and disappointment vanish from his mind like magic and replace them with thoughts of her and her sunny smile, her big heart, her touch that made the very blood in his veins spark like lightning. Y/N was his bright spot, his safe haven, and while Luke, Alex, and Bobby knew what he was going through, they just didn't understand like she did (they had their own problems to deal with, anyway, so he couldn't blame them).

"Good, now come on," She wrapped the rest of her fingers around his hand and started tugging him down the hall to the kitchen. "You're helping me make hot chocolate."

"Peppermint?" He asked, smiling when she glanced up at him with an offended look on her face.

"Duh. Only a heathen would make it without peppermint, Reginald."

Another thing he liked about her: she never did anything halfway; half-assing things, taking the easy way out, cutting corners just wasn't her style. It even applied to hot chocolate apparently, as he watched her flutter around the kitchen with practiced ease -heating milk and cream on the stove, measuring sugar and chocolate, slowly adding drops of peppermint oil- and despite her saying he was going to help, the only thing he got to do was crush some candy canes. Not that he minded, though, because while his hands could play bass like no one's business, they were a total disaster when it came to cooking and he knew Y/N was well aware of that fact, considering it took a week for the burnt popcorn smell to fade from her microwave the last time he tried.

The violinist smiled and proudly handed him the finished drink, whipped cream piled high and candy cane bits almost overflowing from the edge of a red mug. "This is my grandma's recipe," She said, one hand holding a purple mug for herself and the other reaching to grab onto his wrist and pull him out the front door. "She'd always make it when she came to visit for the holidays and we'd sit out on the porch and watch the ocean, each and every year."

"She was the best," Reggie said as the two sat together on the porch swing, his right side flush against her left. "I still have dreams about her cookies and wake up drooling."

The cool ocean breeze ruffled Y/N's hair and carried her laugh off down the beach. "She loved you, you know that? She was always talking about 'that nice boy next door.' Pretty sure she wanted us to get married."

"I loved her, too." He took a sip of his drink in an attempt to hide the blush that was taking over his entire face. "And we still have time for the whole marriage thing."

"I'm still waiting for my ring." She laughed again before looking down at the mug in her hands, voice becoming quiet as she replied, "I really miss her. She was the only person in my family who actually cared about me 'cause my parents sure as hell don't."

He wanted to tell her she was wrong but he knew it'd be a lie and he never did that, refusing to become a pathological liar like his mother, so instead he just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tucked her against his side. "Hey, no more talk about shitty parents, remember?"

"Sorry, I know," She took a long sip of her cocoa, then rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh. "I just feel alone sometimes when you're not around. I mean, you have your band and I always had my grandma to talk to but now she's gone and I'm kind of...lost."

"You have the band, too, Y/N! Alex and Luke love you and Bobby, well, he's Bobby. No one really knows what goes on in that guy's head but I know he thinks you're cool. We all do, especially me, and you should know you're never alone 'cause you'll always have us."

The girl abruptly sat up and grabbed the mug from Reggie's hand before he could blink and placed it alongside her own on the floor, then threw her arms around his neck in another one of her fierce hugs.

"Has anyone told you how fucking amazing you are?"

"You just did." He buried his blushing face in her shoulder as his arms wrapped around her waist once again. "I'm serious, Y/N. You'll always have me."

"And you'll always have me, Reg. No matter what."

And as they sat there on the porch swing, wrapped in each other's arms, Reggie knew as long as he had Y/N in his life, things were gonna be okay.

#obxmermaidholiday #julie and the phantoms imagine #jatp imagine #reggie jatp #reggie x reader #reggie x y/n #jatp fic

114 notes · View notes

iwrestlenow · 4 years ago

Text

Many More To Die - Chapter 4

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 4)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Roman discovers that even the power of a king has its limits--but at least he has the power to help Logan in one critical fashion.

Logan is a needy wreck, and can't figure out which way is up, and as desperately as he needs someone--one man--to hold his hand through it all? It only makes things worse somehow.

Meanwhile, through all of this, another chess piece steps out of the shadows and onto the game board--and he's not going anywhere until he gets what, and who, he came for.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), future Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: Panic attack, but that’s it for this chapter. It’s mostly me having feelings, being TOTALLY UNABLE TO STOP WRITING WHAT THE HELL SOMEONE SAVE ME XD, and more self indulgent garbage that just felt good to write. So there. :P

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

“Lord Janus? I want this man dead.”

“Certainly, Your Majesty.”

“Please—mercy, Your Majesty!”

“Now hang on there just a gosh darn, berry pickin', mother lovin' moment, buster! Janny, if you know what's good for you, you will just stop with this nonsense and put the flippin' sword down!”

Roman would have burst out laughing if he wasn't fighting so hard to keep his composure. It could hardly be helped—Patton came up to Logan's shoulder, but only just, and was standing in his cell with his hands on his hips, glaring at the captain of the royal guard like he was a child being scolded for a broken dish.

Janus hardly looked intimidated—but the fact that he stilled after drawing his sword, leaving a terrified guard trembling against the bars of the cell next to Logan's was telling. Seven years, Lord Janus had served as the head of the assassins' corps before retiring to become the captain of the royal guard. Roman had heard stories, but never met the man until today, which was hardly unusual given that Janus was a drake—the son of a human and a dragon. They were notoriously gifted shapeshifters, even with a handicap like his.

Lord Janus was powerful, deadly, and highly skilled at remaining an enimga...but a hobbled child necromancer in a cell had the power to stay his hand.

Janus raised an eyebrow at Patton, but finally glanced at Roman.

Roman nodded. Janus refocused on the guard, pushing the tip of his sword against the hollow of his throat, hard enough to draw blood.

“Majesty, I beg you! I don't want to die!” the guard begged.

Roman let out a bemused little laugh.

“How strange,” he replied as calmly as he could manage, “I was under the impression you did, given the fact that you refused, a second time, to obey a direct order from your king.”

“The Necromata must be bound! It's the law!”

“I am the law!”

Storming up to the guard, Roman let his emotions fuel him—exhaustion, grief, anger, confusion, and the tearing, unspeakable ache that throbbed through him every time his gaze ventured too close to the open door of the cell where Logan still leaned.

The wail he'd let out when Roman pulled free of his grip to order the cell door opened was going to haunt his sleep. The way he stood now, so carefully still, features so meticulously schooled into calm, unfeeling lines, was going to rob him of that breath of life Logan had only just returned to him.

“I am the king now, and I am the ultimate authority.” Roman spat. “Now, I fully understand the need to shackle a prisoner being removed from his cell, but as far as I am concerned, this man is no longer a prisoner here.”

“You can't--”

“I think you'll find that I can.”

“Your Majesty.”

Roman turned at the sound of Logan's voice, cool and even but too quiet, hoarse and thick with the tears he'd finally managed to stop from streaming down his face.

“The law is such that the king cannot overrule it.” Logan declared with deceptive calm. “The Necromata, once imprisoned by the royal family, can only be pardoned for the crimes of their birth with the blessing of the people. A vote, if you will...and no such vote has ever been successfully passed.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have been here for ten years with little more to do than read. I have the entire legal code of the Kingdoms and the criminal rules of order memorized, along with the family tree of the royal family and all available star maps of the area.”

Roman wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something—for a terrible moment, he wanted to order Janus to proceed with the guard's execution for real, rather than just trying to make a point.

Then inspiration struck—bright, blinding, and blessed as it filled him with light.

“My order will still be obeyed.” Roman announced. “These two necromancers—they may not be pardoned, but they will be imprisoned at my pleasure...and it is my pleasure to have them confined to guest quarters upstairs. Have extra guards posted at all available palace entrances. They are not to leave the grounds until the vote has been passed. Successfully.”

He shot a look at the offending guard.

“And the first person to shackle either one of them without violent provocation will be hung at dawn.”

Janus lowered his sword and slid it back into its sheath—the cane he'd been carrying with him—before moving to Roman's side.

“Bit extreme, don't you think, Majesty?” he murmured once he was close enough to ensure that only Roman would hear him.

“My father is dead, Lord Janus.” Roman shot back bleakly. “I have yet to shed a single tear for him--'extreme' feels like an appropriate response right about now.”

“Touche. Of course—and it has nothing to do with the traumatized necromancer you're apparently well acquainted with?”

Roman didn't answer as he moved towards the open door of the cell. Standing before Logan, he extended his hand...

...then suddenly realized that was a bad idea as he put his hand back down again.

********** More.

Logan could hardly string a single coherent thought together around the constant chant in his mind, his marrow, his soul for the prince to touch him again. He couldn't let him, not when it was so agonizing, fire and pressure and somehow affecting every nerve in his body when it was focused on such a small area...

More. More. More.

He didn't understand why restraining himself was so hard. It hurt, it was clearly doing him some kind of physical and psychological harm...and yet he wanted. Needed.

He couldn't remember ever experiencing the sensation.

It very nearly caused another panic attack when the prince dropped his offered hand—and that was another problem entirely, standing before a cell door standing wide open, and the use of the word pardon being thrown around like it wasn't capable of changing the world as Logan knew it—but the pause that seemed to last for an eternity must have only been a few seconds long.

Because a moment later, the Green Man—the prince—was reaching into his pocket and producing a pair of pristine white gloves. A missing piece of the military uniform, how had Logan not noticed? He usually noticed things like that...

When he finished tugging them on, he offered his hand to Logan again. He said nothing...just waited.

Logan shook with the force of effort it took to reach, slowly, to accept the offered hand. The gloves blocked some of that heat from skin to skin contact—and when he gently folded his fingers around Logan's, barely any pressure, it was still intense...but better.

“All good, Berry?”

Logan looked into his eyes sharply, the name ricocheting around in his skull in a manner he hadn't experienced in literal years—not since he'd first discovered his power was awakening again, all concussive force and electricity crawling against the underside of his skin.

All at once, the years fell away, and he was asleep in his cell that first terrible night, dreaming of every monstrous shadow transforming into a protector as green eyes lit the dark.

He opened his mouth to answer yes, he was fine—then realized...

“I do not know which of the princes you are.” he admitted with a bemused huff.

That got a smile from the other man—too brief, far too brief before it fractured to pieces, a crystal goblet slammed to the floor, raining shards of razor sharp light.

“Roman.” he replied. “Pr—King Thomas Roman II, but you may address me by my name.”

“Hardly acceptable, is it, Majesty?” Janus mused.

“Given that my life is currently in this man's hands—and the future of my father—I'd say he's earned a few niceties, Lord Janus.” Roman announced, raising his voice to ensure everyone within earshot was aware of it. Logan had a strange feeling that Lord Janus spoke up for precisely that purpose, to make his situation known.

Logan's, not Roman's—Logan knew that anyone with a shred of loyalty to the king would probably kill him if given the chance. There was no question that someone would likely accuse a necromancer with ties to the crown prince of the murder. Fear for Roman's safety would keep him protected.

Janus was that kind of man, shrewd and shameless—Logan knew precious little about Prince Roman, but to discover that he was equally blessed with the gift of strategy was...intriguing.

“Lord Janus, see to it that Logan's cell mate is made comfortable, and shown around the north wing of the palace. That is where I would prefer they spend the bulk of their time.” Roman declared. “I will take custody of this prisoner myself. When you are done, I want you, the dungeon master, the head prison mage, and a heart healer in the war room, immediately. Send for my brother as well.”

“Yes, Your Majesty—but I cannot send you alone.” Janus replied. Surveying the guards in their presence, and grimacing with impatience, he finally took a few steps down the corridor and flagged down another guard.

“You! Fetch the cadet from the graveyard patrol, now! I want him on the king's detail.”

Roman nodded his thanks, finally turning his attention back on Logan. Between those green eyes and the warm pressure enfolding his hand, ravaging his nerves and making his chest throb with pure emotion, he wasn't sure he could stand it much longer without losing his composure.

“Are you all right?” Roman asked quietly, stepping closer and into Logan's personal space. Strangely, Logan realized he could feel that as well, radiant heat and buzzing static crawling across his skin, too close and not enough and everything.

More. More. More.

“I am not.” he admitted. “Hardly unusual, given that touch starvation is a common condition among the Necromata, to say nothing of the Claim.”

“The Claim? What's that?”

Logan's mouth snapped shut, very real panic rising in his chest again.

“Whoah—Logan? Logan, breathe. Look at me, you need to breathe.”

The Claim. He knew, knew what Logan had done, was holding his hand and Logan could feel it, but now he'd spoken about the Claim, about his power, and he was going to die this time...

...two...three...four...hold for one...two...three...four...five...

“That's it, Logan. There you go, can you do it again?”

...good job, now again: in for one...two...three...four...

Pressure. Pressure, pressure, pressure, everywhere, pressure pressure unrelenting pressure...

“Hey!”

Logan blinked, attention snapping to the young man suddenly standing in front of him. He was nearly Logan's height, with straight black hair that hung in dark eyes, flinty as stone.

“Name five things you can see.”

“I...what?”

“Do it. Five things.”

Logan shook his head, and almost immediately his gaze was drawn back to Roman.

“Green Man.” he managed to reply. Roman smiled, and Logan felt that mantra start tattooing itself against the inside of his skull, blotting out the fear and panic.

“Okay, keep going. Let's keep going.”

Logan only realized they were moving because Roman still held his hand, was tugging him with the barest of pressure—and Logan's traitorous body followed. Between the cadet, demanding Logan name more things he could see, along with touch, smell, hear, and taste, and Roman's silent encouragement, he found himself moving out of his cell and towards the stairs of the dungeon.

Moving up each stair. Moving through the gate, and into the palace...moving, traveling, with only Roman's hand to restrain him.

Then he was in the palace, above the dungeons...and if he never saw the outside world again, Logan still felt like he could call himself a free man.

********** “Thank you.”

The cadet flinched a little, looking towards the king. “What?”

“Thank you.” King Roman repeated, still crouched motionless by the chair the prisoner had all but collapsed into. He'd basically passed out when they reached the war room, but didn't seem to be in any distress—just exhausted and overstimulated.

“That trick, focusing on his surroundings—it's greatly appreciated.” he went on, his gaze never leaving the sleeping man's face. He still held his hand, like he might vanish if he let him go. “How did you know it would work?”

The cadet had to grit his teeth for a second, finding himself watching the sleeping prisoner despite his best efforts not to. He looked...well, he looked like shit, and it was hard. It was so hard to watch, but he had to do it.

He was finally here, and he had to make sure that he didn't screw up again.

“I have anxiety.” he finally replied, keeping his tone even. “Nightmares, panic attacks, the works. My brother used to help me through them with tricks like that. He'd have me focus on my surroundings, or make me pick out colors—he even made me a special blanket to help me sleep. It, uh—it might be good for him? The guard who got me mentioned that this necromancer can feel your touch? If he's not used to contact, it could...”

“You'd be willing to do that?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Go and fetch it, then.”

“Sir, I was ordered to stay with you.”

“I'm the king. I overrule your orders.” King Roman replied.

The cadet lifted his gaze to the king's face, his stomach sinking when he realized he was being stared at. Hard.

Ohhhhh, shit.

“You don't call me 'Majesty.' Why?”

The cadet tried to be discreet about taking a steadying breath as he shrugged. “You have a pet necromancer now. All due respect, but I don't think you'll have the job long.”

“What do you know about necromancers?”

“I know they're not evil. Only reason I'm still here is that you seem to know it, too.”

King Roman nodded, gaze flicking down before it returned to the sleeping necromancer.

“Cadet...do you know what a Claim is?”

The cadet swallowed thickly. No...oh no.

“It's a binding ritual.” the cadet replied. “The Necromata are capable of manipulating death, but when they can't? They take it.”

“Away?”

“No—into themselves. They take the victim's dying breath, infuse it with their blood, and return it to the person it belongs to. That way, when the victim's time comes, they survive it.”

The cadet looked to the necromancer again.

Gods, Loganberry—what did you do?

“And the necromancer dies in their place.”

To his credit, the king paled, his free hand lifting to touch Logan's hair like the cadet itched to—so close for the first time in ten years, but he couldn't even comfort him.

He had to stay put. By the door, protecting the king and his charge.

After a decade, Virgil was finally, finally within reach of Logan in every way that mattered, and he would die before he jeopardized his one chance to save him.

Virgil was the one who got his big brother caught and imprisoned in the first place—he was damn well going to make sure that he was the one to set things right.

11 notes · View notes

yurtletheturtlehenderson · 4 years ago

Text

S.T. REWRITE - S2:E8; Chapter Eight, The Mind Flayer - [Pt. 6 - FINAL PART]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

An unlikely hero steps forward when a deadly development puts the Hawkins Lab on lockdown, trapping Will and several others inside.

A/n: we're so close to season 3 you have no idea how excited I am 😭 will and you are ADORABLE in s3. Enjoy a sprinkle of Byler in this ch. for now, sorry it couldn't be more 😂

Oo also, the pov flashbacks are kinda terrible but its kind of on purpose depending how old they're supposed to be. The younger they're supposed to be the more straightforward if that makes sense

Warnings: so much angst ahead, oof, my goodness. Buckle up kids :> this is a quite ambitious chapter but hopefully I handled it okay. Possibly the longest chapter in Cosmic history?? I think??

||Will's POV||

The vulgar smell of chemicals lingers in my nose and sticks to the back of my throat as my eyes adjust to the blinding light.

Immediately I feel his icy presence, and felt myself losing control and all sense of self in a matter of seconds.

But I was still moving, squirming, but I'm not the one commanding my body.

Shit, not again!

This has been happening on and off since he got me, he goes silent until he needs me. But lately, it's all the time. Usually I stand a fighging chance to break free but this time he's in full control. I want to scream and cry, tell my mom I'm here, I'm here! But he won't let me. I'm still trapped in this small corner of my mind, and the longer he stays the smaller the prison gets.

There are four(?) figures looking at me, but it's hard to make out their faces at first. Mom! Mom is here, she'll help me, I know it. And... Jonathan!

Help me! I'm so sorry! I couldn't control it, he made me! He made me!

They don't hear me, everytime I try to speak, yell, cry or do anything, he won't let me. It's been like that since I was admitted. Since the fire in the tunnels.

Just thinking about the pain makes him angry, I can sense it.

I recognize another face, the man they asked me to identify but couldn't. I know I know him. I know I can trust him. But the fog... Ever since the monster got me, a fog has been spreading in my brain, making me forget things. People.

The man, Hopper, I think his name is, steps towards me with a look of concern. He's cautious of me, I can tell. Not that I blame him, but again it makes me want to cry, even though I'm not in control. But I still feel the pain, like the sting in my wrists and ankles as he fights against the restraints.

It's then I fully process I'm actually tied up. I don't have time to react before I hear my own voice speaking without my permission.

"What? What?" I watch as passenger in my own body as he makes me look around the room and down at the restraints. "What is this?"

Nobody answers, and I'm beginning to grow fearful myself. I know they wouldn't hurt me, but they might have to. In order to get him out. And I'm worried about how they plan on doing that.

"What? What is this?" He repeats.

Again, nobody answers, and he fights harder against the restraints hurting me more.

"Why am I tied up?"

Mom steps out from the shadows and I calm a bit, the real me, anyway. She kneels down in front of me, looking up at me seriously.

"Will, we just want to talk to you." She says.

I'm here! I want to talk too, Mom, please hear me.

"We're not gonna hurt you." She says gently.

I know Mom, please just tell me what's going on!

My head rips up, making me look at everyone in the room frantically. There's still one figure I can't quite make out, but he doesn't seem to care about them.

"Where am I?" He demands.

The man kneels down next to me, and I can feel the monster's anger and agitation. He's threatened.

The man holds up a piece of paper, a drawing. I recognize at once that this is something else the fog has touched. I know it, and it must be something I made. Fear takes over me; my own, real fear of the monster that was now apart of me, but I also feel his fear. All I know is the drawing upsets him, and he knows something I don't.

"Recognize this?" Hopper asks, and the shadow monster shakes my head. "Do you recognize this?"

My head shakes again, and I barely hear a soft 'no' come from my lips.

I'm now looking at Mom again, she's staring deep into my eyes. My body isn't mine anymore, but I swear when she looks at me, she's looking at me. Like she knows not only that I'm trapped and that this is not me talking, moving, answering, but she knows exactly where I am. She's looking at my real self that's trapped in this small corner in the back of my mind and I'm certain I'd be crying if I could.

"We wanna help you," She says to me. "But to do that, we have to understand how to kill it."

Oh no.

His anger explodes in an instant, so bright and so intense that even I find myself feeling annoyed. But I remind myself that it's not my anger. I want to help. I want to tell them, but I still can't. Instead, my voice comes out in a hostile shout that makes my mom jump.

"Why am I tied up?" They both try to calm me, calm him. But it doesn't work. "Why am I tied up? Why am I tied up?"

Mom shakes her head, and it's clear to see how uncomfortable she is growing. I just wish she knew for sure this isn't me yelling at her.

He continues shouting the same thing, and I can feel my throat start to sting and ache from screaming.

"Why am I tied up?! Why am I tied up?!" Hopper pushes me back, and my wrists and ankles and even chest begin to sting as he fights against the wires again. "WHY AM I TIED UP?! WHY AM I TIED UP?!"

The lights begin to flicker and my body continues to kick and scream but not the words I wanted to scream. It's just the same question, and he won't stop growing louder. I see the figures, Jonathan and Mike...! But they're scared of me. They're backing away, and Mike briefly looks down at his hand and behind the post. The figure had grabbed his hand, but I still can't quite make them out.

I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!

"WHY AM I TIED UP?!" He screams, now fighting hard against Hopper's hands which are now trying to pin me back. And the more he screams, the deeper my voice goes and I swear it sounds less and less like my own voice. "LET ME GO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!"

Please... Please, somebody help me.

"LET ME GO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!"

Hopper now has his arms wrapped around me, and I know it's out of restraint but it's also gentle and sympathetic like a hug. He knows I wouldn't do this, I can tell because he holds me tight and I even hear him mumble encouraging things trying to calm me.

My mom does the same, but I can feel the furious look welded to my face as he screams at her, and yet she still tries to comfort me.

"-sweetie,"

"LET ME GO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!"

"-honey, it's okay."

"LET ME GO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!"

Let me go! Leave me and family alone! Go away!

I know it must hear me, but since I am no longer in control all I can do is try to fight it. It's hard, but I don't give up.

Stop it! Just stop it!

I focus as much as I can, as much as I can muster. All I can focus on is the hurt and fear in everyone's eyes. Mike's, Jonathan's, and my moms. Hers hurts the most.

Suddenly I feel my body start to weaken, and my voice starts to lower in volume. But I still feel helpless no matter how hard I fight.

He's angry with me now.

"Let me go! Let me go!"

The shift in Mom's eyes keeps me going. She can tell I'm fighting, but I don't think she knows I can't hold out much longer.

Mom, please...

"Let me go! Let me go! Let me go! Let me go..."

My breath is harder and harder to find, and my shoulders heave as my lungs fight for breath. But I can feel it; I slowed him down.

"Go..." he mumbles weakly.

The lights stop flickering and Hopper lets me go. Mom stands briefly to sit across from me on the chair. She watches me carefully, and I can feel the tiniest bit of relent from him.

"Do you know what March 22nd is?" She asks calmly.

He's trying to figure out what to do, he's calculating. And he must be pushing back because I realize that that day sounds familiar. But the way she talks it seems like I should know.

"It's your birthday,"

The fog is coming for me. I can't remember my own birthday, and I've already forgotten other things about myself. Maybe if I keep talking to him?

Please, just let me go!

He wants me gone completely, and already I feel myself slipping back out of whatever control I had. He's winning.

Go away! Please, just go away. Go away... Go away... Go away.

But that's when she sees me again, she looks directly at the real me thats trapped and fighting for my life.

"Your birthday."

All I can do is listen to her, cling to her voice as the fog closes in on me. But I feel it start to slow when she continues, her voice as soft as ever.

"When you turned eight, I gave you that huge box of crayons. Do you remember that?"

Mom smiles a bit as she thinks about it, and I feel a single grain of strength returns to me. I can almost picture the lost memory, it comes back in small details, like a blurred home video with lots of static.

"It was 120 colors," she says, and I can see tears building up in her eyes. "And all your friends, they got you Star Wars toys, but all you wanted to do was draw with all your new colors."

Her smile grew a bit, not once looking away from me and I noticed an overwhelming gleam of pride. But still, I listen completely hooked on her every word. And I don't know if it is because of me, or what, but it almost feels like he's stopped too.

"And you drew this big spaceship, but it wasn't from a movie." She shook her head, gleaming at me still even if her voice began to break. "I-I-It was your spaceship."

Rainbow ship...!

"A rainbow ship is what you called it," her bottom lip began to shake before she smiled brightly once more as she spoke. "A-and you must have used every color in the box. I took that with me to Melvald's and I put it up and I told everyone who came in, 'My son drew this,'"

'Mom! Come on, it's not funny! Just take it down!'

'Honey, how are people supposed to know how great this is if I don't show them?' She asks.

'Mo~m!'

"And you were so embarrassed," she chuckles.

I'm remembering... Mom, I remember! I'm remembering!

But she still can't hear me, I'm still not in control. But he's listening. He's quiet.

"But I was so proud," Mom leans forward looking deep into my eyes. "I was so, so proud."

Mom...

She's fighting back tears now and I hate now more than ever I can't speak my own thoughts.

Mom, please! Keep talking, it's working. Just please keep talking...

Another voice speaks instead.

"Do you remember the day Dad left?"

My head whips up to see Jonathan, and for a moment I don't even know who was in control. I can feel it working, clinging to the stories they are telling me. They feel like home even if I don't remember.

It hurts to see his eyes are watering, and he looks just as worried and sad as Mom.

Like the crayon story I try and search for the memory. I feel as if I'm reaching around in the darkness, trying to find any kind of detail that might help me remember. And he doesn't get mad at me when I don't respond.

He walked towards me instead, and kneels down beside me.

"We stayed up all night building Castle Byers..."

I can feel that my face has softened over time, but still all I can do is listen. He's watching Jonathan, and I can feel his silence. Not his absence, he's still there inside me but it's like he's trying to make sense of what these moments are and why they're affecting me. Regardless, moments of that night came flooding back to me.

'I'm trying, Jonathan!' I whine, stopping to hit the ground with the hammer out of frustration before dropping it all together. "It's this stupid thing, it's balance must be off or something.

'Don't blame the hammer, Will,' Jonathan jokes dryly, not even looking at me.

I drop the hammer in frustration, I practically threw it and I begin to sniffle.

'Well, I do! This stupid hammer isn't doing the one thing it's suppose to do. How are we supposed to make Castle Byers if he's not helping?'

I go quiet, realizing what I had just said. I look to Jonathan shyly, and he's already stopped his hammer to look at me.

'We tried, Jonathan,' I mumble, sniffling. 'but it's no use. Let's just go home.'

'Go home?' He asks. 'No way! We said we were going to build Castle Byers, we always said we would. And we are. With or without Dad. He'll just have to miss out,'

"just like you drew it." Jonathan tells me, his face scrunching up a bit as he chuckles. "And it took so long because you were so bad at hammering."

But you were still patient with me. You helped me get through it even though you were going through the same thing... And I never thanked you for that.

I feel my mouth begin to twitch as I try to say the words, but nothing comes out. It was working, it was almost working! But I don't think he can tell...

"And then it started raining, but we stayed out there anyway." Like Mom, his voice started to crack. "And we were both sick for like a week after that."

You let me stay in your room and we played cards and other games while we were stuck in bed.

"But we just had to finish it, didn't we?"

Suddenly, I felt my fingers tap the sides of the chair. But, it was me! I think it was me!

"We just had to." Jonathan repeated, his voice still breaking.

Jonathan, Mom, anyone! Is anyone seeing its working?

"Do you remember the first day that we met?"

It was Mike speaking now, and my head turned to meet him. Again! I can't quite be sure if it was really my doing but any question of it went out the window when I saw his expression. He had stepped forward, and I noticed he was crying.

"It was... It was the first day of kindergarten." He spoke with a big lump in his throat. "I knew nobody."

A swingset... I remember a swingset...

"I had no friends and..." he sniffled. "I just felt so alone and so scared, but..."

He looked up at me, and for a brief moment it was the same look from that day. The details were still fuzzy but, that look I recognized. Sad but hopeful.

"I saw you on the swings and you were alone, too." He fought a hiccup as he spoke, the kind from crying and another tear rolled down his cheek. "You were just swinging by yourself. And I just walked up to you and... I asked."

'Hi, um, my name's Mike...'

He was looking at me, and he kept shuffling on his feet. He looked a lot more nervous than mean. I look up at him, and decide giving my name wouldn't hurt.

"I'm Will," I whisper.

"I asked if you wanted to be my friend." He chokes. "And you said yes..."

"Do... Do you wanna be my friend?"

Everyone else was picking on me for not knowing anyone. But he wants to be my friend!

I smile, pointing to the open swing next to me. "Yeah! Wanna play?"

Mike smiled at me, and took the seat. He looked pretty happy. But I am too!

"You said yes," he croaks. "It was the best thing I've ever done."

I can feel my face start to break, every twitch is a sign I'm gaining control even though my fingers are still moving as well. With all the strength I can gather, I'm able to turn my head at Mom. Fighting against him feels like I'm swimming up stream.

Mom, please get me out. I think I'm losing...

For once I feel hopeful that she notices something when she starts searching my eyes, my expressions and I'm still fighting. I have to fight for every muscle, and doing that feels like every one of them is made of lead.

Mom must have caught something in my eyes cause of the look in hers. But it's too late. I can feel him pushing back again.

No! Leave. Me. Alone! Leave me alone. I want my mom! I just want my mom!

I feel an overwhelming chill and I feel my body temperature drop again, not even realizing it had started to creep up again. The fog was coming back, and quicker and stronger than ever until I could barely hold on.

Then I hear my voice again.

"Let me go."

No! No, stop! STOP!

But then Mom looks away and down at the floor, sighing, and I feel whatever crumb of hope I had dissapear.

What? No, Mom, look. Just please look! Talk to me, stay with me, just please don't leave!

She looks like she's contemplating something, and then she looks up at Mike asking a question with her eyes. I can't imagine what, but Mike seems to understand. Then, they both look past the post at the figure I had never made out.

"Sweetie, why don't you come say hi?" My mom croaks to the stranger.

My head moves to look all around the room and allowing me to look at the others expressions. They all watch expectantly, and when my eyes land on Mike's he nods at the figure.

My body tenses suddenly but I don't know why. He seems to though, and it feels like another wave of ice is pumped into my bloodstream.

For a moment, there's the sound of shuffling footsteps and I barely detect movement. Like they're inching away from the hiding spot.

Then she steps out from behind the thick sheet of white light wearing a timid, tearstreaked face.

Y/n! You're here!

The one blissful movement I have vanishes in an instant when he takes full control once more. My muscles tighten and I feel my jaw clench shut, and the pain of the wires against my skin comes back as he starts moving me again. My face curls and I hear my voice saying such bad things to her.

"Get out!" She winces, but this time she doesn't listen to him. "GO AWAY!"

"No," she states, but I can tell it's hard for her. "not until I talk to Will."

"GO AWAY! GO AWAY! GO AWAY!"

"-Will" my mom tries.

My body starts to move again, fighting against the restraints and Hopper has to pin me back again.

I can feel his anger again. But there was something else too. The same thing I felt the first time he took total control.

Fear.

Y/n, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I'm trying. I'm fighting! I don't mean it, I don't mean it!

He still fights and kicks, but the longer I see her the less I care about the pain on my ankles and wrists. It's the look on her face, she's heartbroken. She looks destroyed. Just as upset as she was that night, and guilt pulls me back down. My strength for fighting him diminishes, but what stops it from dissapearing altogether is the fact she hasn't moved.

All she had done was take the seat across from me. And just... waited.

He kicked and screamed until I felt my limbs grow tired, but still she waited. Once again since I woke up, I'm happy that Hopper was here to hold me back so I didn't break free.

How are you not leaving? After all I did?

Finally, he starts to stop, and thats when I feel Hopper's hand slowly release me. And even though he stopped, the menacing glare he gave her never weakened.

"Will," she says finally. "I know... I know you're in there."

Like Mike, her voice is already strained as she speaks through her tears. Even her nose sounds a bit clogged and I feel my heart break and stomach sink all over again. How hard I was making her cry.

She sniffles, and she begins wringing her hands revealing her nerves. Then she raises them in defense, her arms still glued to her legs as she leans on them.

"I'm just here to talk, I promise."

I know, Y/n. I trust you. I really hope you know that.

He doesn't agree though, he's furious she's even here. Every nerve is standing on edge and I feel colder than ever.

Leave her alone!

I feel my nerves jump, he's still anxious to get away from her.

"What about the day I officially joined the party? Do you remember that?"

My heart is pounding violently against my ribcage almost to a point it hurts to breathe. She's looking into my eyes, likes she's trying to find me. I think she actually is. Just like what happened with the others, the picture is hard to find. It's all just too fuzzy. The small part of me that's left can tell Y/n knows my answer, and that she's dissapointed. But she still doesn't appear mad at me, even though she has every reason to be.

"It was around fifth grade," she began, "You guys had been friends with Dustin for almost a year, and even though everyone saw, and treated me as Dustin's sister... you didn't."

She paused for a moment, trying to keep her sobs in. I could tell by the way her jaw clenched and she bit the inside of her cheek. My own throat began to swell as I felt an enormous lump growing in the back. I hate seeing her so sad, and I hate even more that I'm the reason. She began shaking her head.

"Sometime during spring vacation, I remember Dustin coming up to me all cranky" she chuckled, and looked down at the floor lost in the memory. I waited for her to continue, wanting nothing more than to soak up the missing details when she smiled. "He had just come home from playing with you guys at Mikes, and he was holding a small yellow card with my name on it,"

Y/n grinned, looking at her hands wistfully as if she could still see the card in her hands.

And then she looks up at me, with a wide, trembling smile but there were still tears in her eyes.

"It was an invitation to your birthday party,"

The thick layer of static over the memory flickered, and for a brief second the image was clear and I could make out one thing. Just a small moment in time.

Y/n, she looked a lot younger. She was standing in my backyard. But she was off to the side, all alone. She was watching Lucas and Dustin bobbing for apples in a big pool.

"From you. You had insisted I come and you knew Dustin couldn't say no," she laughs.

"I was so excited, but," she sniffled, her smile falling. "even Lucas and Mike didn't bother to include me, they all forgot I was there and for a moment I thought nothing would change. But... then you came up to me, smiling all nervously, but without skipping a beat you asked me. You asked if I wanted to do something else."

"It was so casual, too. We weren't even proper friends yet, and it was your birthday party, but you knew something was wrong, and you asked me how I could feel more included."

Y/n shakes her head, seeming disbelieving.

"We talked for a bit, and then you offered to show me Castle Byers. 'It's just over the hill,' you told me. So we went - and figures, the guys never realized we were gone - but I thought it was, just, the best thing. We played in there for a few minutes, these toy cars were all you had in there at the time,"

She chuckled, and held up her hands to demonstrate something of size.

"I remember you had this Tonka Truck, it was just smaller than a toaster and you let me play with it. You said it always cheered you up, and maybe it would help me, too. You even let me keep it at the end of the day, cause you saw how happy I was, even though the truck wasn't what me so happy."

I could feel my face twitching again, my fingers drumming against the chair numbingly. And then I felt a single hot tear slide down my cheek, and his discomfort grew.

"But you told me something in Castle Byers that day, something I don't think I'll ever forget, even if I wanted to..." she was crying again. "You told me, that we could go talk to the others and convince them to let me join, that I could be your guys' friend... I asked you why you were being so nice to me, why you wanted me to apart of your group,"

A small sob came out in the form of a chuckle, and she wiped a tear off her cheek.

"And you told me it was because that was your birthday wish."

The room was dead silent again, and I could hear sniffles coming not only from Y/n, but Mom and Jonathan, too.

"Sure enough, we were all the best of friends just days later. We were building forts, playing cards, I think we even got our walkies a few months later and stayed up all night leraning morse code... You helped me make that happen, Will. And I'll always be greatful for that."

Another tear slips down my cheek, but I feel my face is as still as stone. The next thing I feel is his icy grip pulling me back down, and this time I know in my gut it's for good. In once desperate attempt, I scream for my muscles - my arms, legs, head, anything to see if I can move. And that's when I realize, my fingers are still wiggling. I don't think he can tell. I don't think he knows.

He's too focused on her! I just need them to look. I can get a message out. My fingers tap just a little louder as I try to remember the right combination.

Right. Here.

As I focus all my energy into the message, I hear her broken voice speak again.

Right. Here.

Here.

"Will, if-if you're in there," she looks around at eveyone else in the room and back to me. "Please, just talk to us. Say anything, just please help us help you."

Right. Here.

The fog grows, stretching farther over me and chilling my body.

Right. Here.

Come on, hurry up. Anyone!

Here.

Am I remembering it wrong?

Here.

Hopper jumps up abruptly, glancing quickly across the room, and back once more at me. Suddenly, his hand dives into his pocket to fish something out.

Here.

He pulls out a vial - or is a needle? - I can't quite make it out in the light but I see him uncap whatever it is, walking towards me.

Here.

It plunges into my arm and before I know it I feel myself growing sleepy. The last thing I feel is cold fear and the feel my fingers slowing growing sluggish against the cardboard until it stops altogether.

Here...

||3rd Person POV||

Will awakes once more, attempting to process the many things flooding his senses. The return of the chemicals in his nostrils and throat, the blinding white light blocking his vision, and the feeling of being watched. But this time, he does not wake to a dead silent room, but a string of all too familiar music floods his ears.

The first notes of Should I Stay or Should I Go explode through the quiet air, and strangely enough for Will, everyone inside with him has dawned an all new demeanor. They aren't weary anymore, rather they are determined. Jonthan is the first to take a seat across from his brother, an expecting look in his eyes.

"Do you remember the first time I played you this?"

Will's body sits completely still, a lost look in his eyes.

"Mom and Dad were both arguing in the next room," Jonathan continues. "So I played you the mix tape I made you. And it was the first time you got into music. Real music."

Steadily, his fingers begin to tap a new pattern all unbeknownst to the Mind Flayer who watches his captors studiously. Particularly the young Henderson girl lingering in the corner awaiting her turn.

All the while, Hopper stands behind the Byers boy, walkie behind his back as he echoes the boy's message to the other half of the team waiting inside to translate.

Lucas, Dustin, and Nancy surround the kitchen table. Each with a task of their own.

"Dash, dot, dash, dot," Dustin mumbles, feverishly scribbling them on a piece of paper.

Lucas and Max scan the coordinating letter provided on an old guide.

"Dash, dot, dash... Yeah, got it!" Lucas exclaims. "C!"

Nancy transcribes onto a fresh piece of paper and this process continues as the others take turns talking to Will. Mike is next.

"And then the party escaped into the sewers," he recalls excitedly. "and there were those big insect things, and you guys were still on level one. Then you cast Fog Cloud and you saved us. You saved the whole party!"

Another pattern by Will turned into another letter on paper as the kids listened intently to Hopper's incoming message.

"L!"

"Dash dash-"

"-O!"

"We were so happy to see snow," Y/n explains, arms waving as she reimagines the moment. "and we got so wrapped up in our snowball fight, we didn't see my mom open the garage and when you ducked, I knocked over the old floor lamp that had been sitting out there. We had to spend the rest of the day cleaning it up, but we couldn't stop laughing,"

"-S,"

"You saw how sad Y/n was," Joyce says, knowing she was just about to reveal a fact to the girl in the room, a fact she might have missed out. But this doesn't stop her from telling the story, or breaking away from her son's gaze. "and when you two came back from Castle Byers, I saw her thanking you for your Tonka Truck."

"-E."

"and I pulled you aside before she left, and I told you that we couldn't afford to buy another one,"

Y/n's eyes flicker from Joyce back to Will, swallowing the entirely new perspective her side of the story revealed.

"-G."

Joyce began to choke on her words at the pride of her son, as well as Y/n who stood off in the corner with a simultaneous swelling, and breaking of her heart. "You said she should have it because she was sad. She's sad, Mom, and I want to make that go away."

"-A."

"I love you so much," Joyce tearfully coos.

"-T."

"So, so much."

"-E!"

The play button ejects on the Byers boom box, the music coming to an end and the others gather around Nancy at the table. Will's message drips off their tongues simultaneously and a chill spreads through the air at what it reads.

"CLOSE GATE"

A loud, shrill ring pierces the chilled air and a total of six heads whip up at the startling noise of the Byers phone; All who are inside, and the sixth belonging to Will.

The rest in the shed follow suit, and they experience the plunging feeling of fear as they realize what is about to happen.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Dustin spews through his clenched jaw, the first of his group to reach the phone.

He rips it off the line and slams it back down.

The others look around at one another, silently wondering if they were in the clear. A second shrill ring answers their question, and Dustin scrambles to hang up the phone. Nancy beats him to it, and rips the phone - mount and all - and throws it to the ground with an angred grunt.

Everyone sighs, and Max is first to voice their shared concern.

"Do you think he heard that?"

"It's just a phone," Steve replies, his tone of voice betraying his intended confidence. "It could be anywhere... Right?"

Without his permission, Will's eyelids flutter closed and his head begins to twitch.

The Mind Flayer had begun his search.

"Hey," Joyce jumps up worriedly, placing her palm on her son's knee gently shaking it to get his attention. "Hey, can you hear me?"

His bretahing grows increasingly ragged, his eyes moving under his eyelids as the tunnels begin to spread under his command.

Hopper kneels down beside Will, his voice grave. "It knows. It knows where we are."

"Shit," Joyce hisses.

She jumps from her seat altogether and grabs the remaining dose of anesthesia and plunges into Will's other arm. His head drops in seconds and Hopper, Y/n and Jonathan flood outside onto the lawn. Their eyes scan the trees behind them, as well as the rest of the backyard but it is eerily silent.

Until the piercing cry of the Demodogs carries through the air, and across the night sky announcing their advances.

The others hear it even from inside the house, and they near the window. Moonlight spills onto their faces, illuminating their fear as they realize the dangers to come.

"That's not good," Dustin breaths, paralyzed.

The quartet return to the shed, pushing themselves past the makesshift curtains blanketing the door.

"They're coming!" Jonathan cried to his mother and Mike.

Everyone scrambles to untangle Will from his restraints, and scurry inside, Will over Jonathan's shoulder.

The only one to linger is Hopper, who hesitates outside the shed, and goes back for the rifle that sat amongst the pile of the sheds discarded things.

He's the last to enter the house, closing and locking the door behind him, and yet he does not know what good it will do them. He marches across the kitchen, grabbing the other rifle he had nabbed from the lab, and enters the living room. His eyes widen when he sees the children packed against the windows on the couch.

"Hey." He barks. "Hey, get away from the windows!"

They scramble off the couch and one by one everyone else files into the living room as they prepare. Hopper's scanning eyes land on Jonathan and he holds up one of the rifles.

"Do you know how to use this?"

"What?" Jonathan asks, still processing the sudden change of events.

"Can you use this?" Hopper seethes, turning red in the face as his impatience grows.

Another voice answers.

"I can,"

Dustin and Jonathan part as Nancy steps forward, and catches the rifle in her hands without a second thought. Her and Hopper cock their guns, and take their aim. In a matter of moments, everyone is packed in against one other in a protective huddle, their hearts beating as loud as drums. Some were lucky - and quick - enough to get their hands on anything they could use as a weapon. Apart from Y/n, who began wringing out her hands and attempting to shake out her nerves, and Steve who wielded his signature weapon; the spiked bat.

The tense silence grows thicker, hanging in the air far longer than any one of them would have preferred. The occasional chitter could be heard, and the rusting of branches followed all too soon.

"Where are they?" Max cries, her fear grows when she finds herself without a weapon.

Subconsciously, she moves herself tighter to be near Lucas who has drawn his wrist rocket.

Another silence, and the next noise to be heard beside their ragged breaths is the sudden groaning of the beast who growing closer by the second.

What sounded to a select few like a human cry was drowned out in the several thuds and more screeches from the Demodogs. The sound of branches breaking outside brought everyone's attention - and aim - to the dining room window visible from where they stood.

"What are they doing?" Nancy mumbled through her fearful panting.

Everyone could see the leaves shake violently against the window as if something had landed in the bushes.

The battle cries of the Demodogs flew from window to window at an alarming speed, as did the barrels of Hopper and Nancy's guns.

Everyone watches with great worry and confusion as the battle cries quickly turn to cries of pain. And for one small moment they think they hear the sounds of bones crushing as it screeches in pain.

Before their minds can conjure any possible explanation, the far left window pane shatters as the body of a Demodog comes crashing onto the living room floor. Violent cries of terror rip from everyone's throats as they jump out of the way, turning on the intruder.

Their guards lower on a single notch as they realize the thing lays completely lifeless. And yet, they creep forward to examine the body, Hopper the closest of all as he advances on what he hopes is its corpse.

"Holy shit," Dustin whispers.

"Is it dead?" Max gapes, wearily inching forward towards the monster.

Hopped takes a deep breath, gun still drawn and finger on the trigger and inches his boot closer to the Demodog. It's lifeless head falls to the side limply, and everyone breathes what they know to be a temporary sigh of relief.

The relief is snatched up in seconds, and everyone's guard returns when they hear a soft wooden creak coming from the front door. Everyone returns to their position, weapons drawn ready to fight.

An unusual sight turns their heads as they watch the deadbolt unlock by itself. It's sharp click booms in their ears like thunder. Everyone creeps forward by a mere few steps, and in their heightened adrenaline fueled state, they begin to questions the Demodogs capabilities if only for a fleeting moment before dismissing it altogether.

They watch in awe as the chain lock on the door, slides itself unlocked, and drops instantly, swing limply against the door. It creates a taunting scrape as it grazes the door.

Everyone wonders what they are about to face, everyone apart from a the dutiful chief, a missing experiment, and a certain boy who does not dare let himself entertain the idea in fear of another painful heartbreak.

With soft and muffled clicks from the tumblers, the wooden door creaks open painfully slow. A worn out pair of white sneakers fit around a dainty pair of feet cross the threshold and onto the wooden floors.

All weapons lower immediately in shock as they gape at the sight before them. Standing across the room in a brand-new wardrobe and slightly longer hair blending perfectly with her usual bleeding nose and fierce look in her eye was none other than El.

Her eyes scan the small crowd of familiar and unfamiliar shock-ridden faces until they land on the one she had never stopped dreaming about. Her heart skips a beat when she does not seem him at first before bursting altogether when he steps out from behind Hopper's towering frame.

His widened eyes are swimming in tears as he gazes at her as of she were mirage. Her hard and concentrated glare melts immediately into vulnerability as she meets his eyes, feeling eerily similar to him as if he would inevitably disappear as soon as she woke up.

And instantaneously, matching bright smiles break out on their faces when they know.

Neither of them were dreaming, and at long last, they had finally found one another again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

PLEASE!!! Don't stop fighting for black lives. This has been said a thousand times and it shouldn't have ever needed be said in the first place but just because it isn't on the news as much anymore, that it's not "trending" anymore doesn't mean it's over. Please continue fighting back and doing what you can. Links below as usual.

Protect Protestors From Federal Officers

[my city of Portland is not the only one to face this, as there are plans of using this tactic on other cities trump views as a threat. Please help!]

[Link]

Black Trans Education Foundation GoFundMe

"We're raising money to provide $3,000 scholarships directly to 20 black trans students."

Donate if you can and please, please share!!

[Link]

rown & black businesses damaged by the protests

"In efforts to help Black & Brown businesses that were damaged during riots this weekend, @ buyblackatl and @ spoiledberry are raising money. Please share this, and if you or anyone you know owns a Black/Brown owned business that was impacted, please contact us. 🖤"

[Link]

+++

Tag List: @dickkwad @aimee-lucass @iblesstherainsdown-in-africa @miscellaneoustoasts @happyandlonely-blog @missmulti @youpi-chan @peeperparkour @ba-responds @bibliophilesquared @blogforhoes @witch-of-all-things-soft @shawkneecaps @whothefuckstolemykeds @mirdall @fishswimbetterunderwater @daughter-of-the-stars11 @stranger-things4 @heavenlycat567 @nightbu-g @grapesauze

DM me, or drop by my inbox if you want to be added!

64 notes · View notes

angelicbrokenburd-a · 3 years ago

Text

Rules for Moblie: Under Read More because long.

Disclaimer

I do not own the rights to Starscream, the Transformers franchise, it's characters or it's lore. The rights belong to the lovely people at Hasbro. However: My portayal, headcanons and the such are my own! I also create my own icons and graphics (banners for pages, post and such) and ask you to DO NOT steal and claim them for your own.

Other Notes (idk what to call this part lol)

This blog is Completely headcanon based being there is no offical Transformers Prime Shattered Glass continuity. I take some inspration from the oringal G1 Shattered Glass comics but everything else is my own! While this blog is mostly Prime/Aligned, I may add/take some elements from a few other continuies such as G1, IDW and Animated.

Following

This is a side blog to @fatesyetunwritten, which plays as an OOC hub for the blogs connected to it. So obviously I cannot follow you with this blog but my main. Even though not necessary, I also recommend following my hub blog as well being that’s where most PSAs/OOC updates in regard to ALL my blogs will be posted. Personal blogs are free to follow, but I do ask you don’t comment/reblog/reply/etc to any IC threads or post. Same implies to post that say ”//DO NOT REBLOG” or -DO NOT REBLOG-” in the thread/tags. If any of these rules are broken I will block you! I won't even give you a second chance, you're out! If you are a personal and do have a sideblog, PLEASE contact me telling me so. I’m more than likely not going to know otherwise unless I followed you first and it’s noted. My IM/askbox is always open. If you need to contact me in anyway and (if we are mutuals) want to plot/scream about our muses/just talk/etc. Don’t feel shy to approach me. I love talking and meeting new friends.

Guidelines

I am selective and will only roleplay with mutuals. Just because you follow me doesn’t guarantee that I will back. I often look at the muse, content and mun beforehand before making up my decision in doing so. Do not force/guilt trip me into following you!! Putting aside it’s rude and selfish to do so, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED WITHOUT A SECOND THOUGHT!! Muse doesn't equal Mun and vice versa. This should be obvious but sometimes people do confuse fantasy and reality. Please don't confuse the two. No Godmodding! This is standard fare I don’t think I have to elaborate more on that. If possible Please trim your post. I won’t get up on anyone's case about it if you don’t, but it’s considerute to do so. Keeps the dash clean. Also transfer ask to a new thread if you wish to contiune it. Same reasons as above: Keeps things clean and orgainzed. Don’t worry about formatting/using icons in your post! Just because I like to time to time doesn’t mean you have to follow suit. Write in whatever style that works for you. All I ask is that you use proper grammar and spelling, or at least enough for me to read your writing. I’m not perfect neither so don’t sweat it if you make a typo there and there.

Shipping and Relationships

Let’s get this out of the way:I’m a shameless shipping whore! I love shipping and building relationships. But I won't just jump onboard to a ship however Like most relationships, there needs to be Chemistry. If the two clash off each other well, we can discuss things further. Each ship (unless said otherwise) has it's own verse and not overlap with other ships... This doesn't just imply to romanatic ships! Friendships, kinships, hateships, YA name it!. As I said, I'm a ship whore. I’m also a fan of AUs! Give me some of those AUs bro!

Mature Content

Both me and my Muse are of age and won’t shy away from mature themes. All NSFW threads/ask/etc will be tagged as such, along with any triggers that need tagging. In worst cases, like a hard R (which is rare), I will put everything under a read more flither. Themes include, but not limited to: Violence, blood or/and gore, alcohol and drug use, depression/PTSD, abuse and (maybe?) sexual themes. I will also likely The only things I will not roleplay are anything to do with rape, sexual assault, pedophila and/or incest. I'm open to roleplaying smut but I will be extreamly selective on who I write with. I have to feel comfortable with the mun plus likely already have to have an establish ship going. I will, by no circumstance, roleplay sumt with minors!! NO ITS, NO BUTS! If I learn you are lying about your age, consider yourselfPermanently blocked with all threads deleted.

Who I’ll Interact With

Well, obviously I will roleplay with other Transformers characters, (Not limited to just Prime). I’ll roleplay with just about almost all fandoms. I am a bit more selective over fandoms I'm not too familiar with but that doesn't always mean my doors aren't closed to them neither. To put it simple: If a muse interests me, I'm more than likely on board. What is always the case however is that I will not, and I do mean WILL NOT roleplay with muses base off Youtube Let’s Players or any real life people WHAT SO EVER!! Sorry, I’m sure a good share of you are fantastic people, but it’s something I am simply against mortality. I’m open to roleplaying with OCs both fandom base and/or fandomless, but again, I’m still selective. I always check out the mun’s page before following and if I don’t see a bio for your OC, I will simply not follow. I can't interact with a character I know nothing about. Really, a good indication that I want to interact with you is if I follow you, either before or after you do.

The Mun

Name: Jessie/Sweets Birthdate:August 2nd, 1989 Hello loves~ So...about myself: I love to write if it wasn’t obvious yet, but some of my other hobbies include but not limited to: Drawing, video games, comics, animation. The general geek crap. I like to believe I'm a down to earth and chill person to hang with so don’t feel shy to start a conversation with me outside of our general roleplay affair. For OOC post, Doctor Nefarious from Ratchet and Clank and/or Wander from Wander Over Yonder as faceclaims but more incline to use the former. Things to keep note of: I am diagnosed on the Autism Spectrum. This can at times affect my abilities to socialize and communicate normality and at times even makes it hard to pick up cues if not direct enough. Miscommunication could happen and if I misinterpreted/stepped over the line/did something uncalled for that I’m unaware of; You shouldn’t fear about addressing the issue to me privately. I don’t do things on purpose. Most people don’t. And more than half the time, these problems can be addressed by talking it out. Communication and understanding is key to be a successful roleplay partner. The last thing I want is to make my friends unconformably and treat them with respect and I expect the same! I also suffer from depression and anxiety and can affect my mood, as well as my will to interact/socialize that day and may even not want to be bothered. This never has anything to do with the other Mun, this is me and Me alone! My mental health comes first after all and I’m sure you all can respect that and vice versa. Roleplaying is a hobby for me, not a job. I go at my own pace. With my mental health addressed; it can play into how active I am. Some days I can write replies/threads like no ones business, others I can be sluggish and not want to do anything. Do not pester me for replies! They’ll come when they come. Thankfully, I don’t have many triggers. Nothing that I can’t blacklist anyways. I always make sure to read the Mun’s rules but if there's anything you need me to tag that I may have glace over, don’t feel shy to speak up about it.

#🌠PSA;;#🌠OOC;;

2 notes · View notes

kylorengarbagedump · 5 years ago

Text

Little Bird: Chapter 26

Read on AO3. Part 25 here. Part 27 here.

Summary: You're not sure what Ren is thinking. You're not sure what you're thinking, either.

Words: 2900

Warnings: Handmaid’s Tale AU

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: I feel like every time I try to write this fic, I'm just... like... "Oh, let's try an action scene. Oh, let's try to write a party. Oh, let's fuckin', uh, inject some attempt at connection and emotion"? I don't know, haha. Reply down below if you think Anna be doin' too much.

That being said, the support and engagement I receive from y'all truly makes my day and week and life better. Every single comment is so special to me, I don't take any of it for granted. I feel so lucky and love y'all so much. Thank you! <3

The Knight stepped forward as you crossed the gate, a black wall of carbon and fabric, the pointed red cross on the breast of his cape the only break in the shadow. “Commander Ren requests your presence.”

You stopped, tossing a glance over the masked man before nodding. An escort wasn’t typical--not for you, anyway. “Well. Lead the way.”

The Knights Templar had been patrolling Kylo Ren’s property since before he’d returned from the hospital. After he’d called them to Snoke’s to alter the scene, his home had been monitored by at least three of them at any given time. One had gone with you when you were questioned by the Eyes--thanks to Christine’s report that a guard had killed Commander Snoke, you’d been given the benefit of the doubt and released in silence. A good thing, too, since otherwise they might have discovered the suspiciously bloody handprints on your tits.

Today, you spotted two of the Knights at the front gate and two posted at the side-yards--meaning the last two were in the back. You’d only ever seen all six the first day they’d arrived.

He turned, the flutter of his cape revealing the rifle strapped across his torso, and marched up the driveway, past Ren’s Audi, guiding you into the home. The bag in your hand seemed just ounces heavier as you trailed him, heart fluttering at the thought of seeing your Commander. It’d been over a week since you’d spoken. Your last conversation hadn’t gone well.

In a way, it’d been almost a relief on your poor body as it recovered from the concussion, the welts, the hickeys, the scabs on your knees and back. Even your cunt was grateful for a breather--you hadn’t realized what several days of being constantly, aggressively fucked by Kylo Ren’s massive dick had done for your pain tolerance.

That being the case, you would’ve been lying if you said that you hadn’t spent the days since your last tryst remembering the taste of copper on his tongue, the slickened slip of blood on your clit, how he’d looked coated in crimson under the summer sun as the heat of victory, of unity had pumped through you both. That connection had cracked open your ribs, lead your foolish heart to slaughter with the promise of security in your Commander’s arms. You weren’t delusional to believe that he wanted you as more than his Handmaid--no, the delusion had been the belief that he’d ever see you as his equal.

The Knight led you through the home, and you dropped off your bag in the kitchen--Emma and Rose were clattering away, and you heard Johana’s voice, a needle in your ears.

“No, no, don’t be stupid. Those don’t go there. Emma, will you start the tomato salad for the bruschetta, already? We need at least three different hors d'oeuvres--do you want to be shipped off to the Colonies?”

“Ms. Johana, please, I’m just now--”

“Get to work.”

You frowned. It sounded as if they were preparing for something, but what it could be, you didn’t know. The thought of another dinner party made your stomach roil.

The doors to Kylo Ren’s den were closed when you arrived--the Knight pushed one open, standing solid as he waited for you to enter. Glancing between him and the floor, head bowed, you passed through, and the door shut behind you.

In the light of the day, Ren seemed significantly less suffocating--but no less heady, no less beguiling. He leaned back in his chair, dressed in an open white linen shirt that revealed a ridiculously tempting patch of clavicle. Documents sprawled out in front of him, a fountain pen in his hand. His eyes were dark, full lips pursed as he watched you enter, following your footsteps and swaying skirts as you sat across from him. The bandages were gone, now, and you saw his scar, a pretty pink thread that stretched from his brow to his neck. He swallowed, and the line of it shifted with the motion of his throat. Your fingers itched, wanting to trace it.

“It’s been over a week.”

“So it has.”

You felt more awkward than indignant--you and Ren had plenty of ideological spats, but you’d typically resolved those arguments using your tongues for a completely different purpose. Now, he was solidifying his hold on Gilead as the Lead Commander, and his extended absence from your life had frustrated the tear you’d made in your relationship. Speaking with him now felt like taking a nail file to your teeth.

Gesturing over your shoulder, you said, “Is the Knight Templar really necessary?”

Ren glanced at the closed door, then to you. “You fail to understand how precarious a transition of power can be.”

“But for me?”

He blinked, gaze drifting to the papers, a slow breath gathering and leaving his chest through his nose. “I will ensure that nothing will ever happen to or harm you while you are in this home.” His eyes drilled you to your seat. “Or in my presence.”

“Oh.” Heat tingled your cheeks. “I see.”

The awkwardness refused to cease. It was like cotton, clogging the channels of communication. In the silence, Ren continued to review and add notations to the forms on his desk--they looked to be bylaws or something similar--so you decided to occupy your hands, too. You sat forward, snagged a pen, a piece of scrap paper he’d discarded to the side, and began to doodle. Even before Gilead, you’d never been particularly skilled with art, but your hands had rusted from years of being denied the ability to hold a pen. It felt unwieldy, the lines you made wriggled like worms across the page.

“Anyway.” You started to sketch what you hoped appeared like vines--they were shaky, trembling strands with misshapen blobs for leaves. “Why did you ask me here?”

He considered you for a moment, watched you draw. “Last time we spoke,” he said, “you said there was nothing I could do to make your existence as a Handmaid bearable.” He paused as you tried to create another stem of vines. “I disagree.”

You sighed, not bothering to meet his gaze. “Unless you can destroy Gilead, it never will be.”

“You could be my advisor.” His voice was soft, but certain. “Help me create a new order.”

A pause--you were frustrated with the way these leaves were turning out, anyway--and you glanced up at him, brow cocked. “How could I possibly advise you?”

Ren took his own pen and placed it to your paper. “I want to know your thoughts.” The ink spilled in a gorgeous, swooping arc as he drew a single stem and leaf. “Lead with your wrist.” A tiny, teasing smirk quirked the corner of his lip. “You offer critique so freely otherwise. Wouldn’t it behoove me to make use of it?”

You made another attempt, starting a new stem, guiding your pen across the paper as Ren had suggested. “I don’t want to be around the Council as your Handmaid advisor.” Half of you was playing along. The other half was traitorously curious.

“Then you’d be the advisor in my home.”

“No thank you.” The pen slipped as you added sloppy detail. You sighed. “That isn’t an equal.”

“Then you’d come with me.” He flicked tiny veins into the leaf he drew. “Use simple lines.”

“Well, I don’t want to do that.” You tried to imitate his movement, but your motor skills were clunky, unfinessed. “Any other awful offer you’re willing to make me?”

“You could sleep in my bed.”

Everything paused--your hands, your breath, your thoughts. You couldn’t think to move.

“And still wear this uniform.”

“No.”

You exhaled, your gaze traveled from his strong hands, up the thick muscles of his arms, past the sheen of skin at his chest and neck, landing on his own eyes. Streams of sunlight cast amber irises in gilded vulnerability, the constant void in his pupils filled now with something present and deep, a trench of new, tender need. He was seeking you, inviting you to a forbidden place you’d never dreamed you’d go--the technicalities seemed distant and secondary to the urgent ache you’d felt for his company. He swallowed again. The scar bulged.

But Johana, clinging to meaning. But the Resistance, whom you’d avoided since the coup. But the other Handmaids, languishing in the beds of their Commanders against their will. The thought of waking up in Kylo Ren’s arms filled you with a warmth that nearly choked you, scorched your heart with its heat. That warmth was drowned, almost immediately, in a blizzard of dreadful reality. You could never be his equal. He didn’t even know your name.

Wetting your lips, you started a new bundle of vines in the corner of the page. “Do you ever feel empty?” you asked. “Lost?”

For a moment, Ren didn’t respond, only followed your fingers as they worked to pull the image in your mind to life. Then he moved, pushing his fountain pen on the paper, working in the corner opposite of yours, whirling tapered black lines into an abstract plant design. You glimpsed his work with a bizarre pang of jealousy, but you continued, scrawling your best imitation into your own space. It felt easy to talk, like this, focused on your busy hands.

“You know,” you said, “the only thing that’s made me feel alive in the past three years is being with you.” You looped one of the stems to the middle of the page, adding a couple of ugly, thick-veined leaves. “But maybe before that, too. I don’t know. When you do stuff like this, it makes me feel worse. “

He swiftly swirled a long, naked vine. It came close to touching one of yours. “Worse.”

“Have you ever known something was wrong…” You weren’t sure how to finish the sentence. More and more stems piled up in your corner, encroaching on his work. “Have you known something was wrong, but felt like… the only way you can even think about taking your next breath is if you do it?”

Ren stopped. The pen bled a fat daub into the paper. When you looked up, his mouth was parted. He was gazing into you.

“Yes.”

Your eyes were chained to his, your breath hollow in your chest, fingers withering with weakness, your pen tumbling from your grip.

“And have you--have you felt like doing the right thing… but knew that it would be impossible?”

He wasn’t breathing, either--he was only staring, memorizing something.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Always.”

You blinked and wet your lips, wondering how he could survive with the same constant, crushing pain on his chest and in his mind. Ren regarded you in stillness, an awakened honesty pulsing between you.

“How do you live?” you asked. “I… It feels like I’m…”

“Dying.”

“Yes.” You sat forward, nodding. “Yes. Dying. Like… my actions don’t even matter. Like I don’t even…”

He broke from your gaze, scanning the piece you’d both created, your vines reaching desperately for each other from the corners, separated by empty white space. “Have a choice.”

“Yes.” The heat of understanding burned through you. “How do you do it?”

Ren glanced up, the severity in his stare shrouding him in shadow. “I destroy it.”

Air stuck in your throat. “What?”

“Until it is nothing.” His face betrayed no emotion. “I destroy it.”

Perhaps that’s where you differed. You hadn’t tried to destroy that feeling. You’d tipped headfirst into it, choked on it, allowed it to consume you. Underneath its weight, you’d suffocated, starving for respite that didn’t exist.

“That’s how being with you makes me feel.”

His chest fell, air escaping his nose. “Yet you were there.”

“What?”

Ren took your hand in his, led you to pick up your pen, curling his long fingers around yours. His grip brought you refuge, its firm warmth guiding you through slow, sweeping motions until you’d grown a beautiful shoot of vines on the page. Throat tight, you watched his face under a new lens, his features now in soft focus, skin kissed by light, hair shifting over his cheeks.

“You could’ve run. Let me die.” His hold tightened, sparks shooting between your skin as he led you through darting veins in a leaf. “You didn’t.”

Words wouldn’t leave. You could only sit as he released you, allowed you to admire your collaboration. His side of the page had branched into a bloom of abstruse lines, black rivers running through the paper, not entirely vines, but precise and pretty all the same. Your side was less complex, crafted with a child’s hand, but a clear attempt at plantlife--thin, shaky stems snaking from the corner, ovals tacked on as leaves. Then there was the patch you’d drawn together. That part filled the center, entirely different from your creation and his own, a gorgeous weave of coiled fronds that crawled to three-dimensional life.

A shiver rippled up your spine. You met his eyes for the hundredth time, but drowned in them as if it was the first.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, not sure what you were referring to, anymore.

Ren’s lashes fluttered at his cheeks. His lips seemed pinker. “Practice, little bird.” After a moment, he drew a deep breath. “Johana’s hosting a party this evening. For my installation.” He pushed the pens to the side. “I left a dress in your room. I want you to wear it.”

Your heart seized, and you shook your head. “What?” you asked. “A dress?”

“Yes.” His face fell in a mask of disinterest. “You’d said last time we spoke you wanted more than what you have.”

“But…” Johana. The Council. The other Commanders. “Everyone else…”

“Gilead will bend to my design.” He sniffed, folding the drawing and placing it in his desk. “You’re part of that design.”

Heat flooded your face. “Oh.”

There was that feeling again--the same one that burgeoned between you, twisted you in its temptation, that robbed you of rationality. The one Ren sought to destroy, the one that you wanted to surrender to. You despised him. And you couldn’t wait to wear whatever stupid fucking dress he’d picked for you.

“Vic,” Ren called out. The door opened, the Knight stepped through. “Escort her to her room.”

Nodding, you stood, heading toward the door. Before you crossed the threshold, you glanced at him a final time. He was watching you.

“I’ll see you this evening.”

You swallowed. “Yes, Commander.”

It was strange, walking the halls with a silent usher--and having him wait until you closed yourself in your room was even stranger. You stood, waiting for the Knight’s footsteps to descend the staircase before you ran to your tiny dresser, tearing open the drawers to reveal the dress Ren had hidden there. Hands shaking, face hot, you grabbed it and shook it out, flipping it under your scrutiny.

It was still conservative--a high neck, long sleeves. But the fabric was a soft, pink chiffon, draped to the waist, a design that would skim your figure, but not reveal it. Round fabric buttons concealed the collar, cutting through a window of gauzy lace. You twirled it, admiring the flutter of the hem, imagining how it would feel on your skin. The longer you stared, the shorter your breath became, mind swarmed with thought. How would it feel, to walk through the home wearing this, to feel the brush of something over than starchy cotton at your ankles? How would your Commander react, seeing you in it? Fire stormed your skin, made your thighs squeeze together at the mere thought of him gazing at you, mesmerized, captivated--

Why did this excite you, when you were still his property? Perhaps it was that promise of respite, this dress your brief gasp of air before you would be plunged back into a sea of misery. Or perhaps it was the way he’d looked at you, the sincerity in his eyes, the throb in your pulse that lingered from his hand around yours.

His reaction was one thing, though. What about everyone else?

Knowing you’d be a Handmaid out of uniform sent your heart into your throat, had you considering tossing the damn dress out of your window and burying yourself in your sheets. It wouldn’t just be Ren seeing you--it’d be his Wife, his colleagues, his would-be supporters. The fact that you’d be wearing this flowy, hispy thing in front of all of them inspired a rush of unearned horror through your head, so thick you could swim in it. Yet your status in society could hardly sink any lower. Other than scandal, what response did you truly have to fear?

After all, there was another feeling, too, a burbling bubble at the base of your brain.

Vindication.

Yes, you were special, you were more than a Handmaid, and while you were still stuck on this awful hell-rock, you’d prove it to them. You’d prove it to them all.

Tossing the dress on the bed, you wrung out your arms, ears aflame. Outside, birds twittered in chorus, their song an echo of the melody in your chest:

Hopeful. Jubilant. Naive.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #kylo trash #little bird #handmaid au #fanfiction problems #tune in next time as I attempt to write a fucking inauguration party

133 notes · View notes

atelier-dayz · 4 years ago

Note

⭐star⭐

The Patching Up Scene! 8D

After they hand off an excited Skywalker to the pilots in the cockpit, Jango isn’t completely sure why he follows Kenobi, though part of it is curiosity and another part practicality. Kenobi shoots him a questioning look when they reach his quarters.

“Do you need help with some of those wounds?” he offers. There’s one he can see, wrapping around Kenobi’s right side to his back. Jetii powers or not, he doubts Kenobi can treat it properly on his own.

“Oh…” Kenobi hesitates for a moment, but ultimately nods. “Yes, please, if you don’t mind.”

Okay, I honestly did not plan for this scene to happen! It just naturally happened, the next logical thing. Obvs Jango likes Obi, but also after a battle, you patch up your fighters. Nothing to question about it. *nods*

Between the two of them, they gather up the ship’s medkit, a small basin for the antiseptic wash, and a few scraps of clean cloth, before returning to the jetiise’s room.

The moment Kenobi unties his belt and starts unwrapping his tabard and tunics, sand begins skittering to the floor. Jango eyes the growing pile, thankful it isn’t his problem to clean up.

“Shouldn’t have laid down in the sand. You’ll be getting rid of it for days,” he says, and Kenobi shoots him a weak glare.

“I was tired,” Kenobi grumbles. “Besides, sand gets everywhere anyways.”

Kenobi strips down to his smalls with all the modesty -- or rather, lack thereof -- of a warrior who has been in front of too many medics. The myriad of scars of different ages on his body is certainly evidence of that. Jango is still baffled, because he’s fairly sure jetiise were less...careless with their padawans than that, but he saves those questions for later.

Obi’s childhood, man...and the scars you see are only the ones on the outside.

The wounds from the darjetii, now fully visible, makes Jango want to hiss in sympathy. Kenobi has two shallow burns on his left arm and one on his right forearm to join the old jetii’kad scars. But the Zabrak had cut deep into Kenobi’s right upper arm. Jango couldn’t quite see bone, but Kenobi is kriffing lucky to not have any nerve damage - at least, not that he could tell. Other than the wound that wraps around Kenobi’s side that he’d noted earlier, the last is a slash across the side of his left thigh, not as deep as the ugly one on his arm but deep enough.

I imagine some of the old lightsaber sabers came from too many tussles with Bruck.

You’ve got some pretty important nerves and arteries in your upper arm ie the radial nerve LOL The outer side of your thigh, not as much, hence the instructions for epipen injections to be given against the side of your thigh. 8D /random trivia

He’s honestly impressed that Kenobi could walk or move his arms so freely, much less continue fighting the way he had.

“Well, at least you’re not bleeding,” is all Jango can say.

Hurraaay instant cauterization (oof the burned tissue though)

Kenobi grimaces and sits himself down on the bunk they’d set the supplies on.

“Painkillers?” Jango asks, opening the medkit.

Kenobi shakes his head. “I’m alright for now. Perhaps before I sleep,” Kenobi says. “The Force helps me dull the pain.”

Jango huffs. More jetii sorcery, though that explains a lot.

He finds the antiseptic wash and pours it into the basin over the cloth they’d collected. They clean their hands, and Kenobi starts wiping clean his left arm, careful over the burns.

I almost glossed over this stuff, but it pained me to not mention CLEAN HANDS. Clean hands during wound care, folks. I restrained myself from having them dig out gloves or something LOL

“I’ve got your side,” Jango warns Kenobi, before pressing a dampened cloth to his right side. He starts cleaning the wound from Kenobi’s front before moving to his back.

Jango should have expected it, but somehow he hadn’t. Up close, he sees barely-there Lichtenberg scars that he’s seen before on others, from electro-jabbers held too long against skin. He also sees whip scars across Kenobi’s upper back, faded enough for Jango to tell he had gotten them far too young.

The slave guards on Bandomeer, to quote, “beat them savagely with an electro-jabber.” I imagine prolonged contact with an electro-jabber would lead to injury and scarring like you’d see in a lighting strike but smaller/more localized. (Note: Some caution if you google what it looks like!)

“How old were you?” he can’t help himself from asking, but managing at least to keep the words less sharp than he had wanted.

“What?” Kenobi starts to twist to look at him but thinks better of it.

Jango brushes a hand along one of the whip scars instead of explaining, and Kenobi stiffens for a moment, before relaxing. He moves on to cleaning his leg wound, and Jango thinks he might not answer, which is fair. Jango resumes cleaning the side wound.

“I was just shy of thirteen," Kenobi suddenly says. "Deepsea mining on Bandomeer."

Jango curses under his breath and has to keep himself from inadvertently pressing too hard on Kenobi’s wound.

Thirteen, as a mining slave. A deepsea mining slave.

Every slave knows that deepsea mining is the one of the worst positions to be in. The life expectancy is five to ten years maximum. Kriffing hell, some slavers use deepsea mining as a threat to make their slaves behave.

This I unfortunately based on what I learned about slavery on sugar cane plantations in the (American) South. Being sent South, to a sugar cane plantation, was a threat (Northern) slave owners would use to make their slaves behave. Life expectancy decreased dramatically if you were working on a sugar cane plantation. (If you’re in New Orleans for tourist purposes, many people recommend Oak Alley Plantation. But that’s because it’s very pretty. It glosses over its history of slavery though, and its tour focuses on the owners. Please go visit Whitney Plantation too. They do not gloss over the history and all the awful things that happened there. The tour guides are phenomenal, and you learn a lot from them.)

"It was only for a week, but it was long enough to...understand," Kenobi murmurs.

Long enough for him to have scars to this day. To say nothing about however it must have kriffed him up at thirteen.

"One day would have been too long," Jango growls. "Where was your jetii master in all this?"

He gestures roughly at Kenobi’s right arm, and Kenobi holds out his arm for Jango. Jango begins carefully cleaning around the deep wound.

“He wasn’t my master then,” Kenobi says. “To make a long and rather complicated story short, I had been sent away to AgriCrops on Bandomeer as a--failed initiate, and got myself involved in Master Qui-gon’s mission on Bandomeer. I discovered Offworld Mining tampering with AgriCorps and was captured...I woke up as a slave on one of their deepsea mining platforms.”

Even that sparse a recounting is too much to unpack. But foremost on his mind, the jetiise had sent Kenobi away to be a farmer? With everything Kenobi has said and especially considering the duel Jango had just witnessed...had they been blind? If there is such a thing as a good jetii, Kenobi is likely it.

👀👀👀 @ Jango

“How’d you get out?” Jango asks.

“Master Qui-gon found me. He disabled my collar, and we escaped the guards. We managed to disable the other slaves’ collars once we were on the mainland as well. They revolted and freed themselves,” Kenobi says with a small quirk of his lips.

Jango grunts in approval. “Good on them.” He drops his cloth into the basin. “Let’s get patches on your burns and your side. Your arm definitely needs stitches. It’s up to you on the leg.”

Kenobi looks at his leg wound thoughtfully. “Are there any of those deep incision BactaBonds?” he asks. “If not, then stitches will do.”

Mentioned it on AO3, but I based BactaBond off of Dermabond. it’s Dermabond but more magical because bacta.

Jango pulls out all the bacta patches they’ll need for Kenobi’s burns and side wound before digging around the kit. Sure enough, he finds a tube of BactaBond and the roll of mesh tape that came with it.

“You’re in luck.”

He hands the BactaBond and the mesh tape to Kenobi. Kenobi nods in thanks and begins fixing up his leg wound. Jango starts placing patches over the wound wrapping around his side.

Okay, so I want to note that when you have burnt up tissue, you’re supposed to remove the dead tissue when cleaning up burns because that dead tissue isn’t gonna do you much, but I didn’t want to get more detailed than I already was, and I decided to just...handwave it as part of the magical bacta healing effect LOL

They work in silence. Jango knows from experience the BactaBond and mesh tape can be an absolute kriffing pain to apply properly, so he tries not to disturb Kenobi as he finishes patching up his side.

He waits for Kenobi to finish with the mesh tape before handing him some dressing to cover the whole thing. They quickly cover up the burns on Kenobi’s arms with bacta patches before finally addressing the deep cut on his right arm.

“Are you sure you don’t want pain killers?” Jango asks, assessing the wound. It really is a nasty injury. With the BactaBond, he could probably get away with one layer of stitches instead of two or three.

“I will be alright,” Kenobi says again and hands Jango the BactaBond.

Jango grunts. “Suit yourself.”

He applies the BactaBond into the wound before pressing the wound edges firmly together. Kenobi doesn’t even flinch, sitting there quietly with his eyes closed while Jango picks up the suture needle and begins stitching close the wound.

I would like to draw this scene one day. Or someone can draw it for me. LOL

After some consideration, Jango says, “I was sold to a spice transport.” He keeps his focus on closing the wound as tidily as he can, but he can feel Kenobi’s gaze on his face. “I was there for two years.”

"...How did you end up escaping?" he asked.

"Pirates attacked the ship. I freed myself in the confusion and ended up making a deal with the pirates.”

“Quite a few pirates would take the spice and the slaves…” Kenobi remarks.

“I had the upper hand on them. Besides, ‘Hondo Ohnaka would never deal with slavery’,” he quotes, “or so he claims.”

"Ah," Kenobi says in the tone of everyone who has ever met Hondo Ohnaka. Jango pauses in his suturing to look at Kenobi.

"You’ve met."

Kenobi sighs, sounding as exasperated as anyone who has dealt with Ohnaka. “It was a very...trying mission.” He smiles wryly.

HONDO OHNAKA IS A DELIGHT. Also I love the idea that the pirates who attacked that spice transport and gave Jango the opportunity to escape were Hondo’s crew. Idea thanks to blue_sunshine’s Desert Storm.

Also the ways in which Jango and Obi can connect with their experiences. Just aaaaaaah *flailing Kermit*

“I am not surprised.” Jango finishes up the sutures and assesses his handiwork. It’ll do. “Patch or plain dressing on top?” he asks. He thinks plain dressing would do just fine, but the patch might not hurt considering the extent of the wound.

Kenobi gestures to the patch, so Jango applies the patch.

“Done. Listen to Jinn and get some rest. I was tired just watching that fight,” Jango says.

Kenobi gives him a half-hearted glare, but doesn’t make a word in protest as Jango stands and starts collecting all their first aid detritus. Despite his protests, Jango suspects Kenobi’s ready to pass out.

An hour long high speed lightsaber duel in the sand. Can’t believe Obi wasn’t asleep on his feet. LOL

#mand'alor and his jetii #manyangledone #miya replies #director's cut meme

25 notes · View notes

nightwang96 · 4 years ago

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: DCU, Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Dick Grayson, Slade Wilson, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, SladeRobinWeek 2020, Day 2: Merfolk, I know nothing about boats, and you can tell, ambiguous ending Series: Part 2 of SladeRobin Week 2020 Summary:

'“Deathstroke,” Bruce said finally.

“What?”

“That’s what he’s called. Or at least what we call him anyway.”

Dick’s head was swimming. He’d heard of mers being given names before, usually old mers who showed up in the same places over and over. But he’d never heard of Deathstroke.'

For the SladeRobin Week prompt Merfolk.

Dick had seen mer before. It was pretty unavoidable when you spent as much time on the ocean as Dick did. Most sailors didn’t particularly care for mers. They were inquisitive, smart creatures that enjoyed interacting with humans, but this often led to mishaps. Mers had been known to grab things off of ships, to tangle rudders and even sink smaller boats. They never hurt anyone on purpose, as far as they were aware, but often they couldn’t help it.

Dick had never really had a problem with them. In fact, he quite liked the mer. He liked to watch them streak through the water beside the ship, playing in the surf, breaching the water with a flick of their powerful tails. He liked listening to their curious chitters, and on rare occasions, the beautiful sound of their songs.

He never tried to interact with them though. That was always a recipe for disaster. Bruce had told him once about a young crewmate who had reached out to touch a mer’s tail and instead had been dragged into the water by the creature. According to Bruce, it had looked like the mer had only wanted to play, chittering excitedly as the crew desperately tried to pull him back on board. It had let him go once he had drowned, perhaps no longer interested once he had stopped moving, and they had managed to drag his body back onto the ship.

Bruce told the story often, not to incite violence against the mers, but as a cautionary tale. They were wild creatures, and though they looked like humans, they were not. They were something else entirely, and they were dangerous. You were better off leaving them alone.

Dick had been a crewmate on Bruce’s ship ever since his own parents had been murdered by pirates when he was eight. Bruce had taken him in, given him a job, and saved his life. He’d been sailing with him ever since, and in all that time, he’d never forgotten Bruce’s warning.

So when he saw the mer, floating quietly a little ways away from Dick’s post, he’d simply watched, curious. The mer was huge, easily the biggest one he’d ever seen, with a thick tail covered in gleaming orange and black scales. He was drifting on his back, white hair fanned out around his head, and Dick realised that he was missing an eye, thick scars a tangled mess over the socket. The mer was watching him too, gaze sharp as he lazily kept pace with the ship.

Dick was tempted to call someone over, maybe Jason or Tim, so that they could see the mer too, but something stopped him. Most mers tended to hang out in pods. They were incredibly social, and those that were alone tended not to draw attention to themselves, keeping away from boats and humans.

This mer was definitely not in a pod, or at least, hadn’t brought his pod with him to check out their ship. Dick slunk closer, leaning his elbows on the edge of the ship so he could try to get a better look. The mer tilted his head, turning over slowly to swim a little closer.

“What are you doing alone out here?” Dick murmured. The mer couldn’t understand him. They mostly communicated through chitters and clicks, and occasionally, wordless songs that carried across the salt air.

The mer made a strange clicking noise in his throat, and splashed his tail a little. Dick grinned, and the mer tilted his head, before peeling his lips back in an imitation of a smile, showing a row of sharp, deadly teeth.

“Yo Dickface! Get over here!” Jason’s shout obviously startled the mer, because with a flick of his tail, he dived beneath the dark waters, disappearing from view. Dick was a little disappointed, scanning the waves for any sign of it before giving up with a sigh, and going to see what Jason wanted.

He’d forgotten all about the mer by the next time he saw it. Orange flashes had caught his attention, bringing him over to the edge of the ship to peer into the frothing waters. The mer poked his head up, and Dick almost fell back on his ass, letting out a surprised laugh. The mer grinned at him, rolling over to float on his back, tail twitching.

“Hello again,” Dick said softly, pleased for a reason that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The mer chittered back at him, eye half closing, face turning towards the afternoon sun. Dick watched him for a long moment as the mer sunbathed, examining the pattern of his scales, and the litter of scars that were dotted across the mer’s torso.

“You’re a fighter hm,” Dick said. Mers often got involved in territorial disputes so it wasn’t unusual to see scars, but this many? Dick couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. Had he been forced from his pod? Bullied? Hunted? Were those scars from other mers, or humans?

There were people who would kill a mer. Either to protect their ship, or to prevent them from overfishing certain areas, or for their meat and scales, or even simply because they found them annoying. Dick had always found it distasteful. Mers were intelligent, beautiful creatures, and the thought that some people would kill them simply because they got in the way, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

The mer seemed to sense his souring mood, because he sunk a little in the water, tail flicking in agitation. He chittered loudly and splashed a little, and Dick stepped back enough to avoid getting sprayed.

“Wow look at that thing.”

Dick had been so distracted, that he hadn’t noticed Jason coming up behind him. He spun around, the insane urge to hide the mer from view making him step in front of Jason.

“What are you doing here?”

Jason gave him a look, like Dick had grown an extra head. “I’m doing my job. Obviously you have more important things to be doing.”

Jason leaned over to get a better look at the mer, whistling when he eyed the thick, muscular tail. “That thing could probably do some serious damage.”

“It seems pretty docile,” Dick defended, not sure why it was so important that Jason not think badly of the mer.

“Docile? Have you seen the scars on it?” Jason made a sharp gesture and the mer, who had been watching him carefully, gave an agitated hiss, teeth bared.

Jason stepped back, discomfort clear on his face. “That thing is dangerous Dick. Leave it alone and get back to your job.”

Shooting him a glare, Jason gave one last assessing look to the mer and then stomped away. Dick sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Jason was right. The mer seemed docile and friendly, but he was a wild creature. He was unpredictable.

A soft chitter drew his attention back to the mer. He was almost within touching distance of the ship, gaze sharp as he eyed Dick. A swish of his tail, lifted him up in the water, and for a moment Dick was tempted to lean down and meet him halfway.

“I’m sorry,” Dick croaked, even though the mer couldn’t understand him. He turned away, and hurried across the deck, trying to put all thought of the mer from his mind. Dick would forget all about it, and the mer would lose interest, and everything would be fine.

Dick was woken by a haunting song, drifting through the salt air. He listened for a long moment, blinking into the dark of the cabin, an indescribable emotion swelling in his chest. Then he pulled his boots on and made his way up onto the deck.

Bruce was stood at the wheel, a dark shadow in the soft moonlight. He turned to look at Dick as he came up beside him, face drawn and serious.

“What’s that noise?” Dick asked, hushed. The melody was louder now, out in the open. It was beautiful and sad, and Dick wanted to close his eyes and fall into the smooth, low tones.

“It’s a mer,” Bruce said, just as quietly. His grip was tight on the wheel, eyes gleaming as he scanned the mirror glass surface of the water.

“You’re worried.”

Dick knew that Bruce was wary of mers, but he hadn’t realised that he would be so concerned, just hearing the song. Bruce had seen mers hundreds of times, and never looked like this.

“How many times have you heard a mer sing?” Bruce asked, and Dick was confused by the subject change.

“I don’t know, once maybe?” Once in the wild at least. It had been much more distant than this, higher and still beautiful, and far enough away that there was no hope of seeing the mer that was singing. Later that night there’d been a storm. Two ships had been lost at sea. Dick had been lucky that they’d made it out alive.

Bruce’s gaze was heavy. “Hearing mer song is never a good sign.”

Dick had never taken Bruce to be superstitious, but then Bruce had far more experience with mers than Dick did. His stomach squirmed, anxiety creeping beneath his ribs, as he scanned the horizon. Somewhere out there, somewhere close, was the mer, its mournful song echoing across the waters.

Tim appeared beside him, rubbing sleepily at his eyes, closely followed by Jason. “What’s going on?” Tim asked, voice thick.

“It’s a mer,” Dick parroted.

Jason shot him a look. “You don’t think it’s that mer that’s been hanging around do you?”

Dick hadn’t even thought of that. This bone-chilling melody, echoing through the still night, was so far removed from the mer that Dick had seen, that he hadn’t even equated the two together.

“What mer?” Bruce snapped, his focus suddenly laser sharp on Dick and Jason.

Jason shrugged. “It was some big, scarred up mer. Dick was messing about with it the other day.”

“I wasn’t messing about with it!” He knew better than to mess around with mer. He’d just been watching it, talking to it a little. That was all. “It was just kind of, floating around by the boat. It didn’t do anything.”

“Have you seen it before?”

“Yeah, once I guess. Why?” Dick got the feeling that he was missing something. Mer hung around the boat all the time, they were harmless for the most part. He didn’t get why Bruce was so bothered by this.

The music cut off suddenly, and Bruce’s jaw tightened, ignoring Dick in favour of scanning the waters again. The silence was almost eerier than the music had been, only the soft sounds of the wind and the gentle lap of the water as the ship cut through the surface.

There was a bang and the ship shuddered through a hit, rocking with the force of it. Dick cried out, startled, and staggered not to lose his footing. The rest of the crew spilled out from their quarters, shouting in alarm and hurrying to their posts.

“What the fuck?” Jason shouted.

“There,” Bruce said, pointing into the dark. Dick squinted into the water and, yes there, a flash of orange, the surface of the water breaking. It was the mer. But what was it doing? Another thud, and the boat listed like it was riding a wave. Dick couldn’t believe the sheer power behind it, the strength it must take to rock the ship like this.

Bruce grit his teeth. “It’s going to bring the whole ship down.”

Dick ran to the edge, leaning over to try and get a proper glimpse of the mer. Behind him Bruce shouted in alarm, but Dick ignored him. If he could just get the mer’s attention, maybe calm it down, then maybe it would stop attacking the ship.

“Hey,” he called out. The wind whipped at his hair, his clothes, carrying his voice out into the water. Another thud, followed by an ominous groaning sound. Dick gripped the edge of the ship for all he was worth, riding out the shudder. If the mer kept hitting the ship like this, it would breach the hull. The whole ship might sink.

“Hey, stop! It’s okay!” he called again.

“What are you doing you idiot?” Jason shouted, close behind him.

Dick ignored him, leaning a little further over, and there just beneath him, orange scales and then a flash of white hair. The mer floated up to the surface, his one sharp eye fixed intently on Dick. And that was good, as long as it was focused on him it wasn’t destroying the ship. Dick smiled and the mer smiled back, sharp teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

The mer disappeared, diving beneath the waters. Dick scanned the still surface for a long, anxious moment. Then the mer was breaching, lunging up towards him, and Dick pulled back in surprise, but he wasn’t quick enough to avoid the grab, the mer’s sharp claws digging into his wrist, dragging him out over the edge of the ship.

For a moment, Dick seemed suspended in motion, too surprised to scream as he fell overboard. Then hands grabbed the back of his trousers, halting his fall, and more hands gripped the back of his shirt, his hips, hauling him backwards. The mer bared his teeth, snarling furiously and tugged painfully on his wrist. Blood dripped down his arm and splashed onto the mer’s cheek, but the mer didn’t even seem to notice.

Then Bruce was there beside him, leaning over the edge to thrust a pike down at the mer. It twisted away, but the sharp end still caught its shoulder, and it shrieked in pain. A great heave, and Dick was falling backwards onto the deck, the mer releasing him with a howl. He collapsed in a tangle of limbs, heart racing, the blood roaring through his ears.

“You fucking idiot!” Jason was yelling, but he was still holding onto Dick, hands grabbing at his shirt as though Dick could slip away at any moment.

Dick leaned back against him, gasping in desperate breaths. He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to being overboard, in the water with a mer. Tim crouched beside him, hands fluttering in the air.

“What was that?” Tim’s voice was high pitched, strained. “Why did it grab you?”

The hits on the boat had stopped, maybe because the mer had lost interest, maybe because it had failed to grab Dick, maybe because Bruce had injured it. Bruce himself was a taut line in front of him, pike still clenched in his fists.

“I don’t know,” Dick gasped. “It’s never done anything like that before!”

“Deathstroke,” Bruce said finally.

“What?”

“That’s what he’s called. Or at least what we call him anyway.”

Dick’s head was swimming. He’d heard of mers being given names before, usually old mers who showed up in the same places over and over. But he’d never heard of Deathstroke.

“Why Deathstroke?” Tim asked.

“Because he’s dangerous,” Bruce turned to look at him then, and his face was pale in the moonlight. “He’s got a reputation for attacking ships, sinking them, and then slaughtering anyone in the water.”

He hadn’t felt malicious, when he was drifting lazily beside the ship, but then again, he had just attacked them.

“I’ve never heard of him grabbing people off the ship before though.”

Jason snorted behind him. “Trust it to be you Dick.”

“But I didn’t do anything. Bruce I swear,” Dick said. All he’d done was watch it, talk to it a little. The mer couldn’t even understand him.

“Jay go check if there’s been any damage done. The rest of you can go back to bed,” Bruce said, rubbing his temple like he had a headache coming.

Dick clambered to his feet, feeling strangely unsteady. Tim hovered by his elbow, hands out like he was worried Dick was gonna fall.

“I’m fine,” Dick said, giving Tim a wry smile.

“You’re bleeding.”

Huh. Dick had forgotten about that. Now that Tim had pointed it out, his arm was throbbing, bleeding all over his shirt from punctures and scratches in his skin. He examined the deep claw marks with a morbid curiosity. Mers were predators after all, and their claws were huge, and sharp enough to rend the flesh from your bones.

“It’s not too bad,” he said, but he let Tim fuss over him anyway, cleaning and dressing the wound.

When he climbed back into bed, he found himself thinking again of the mer. Why try to grab him? Had it been trying to drown him? Kill him? He’d thought that the mer had liked him.

It was an uneasy, restless sleep that night.

He didn’t see the mer again for a couple of days, and he’d been watching out for him. He’d hoped to catch a glimpse of him during the day, maybe try and see if the mer was hostile, or if he was back to his lazy curiosity.

When the mer did return, it was night again, and Dick was awake, taking a turn keeping watch. Orange scales caught the moonlight, and Dick was instantly alert, heart racing. The mer’s head broke the water surface, his gaze unerringly meeting Dick’s and the mer tilted its head and chittered, splashing his tail. Dick edged closer, cautiously and the mer reached towards him, as though beckoning him. Dick stepped back instinctively, shaking his head, and the mer bared its teeth with a strangled hiss.

“Bruce!” Dick shouted, just as the mer lunged down, smashing against the hull of the boat with his tail. The cabin door flew open and then Bruce was running towards him, Jason and Tim hot on his heels.

“It’s back?” Bruce snapped, then grit his teeth as another smash resonated up the hull He grabbed up his pike and rushed to the edge, peering over in an attempt to get the mer in his line of sight.

“It’s going to sink the ship,” Tim said quietly, and Dick realised suddenly that he was right. Under the water, it was almost impossible to hit the mer, and the ship couldn’t take the repeated battering. He moved to stand beside Bruce, chest clenching at the older man’s expression, fear and grim determination.

“Get away from the edge,” Jason snapped. “It’s you it wants.”

Dick blinked, Jason’s words sinking into his brain. Dick wasn’t sure if giving the mer what it wanted would stop it from attacking the boat, or killing the rest of the crew, but at this point they were kind of out of options. The ship groaned and shuddered, and they couldn’t even see the mer, let alone hit it. If they didn’t do something, they were all dead anyway.

Dick climbed up onto the edge of the ship. Bruce made a startled noise beside him, and as Dick dived, he made to grab him, fingers brushing against Dick’s ankle. The water, when he hit it, was ice cold, stealing the breath from his lungs. He kicked up to the surface, looking up at the ship as the waves buffeted him.

Jason was yelling, leaning over the edge, and Bruce was holding him back, face devastated. For a moment they tussled together, shouting, until Tim grabbed Jason around the middle and Jason slumped in his hold.

The water broke in front of Dick, the mer breaching the surface to regard him with a tilted head. Bruce shouted something, but Dick couldn’t hear what he said, all of his focus on the dangerous creature in front of him. His teeth chattered, fear flooding his veins, instincts telling him to swim away fast. But that would be pointless. The mer was faster, stronger, deadlier, than Dick. He just had to pray that whatever happened, if he was killed now by the mer, that the ship would be safe. That his family would be safe.

The mer chittered, swimming close enough that Dick could reach out and touch him if he wanted. Dick was treading water as the mer floated in front of him, and Dick couldn’t tell what exactly the mer wanted. Tentatively, he brought a hand up. The mer copied the movement, touching their fingers together.

Dick smiled, and the mer grinned back at him.

#sladerobinweek2020 #day 2: merfolk #dc #dick grayson #slade wilson #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #merfolk au #fanfiction #my writing #ambiguous ending

4 notes · View notes

bad-at-names-and-faces · 4 years ago

Text

[redacted]

Chapter 24

chapter index

On the off chance you’re seeing this post and haven’t read any other chapters, go to the chapter index now and fix that... It’s ok, I’ll wait.

Unredeemable

Queen Elsa approached the tiny house next to the harbor. Kai had told her where she would find it. Gerda had given her a plain cloak that would cover her almost completely, and she left quietly through a side door of the castle and walked into town, unnoticed. She knocked at the door which was barely tall enough for someone her height to enter comfortably. A woman dressed all in black opened it.

"Yes?"

"May I come in?" Elsa pulled down the hood of her cloak just enough for her face to be visible.

"Your Majesty! Please! We have to be quiet." She gestured at the baby sleeping in its cradle.

“Your name is Margit, yes?” Elsa asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty, it is!”

“I… I heard about your husband. I’m so sorry,” the Queen whispered.

“Thank you, but you didn’t need to… Why are you here? It’s the middle of the night.”

“I apologize. I did need to speak to you, though. Gerda, at the castle, I believe you know her at least a little?”

“Yes,” Margit affirmed. “When I was younger, she would hire me for occasional mending work, after my mother died.”

“She told me that you came to her this week looking for work, now that your husband…”

The woman sat down in the chair by the cradle and closed her eyes. “Yes. I told her that I need some work, but I have no one to take care of the baby. He’s almost weaned. The midwife had suggested waiting til he’s at least a year old, but I’ve seen plenty of children do fine younger. I need the money, your Majesty, but I want to work for it. I don’t want to be reduced to begging. Or worse…”

“How old is your child now, Margit?” Elsa asked gently.

Margit looked at the sleeping child with a sad smile. “He’ll be seven months next week.”

Elsa paused, thinking. “His birthday will be in March, correct?”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“I… I may have a solution for you.” The Queen somehow looked both relieved and nervous.

“Your Majesty?”

“If… if you find the terms agreeable, you would be well compensated.”

“What terms?”

“Absolute silence and discretion. We… someone…” Elsa thought about her words carefully. “There will be need of a wet nurse.”

***

Anna faced Elsa, who hadn’t answered her question.

“Elsa,” she repeated. “Who is Margit Nilsen? Is that why I got the letter from Corona?”

“I think you know,” her sister sighed. “And you’re the one who asked me not to tell you.”

“You're right, I did…” Anna murmured, sitting down by the window.

“Did Inga say something?” Elsa asked.

“Not exactly, I mean, she did. She was surprised that I didn’t already know Mrs. Nilsen. But it was his birthday. Until then, I think I was in denial. After all, you hadn’t actually told me the baby was a boy.”

***

"Elsa?" Rapunzel knocked at the door of the study. "Is everything okay in there?"

"Are you sure about this?" Anna asked as Elsa walked to the door. "We hardly know her."

"We haven't come up with any other ideas… none that we agree on, anyway. If you're set against the trolls, it can't be here, we have to go abroad… you know that."

"Yes, and I want to know as little as possible. Just not… that way. No magic."

Elsa opened the door.

Rapunzel looked around the room as she walked in. Princess Anna was sitting by the window, eyes red, but otherwise she appeared calm. “What’s the matter?”

“I think I trust you,” Elsa began, “it’s a delicate situation, with… far reaching political implications.”

“Is it that Prince Hans?” Rapunzel guessed. “Is he actually trying to push that marriage claim he made three months ago?”

All the remaining color drained from Anna’s face. Elsa spoke up. “Not exactly, and… we’re hoping that it doesn’t come up. But we need your help. Are there places in Corona that someone could spend a few months and not draw any attention?”

***

“Inga?” Frederick pushed open the door of the study. “Father said I should come help you?”

“Finally, thank you!” Inga exclaimed. “Mother just up and left on some errand, and I have no idea where she is or when she’ll be back. You did well enough answering letters this summer, so I think you can be helpful.”

“Thanks, I guess?” Frederick smirked. “I don’t know if my French tutor would agree.”

“You know I’m not going to tell you something that isn’t true, right?”

“I know,” he assured her, sitting down across from her. “Oh! Did I tell you? I ran into Admiral Sorensen after the reception, and he said that he could take me on a short run around the islands and see if I really know as much about sailing as I say I do.”

“I think he’d be pleasantly surprised,” Inga smiled. “Did you get a chance to ask Mother and Father if it’s okay?”

“No, I’ve hardly had any time since we got back, and it sounds like I won’t be asking them today,” he admitted. “Now, tell me what to do here.”

***

It was officially announced: Queen Elsa of Arendelle and her sister, Princess Anna, would be taking a Grand Tour of nearby friendly nations to establish stronger diplomatic relations, with the help of the Crown Princess Rapunzel of Corona. Everyone knew what this meant: they intended to find a suitable husband for Princess Anna. They would leave before Christmas. There were never official confirmations of this, but the fact that the Queen intended to return to Arendelle by February, leaving her sister in the Kingdom of Corona through the spring, only seemed to confirm this.

***

The baby was asleep when Kristoff returned to the bedroom, so he quickly went to the bathroom to change. He was relieved to see the baby hadn’t woken up when he reemerged, and collapsed on the bed. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep when Anna walked in.

“Kristoff,” she whispered, sitting down next to him on the bed.

“Anna?” he replied groggily. “Is anything wrong?”

“I’ve told Kai to cancel all my meetings tomorrow,” she blurted out quickly as she sat down on the bed.

Kristoff sat up and looked at her. “Huh? Why? You’re not already pregnant again… No, wait, that’s impossible.”

“No, no, of course not,” she laughed weakly. She looked away and started crying.

“Now you really have me worried.” He hugged her tightly.

“I…” Anna took a deep breath to collect herself before continuing. “I went to speak with Elsa… Inga told me something Elsa said about the trip to Corona, and…”

Kristoff looked at her in confusion, waiting for her to continue. Anna looked up at him, her eyes red and wet. “Should I even tell you? What good would it even do?”

“You can tell me,” he insisted. “What did Elsa say that’s so awful?”

“No, it’s not…” Anna struggled to find her words. “It’s not about the trip this year.”

Kristoff looked at her in confusion, trying to remember which trip she could be talking about. It had been years since Elsa had been on a trip abroad, and he had been on nearly every trip with Anna since he’d known her, except for one.

“That trip,” Kristoff replied flatly.

***

Kristoff watched as the ship sailed off. He believed Anna when she told him to wait for her, but there were still whispers around the castle and the town that the trip had another purpose. He had only known her for four months, it was fine, he told himself.

"C'mon, Sven," he called out. He would wait for her, but not at the castle if he could help it.

"Whoa there, I was told to keep an eye on you!” he heard a man call from behind. Kristoff turned around to see the husband of Anna and Elsa’s somewhat distant cousin. He hadn’t learned their names, but the sisters had become very close to their cousin in the last few months, having lots of conversations they wouldn't tell him about.

"Really?” he asked skeptically. “Why?"

"Well, I don't know,” the man admitted. “But those are my instructions. To be perfectly honest, I can't tell you why I'm not on that boat, but I trust there’s a good reason.”

"Fine. I'll stay," Kristoff huffed. Sven snorted in agreement.

"Eugene," he said, sticking out his hand. Kristoff stared at him skeptically. "I mean, I'm kind of stuck here until your queen gets back…"

"Kristoff," he mumbled, reluctantly shaking hands. "So, what am I supposed to do?"

"Actually…” the other man paused. “Do you think you could show me the mountains?"

“Do I look like a tour guide?”

***

Kristoff and Anna had been sitting in silence for what felt like an eternity. Finally, Anna remembered the letter she had received from Corona. She walked over and retrieved it from the back of her top dresser drawer, handing it silently to Kristoff when she returned to the bed.

Corona, August 4th, 1864

To Her Majesty, Queen Anna of Arendelle,

I apologize for never personally writing in all the years since your coronation. I had been in regular correspondence with your sister before her abdication. I would say it was nothing personal, but I realize the time you spent in Corona with me was not something you wished to remember. I respected your wishes to remain in the dark on that matter, and kept your sister informed for two years until her abdication. I kept my promise up to a point regarding the matter, but there has been a change. I have heard that your sister is again visiting, and if you can show her this letter, I’m sure she will understand.

Fondest Regards,

Crown Princess Rapunzel of Corona

Kristoff stared at the letter. “The matter… she means?”

“Yes,” Anna replied weakly.

“What changed?”

“There was supposed to be a job waiting with the Corona Palace Guards,” she began. “That requires taking the Civil Service Examination, purely as a formality. But when someone gets a perfect score, the Diplomatic School is always interested…”

***

“It’s three in the morning, Elsa,” Rapunzel mumbled groggily.

"Sorry, I just woke the midwife. It's time. Is your husband here?"

"Yes, Eugene just arrived a few hours ago, why?"

"We should make sure that Mrs-" she looked around, and continued, "that the wetnurse is awake. You know where she's living now, I don't."

"Why don't I go?"

"I need someone ready to take the baby, and I'll stay here with my sister."

"I suppose you'll be returning home as soon as you can?"

"Yes, I've talked with the midwife about it. She'll let me know when it's safe. Can you make sure a ship is waiting? I don't want any attention."

***

Kristoff sat staring out the window, the letter laying in his lap where he had dropped it minutes before, still trying to process what he had learned.

Anna broke the silence again. “I had convinced myself that I had forgotten about it. Everything was taken care of, and there was nothing to worry about, and no risk involved.”

Kristoff was still looking out the window. “I know, when you first told me about it, you said you didn’t want to know anything… but… you really had no suspicions?”

“Actually, I think I did. There was something about him. I realize that's why I made excuses about the wedding. But I didn't realize that's what I was doing. The name meant nothing to me, and it’s not like we kept pictures around.”

***

Anna and Elsa sat silently in the study. The initial emotions from Anna’s confession had subsided.

"Anna, would you be willing to get married?"

"What?"

"It would be an option. There might be some talk, but… It seems rushed, I know, especially with… with what I said before.” Elsa stammered. “But he seems good. Kristoff, I mean."

Anna stared at her. "But we haven't… it's… I mean, I think I would like to, eventually, but not like this."

“Think about it,” Elsa replied calmly.

Anna sat for a few moments looking at one of the shelves of law books. "Elsa, are you planning to get married?"

"What does that have to do with this… with anything?"

"Because…" Anna took a breath. "If I get married now, any baby born will be legitimate, and unless you get married and… have your own, that means that… that he gets… He already could make a bigamy claim, you know, the law like it is. The timing of the pregnancy might be enough to get their attention down there. I don't want to see him again, any more than you do."

"Oh," Elsa sighed, taking a moment to contemplate. "You've had some time to think this through, I guess."

***

Kristoff sighed, finally looking away from the window and directly at Anna. “So, who knows this?”

“Elsa, of course,” she began. “I think Kai knows, too.”

“Anyone else? Does… does he know?”

“No, only Mrs. Nilsen, and she’s been good to her word about not sharing her guesses about things. Part of the arrangement back then… I would know as little as possible about her, and she would know as little as possible about me. Elsa told her part of the truth now… not all of it.”

They sat silently for a while.

“Well, I can see why your sister was suddenly interested in helping a wedding along this summer,” Kristoff laughed feebly.

“What do you mean?” Anna looked at him blankly, then suddenly got his meaning. “Oh… Oh my, I hadn’t thought of that. You don’t think that was… No, Inga seemed to like Elizabeth well enough. Thank goodness for that.”

They paused for a moment, the room silent except for the baby’s snoring. Years of unspoken topics seemed to hang in the air.

Kristoff interrupted the quiet. “Now what?”

***

Anna's knuckles turned white as her foot slipped. The rope caught her a foot above Kristoff's head.

"You okay? Do you want to take a break and try again later?" Kristoff asked from below.

"Let me… let me catch my breath. Sorry."

"Did I tie the rope too tight? I thought I was being careful this time."

"No…" she said, still trying to catch her breath, "I think maybe I laced too tight this morning. You probably didn't need to know that, sorry."

Kristoff had lowered himself to the ground and began to help Anna down.

"Why would you even… I'm sorry, I really know nothing about these things…" Kristoff was flustered.

"I guess… to look good… for you?" Anna stammered as Kristoff lifted her down and untied the rope.

"Do you… do you really think you have to?"

"I… want to… I wanted to wear this dress again, for you, but it doesn’t really fit any more."

"I want you to breathe. I think breathing is good for you," he assured her. “And, um, I guess I should be flattered, but…”

"Sorry. It's stupid, I know. You're the one who suggested teaching me how to climb. I don't know what I was thinking… or, well, I know what I was thinking, but I don't know, it's been a year since I got back, and I shouldn't be talking about that, maybe…"

Kristoff held her shoulders and looked straight at her. "It's not stupid," he said with a sigh, "it's just… oh, nevermind…"

He let go and turned around, picking things up and starting to pack the bags.

"Wait…" Anna said nervously.

"What?" Kristoff stopped and turned around.

"I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he told her, pulling her into his arms. “But…” she pushed back a little. “I need to tell you something. Now. Before... anything else."

***

“You sure write quickly,” Frederick told Inga as they sat in the study going through the stacks of correspondence. He glanced absentmindedly at the letter on the top of the stack. “Should I take this one from Corona?”

Inga saw that it was addressed to her.

“Give me that,” Inga said a little too roughly as she grabbed the letter from her brother.

“Fine, have it your way. I’ll take on Luxembourg next,” he sighed. “Do you know when Mother is getting back from whatever it was she needed to do? It’s been two days. I’ve hardly seen Father, either. When is Aunt Elsa leaving? Olaf said he was going with her, too.”

“I really don’t know,” Inga admitted. “Something was off… Everyone seems off right now.” She shook her head. “Thanks for coming to help me this week. Your tutors can wait." She looked again at the address on the letter from Corona, and put it in her pocket unopened. She examined the stack of letters and took the next one.

“What was in the letter from Corona?” Frederick asked.

“What? Oh, no, I’ll read it later,” she demurred. She opened the new letter, quickly scanning it. “I hope Mother doesn’t take too much more time. This one will need the council. Our ambassador to America just resigned. He took an offer of free farmland in… some place out west. The letter isn’t even from him; his butler wrote it.”

"Do you want to tell her, or should I?" Frederick asked.

"You get this one." She handed him the letter.

#my fic #kristanna #chapter 24 #frozen fic #frozen fanfiction #Who is Margit Nilsen?#Is that the question?#Your Majesty? Are you all right?

15 notes · View notes

lollercakesff · 4 years ago

Text

Rekindled

The first touch comes after Scarif. It's brief and painful and riddles up my arm like a stinging nettle, but it's there.

I manage to glance over my shoulder, the effort draining after so long in this hospital bed. Jyn rests her head in her arms, hair strewn across her cheeks and mended cuts spattering her skin. She's beautiful but I can't get the words up my throat and to my lips because a tube blocks their progress. It aches and my throat constricts and I tap my finger against her elbow again because the panic is chasing up my spine and threatening to tear me under.

"Captain," the droid greets as I become aware of the beeping alarms, the flickering light in the hallway.

Jyn shifts at the noise, rouses herself, and glances around before sitting up like a shot. Her eyes fly open, wide and white, before she lurches to her feet and the touch of her hand against mine is gone.

I miss it like fresh air, my fingers reaching across the mattress as I try to bring her back. My eyes are pleading, surely, come back, but she can't hear me because the droid is barking orders and Jyn is pressed against the wall and there's a tube in my throat stealing my voice. She looks frightened and I beg her to look at me, to see me, but she can only keep her gaze high up, up, on the ceiling.

Please, my mind screams, my throat making strangled noises around the tube. I pat the bed again, harder this time, and Jyn finally blinks and looks over. Her eyes land on mine and the shock is electric, her whole being stumbling towards me as she realizes I'm awake.

"Cassian," she warbles, her voice shaking. Her hand wraps around mine and I cling to it, afraid to let go as the droid yells at her to stand back. She refuses and her hand lifts to my chin, to thread her fingers through my hair. "I thought you were dying," she whispers, pained.

I shake my head and try to lift my other arm but the movement hurts and my whole body tenses with it, shaking at the effort.

"Captain, you must refrain from moving. Your injuries are severe."

"Listen to it," Jyn urges, pressing my arm back into the mattress and then returning her palm to my cheek. "I'm here. You're alive. It's going to be okay."

The drugs the droid must be pushing take me over again and I feel myself fading fast, her touch on my skin the last thing I remember before I fade out again.

---

I learn quickly there are many types of touches that one endures when confined to the medical bay. There are guiding ones, instructive and determined, retraining muscle movements forced onto my body as I recover from the damage that Scarif has done to me. Some are probing, prodding and painful, jabs and measures of sensing if my limbs are still functioning. Others are disinterested, the ward droid who helps me roll over to avoid bedsores, the other droid who helps me eventually to the fresher.

There are frustrated ones too, punches and kicks, painful thrashing as I push away helpful hands while I'm neck deep in a vicious dream or when I don't meet my recovery target. Those usually cause more damage, the rage bottled up in my chest making me shiver when I snap and let something fly across the room. The droids ‘tsk’ and the physical therapists give me exasperated looks, the unbroken condemnations causing more destruction than words ever could. They tell me not to get so angry, to calm my mind, but I can’t when I’m already using so much of my energy to just stay alive. They don’t understand how much I need those outlets too.

Rarely, I’ve noticed there are thankfully also soothing touches, like Bodhi's gentle squeeze of my shoulder after a long day, or Mon Mothma's easy pat on the back of my hand as she welcomes me back from the metaphorical dead. The best ones though, I’ve found, are Jyn's desperate reminders of her presence, the near constant fingers against skin, reminding me, reminding herself, that I'm here and I'm not gone. That I came back. Those ones keep me steady when the doctor tells me how many more days I have on the ward, when I find out that my follow-up surgery is scheduled for the next day and I’ll be back unconscious once again. I need those touches to remind me of good things.

"It's late," I say one day after a particularly brutal rehab session, the cold of Hoth pressing in on us as she sits shivering at my bedside. Her lips are tinged blue and she doesn’t have the benefit of the warming blanket and mattress I’m curled up on, but she stays anyways with her fingers linked through mine.

"Don't care," she responds and only wraps her hand tighter around mine. I squeeze her fingers and enjoy her company for as long as she'll give it. I don’t want to give up her touch.

---

I'm released later to a double-bunk room equipped with its own 'fresher, the space small but economic, a retractable desk tucked in the closet and my trunk of clothes shoved at the end of a bunk. Jyn stands in the doorway as I hobble inside, looking for a trace of my roommate's things.

"Who is the other?" I ask quickly, working to come to terms with sharing a space with a stranger. I was never comfortable with sleeping around others but I’d overcome due to sheer exhaustion after days like today.

"No one as of yet. Draven ordered a private space for you to finish your recovery," she forces out and I don't believe her, my brow lifted in question. It's not likely that they would give up a bed like this, especially not when it could be occupied with some other soldier, but I don’t know how to challenge her on it and so I don’t, dropping onto the bottom bunk and looking up at her. “Do you want me to run and grab something from the mess? For dinner?” She asks awkwardly, still maintaining her distance.

It seems odd, to watch her shift nervously against the steel, almost like she was trapped and I was her captor. The feeling churned in my gut and though I was hungry, I wasn’t prepared to subject her to discomfort longer than I needed to.

“No, I think I want to lay down for a bit first,” I answer evenly to her quick nod.

“Alright. I’ll just - “

“Did you want to join me?” It falls out of me unexpectedly, the question blundering out of my mouth before I could draw it back. I don’t - can’t - look at her and her inevitable rejection. I couldn’t do it.

“We’re not huddling for warmth in the med ward anymore,” she answers tightly, her cheeks pink.

“Sure,” I pause, locking eyes as she twists her hands anxiously. “But do we have to be? Or can the request just be enough of a reason?” She stalls for another minute, turning it over as she clenches and unclenches her jaw before me. I hold my breath until I’m dizzy with it, the need for her closeness so intent that I feel like I’d crumble if she didn’t hold me together one last time. I need her. I want her. “It’s okay if you don’t. I get it,” I manage to grumble after her silence has gone on for a beat too long, the rejection stinging.

“No - I do. I do,” she urges and steps forward, finally closing the distance. Once she does it’s like a magnet has come to life, her body sinking down beside mine as we sit with our thighs pressed together on the mattress. “I just - don’t know how to do this. Everything before this wasn’t - it didn’t mean anything.”

“It doesn’t need to be more than just laying with me,” I whisper, glancing down towards her as she shifts and looks up at me through her bangs. “It can just be us, here.”

“But what if I want more?” Her voice is strained and it runs a thrill down my spine, one that aches as it fumbles back up my insides and awakens a long dormant stirring.

“Then we’ll figure it out. Together. But right now, just lay with me, please?” I counter and she nods, getting to her feet and pulling at the thin blankets covering the bed. I let myself fall back and crawl under them, my body giving up as soon as I’m horizontal once again.

For a brief second I worry she’s going to run, her eyes flicking nervously around the room before she darts towards the closet. With a quick jump and a slap of her hand, another compartment pops open and she pulls out a thick comforter that she tosses over me. I smile in thanks and shove towards the cold wall, making room for her on the tight mattress.

She pulls at my feet and removes my boots before dumping her own at the side of the bed, crawling in under the blankets and curling herself into my desk. Her cold fingers burrow into my collar and I sigh, my breath fanning over her head as she forces a breath out and her shoulders purposely relax against me.

“Wake me before dinner rotation ends,” she whispers, her lips brushing along my shoulder. I let my arm settle along her hip and I nod, holding close to her, revelling in her touch along my broken frame.

---

She recoils like I've burned her, like my touch has scalded her skin and the pain has forced her back and away. Maybe it has. Pain can be a mental game that wounds as much as the physical. We both know that better than everyone else in this miserable cold hell.

She’s just come back from a mission in the Outer Rim and she looks a wreck, her face bloodied and bruised and her arm tucked in a sling. It hurts to look at her as she hobbles off the ship’s ramp, Kes Dameron at her back and ensuring she doesn’t fall over as she puts one foot in front of the other.

“She took a hard hit to the head, Andor. We’re heading to medical - “

“No,” she hisses, pulling away from Dameron’s guiding arm. Panic spills over her face with the suggestion and she looks around for an escape, anything. I know the look well by now.

“You’ve gotta go Sarge, this isn’t a request,” Dameron continues, grabbing her collar when she evades his hand again. The move is wrong, triggering, and Jyn yelps and bolts forward so quickly that she loses her footing and crashes down the ramp until she’s curled on the floor in the fetal position.

My heart hammers in my chest as I watch it happen, my movements too slow to intervene until she’s already down. The best I can do is sink down beside her, my hands reaching for her shoulder as I try to keep her from injuring herself further. It’s wrong again and she thrashes out, a brutal scream ripping from her chest as she knocks her elbow into my chin. The contact is jarring and dizzying and when I finally get my head back on straight she’s already pulled herself to two feet away.

"Jyn," I whisper, hands up. A sign of innocence, of offering.

"Leave me alone," she responds tightly, her voice high and her cheeks flushed. I'd only meant to help her, to offer her comfort, but she was pulling away like I was a threat ready to be taken down.

"You’re hurt. I’m trying to help you," I call as she reaches for her blaster, her eyes skittering around before landing on me and shuttering. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

"I can't," she whispers painfully, her brows tight. I don’t dare look away as Dameron silently orders a sedative, the other Pathfinder coming up behind her as silent as he can.

“It’s going to be alright,” I assure her as the Pathfinder lunges and gets the plunger in her arm. She jerks and fights until her hands go weak, her whole body sinking down to the floor with the drug’s near instantaneous effect. I scramble to her side and lift her head into my lap, brushing her hair back from her face as we wait for the droids to bring a stretcher. “It’s okay. You’re safe Jyn. You’re home.”

---

It takes four days in med bay and two weeks of Jyn sleeping alone on the top bunk for her to come back to me.

Her mission had been rough, a fact finding infiltration and destruction of an Imperial outpost that had gone almost off the rails as soon as they’d touched down. The injuries she’d sustained had been as they were trying to bug out, a Stormtrooper had caught her off guard and pulled her into an office and it had taken too long for the rest of her unit to figure out where she’d been taken. The beating had been harsh and the memories stolen from her precious. At least that’s what I’d been able to gather from the reports, Jyn was unable to fill in any of the voids left for what had really happened to her behind that closed door and I didn’t press, not wanting to push her.

“Can I lay with you tonight? Is that weird?” She asks one night after coming out of the fresher, her hair damp and her thick wool sleeping clothes wrapped around her. I look up from where I sit on my bunk with my datapad, surprise prickling within me. She hadn’t made one move towards me since getting out of the med bay and I’d let her keep her distance, unwilling to break our careful agreement.

“It’s not weird,” I answer because I have no other way to make it sound like I wasn’t desperate for her to join me, even though I was. She nods and steps forward, setting her things down on the desk before dropping onto the edge of the mattress.

“It’s cold up there. I don’t remember it being so cold, before,” she admits and glances towards me before looking back at her feet. “So I figure body heat is probably good. If you don’t mind.”

“Jyn,” I start, reframe my thoughts. How to tell her I missed her without pushing her away? “It’s a good idea. Do you want to lay down?” She nods and I put my datapad aside, shifting the blankets to open a cocoon for her. Sliding in quickly, she looks up at me as I linger, her gaze faltering as I kneel at the edge and our hands brush.

“Cassian.” All at once her eyes widen, her lips part and she reaches for me, her arm wrapping around my neck in a painful hug that must hurt her still-healing shoulder. “I remember,” she whispers into my collar and my whole body relaxes against her, my arms coming up to pull her closer. “I remember all of it. All of you. Of us.”

“Okay,” I murmur because to say anything else would give away the burning tears in my eyes and the rasp in my voice. She looks up at me then and leans forward, asking for permission before I close the distance between us.

The kiss is seeking, soft and patient, a return of old lovers, a slow walk over an aged bridge. She sighs into it and her touch drifts along the back of my head, down my shoulders until I can feel her fully against me for the first time since before she left.

“I missed you, I think,” she whispers, guiding us down onto the mattress. I follow because I’d follow her anywhere, our hearts linked together like fates intertwined. She cradles me against her and I debate rolling, pulling her above me, but she wraps herself around me and doesn’t let go.

“You came back,” I mumble into her neck, my lips trailing over her skin. She sighs and tangles her hand in my hair, tugging lightly to draw my gaze back to hers.

“Of course I came back. I just got lost,” she adds and I can’t stop the smile as I run my fingers along her cheek. “But you helped me back. You always help me back.”

“You helped me come back too, after Scarif,” I respond and her lips curl up at the edges, her breath soft against my mouth.

There’s not much talking after that, not as she tilts her hips below me, her hand dropping to tug my shirt loose and slip up against my skin. She grazes her nails against the scar along my spine and lets me kiss her until we’re both breathless, shivering and wanting. When she reaches to pull my shirt over my head we both turn our attention to disrobing under the blankets, truly huddling for warmth as the cool air in the room prickles at our exposed flesh.

She doesn’t let me drift below to chase my mouth down her stomach, her hands solid on my shoulders as she holds me close.

“I want to see your eyes as I touch you,” she says against my lips, rolling her hips as a hand slips down between us. She palms my length and I shudder, holding tight to her as I suck a bruise into her collar. A few swipes of her fist and then she’s pulling me on top of her, her legs spreading as I settle between them and she lines me up at her entrance. “I’ve missed you.” Her words follow me as I thrust myself inside her, sinking into the hilt as she clenches and clings to me.

“I’ve missed you too,” I murmur as I try to keep my head about me. It’s hard when she whimpers, when she scrapes her nails into my skin and nips at my lip to drive me crazy. We take it slow as we work together, hands drifting and breaths mixing as we push and pull.

When she cries out, heart rate spiraling as she comes apart below me, I can barely keep myself from falling apart as she drags me down for a blinding kiss. I come deep within her, my whole body wrapped up in and around her as she holds tight to my frame. Her touch along my skin is what brings me back from mindlessness, her hands drifting through my hair and her lips along my chin.

“Jyn, I - “ my throat swallows, the words tangled up like that tube after Scarif has returned. I want to say I love you and don’t leave me again but I can’t because that’s not who we are. But she must hear it in my head, or my heart, because she smiles and rubs her thumb across my cheek as her eyes flicker in the low light.

“I know, Cassian. Me too.”

#rebelcaptainweek #rebelcaptain #rc week: day one #rebelcaptain fic

7 notes · View notes