#even if i will feel peaceful and serene. i will always be scarred and tired
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ghost-orion · 2 years ago
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tw depression thoughts
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mae-is-crazy · 8 months ago
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I was wondering if you could do Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes one shot where Mae and Noa are sitting by a fire in a cave, like you know how some movies do like silhouette scenes where the light shines on them but you can only see their silhouettes and they're talking very softly I'm not really sure you can come up with something maybe it's something serious or like something touching or heartwarming. But I always imagine they would be tired and like exhausted or something or emotionally or physically but they're like getting closer to each other I mean they're Bond or something which eventually mae fall asleep on him and he feels all awkward X3
Okay, I'm being so serious right now what I say that I LOVE THIS REQUEST!! So frickin' wholesome and cute. I'm usually one to go into serious and darker content, but I couldn't miss the opportunity to write some fluff. I had a lot of fun writing this. I hope you have just as much fun reading the finished product :) :)
Signs of Constant (Noa/Mae)
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Synopsis: A quiet night by the fire leads to sharing the beauties of two different world.
(This story is unedited. Edits will be conducted at a later date).
In the serene warmth of the fire in front of him, Noa observed Mae.
He studied her face like it was the last time he’d see it. And it very well could be; she’d been gone for two springs, off with who he assumed to be a group of intelligent ech- humans- so who knew how long she’d be gone for next time. When Anaya alerted him of her presence, Noa had felt this warm wave in his gut that pushed him to see her without a second thought.  
Through the limited lighting of the dancing flames, Noa took in her every feature.
Noa could see a faint scar on the bottom right side of her chin, one that hadn’t been there the last time she was around. Her hair looked different too. Darker? No, it was just the night. It did look shorter, but only slightly. It was still in that lose braid he last saw her with.
Something that hadn’t changed, however, was her eyes. Even with hues of orange engulfing the small cave the two were huddled in, its raging colors were no match against the cerulean shade in her eyes. Even before the two were formally introduced he’d first noticed the striking color, a color that shood out against the earthy browns and greens of his clan. They somehow seemed to shine brighter on the night.
As if reading his mind, Mae blinked in his direction. She smirked slyly as Noa quickly looked down at his lap. “Gotcha,” she teased lightly.
Noa silently prayed his dark pelt could hide whatever heat was radiating off his face. He turned to look behind him, instead focusing on the massive silhouettes on the rocky backdrop. It was clear enough the height difference between the two, but the fire only made it more obvious- almost monstrous.
An ape and a human. Two different species, two different worlds. Different ways of life and how they think the world should work. And yet they were at peace with one another. ��It shouldn’t be possible, and yet here they were, sharing a fire.
Mae follows Noa’s field of sight. She watches the shadows behind them bounce across the rock wall. Noa side eyed her. A smile began creeping upon her face.
“My mom always did this when we had a fire,” Mae explained as eh shuffled herself to turn around, her back facing the fire. “You can tell stories with the fire.”
The put her hands up and together. She stacked her thumbs on top of each other and made a slight cup with her hands. She displayed it in front of the fire, and…
“It’s a bird,” Mae moved her hands in a fluid motion as if the creature was in flight. Noa couldn’t’ hide the amused chortle, only making the girl’s smirk grow into a toothy smile. Noa could feel a quickening sensation in his heart. Her eyes seemed to shine brighter through her smile- brighter than the flames in the pitch black night- because of her smile.
Mae changed her hands to form a new shape. This beast had a snout similar to that of a boar, but without jagged teeth or short, flappy ears- whereas this thing’s ears stood at attention. “It’s a dog.”
Noa gave her a confused glance. Mae put her hands down immediately after.
“The hands… are like sign.”
“I don’t know sign.”
Noa twisted his whole body to fully face Mae and she silently did the same. He put up one hand and took a deep breath before slowly twisting his fingers into different shapes. He’d tuck a finger into his parm or point to the side. He took a moment before moving onto each letter to let Mae absorb what she was seeing.
“Fire,” he whispered. Mae looked at her own hand. She glanced up at Noa’s hand and back down at hers before trying for herself. Noa watched the girl tale her time forming each character. When she’d make a mistake, he repeated the sign until she’d get it right.
Noa released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He softly smirked. There was so much to learn from one another. So much to teach as well, it seemed.
Mae looked outside past the fire. The only thing visible in the dead of night was the celestial body of stars. It was a constant in this rapidly changing world. Noa found reassurance that, no matter what happened, he could as least look up each night and find that the stars hadn’t left him.
Noa signed without looking away from the girl. “Stars,” he murmured. She followed quickly in suit and mirrored his gestured. “Stars,” she mimicked quietly.
The ape nodded in approval. He raised his hand one more time, this time spelling out each word as he shaped it.
He tucked his thumb between his pinkie and ring finger. “M.”
Made a fist but being sure to keep his thumb exposed. “A.”
Noa’s fingers touched each other tightly and sat atop his thumb.
Mae beat him to finish the word.
“E.”
The two watched one another carefully. The silence that once brought Noa comfort now made him feel awkward, almost uneasy. Whereas Noa would stare at Mae, it seemed that she was doing it to him- thinking to herself, forming possible judgments. What did she see that he couldn’t?
The intensity in her glare suddenly shifted and her she relaxed her shoulders. Mae squeezed her eyes shut and dipped her head. She stretched out her arms and yawned. Before Noa could register what was happening, Mae leaned closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder.
Noa stiffened like a board. He heard his breath and eyed the fragile girl (though she was far from fragile outside of the physical scene). The fire was beginning to die down. Even so, Mae still did not shiver against Noa’s body.
He waited a minute, two, ten before settling on the idea that she’d fallen asleep. He tilted his head to catch a glimpse of her peacefully slumbering form.  The young ape felt truly honored to feel trusted with this precious girl’s life in such a vulnerable state.
Noa was just about to allow himself sleep when he heard a tiny voice against him:
“Tomorrow, I want you to each me your name.”
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icarustypicalfall · 1 year ago
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Right now
drabble, describing cod men in one word.
warnings: fluff, slight angst, not fully proofread bcz m tired:(
note: tysm for all your sweet wishes, ilysm. this one for you. i know i wasn't here much. srry about that.
masterpost • ao3 •
<3
Simon Ghost Riley
tired.
he is tired. Ghost, a mere void, a lost soul trying to find it's purpose again. despite the flame and the determination, he still holds a deep gush from the past nothing can ease. Nonetheless, he doesn't let it affect him. Everyday, he shoves the thoughts to the back of his mind, deciding to rethink them all one day.
He thought that day won't come till he met you. It would take some time, the healing path is long. Might as well hold his hand tightly.
Gaz
underrated.
He is never enough. No matter how much he puts in the work, there is always a tid missing. It consumes his sanity and leaves him countless nights hopeless. The dark circles he earned are from late workout sessions, long training outside the field. He thought he'd end up being the best, he was left to nothing.
You picked him up, dusted off his clothes and shared with him a cup of tea. He didn't say much, though his silence was louder than any words. He was grateful.
John Price
old?
It didn't affect him much, people's words were nothing to him, yet he wished he met you when he was younger. He knows he isn't exactly old. But he isn't young neither.
This absurdity left him in a foolish state. Sometimes, he'd even push you away, before crawling again in your arms. Whispering apologies mixed with meloncholy. You hugged him tightly, promising to be there till the end.
Soap
Peaceful.
He might've be unserious sometimes, but at heart, he has a dream. He reminded himself of that purpose consistently, trying his best to fullfil his desire for peace. How funny, a soldier wishing for peace? He thought about it for years, slowly realizing it was impossible for him.
You proved to him peace isn't about your surroundings, but about your heart.
He never felt more seren than after he slid that ring in your finger, in front of all his friends and family.
Alejandro Vargas
Passionate.
He loves, and when he does, he commits; Holly, utterly, with his very being. But, it hurts when he puts his trust in the wrong person. He was hurt, bruised, betrayed countless times. The scars on his body and the wounds in his heart a proof to the pain he held all those years.
It was until he met you, he realized what love is. The colonel fell to his knees, shedding tears of unspoken woe he held. You were there to ease his pain.
Rudy Parra
Quiet.
He is silence, a peaceful madness, an angry ocean, a loud thunder striking. He never lets his anger blind him. He was silent, collected, counting every step he takes. Silence was sometimes too loud. Sometimes, he wished he could vanish, dissaper in a beat and never come back. When his time comes, he wishes to be buried in your smile, where he can find eternal peace.
Phillip Graves
Vulnerable.
He never knew how to be, he thought being a commander means he should be collected, stoic. He buried his feelings, fears and doubts inside. Letting them accumulate till it overflew, leaving him in disaster. He shattered after a failed mission. And, for the first time, he let you pick up the pieces, putting him together like a broken vase. You looked upon his baby blues, letting peace wash over him.
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igotanidea · 2 years ago
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Something just like this : Matt Murdock x reader
inspired by Coldplays's "something just like this"
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"She said "where'd you wanna go? How much you wanna risk?
„Matty?”
„Go back to bed.”
“I can’t .“
I was standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, dressed only in shorts and some old T-shirt, rubbing my eyes, sore from the hours spend in front of the computer. The clock was showing the hour I haven’t seen in a while and the dim light was not helping my coordination when I took a step and almost tripped over my own feet.
“You clearly need rest” Matt was quick to catch me before I met the floor, his hands gripping me tightly to him, making sure I was safe.
“What about you?” I asked running a hand through his soft, black hair.
“What about me?”
“You talk like you don’t need a proper sleep. Not just a nap.” I muttered looking at his bruised face “even devil needs a break sometimes.”
I'm not looking for somebody with some superhuman gifts.
“It’s different” he pulled away and I shivered from the cold that came for me in the absence of his body next to mine. “I am different.”
“No, you’re not. Don’t walk away from me, Matty. Please.”
“Go back to bed.”
“And what if I won’t?”
He was now standing in front of a window, half of his face illuminated by the neon lights from the bar across the street. The reddish aura did nothing to hide his scars and puffiness and once again, just a simple thought of his night activities were a kick in the teeth for me. And the worst part. His martyrdom. He put himself on the cross, not really wanting to come back down. Not for Foggy, not for Karen, not even for me. I never wanted to take away that part of him, I knew what I was into when we started dating, but still. He shouldn’t have to handle things all by himself. He shouldn’t have to be up every night, listening to all the sounds on the streets, focusing on everyone who needed his help. Exactly like he was doing now, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.  
“Matt.” I took a step forward, just to see if he was going to run away from me again. He didn’t so a few more and I was hugging him tightly from behind, feeling his tensed muscle and stress and sense of duty. “Please” I kissed his shoulder lightly.
“Go back to bed.” God, he was so implacable. However, a slight lean into my touch gave him away.
“No” I pressed myself closer to his back “I’m not going to leave you like this.”  
“I’m not bleeding anymore.”
“What do you mean anymore?! Are you hurt?!” I tried to spin him around to I could see him frontally and he turned unwillingly.
“Y/n.....” he sighed deeply realizing he said too much. Such a silly mistake for a lawyer.
Some superhero, some fairytale bliss
“Please, let me take care of you…… You don’t need to be strong all the time. Not around me. I won’t judge you, you know that. I love you…..” my voice was now becoming a bit desperate. “Please, I am here for you.”
“I’m tired, Y/N….” his body following the words as he slouched, turning from the devil into a wiped out man.
“I know Matty. I know. But you can rest now.”
“I don’t feel like I can. “
“Then focus on me, ok? Let me help you forget about the pain.”
just something I can turn to somebody I can kiss,
“Ok…..” he closed his eyes, hiding all the pain and fears inside as I let him to the bedroom forcing him to lay down, tucking him in and laying right next to this childish person I loved. It’s been a while since he was this close to me and all of a sudden I realized how I missed this. Our little, brief moments of peace and serenity. So rare, almost non-happening. It made me wonder whether I made him come to bed for his sake of out of pure selfishness, but I shook it off. It wasn’t about me, but him. He was the one to always protect me (sometimes much to my displeasure given the methods used), comfort me and hold me when I was down. It was my turn to return a favor. We both needed this. I needed to remind him he didn’t have to hide from me or act stronger than he really was.
“Y/n…..” he whispered sleepily
“Yes, Matty?” I started finger-combing his hear in a reassuring matter, humming slightly under my nose.
“Can you just hug me like this?”
“I wouldn’t dare not to” I grinned “come here, baby” he was more than willing to rest his head on my chest, his arms circling around my waist, holding me desperately.
“Thank you….”
“Anytime, Matt. I mean it, anytime. Don’t run from me….”
“I don’t want to put you in danger……..”
“Matty” I put a hand on his cheek forcing him to look up at me “you’re not putting me in any danger, you hear me. I chose this. I chose to be with you. You and me against the world. Even if at the end of the day I’m just the one to give comfort. I can’t go out with you on the streets, but I can make sure you got your safe space here.”
“What if….” He tried to get up but I forced him down.
“Stop it. Stop thinking for a while, all right?” I started to caress his side, mindful of all the fresh scars and injuries I patched up the night before, and two nights ago. “Breathe with me. Everything is good. You’re safe. I’m safe. It’s all good.” I tried my best to make my voice soothing and it seemed to work as he nodded, hiding his face in the crook of my neck.
“I love you……” he muttered, his breath tickling. “What was that song?”
“What song?”
“The one you hummed a minute ago.”
oh, I want something just like this.
“Oh…. That one. It’s just little something that reminds me of you every time you are away. Something about how I don’t need superhero, but someone to hold and have for myself. Something just like this. Like now.”
“Is that enough?”
“Always.” I kissed the top of his head “Now sleep. Even the devil needs a break sometimes.”
“How did that devil end up in a relationship with an angel?”
“The angel saw something more to him…” I smiled and upon my words he shifted himself closer
“you are so warm and soft…..” he chuntered and a second later I heard his light snoring, feeling myself drift off as well. Calmer than before, just because he was by my side.
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lovingvolleyboys · 2 years ago
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"I'n tired, Iwa-chan," Tooru says, hoisting their right leg in the air; it's the position that causes the least pain, and for a moment the tension on their knee feels less tight.
"Mm, me too," Hajime replies, but he's hardly listening. He's lying on his stomach, Oikawa's left leg draped over his back, reading something on his phone.
"That's... not what I mean."
There's a whine in their voice, so slight that anyone else would never have noticed it. There's a drip of something more than tiredness, more than exhaustion, more than fatigue - behind sassy smirks and outstretched tongues lies a pant of pain, a creak of tendons, agony so old it's almost homely.
Iwaizumi's heart sinks; he knows what Tooru means, in some shallow way, in the way someone who'd never felt it could know. He knows that Tooru, his beautiful boyfriend, his best friend, his starlight, is more than tired - they're empty, all drive gone, all but an eggshell away from complete collapse. Iwaizumi knows that Tooru needs rest the way G-d did, Tooru needs a sabbath, as if they'd created this glittering world themself.
"Tooru," he murmurs, and it's more gentle then he'd allow anyone else to see him. "I get it. You're... so tired of feeling like this, of just putting up with it and pretending it's all okay."
Tooru knows their Iwa-chan can never really understand, but they're touched that he puts it into such delicate, truthful words.
"Yeah," they respond, and it's all they can breathe out. This conversation is nothing new; there is no new ground to be uncovered by discussing it.
"Hey."
Tooru looks up at him, the spark they foster behind their eyes burning down into glowing embers.
"...I know it won't fix it, but... do you want to watch Alien?" There's a tenderness in his tone reserved only for Tooru. Strong, powerful, unbreakable Tooru.
Tooru crawls into his outstretched arms, careful not to jostle their knee. Soon they're in Hajime's arms, where they've always belonged, positioning their leg on the headboard of the bed just to cope with the pain.
"Thank you," they whisper, but Hajime doesn't want gratitude - all he wants, all he's ever wanted, is to make Tooru feel almost better. He reaches for their hair, playing with strands, weaving through carefully sculpted layers and tangling fluffy locks. Tooru always feels so relaxed like this; even if the pain won't stop won't stop won't stop at least Hajime is here, never taxing them, never wearing them down.
He knows Tooru so intimately, as if he wove Tooru's tapestry himself, and he knows that caressing dimples and listening to information he's heard a thousand times about a film he knows like the back of his hand will always comfort Tooru. Oikawa sinks into Iwa-chan's warm bath, the therapy G-d designed just for them, and his heartbeat is steady against Tooru's ear. Their peace is enveloping Tooru's pain, insulating it, keeping it from pulsing through waves of serenity. Their peace cannot heal Oikawa's torn flesh and petulant scarring, but it can comfort a soul in need of soothing.
Tired of feeling like this, putting up with it, pretending it's all okay - Oikawa is all of it, but alongside that, Oikawa is resting in the manger of their boyfriend's arms, and they know a new dawn will rise. Oikawa knows, as Iwa-chan's calloused hands trace flowers on their cheeks, that the sun still shines when they close their eyes.
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so-tired-of-dying · 2 years ago
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and i wish you could hear what i say to myself about you,
when you’re not here.
how i wish you could hear me to tell myself to cool it in class,
when i catch myself smiling at the fact you even sent me a message,
before i’ve even seen what it says.
because at least it’s you.
because you told me the sweetest things i’ve ever been so blessed and grateful to hear.
my fruit was pineapple,
despite the bath and body works that would say otherwise.
“you remind me of strawberries”
my signature strawberry scent that i have dawned since i was 14. i’m 19 now.
i have more bottles of that perfume than one person needs,
and the hand sanitizer,
and the lotions and hand creams,
and the hand soap by my sink.
because it mixes well with vanilla,
the same vanilla in my favorite body wash. that same vanilla i could smell on my grandmother when we sat next to each other for our birthday.
because you have always come back,
because you kept your promise from that night.
that i could call if i needed help.
and that night you came back after the yelling that caused the tears to melt off my eyeliner.
because i have given so many reasons you should never come back for me but,
you’re still here.
and i tell you i love you every morning because i do.
and i can feel excitement bubble up inside me
so viscerally i think i’m a volcano that could go off at the slightest tremble of the earth.
when i say you give me butterflies
i mean it in the most beautiful way possible,
and they carry me away every single time.
and yet i have so much to say but i could never say it all to you.
because my words could never do these feelings justice.
i wish you could hear every single word of poetry written in my head about you.
describing the way your deep brown eyes pierce mine
when we actually make eye contact.
it always stops me in my tracks when you smile,
the way your dimples reach so deeply into your face.
i have a video i go back and watch,
so damn often,
just for the taste of your smile.
because it reminds me of just how sweetly you taste,
like honey so soft on my tongue.
like that first sip of water in the middle of the night that you can feel
rehydrating and
refreshing the entirety of your still
so tired body.
i wish you could hear the way
i wish
i could lace words as delicate as your touch.
i am treated like porcelain
because i am.
because you know how easy i am to break, because you’ve done it before.
and yet you still put those pieces back together and mended me with gold like you were a professional at the art kintsugi.
and you kissed my scars,
telling me that you were there
and that everything would be ok.
and if you could hear the melodies in my head when you speak,
your voice like a booming symphony to me,
no matter how soft your tone.
if i could write lyrics from the notes in my brain,
those songs would sell out stadiums.
deep and rich,
just like the soil we stand on.
and if i could, id take away all the pain
stored deep inside that i can hear crackling through your voice like a raging fire.
i wish you could hear what i say to myself about you when you’re not around,
all the silent thoughts left unsaid.
remembering the memories the no one can steal.
how privately i admire you, trying to bring you to life in a drawing.
trying to emulate the smile from that night,
and evoke the emotions behind it all.
serene, peaceful,
joyous.
i wish you could hear
just how much i wish i could go back,
to that night we met.
the night we walked under the stars,
smiling and laughing,
and just reliving it again.
i wish you could hear the things I say to myself when you’re not here.
because you’d hear how lovely you are,
and how dearly i cherish you.
because you’d hear me whispering to myself,
as i carefully move the rose you gave me in late October.
if you could hear the way i tell myself to calm down,
whenever i’m excited to see you.
i might just get
a sweet and joyous chuckle.
if you could see the way my insides warp and twist in anticipation.
the way i check my phone each night,
a million times before i fall asleep
just in case you need me.
the way
poetry about you
always seems so go on forever;
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onmyyan · 2 years ago
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Endless Again
Chapter One
A/N: This first chapter is just an introduction to (Y/n), Damian and Jon make a short appearance but it's mostly a set up for the rest of the story, feedback is welcome and I hope you enjoy!
TW'S: death (no main characters), canon typical violence
All you wanted was one normal year.
One painfully mundane year where someone wasn't trying to murder you for no reason.
It's all you asked from the universe when you looked up at the stars, anytime you saw one shoot across the dark sky you made sure to make a wish.
It was rare for the twinkling lights to peak through the heavy clouds.
Considering just how insane the past few months have been, you figured you'd long since earned a break.
Gotham was only ever quiet when she wanted to be, one thing you could count on was how the untameable city never truly felt as peaceful as it did in the earliest hours of the morning, the sun having yet to kiss the sky, even criminals got cold, well most of them anyway.
A light blanket of gray covered the brooding city like a hug, its familiar haze brought a warm blossom of comfort to spread out through your chest, it always looked like it was just about to rain, seasoned gothamites could tell if you needed to bother with an umbrella just by the smell in the air.
Your elderly neighbor Edna had told to that one night you'd gone to keep her company, she said she could smell the rain before a drop hit the ground.
Another thing you loved about your city was the constant skin-biting cold wind, it was especially apparent whenever you found yourself outside at this hour, the breeze a welcome sting, no matter how often you went inside shivering, you felt the serenity was well worth it.
You, your Mother Grace, and her older son Peter, all lived in this cozy little apartment in the upper east end of Gotham.
The floor you three lived on was just below the roof, all you had to do to get up there was pop open the triangular window in your room, the landlord had tried in vain to seal it shut with layer after layer of paint, the ledge was so easy to scale, it almost felt like an invitation.
Heights had never bothered you, in fact being up so high you could see the dark waters of Gotham Bay crashing against the docks from where you stood, it made you feel oddly centered, leaning comfortably against the chain link fence, fingers looped through the holes, the metal was quite cold against the heat of your palms, tired (e/c) eyes watched as your breath fanned out in clouds before you.
You didn't know when you'd get the chance to be up here again, so you allowed yourself to take in all the wonderful sights and sounds.
Your neighbor in 4B was walking her dog in the yard, kicking snow over the mess the Yorkie made instead of picking it up, then there was 4D, the sad-looking man always trudged his way to where you could only assume was work, he made sure to pause in his commute if he saw you out, his halfhearted wave was always returned with one of your own.
Your eyes trailed the array of little cuts and scars littering your knuckles, they made you feel tough when you were younger, and still do, to see them and still feel the breath in your lungs meant you were still fighting. No matter how you got them. No matter how often you got knocked down. You had them because you came out of it.
While this was one of the safer neighborhoods in town, Grace still made you sign up for self-defense classes about a week after bringing you home from the adoption agency. It was one of your earliest memories of her.
The 5'3 woman was small in stature but not in presence.
She packed a punch like a bullet, and she always managed to stand comically out of place when she came to your tournaments, Grace often looked as if someone had plucked her straight out of a 50's glamour magazine, blonde waves almost always pinned up in a classy up-do. Her big blue eyes held the warmest look whenever you caught her gaze in the crowd.
She'd be sandwiched between two meatheads with the most obnoxious glittery sign no doubt decorated by herself and Peter the night before, she'd always cheer the loudest, you looked back on the memories fondly, not only did you love the adrenaline of throwing people around, you ended up needing these defensive skills more than you anticipated.
It was like she knew you'd be in trouble eventually and wanted to give you a headstart.
You didn't mind, especially since you'd had to beat the shit out of one too many perverts on the way home more times than you could count, to this day she didn't know how many punks you left bloodied in the streets.
And you intended to keep it that way.
She was a great mom, often working double shifts as an ER nurse, Gotham general was never empty so she always had something to do, anytime you or Peter showed the slightest interest in something you wanted she did anything she could to get it for you, loving you like you were her own, never once making you feel ostracized, she made it abundantly clear she only wanted her children safe and happy.
So when she gave you a rule, it was hard not to follow it, all she asked of you, was that you never let anyone outside the family see what you were capable of.
To this day only she and your older brother were privy about your powers, she knew you didn't remember much from your time before the adoption so she never bothered asking about the nature of your abilities, it was like this weird unspoken rule not to discuss your, oddities. Seemingly just happy to have you as her daughter.
One night, after a long day of dealing with the intolerant little shits at your public school, she'd been trying to comfort you for hours, heartbreaking at the tears in your eye. When you'd stopped crying long enough to ask her for some oddly specific brand of ice cream she knew you adored, Grace, being the bleeding heart she was, folded immediately.
It was just down the street anyway, she figured nothing could happen in the five-minute walk to the corner store she'd made a thousand times before, that was until about five minutes into the outing, you felt the horrible stare on your back and snapped your head around with a startling speed. Both meeting the gaze of the masked man and catching him off guard, there was something in your stare that made him hesitate, but he pushed passed it to continue steadily sneaking up on you both.
You didn't need to read his thoughts to know whatever he intended was vile in nature, you tugged on the small woman's sleeve, and forced her to stop.
"Mama- look." Her head snapped around with a gasp, and she instinctively moved you to stand behind her, using her body as a shield, "Please- don't do something you'll regret alright?- I-I'll give you anything, just don't hurt us."
She started shakily removing her watch when he moved his hand to his belt, the streetlights caught it just right so the glint of steel could be seen tucked into his waist, he continued to stare, breath heavy and eyes wild.
There was this moment, where he just stared at you both, his unruly stare flickering from the mostly empty streets to the seemingly defenseless pair before him, he appeared to have made up his mind, hand reaching for the handle of his knife.
Before Grace could open her mouth to scream for help, Before either of them could think, you'd made your move.
Just as he went to take another step forward, you flicked your little wrist in a circle, body moving on autopilot, not thinking of anything but getting the threat away from your mother, a flash of red glimmered over his glazed-over eyes, you watched in silent awe as he walked himself into the suddenly busy traffic of downtown.
The resulting carnage pulled every car on the block to a screeching halt, as people screamed and began to spectate, Grace could only stare in horror as people began to flood the scene.
She scooped you into her arms, and ran home, her hands holding you tight to her chest, that was the night she'd sat you down before bed, eyes wide with unshed tears.
"Please darling, I need you to swear to me- swear you'll never let anyone see what you can do." Her soft hands held your little face in a tender hold, so you could feel the tremor in her touch as she pleaded with a then 10-year-old you.
Desperately trying to convey her seriousness to you without yelling, she stared you down until you confirmed out loud. "Never Mama." her request was delivered in such a shaken tone you couldn't help but nod your little head, curls bouncing rapidly as you tried to pacify a situation you didn't understand.
Her older son Peter had always been kind to you, having your back in the way older brothers do, even when he couldn't actually do much against them, he did his best to defend you against the bullies, taking the brunt of their viciousness.
Someway, somehow they seemed to smell it on you; like there was a neon sign on your forehead that said oddity, you always wondered how they knew something was different about you.
It was as if something primal told them to keep an eye on you, the same way you watched a wild animal in captivity, just waiting on the day it loses control.
Growing up hiding from your powers was as hard as it was dangerous, every time you got a little too mad at one of your tormenters and all the windows in class shattered, or if you focused a little too hard on a person and they'd get yanked back into the wall by an invisible force, you risked blowing your cover completely, your senses almost always overwhelming you.
Grace had a protective streak which wasn't hard to understand as she had children in the most dangerous city in the states, so you didn't fight her when she asked you to stay home, it's not like you had friends lining up to hang out, you didn't mind, although it did make you have to get creative when it came to hiding stuff.
You took to training your abilities in secret, starting small, you began by lifting all the furniture in your room as high up off the floor as you could until your hundred-pound bed became as easy as lifting your phone, then you moved on to yourself, often getting lost in the floaty sensation it gave you to fly, these were the abilities you'd honed in the best as you could, practicing them at home without being discovered was doable, telepathy was another subject entirely.
Living in a crowded apartment building meant anytime you tried turning it on, all of a sudden it was like a thousand radio stations blaring at max volume in your head.
As much fun as you were having discovering yourself, it seemed the more you trained your abilities, the weirder your life got. You'd spent the last year of high school defending your life from dickhead after dickhead, the would-be assassins only ever struck when you were alone, and seemed to attack more and more, as time went on.
In an effort to deter them, you'd spent the last few years as a homebody, hoping a decrease in public appearances would also slow their assaults, and up until a month ago it was working.
That is of course until someone tried to wrap a wire around your throat when you were doing laundry. You'd accidentally knocked him out cold when you threw him off of you and into the wall, he'd hit it so hard his body left a print.
After tossing him in a dumpster a few blocks away from your home, you screamed into your pillow for a few minutes, that was way too close, and you decided then and there that you had to do something, you wouldn't be able to forgive yourself if anything happened to the people you cared for most.
All that to say, your loving little family, as sweet as they were, still saw you as this helpless little kid who needed someone to hide behind, so you could understand why their fear was near palpable in the apartment the night at dinner, they exchanged looks and silent debates but stayed supportive, both of them absolutely terrified about your departure for Gotham U in the morning.
"Are you sure you can't take some courses online? I read something about that yesterday at brunch." Her voice was shaky as she took your hand over the table. "Ma relax - she's twenty-one years old, she can handle it." Peter was quick to defend you, knowing if his mother had it her way neither of you would ever leave the house.
He shot you a reassuring smile, patting his mother on her arm. "Plus, she knows we got her back, always."
Grace shared a teary-eyed look with her eldest before excusing herself to the bathroom to no doubt cry. Your chest stung at the sight, hating to be the reason the kind woman was upset, but you knew it was for the best.
You couldn't resist the urge to read her mind, flinching at what you felt, you immediately stopped and began messing with your food, your appetite suddenly gone.
"Don't worry about ma- you know how she is, she'll come around." Peter said nudging your shoulder in a light-hearted manner, he was the peacekeeper in the house, "Thanks, Pete."
You said forcing yourself to take a few more bites, finishing the meal in comfortable silence.
That was hours ago, and you could still feel the near-crushing weight of the fear in Grace's heart.
You knew at the root of her fear was love for you, she was just worried for your safety.
Yes, her reaction was intense but it wasn't near as bad as some people got. Before she'd bared you from using them, you used to use your powers like party tricks, nothing too major, just making little things appear or reading someone's mind when they bet you ya couldn't.
Not a lot of folks like knowing you could see them for who they were. When you were younger you could never understand why people got so cold when they realized you weren't lying.
This was another reason you didn't like poking around in people's heads.
It more often than not left you with bruised feelings.
Shaking the thought away, you allowed yourself to be fully swept up in the calm morning, something you felt would be the last for a while, call it intuition, but you had the nagging feeling that despite your wishes for a peaceful, normal freshman year, it would be anything but.
And one of the primary causes of your future chaos was currently trying to sneak his way back inside the Batcave, unsuccessfully I might add.
On the opposite side of Gotham, the city's latest Robin was just then coming in from patrol. He had turned his bike off early, in an effort to be as quiet as he could while he snuck in.
"You were supposed to check in hours ago Damian," Bruce said without looking away from the documents in his hands. Damian winced as his hopes for the older man being asleep were crushed, although he should have known better than to think his Father would be sleeping at a healthy time.
He began removing his tactical gear, carefully placing each one in its proper place while he thought of his careful response.
"You've always told me to finish what I start on the job - now I'm supposed to abandon my post for some arbitrary curfew?"
"That curfew is only in place because I couldn't trust you to remember your new semester, which starts in," His calculating eyes glanced at the Rolex on his wrist, "Less than an hour so I suggest you use what time you do have to shower." Damian turned to curse silently and sped walked his way towards the elevator.
"Before you scoff I'll remind you that had you actually done what we agreed upon instead of trying to work around it by patrolling all night, you'd be well rested."
Damian made his way upstairs silently fuming to himself, he'd been dreading this day for as long as he could remember, he'd had a college-level education since before middle school, and to pretend to need it for the sake of public appearances felt like a waste of time to the young hero, he spent as long as he could in the shower, letting the steam and near scalding water distract him from the soon to be headache that was Gotham U.
The black turtleneck he threw on was more for practicality than fashion despite looking quite good in it, he was really just thinking about wearing something he couldn't bleed through, the cut he'd gained on his latest outing as the Boy wonder had been sloppily patched up in his haste to get ready, it wasn't like him to drag his feet in such a manner, but the youngest Wayne was beyond unmotivated.
Damian made sure to give Ace and Titus a goodbye scratch under their chins as he left, he offered Alfred a wave and leisurely walked to the first car he saw, a shiny black 2022 BMW, he turned the seat warmer on high and flicked the radio on, settling into his routine was just starting to curb his sour attitude when a name popped up on the touchscreen, "Jonathan Kent, why are you calling me so early in the day? Have I not suffered enough?"
He could hear the taller male's laughter in his voice when he responded, "Very funny Damian, you're still coming to pick me up right?" The green-eyed man felt his face drop, he checked his mirrors before whipping the car back around towards his friend's apartment. "Of course, although I still feel it pointless seeing as you can you know, fly." Jon sucked his teeth at his friend, "Psh yeah right, I heard you do that U-Turn, lemme' find out that was illegal and I'm telling your dad."
"I can always leave you where you stand."
"Just kiddin'! Jeez, you're more grumpy than usual, Do you really think it's gonna be that bad?" Damian sighed through his nose, not bothering to respond, "Be ready to jump in because I'm not stopping the car."
"You're messing with me, right? Damian?? Hello?"
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prose-for-hire · 3 years ago
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By your side
Pairing: Cordelia Chase x fem!reader
Request: Hey man. Was wondering if you’d be able to do a Cordy x fem reader fic to the girl in red song Watch you sleep?
Requested by: @ding-dong-big-schlong​​
A/N: First off, how cute is she in this gif !? 🥰
I hadn’t heard this song before I wrote this, but I wish I had, it’s beautiful !! 💜
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The mornin' sun
Shines on your skin
'Cause your white curtains
They are, paper thin
You woke, your eyes still blurry from sleep. The warmth of the glowing rays caressing her face beside you, it made her appear even more ethereal than usual. It looked as though she had a golden halo as she exhaled softly. You closed your eyes in contentment. To be here, your body pressed beside yours
Cordelia.
Even her name brought you comfort. You had loved her for such a long time, since the first day she began to let you in. Your hearts and minds connected. Every part, you were so sure. Souls entwined as your limbs now were.
Windows open
I can feel the breeze
But we're safe here
Under the sheets
You were protected here, this was yours and hers. You adored this place, the blankets shrouding you both in safety. Within these walls, it was you and her. You had held each other while you cried, whispered your insecurities whilst you both hid under the sheets. You had laughed, made love and told each other that you loved each other for the first time. You could spend your entire life in this moment and you would never get tired of it.
The breeze from the open window caressed her bare skin, goose bumps appearing where the breeze touched. You wrapped your limbs around each other, clinging to each other’s warmth. You sighed contently, pressed against the woman you adored.
I don't ever wanna leave
I'll watch you sleep
And listen to you breathe
I don't ever wanna leave
I'll watch you sleep
I'll watch you sleep
She shifted closer to you, if that was even possible. She exhaled softly in that way she always does when she’s comfortable as she nestled into your side. She reached for you through her sleep as you smiled softly and moved in closer, whispering your love for her in hopes that she would hear you in her sleep. She stirred briefly, a smile on her face that told you she was there with you. Wherever she was in her dreams. She held such deep affection for you, even through sleep you were all she could think about.
She looked so serene, in this moment, she was at peace. Surrounded by your love, you could both relax. Your love for each other transcended all. No monsters, no demons or drama with your friends could pull you away from her. Not from this moment. Here, you were at home. She was home. You could watch her sleep for the rest of your life and be happy.
I never get
Bored of lookin' at you
'Cause every time
I see somethin' new
She rolled over, facing away from you and taking the sheets with her. You didn’t mind, you would give up oxygen if she asked. Just as she would for you. You would rather she was comfortable and you weren’t cold anyway. You pressed a soft kiss to her bare shoulder, spotting a freckle you hadn’t noticed before. You smiled, you held such sweet affection. Harboured such adoration for this strong, caring woman by your side.
You would never be tired of looking at your love. And what a beautiful love it was. It blossomed, in the same way the bloom she bought you on your first date. You were sure she had cast some kind of magic on it, as it kept blooming for months after it was bought. Fresh cut flowers that only got vibrant every day. Much like your love for her.
You held her tenderly, stroking her hair as she slept soundly. She was forthright and stood up for you both. She encouraged your confidence and held a quiet sensitivity that was only ever reserved for you.
Like the scar on your spine
You fell off our roof
When you were nine
You've lived a life
Before me
As she moved to lay on her back, you traced the scar on her torso, the one she had told you she got from getting impaled when she fell in an abandoned building. That had been a traumatic night for her, you remember the way she still appeared shaken when she retold the story. She tried to pretend it had been insignificant, but you could tell it had hurt. You had held her so tight as she tried to hide the welling tears. As she tried to get through the story, the reason she had struggled to trust when you had first started to know her.
You traced your finger along the silvery scar, it contrasted from the beautifully tanned skin she had. Her skin was always soft, flawless to you no matter how many scars she harboured deep within. Her eyes began to flutter as she felt the way you tenderly stroked her scar.
I don't ever wanna leave
I'll watch you sleep
And listen to you breathe
There was a sleepy smile on her face as she began to wake. Waking up to you by her side every morning was such sweet intimacy. Having you as her girlfriend made her so happy. The kind of happiness she swore she had never felt before. Not before you. You were the love of her life, she was so sure of it. She could happily watch you sleep for hours. Hold you close to her and listen to your heart beating as she rested her head on your chest.
She was yours, for always. She adored watching you sleep. Watching you do even the smallest thing. The sweet domesticity of your lives, of simply waking up together. It made your hearts swell with such adoration. Any moment away from your solace, your shared bedroom, had you aching to be in each other’s arms again.
I don't ever wanna leave
I'll watch you sleep
I'll watch you sleep
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gaiuswrites · 4 years ago
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King of Cups || Chapter 1
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Chapter 1: The Tower
Archive: ao3 | masterlist | two
Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader
Summary: You’re apart of the Refugee Relief Movement, an intergalactic organization providing aid throughout the systems, and you find yourself assisting at a resettlement camp in Lothal when disaster strikes, changing your life forever, intertwining your path with that of a certain Mandalorian bounty hunter.
Word count: 3.7k~
Rated: Mature
Warnings: descriptive violence, blood/injury mentioning, danger, mature language
Notes: Hi y'all, welcome. This fic is going to be set during Season 2 of The Mandalorian, and will be what I like to call ‘canon adjacent’. ALSo, this chapter is very much so Reader focused, setting up the scene and the general pacing of the story, but naturally, Din will be more and more featured as things progress. I’m a sucker for backstory and a slow burn, so ye be warned. Please feel free to reach out to me. :) I’d love to hear from you lovely little beans. Be safe out there, friends.
Lothal was a planet all too familiar with occupation.
You remember seeing a quote somewhere that read ‘Look no further than Lothal if you want to see what happens when the Empire takes control of an entire world’; and although the Imperial chokehold had loosened when the Empire fell, the planet, even all these years later, still found itself gasping for breath. 
Off world migration from the Core Worlds had been popularized since the expansion of the Imperial government bureaucracy, which brought booming business opportunities for the fortunate few, but as the rich became richer, the poor grew poorer. The Lothalites were forced out of their homes, off their own lands—refugees on their own planet; forced to resettle and relocate with nothing but the clothes on their back and the possessions they could cram into their pockets. The only heirlooms passed on from generation to generation were that of poverty, tall tales of former splendor, and the greatest of ancestral traumas: disillusionment.
The truly desperate turned to crime, and what couldn’t be solved by back-dealings and blaster fire was managed with fear mongering and the bitter flair of xenophobia. There was always a species to blame, and it was always the one who seemed to be doing better off, no matter how slight the margin. 
Greed. Fear. Despair. These are the currencies in which the galaxy trades. 
And so it was then, and continued to be, cycle after cycle. History, always finding clever ways to repeat itself.
On bad days, pollution still loomed heavy over the atmosphere—remnants of the fires from the Imperial occupation still clinging on to Lothal’s weary bones. She had been stripped during that time; gutted and strung up by her feet to dangle from the Empire’s meat hook, exsanguinated slowly, drop by drop, until she had nothing left to give. Her resources and minerals and ore and water and seed, robbed. Pillaged.
She’s free from it now, but the scars remain— the planet remembers. Her people do not forget. Like muscle memory, they all ungulate to this synthesized rhythm they can’t seem to shake, day in and day out, wandering. Forever unsettled.
The planet had always had a diverse population and had become something of a safe haven for other abandoned people fleeing their home worlds, determined to find somewhere - anywhere - for them to survive. Lothal provided that for them. It wasn’t rich or bountiful by any stretch, but it was simple and safe—safe in the way hidden things in plain sight are. One could blend into the crowd of many, unique faces, of all races and backgrounds; you could be anonymous, if you wanted. You could be free.
That’s how you’ve found yourself here in Jortho. You had been with the Refugee Relief Movement for the better part of what felt like forever, and they had transferred you to this planet not six weeks ago. You were out on rotation; the RRM sends someone new twice a cycle for the span of a month or two to varying locations to supply rations, aid with the influx of refugees, organize resettlement lodgings, and generally be of assistance when and where you could. However, your tenure on this temperate planet was coming to a close, and soon you’d be flying back to the headquarters on Coruscant before being bounced to another post somewhere out among the stars. 
You love your job. You know it’s unpopular to say, but you do. It’s fulfilling and impactful and indescribably special. The individuals you meet, the stories you hear, they’re invaluable— priceless and precious, like handmade trinkets crafted by the fingers of a child; you press them all to your heart, holding them there. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t get to you— the weight of it; the plights of all of these people, all of these lives, burdening your conscience. It isn’t always painless— you aren’t immune to it. Even so, on most nights you manage to sleep easy, tucked away aboard the transport freighter you flew in on with the batch of settlers newly assimilated into town knowing Maker, at least you were doing something— anything— everything you could.
And really, to call Jortho a town would be an insult to all towns everywhere—but ‘town’ has a certain charm to it that ‘refugee camp’ simply did not, and it gave the people hope. Pride, even. That they belonged somewhere.
You suppose that’s all anyone wants. To belong. 
A feather soft gust of wind tickles the golden blades of prairie grass as the sun, bleary and tired, starts dipping from the sky. The crickbeets begin their song early, trilling, sensing Lothal’s moons still coyly tucked away, hiding somewhere along the horizon. A smile adorns your face, private and serene, as you bring a bowl of broth up to your lips, humming when the warm liquid meets your tongue. You sigh, contented, taking in the sights before you; how the dusk blurs the aromatic air, making it opaque, the shuttles docked across the way from you casting long purple shadows onto the flat plains, the snowcapped mountains in the distance bordering the cant of the planet’s surface, nestling Jortho in a shallow valley.
You feel calm, at peace, and take another sip.
An easy moment passes, and it’s the last one you get before silence stalks up from behind you.
You don’t notice it at first, like any patient predator, it goes undetected: the white noise, the nothingness— until finally, you do and then suddenly it’s everywhere. On top of you. Smothering you. Goosebumps stipple your skin and you bristle. The insects have stopped chirping. The breeze has stilled. The air hangs dead. 
And then—
Chaos.
You’re hit with a blast of crushing heat, the sheer power of it picking you up off your feet and onto your side, sending your body careening into a nearby structure. Your shoulder takes most of the blow, but your neck still snaps backwards unnaturally, the back of your head colliding with the stone wall behind you with a dull thwack. You let out a groaned cry at the impact, the wind knocked out of your lungs as you crumple to the ground.
For an instant, your vision goes white, stars popping and fusing out in front of your pupils, and it’s like you can feel everything and nothing all at once, hollow but overwhelmed, and all you want to do is close your eyes and drift asleep— Maker that would feel like a luxury, just right here on the damn dirt. And you almost do, you almost let yourself slip under and sink— until you hear a piercing scream from somewhere close. 
Immediately your eyes shoot open, desperately blinking away the blurriness that threatens to over take them, and you try pushing yourself up by the heels of your scraped hands, failing once - twice - before finding your footing. You’re shaky at first, uncoordinated and dizzy and redownloading bipedalism, before that sweet drug of adrenaline starts to course through your veins and finally, finally, you take in your surroundings. 
The ships that once stood across the field are gone, obliterated, and in their place only metal ribcages remain—empty carcasses like dead birds splayed on their backsides, imploded from the inside out, their bits strewn all around you. 
Your breathing comes hard and heavy, fighting down panic, and cloudy eyes search through the thick black smoke billowing up in stacks, trying to pin point the source of the scream you’d heard just moments ago. You cough a strained wheeze, sputtering against the charred air, and wade your way through the debris— it’s only then that you realize the magnitude of the explosion. It’s not just the landing bay, it’s half the kriffing village. The buildings that neighbored the airfield had been decimated, burning roofs and crumbling fixtures, homes collapsing onto themselves, scorch marks and shrapnel branding the outsides of the shanties left standing.
It looks like a battlefield. You’ve seen holovids of this—what war can look like, how it can ruin a people… But you’ve never had to stand in the middle of it, head on. 
Your heart drums against your chest as you break into a hobbled run, desperately scanning the area for any signs of life, up and down, left and right, straining against the waning daylight. It’s then that you hear your name, urgent and frantic, and you whip your head in it’s direction, knees nearly buckling in relief. You immediately recognize your friend Hareem, brandishing her arms at you, waving you over to her. 
“Thank the Maker, you’re alright!” the Balosar cries out, trembling hands finding purchase on your shoulders, bracing you. You don’t know if its for your benefit or her own, but either way you’re grateful for the grounding pressure; for the first time since the initial blast, you feel solid, like you won’t just float away, atomized and weightless. Worried, you look her over. A sliver of fresh scarlet blooms from her scalp, a small line trickling down past her temple, but she otherwise looks relatively unharmed. You grasp onto her wrist, squeezing firmly.
“What the hell happened?” You ask, voice low and pitched, wide fearful eyes drilling into her.
“T-There was a man-” And she shakes her head, mouth clamping shut, deep wrinkles framing her face.
“Hareem,” you reassure, giving her another squeeze. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.
She tries again with a steadying inhale, “I-I saw him. A-a man. He had a device with him, and he set charges, and Maker I don’t know— I don’t know— it went off a-and he ran towards the center of town!” The Balosar is in hysterics, tears spilling down her dirty cheeks, and it takes your brain a moment to catch up, to wrap your mind around the words she’s stuttering out. 
A man. 
Device. 
Charges.
A bomb. This wasn’t an accident; this was an attack—and he’s still kriffing here. You cup her cheeks, thumbs rubbing against the pale skin, smearing away the blood that’s nearly dripped to her chin. Your friend’s gaze is flighty, everywhere and nowhere, and you try giving her a smile, but you’re not quite sure you manage it.
“Hareem? Hareem. Hey, shh, you’re okay. You’re alright…” You peel your eyes off her to glance around hurriedly. “We need to find cover.”
///
You’re holed up in one of the few remaining homes on this side of the encampment, crowded into the small space with three other survivors. All four of you, packed in and silent and petrified. Unsure of any further threat, you stay completely still. Helpless. Laying here, idle, for whatever awaits you behind that feeble, wooden door. You feel like prey for the wicked, just passing the time.
Minutes inch along like this—or maybe its hours; time moves eerily different when you’re attempting to become invisible—and eventually, you almost begin to relax.
Almost.
But a new sound breaks the din, hard to recognize at first, indistinct from all the commotion outside their hut, but you hear it. You all do. The youngest of you, a teenaged Devaronian, grips onto the hem of your shirt, knuckles creasing with anticipation. You tense, spine going rigid. Footsteps. They’re slow, guarded, but they’re getting closer. You bring an arm up, for all the good it’ll do, creating a human shield in front of the boy at your side. Closer. Someone behind you muffles a whimper. Closer. A Bardottan you hadn’t even met until today let’s out the faint whisper of a prayer, lips barely ghosting over the phrases. Closer- 
and then, nothing.
They’re here. You can sense him, see his shadow sweep across the gaps in the entryway. You all hold your breath, as if the air is being syphoned out of the space… And the door is flung open, nearly breaking off it’s hinges as it slams into the inside of the house, shuttering the rickety walls with a jarring bang. 
You don’t know who looks more astonished: you four, or the Mandalorian before you, dripping head to toe in silver plated armor, pointing a blaster directly at your head.
“Where is he?” He asks, hard edged and modulated, and it’s more of a demand than a question—but he lowers his weapon all the same, holstering it at his side. You gape at him, guppying wordlessly. “Volcur X’elo. The bomber. Where?” He hasn’t moved an inch out of the doorframe but he’s still managing to loom over you, completely filling up the archway, shoulders set and impossibly intimidating.
You gulp, finally finding your voice. “In town, i-in the center of town…” Kriff, you had not idea if that intel was good or not, but it’s all you think to say. Seeming satisfied with your answer he turns on his booted heel, cape whipping behind him, leaving just as soon as he arrived. The dust barely has time to settle as the door teeter’s on its hinge, its rusty squeaks filling the void in the Mandalorian’s wake.
“Fuck,” you hiss, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, doubling forward, propping your palms up on your knees.
///
After deliberating it with your group, you all come to the agreement of braving it outside. Better to be out under the open sky than die under a concaving apartment, clambering over each other to get to the exit. After all this, at least your dignity was still partially in tact— normally, you reckon you’d chuckle dryly at that. But you don’t. 
Can’t. 
You lead the pack through the mazelike streets. The sights that once seemed so familiar after weeks of living here become like strangers to you, and you sleepwalk through Jortho, snaking down paths marred by rubble and fallen wreckage— you haven’t seen any bodies, but maybe that isn’t true. Maybe you’re just too scared to notice them. Maybe they’re there, hovering just outside of your peripherals, haunting the corners of your vision… 
You keep your head fixed forward, jaw clenched.
Your feet move on their own like this, only vaguely aware that the red-skinned boy still hadn’t let go of your tunic. You forge on. Have to. You have to. Your only purpose on this kriffing planet was to help these people, to bring them aid, and if that means simply planting one foot in front of the other, then so be it. You take side alleys, double backing here and there, ducking under canopies, looping around yourself, only stopping when you catch a glimpse of beskar, the orange setting sun glinting off the surface of his helmet.
And he’s not alone.
You freeze suddenly, as do the rest, and the Devaronian bumps into you, stumbling under his lanky legs. Some paces in front of you, the bounty hunter has the other man, this Volcur X’elo, by a punishing grip on his shoulders, shoving him forcefully out in front of him; his wrists are bound and he’s fitful without the stabilization of his arms, his feet staccatoed and flailing wildly beneath him as the Mandalorian marches him forward. 
The wind shifts, and on it you can hear the bomber rant madly, only catching snippets of the vile nonsense that spews from him.“- like swine, they are a plague to the system! And they must be purged from this planet, and the next, and the next— every last filthy one!” You spare a glance to Hareem, to find her watching the scene in hypnotized horror, but your eyes snap back at the sound of something maniacal, drawing your attention. It’s laughter. The zealot begins to laugh a twisted, mocking cry that makes you want to vomit. “You might have me in binders Mandalorian, but you’re too late. You’re too late. This isn’t over!” He’s practically giggling, gleeful and demented. Disturbed. “You’ve only found one.”
Your blood runs cold. 
Only one? Oneoneoneone, one what-
The realization hits you with a punch to your gut. He’s only detonated one of his bombs. Somewhere, nearby, there must be another.
Without another word, the Mandalorian whips the smaller man around, pulling him sharply by his collar to collide with his breastplate, completely dwarfing him with his beskar frame. “Where is it, X’elo?” Nothing. Only laughter. High pitched, terrible roars. He tries again, patience ebbing. “The bomb. Now.” X’elo’s head tilts back and he howls another crowing shriek, keeping private his own sick joke, as if clutching a secret to his chest with slimy hands. 
The bounty hunter had heard enough. He clearly wasn’t getting anything more out of him, and with a quick strike, he rears his blaster and pistol whips the terrorist with it. The body drops. Volcur X’elo crumples, unconscious, blood streaming from where he was struck. You hear the Bardottan behind you stifle a cry with her fist. 
And with that, Lothal’s sun disappears completely, stealing away the last of it’s light as it furls into itself, shrinking out of sight. The dark ushers a new wave of dread, creeping over Jortho like a miasma, poisoning the very air.
The Mandalorian wheels around, searching for his heading in the labyrinth of the town. Others have gathered now, poking their heads around corners, stealing glimpses through windows. He turns, his head on a swivel. “Where is your power generator?” he demands, addressing the small crowd, but you’re all too stunned to speak. “Anybody. Generator. Now.” There’s something new in his voice, something muddled, and it takes you a moment to interpret it. It’s desperation, you realize, tinny and deep through his vocoder, and with a surge of adrenaline you move forward, furthering yourself from your group. You swallow. “I-Its this way.” Upon hearing your voice, he spins around, his visor latching on to you, and with a nod you both set out. 
“Watch him,” the Mandalorian growls past his shoulder, stepping over the bounty’s limp body.
///
You’re still not really sure how he knew where it’d be, you wonder to yourself, gravel crunching under foot as you both trudge on, an eery quiet settling over them. You’d say it was a lucky hunch, but judging by the way the Mandalorian carries himself, you doubt luck had much to do with it. 
You had led him to the power generator hub on the other side of the sad excuse for a city, traveling in tense silence, and when you came upon that tall, bulky machine he sprang into action, circling it until he found what he was looking for. The bomb. You stood back, rooted there, and after some grunting and rewiring— or maybe he just hacked at it with a vibroblade, you had no idea; his wide frame engulfed his work and you couldn’t tell what he was up to, all you knew was that his methods proved successful— the man managed to disarm the second device. You had thought you noticed his shoulders release, slumping with relief, after the red flashing lights on the rudimentary interface flickered and then went dark.
And so here you are. The two of you, bathed in the bright light of Lothal’s twin moons, their bellies hanging full in the blue-black night, illuminating the trail of blood staining the dirt beneath your boots as the Mandalorian roughly drags the body by his ankle behind him— through the exploded rubble, through the fragmented lives of the people around you, already displaced and estranged. They’ll all have to move, you think, pack up their lives, or what little is left of them, and relocate. Again. The thought sinks in you like a stone, sobering you. 
Even with the weight of a fully grown man to lug, the bounty hunter is still a few long strides in front of you and your eyes are trained on the unconscious form, taking in the way his mouth lolls open like an animal, his hair matted with thick blood, eyes rolled back into his head. You’re talking out loud before you even realize it.
“How sick do you have to be,” you mumble, transfixed. Your voice, it’s not angry; no, shock has effectively robbed you of that— it’s not anger, but bewilderment. Quivering, broken bewilderment.
“H-How hoodwinked and warped you’d have to be, how disturbed... For you to think like that. To do all... all this...” 
“Hey,” his gruff voice shakes you from your trance, and you blink up at him, tearing your eyes off the body. “Focus,” he urges, and you can only nod dumbly back at him, suddenly feeling a ripple of nausea slither through you.
The ramp to his ship is lowering as they come upon it and you plant yourself at the base, feet seeming to stop on their own accord, and frankly you’re not really sure why you’ve even followed him this far in the first place— always a step behind him as he hauled his bounty all the way through the vestiges of Jortho, across the arid prairie to where he first touched down. Maybe it’s because you feel untethered, unmoored, and all of his steeled surety is like a lighthouse, a beacon, guiding you away from the rocks. 
He heaves X’elo up the ramp and you’re left standing there, staring unseeingly into the durasteel, becoming more and more aware of the ringing in your ears. The longer time passes, the more it’s as if you’re underwater, the background blurring into the foreground, sound gargled and far away. A high pitched buzz pinches your ear drums, and it takes you a moment to realize the Mandalorian is calling out to you, trying to get your attention.
“— Dala.”
Does he sound annoyed? Kriff, you think he might... If you had your wits about you, you might be able to recognize it. But as it stands, you don’t. You’re not here, not all of you. You’re splintered. Suspended.
“Hmm? Sorry, what..?” Your mouth is as dry as Jakku— parched desert tongue darting across your cracked lip, tasting soot and ash and something metallic. Brow furrowed, you touch a shaky finger to the flesh and when you pull it back, crimson red dots your skin. 
Oh, you think, numb. Huh. 
Your eyes skitter back up to the Mandalorian, towering over you, nearly at the apex of the incline, and his stance is broad and his fists are clenched. You’re almost positive he’s glaring down at you through his visor, and you don’t even know the man, can’t even see his damn face, but you can tell he’s peeved— Maker, just how long had you been ignoring him?
A scratched noise comes through his helmet’s vocoder and his next words are clipped, punctuated. “I said, do you have a way off this skug hole?”
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forever-rogue · 4 years ago
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In Name Only - Part 5
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A/N: Hello, my sunshines! Here is the re-write of the original part 5. Hopefully it’s as good as the original, and if it’s your first time reading this, I hope you enjoy!
Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 6k
Warnings: language, period typical sexism and misogyny
IN NAME ONLY SERIES MASTERLIST
MASTERLIST
»»————- ♡ ————-««
Oberyn groaned as he sat up, rubbing away the bits of sleep that were still clinging on from his tired eyes. It was before first light and his rooms were shrouded in darkness, but he knew he needed to get up in order to prepare for his journey. He needed to leave soon in order to make it out of Sunspear before day broke in order to make the long trek that would consist of several long days. 
He hadn’t slept much the evening before, his head swimming with a mixture of different thoughts, but more anything else, he had been all consumed by you. After he had kissed you, he wasn’t sure he had made the right decision, or if he had possibly ruined everything that was building between the two of you. But when you had kissed him, unsure and hesitant at first, but then melted into his touch, he realized that maybe you had wanted this too. You had looked back at him with the absolute sweetest eyes and took it everything in his power not to grab you and pull you back into his rooms then and there.
But no. This wasn’t going to be like that. This wasn’t going to be anything like that. If you wanted this, as he was beginning to think he might as well, he needed to know for sure. He wanted everything to be crystal clear, and at no point would he want to take advantage of you.
He stood up, letting his feet hit the floor with a dull thud, finding himself reluctant to leave again. Something was calling to him, encouraging him to stay, but he knew he couldn’t. There was a job to be done and he needed to do it before addressing whatever was going on within his heart and his mind. Oberyn’s gait was heavy, a sharp contrast to how light his tread normally was, as he crossed the room to his wardrobe and lazily pulled out some clothes to wear. His morning routine was simple, but today it felt overwhelming, most likely because he was unenthusiastic to leave and would rather have stayed. Stayed and spent the time with you.
But a knock came at his door and told him that everyone was waiting on him to come down so they could all leave. Grumbling his acquiescence, he grabbed the few things he planned on taking before exiting his chambers and leaving his bag in front of his door. When he stepped into the hallway, straightening his tunic with a yawn, his tired gaze fell on your door. He slowly walked over, resting his large hand on the wooden door as he debated whether or not to come in. His curiosity got the better of him and he opened the heavy door, slowly, as to not make a sound and disturb your sleep.
Once there was enough of a gap for him, he slipped inside and walked over to your bed. You were bundled up in your blankets, only your head poking out of them, a peaceful, serene expression on your face. A smile crossed his own face as he leaned down, unable to stop himself, and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. A small sound escaped your lips and he worried for a moment that he had woken you, but your eyes remained closed, and you shifted slightly as your hand appeared moved to rest on top of the blankets. He looked at it closely, finding it hard to fight a smile when he saw the wedding band on your finger, the one that matched his.
“I’ll see you soon, sweet girl,” he whispered, gently touching your face, before straightening back up and slowly retreating out of the room and closing your door again. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he grew even more hesitant to leave. This pull, this strange sensation that was washing over and drawing him towards you was getting even stronger. With one last longing look at your door, he started walking down the stairs and out of the palace. He really hoped that this wouldn’t take a whole week and it would be an easy there and back job.
»»————- ♡ ————-««
The journey to Yronwood was an interesting one; it required travel from his home through many different parts of Dorne, all varied and different in cultures and customs. One thing that seemed to be ever present however was the warm, welcoming feeling that was ever present wherever he went. People stopped what they were doing, coming out of their homes and shops to see their prince and greet him. Oberyn was beloved by his people and he loved them in turn. 
Many stopped for even a mere glimpse of the handsome prince, waving and shouting well wishes at him. Wishes of good fortune, health, and a long and happy marriage. He had no doubt many had been eager to see a glimpse of his new bride, but that would all come in time. For now, he was happy to keep you safe and at home, while he handled whatever troubles were brewing in Yronwood. 
The various states of Dorne were something to behold; each boasted a different look and atmosphere and yet it was all harmonic and came together beautifully. Despite having traveled the world, this would always be his favorite place to be - his home. He hoped one that day you would consider it yours too. But that was another thought for another day, when he had time to show you more. Now he needed to focus on weeding out the problem, although he was sure he had an inkling of what was going on.
As soon as Yronwood came into view, an odd sensation settled in his stomach. It was still beautiful, in its own way, but a sharp contrast to the rest of the region. Instead of the vibrancy and openness of many Dornish holds and cities, Yronwood more closely resembled the Northern parts of Westeros. A slight shudder ran down his spine at the thought. While people, namely women, retained the same liberties here as they did throughout Dorne, the reality was vastly different. No one said anything, but it was...a known fact. And as it turned out, every once in a while Doran or Oberyn had to remind them of that little detail. 
“Uncle!” Oberyn was pulled back into attention from the sound of the young man’s voice. He turned and saw his nephew, Quentyn running towards him, flanking by a few others from the castle. He was grinning from ear to ear as he stopped in front of Oberyn’s horse and took the reins while Oberyn slid off.
“My boy,” he wasted no time in wrapping his arms around his nephew, clutching him tightly to his chest. The young boy was almost the spitting image of Oberyn at his; tan and lithe, with a mop of dark curls and soft eyes, and a smile that matched his own. He’d always had a soft spot for his nephew, the only boy that was ever-present in his life; in some ways regarded him as a son rather than a nephew. He pressed a kiss to the top of head, “I’ve missed you. Look at you, you’re practically a man grown.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” Quentyn grinned at him; he looked up this father, naturally, but there was no denying that Oberyn was his hero. They’d always shared a special bond, “I am glad to see you again. And what of your new wife? Are you hiding her away?”
“You will meet her soon enough,” Oberyn promised, “she’s remaining in Sunspear for the time being until I can show her more of Dorne. I figured that would be best for now, and that her first introduction to Dorne should not be with Yronwood. She’ll quite like you - and you’ll like her. She’s very kind.”
“I should be glad to meet her as well,” he grinned as the men started heading towards the castle, “perhaps I can come back home soon for a visit - or better yet, for good. I know Papa thinks I should remain here but I’d like to be home with everyone else…”
“I know,” Oberyn offered his shoulder a firm squeeze, “but for now you must remain here. It’s only for a few more years; I know it seems harsh, but your fostering is almost complete. Besides - you are a Martell. You must not bow to them, you must keep them in line too. What are your words, Quentyn?”
“Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.”
“Exactly,” Oberyn grinned, “never let them take that from you. Have they been treating you well?”
“Yes,” he said as they headed into the dreary keep, “the arms master and maester are kind and knowledgeable. It’s mainly the Yronwoods themselves, Uncle. They’re…”
“Oberyn Martell!” the booming voice was commanding and Oberyn turned on his heel to find its owner.
“Anders Yronwood,” he acknowledged with a slight bow of his head. Anders Yronwood was a tall, portly man with a scarred visage and a receding hairline. He’d seen many battles throughout his lifetime, which left him hardened in looks and personality. Oberyn had always felt there was something off about him, but he never had quite even evidence of anything to prove his claims. Instead he made sure his visits were not too infrequent. The man extended his hand and Oberyn shook it, refusing to be the first to break eye contact, “a pleasure as always. I hope things have been well.”
“Well enough to cause me to wonder why you’ve made your presence known,” he laughed, a loud boisterous thing that caused Oberyn’s skin to crawl, “shouldn’t you be enjoying the company of your new bride?”
“My nephew here informed me that there were some rumors going around,” Oberyn’s hands went to his hips as he made sure to display his trusty dagger, “merchants not getting paid enough and taxes being raised and levied against the poor. All rumors of course, but I just decided to come and make sure everything is in order. There won’t be a problem, will there?”
“Of course not, your highness,” the man’s face pulled into a worried expression for a moment before he laughed and clapped Oberyn on the back, “I’ll have chambers readied for you and your men at once but for now, we’ll get a drink and celebrate the famed Dornish Prince. Now, tell me more about this Northern whore of yours. I know they’re not good for much-”
“I would choose your next words wisely, my lord,” Oberyn’s expression shifted to one of calculated anger as he raised his eyebrows, “I will not hear you refer to my wife as such again.”
“It’s a joke!” Oberyn knew it was anything but a joke, “you know how warm and giving our women are here. The ones from the North just lie there and expect you to do all the work. But I guess it doesn’t matter, does it, as long as you can find release and they can produce a few heirs.”
“I would cease to speak if I were you,” Oberyn stopped dead in tracks as he was almost trembling with anger. Such foul, vile words from a man who called himself fair and just. He was anything but, “I’m not sure if you’re aware that women are people as well? Equal, if not better, no matter where they’re from. They do not exist solely for our pleasure or for the purpose of bearing heirs. Have you forgotten that?”
“I’m just saying,” he held his hands up in mock surrender as Oberyn glared daggers at him, “my second wife was Northern - wasn’t good for much, but managed to give me some sons. Other than that it was-”
“Listen here and listen well,” Oberyn grabbed the lapels of his robe and pulled him close. For once, Anders Yronwood appeared nervous, “you will learn to treat women, and everyone else with some decency and respect, regardless of their station. My nephew will be watching you closely - everything he sees and hears, so do I. Don’t forget where your loyalties lie - House Martell. One word and you will find yourself without a name, a title, or anything you deem so important. I am your Prince, as Quentyn. Remember that.”
His mouth pulled into a thin, tight line as he nodded in silence. He knew better than to tread on the Red Viper; even he wasn’t that foolish. Oberyn let him go before shoving him out of the way; he could feel the eyes of everyone in the hall on him, “of course, your highness.”
“Good,” he stated simply, motioning for Quentyn and a few of his men to follow, “I’ll see you around.”
»»————- ♡ ————-««
The next few days were spent with Oberyn traveling throughout the region, along with some of his most trusted advisors and Quentyn. He'd always tried to instill in him the importance of being there for his people, and taking care of them. Much to his relief, Quentyn had no arguments following in his Uncle's footsteps. 
As it turned out, rumors that the Yronwoods were participating in salacious activities turned out to just be rumors. It didn't mean however, that the people were happy with their rule. Oberyn would make it a point to bring up the peoples' apprehensions; he knew he had to deal with what was going on within the castle walls first and foremost. He noticed more and more that things were off as the days had passed and they had left him with an uneasy feeling. 
More than anything, he'd gotten to the conclusion that he was missing you. It had started off as a slow, underlying feeling, but with more and more time passing, he understood what it was. He still had so much to learn about you, and vice versa, but gods, he already missed your smile and that kind hearted spirit you openly displayed. He couldn't wait to be back in Sunspear.
On this particular evening, the prince had retired to his temporary chambers early, leaving the grand hall before the sun had even set. He was feeling restless and growing listless the longer his stay in Yronwood grew. He'd gone for a walk earlier that day, and spoken with some townspeople, but that had only taken up so much of his time. 
A heavy sigh passed his lips as he stoked the fire in the corner to provide some light and warmth. It was almost laughable; this was the only part of his kingdom that wasn't light and airy.  This was cold and dreary and the lack of light and life made his heart heavy. But it was no matter, he reminded himself, he would be home soon enough.
He settled into the small, uncomfortable and uninviting bed and grabbed his book. If nothing else he'd have something to occupy his mind. 
And for a while, it worked. At first his thoughts had kept drifting back to you and Sunspear. He wondered what you were up to, if you'd had full, happy days. He couldn't imagine you shut away and hidden like he currently was. Maybe you liked to read too - maybe at night he could read to you or you to him. Still so many mysteries that would need answers. He hoped one day that he would get them all.
As he allowed himself to concentrate on his book, a quiet, almost timid knock came at his door. Raising a brow, he decided against answering it, thinking that perhaps it wasn't intended for him after all. But then it came again, but less timid this time, followed by a quiet, "y-your highness?"
A look of confusion crossed his features as he got up from the bed and made his way to the door. He opened it with slight hesitation as he spied a young girl on the other side. She wore a thick, dark robe and a nervous expression as she met his eyes. He stepped to the side as he let her in and cast a glance down the hall.
"What is your name?" he asked, shutting the door as she looked at him with wide doe eyes, "how can I help you?"
"I don't have a name," she answered softly, "and it doesn't matter. I am a gift...from Lord Anders for your pleasure. Whatever you like, My Prince, I will do to you or for you."
"Why would he send you?" Oberyn ran a hand over tired face as he internally groaned. He knew exactly what Yronwood was up to. He shook his head to himself, "did he force you? Threaten you if you didn't come?"
"O-of course not, my prince," her face faltered for a moment as she reached up and ran her hands over his broad chest. She looked young, so young, and despite her assertion that she wanted to be there. He had a feeling that while she might not have been averse to him, she was nervous, "it is an honor and privilege to pleasure the famous Prince of Dorne." 
He sucked in a breath as she pushed his robe off of his shoulders. He couldn't  feel the inner turmoil within him start to rear up. While he wasn’t normally one to pass up such an offer, he couldn’t in good conscience have the young woman. She clearly wasn’t up to this on her own merits and he would never take advantage of another; Oberyn would be in his grave before he did that. He took a step back and shook his head. He wasn’t going to do this anymore; he was, in some odd sense, already committed to you. You’d never even told him that you wanted more than a friendly relationship, but he couldn’t help his mind from wandering back to you. 
“Please do not feel obligated to do anything of the sort,” he insisted, swallowing the lump in his throat. She pushed the woolen robe from her shoulders and let it fall into a small heap on the cold stone. Oberyn couldn’t help but look her over, immediately surprised by the fact that she was bare underneath. He knew it didn’t matter what he did with her, technically, since you’d both agreed that either of you could do whatever you wanted with whomever. She took a step closed and put a delicate hand on his cheek. 
“Please,” she insisted with an odd glint in her eyes. Part of him was conflicted but before knew what was happening, something came over him and his hands found her hips as he pushed her towards the bed. She easily complied and laid on her back as Oberyn loomed over. His hands were on her sides as he bent down and kissed with a deep hunger. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close to her, nervously kissing him back.
Before it could go too far, to the point of no return, Oberyn caught himself and looked down at her. That’s when it hit him - she wasn't you. He stopped immediately and moved off the bed, shaking his head furiously. The young girl was so startled by his sudden actions that a flush of warmth crossed her features as she worried she had committed some wrong.
"My Prince," she stammered nervously, grabbing the blanket and covered herself up, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do anything wrong. I-I…"
"No," he held up his hand and picked up the discarded robe, gently handing it back to her, "you've done nothing wrong. I'm afraid the fault is on me."
“Is everything alright?” she made quick work of dressing herself before offering him a timid smile, “I can...send someone else, if I did not please you…”
“No,” he insisted as he gently brushed back her hair, helping her tie the robe, “I won’t take advantage of this situation...besides that, it appears my heart seems to lie with my wife at this time.”
“Your wife,” she smiled slightly at the thought, “she must be very lucky to call you her husband. You’re a good man, my Prince. Much better than the pigs around here-”
As soon as her last words left her lips, a look of surprise crossed her features. Clearly, she hadn’t meant to voice her thoughts out loud. 
“I believe I am the lucky one,” did you feel the same? He hoped you did, “tell me one thing. Did Anders Yronwood threaten you if you did not come here? What did he say?”
“He…” she looked at him, searching his eyes to make sure it was safe to confide in him. He answered with a small nod and encouraged her to go on, “he has several women he favors...women that are not his wife. He considers it a gift to share them with visitors. If we do not...if we do not do as we are told...we can be punished.”
“Punished?” his brows shot straight up.
“I’ve seen it a few times,” she whispered, “they’ll get beaten until they are left a mess. I-I can’t go back, please, don’t let me go back. Not tonight. He’ll hurt me too if he thinks I've displeased you or we haven't done anything."
"Its alright," Oberyn promised her, his blood already boiling with anger. He was glad he came - apparently his little message to Yronwood hadn't quite gotten through to him. Oberyn would make sure that he received it. He must have been extremely stupid or brash in order to think he could get away with sending his gift in such a manner, "go to your chambers, and remain there. I'll make sure you're safe - now and always. If anything ever happens again you or anyone in this castle, you are to let my nephew Quentyn know. He'll get word to me and I'll be here to help however I can. You mustn't be afraid, you've got me as a friend now."
"I don't know how I could ever thank you," her eyes were closed with tears as she couldn't help but her arms around him. He hugged her tightly and offered her a few more well wishes before opening the door to her, "you really are as they say. A good, kind, and just Prince. And handsome at that. Thank you again. I hope our paths again, and that I can meet your wife, preferably under better circumstances."
"As do I," he agreed, "until our paths cross again."
He watched her go, making sure she was safe and out of sight before closing the door and locking it behind him. He sat on the edge of the bed and let out a long, wary sigh. He couldn't help himself from wondering what it would be like to kiss you in such a manner. Would you be receptive? Would you be eager and happy? Or perhaps you wanted to keep him at bay. Whatever life decided to throw at you both, he supposed he would discover your true desires soon enough.
For now, he had more pressing matters to attend. He was going to make sure Anders Yronwood knew exactly who he was dealing with. He grabbed the book he had been reading and tossed it onto the table before sliding back into bed and pulling the covers up and bundling up.
He quickly fell into a deep, restless slumber. He tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, all of his thoughts drifting back to you. He wondered if you could feel it, all his warm and tender thoughts all the way back home in Sunspear. It was a comforting thought to know that you were both looking at the same moon and falling asleep under the same stars. It made the world seem that much smaller. It almost felt like you were there with him, at his side where he wished you were.
The thought alone of seeing you again, that sweet smile and lovely face, was enough to finally get him off to sleep. 
»»————- ♡ ————-««
If Anders Yronwood was a gruesome and horrible overlord, his son Cletus was his mirror in every worse and still worse. It was a small solace that Cletus was not the heir to Yronwood, but rather that fell to his sister, Gwyneth. Oberyn had only met her on a few occasions, but he knew she was miles above the rest of her family. It was fortunate that Dorne did not follow the traditional customs of the rest of the Seven Kingdoms and only allowed male heirs. 
The Great Hall was bustling and loaded with rowdy people, causing an uneasy feeling to well up in Oberyn's stomach. It might have seemed lively, but once he looked closer, he could see that the only people having any semblance of a good time were the men of the keep. 
He rolled his eyes to himself as he grabbed a quiet seat at the end of the hall, attempting to keep hidden in the shadows. But it was no use - it continually proved to be a challenge when tried to pretend he was not the Prince when he was so easily recognizable. 
"Oberyn Martell," he was starting to hate the sound of his own name as Cletus took a seat next to him. He grimaced slightly as he turned to face the sudden interruption, "a pleasure as always."
"Cletus," he acknowledged, attempting to cut off the situation as quickly as he could. Cletus looked around and quickly flagged down one of the servants, waving her over obnoxiously as a nervous, vacant expression crossed her gestures.
"Go and get the biggest and best plates of food for myself and the Prince," he commanded as she refused to meet his eyes and nodded in understanding, "now."
"Are you always like this with people, Cletus?" 
"Only with people that deserve it," he leaned back in his chair and shrugged, clearly disinterested, "she's a kitchen wench. There's really not much to it."
"She's a person," a frown graced his features as he shook his head internally, "all people deserve to be treated with respect and kindness. What if she'd spoken to you in such a manner?"
"She wouldn't dare. I am her Lord-
"And yet still just a person," Oberyn snapped, "one who can be made to bend the knee with a single word from me."
Cletus remained silent as he stared anywhere but Oberyn's face. The silence was awkward and tense, easily cut with the dullest of knives. The Princes' fingers danced around the hilt of his dagger but he managed to stay his hand. One wrong move and it would cause an uproar. If it wouldn't have been such a risky move, he was half tempted to eradicate the problem then and there.
"Here you are my Lord, my Prince," the young woman had made a nervous return as she put two full plates of food in front of the men. They were overflowing with food that looked dry and sad and bland. There was so much flavor and spice available, yet this looked anything but. Oberyn thanked her gently while Cletus remained silent, "if there's nothing else, I'll attend to my other duties."
Before she could make her escape, Cletus grabbed her wrist and pulled her down to his level. She yelped in surprise as she tried to pull out of his clutches on instinct, "I'll see you in my chambers this evening. Don't be late like the last time or I'll have to punish you again. You don't want that, do you?"
"N-no, my Lord," she stammered nervously as he let go of her and she stumbled backwards from his tight grip. Oberyn's rage flared up when he spotted what appeared to be fading bruises along her shoulders and neck, "I will be there and on time.”
“Good,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand while Oberyn pushed his plate away. His already meager appetite had all but diminished. Cletus took a large bite, ignorantly unaware of the wrath that he had just brought upon himself, “you have to teach them...they’re not good for much else.”
“You’ve laid your hands on her,” it wasn’t so much a question as it was a direct statement. Cletus nodded lightly but kept shoving his mouth full of food, “you require her to warm your bed as well? How many others are there?”
“Maybe a dozen or so,” he shrugged, “we like to rotate through them. The one you were sent last night was one of the newest. A special treat.”
Unable to control himself any longer, Oberyn quickly pulled his dagger out and stabbed into the table between the two men, right near Cletus’ left hand. His mouth hung open at the action as he nervously looked at his Prince. 
“If I ever hear again of you touching any man, woman, or child in this castle, or anywhere, it will be the last time you do anything. You will not harm them, or require them to sleep with you,” he spat out as he grabbed his collar and pulled him close, “you will treat everybody, regardless of their position or station in life with respect. This is the Dornish way - the only way. I will have eyes on you and your family and your entire family. Do you understand me, boy?”
“You wouldn’t dare-”
“Oh,” Oberyn’s lips curled up in a devilish smile, “I would. Do you really want to find out what I will do? They call me the Red Viper for a reason - but I’m not afraid to resort to calling in the Boltons to flay you alive. My word is law around here and it’s time you and your filthy father learned to respect it.”
“You have no power,” he hissed nervously, casting a glance at the dagger that could have easily ended his life. The Great Hall had grown silent as all eyes were trained on the two men, “your brother rules.”
“Aye,” Oberyn nodded, “but it just so happens I rule too. I am the Prince of Dorne, boy, and Doran’s most trusted advisor. But again, if you want to take your chances…”
“Let me go,” he insisted in panic. 
“Remember where your loyalties lie,” Oberyn’s voice was quiet and dangerously low as he leaned in so only Cletus could hear him, “House Martell. We are your power - you will do as well say or your entire family can go off to the North...maybe even the wall. This is Dorne, and you will respect our way of life. A name and a title doesn’t keep you safe; not here. I will personally come and dole out justice if I need to. My nephew will be watching closely - one wrong move and I will hear it. You even think about touching as much as a hair on his head, you will have not just my wrath to fear, but all of Dorne’s. If I ever hear of anything like this again, you will rue the day. Do I make myself absolutely clear?"
"Yes," he whispered quietly as Oberyn grabbed his dagger and held it to the man's throat. Be pressed just enough to make an ident into his skin but not hard enough to draw blood, "crystal clear, your highness."
"Good," he insisted before pulling away and shoving Cletus away. Oberyn sighed  heavily as he got up and started to storm away. Before he left the Hall, he turned around and held up his arms. Every eye in the house was still on him, "and let this be a lesson and warning to everyone here. If I so much hear a whisper or breath of anything happening that goes against the laws set forth by House Martell, you will face our justice. Here in Dorne everyone is equal and will be treated with respect and dignity. If you have a problem with that, feel free to leave or you will personally face my blade."
There was small murmuring of acknowledgement as Oberyn left the hall, standing tall and proud. As much as he hated flaunting rule or power over anyone, sometimes he knew it needed to be done; equality for all was something he was extremely passionate about. They were lucky in some ways, to have him as their Prince. While he could be firm and violent, he was tame compared to some of the other Lords and rulers throughout the Kingdoms. He might have been the Red Viper, deadly and dangerous, but he was also fair and just as long as no one tread on him.
As soon as he reached an empty spot in the hall, he leaned against the wall and let out a long sigh, hiding his tired face in his hands. He’d seen more than enough and was ready to be gone from this foul place. All he could think about was making it back home to Sunspear, back home to you. 
“Uncle!” Quentyn ran up to him, barely able to contain the little smirk on his face, “is everything okay? I heard the last bit of your little speech.”
“This place is dreadful,” he sighed as Quentyn nodded in agreement, “of all the places your father had to choose to sequester you, it had to be here. I understand his reasoning, and yet the idea still makes me ill. We’ll have you home soon, I promise. For now, I want you to be our eyes and ears here. I know it’s a lot to ask, but do you think you can handle it?”
“Of course,” he grinned and nodded eagerly, “I’m always excited to help however I can.”
“Good boy,” he pulled him into a tight hug before kissing the top of his head, “you make us all very proud.”
“My Prince,” one of Oberyn’s men found him, a concerned look on his face, “Anders Yronwood has heard of your little outburst and he’s not happy…”
“I don’t care,” Oberyn insisted, “if he has a problem with our rules, he can leave. My word is law. Now, let us pack up and be rid of this horrid place. I want to get home and back to my wife."
"I can have everyone ready to leave within a few hours," Oberyn gave him a thankful squeeze on his shoulder, "and we'll get you back home to Sunspear as quickly as possible, your highness."
"I am forever in your debt," the idea of you waiting at home for him was enough to cast a warm feeling all over his body. He was more than ready to see you again - to kiss you again - everything. If nothing else, his time in Yronwood had been enough to give him a sense of clarity and peace. He really did want to try with you, he wanted to see you. The revelation was enough to send him in a tale spin.
"Aye," he grinned at his Prince, "we'll get you back to her post haste. Besides, the Lady made us swear to bring you back home safely. She's eager to have you back, no doubt."
"I am eager to be back with her as well," Oberyn's grin threatened to break his face in half, "and back with some decent company. Until later then."
"Unbowed, unbent, unbroken."
"Unbowed, unbent, unbroken." 
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monsoonblooms12 · 4 years ago
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Priyotomo (Ethan Ramsey x f!MC)
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Summary: The Last Day at Amazon and Ethan's first day back at Boston from Ethan and Pooja's POV
Priyotom(o/a): (Bengali) Dearest, Most Beloved
A/N: Time for another hopeless attempt at poetry!! Anyway, this is my take on Dr Ethan Ramsey running to the Amazons. I really hope that this is not absolute crap and makes so sense🧡
Thank you so much to Simone for Pre-reading! Love you Gurl🧡
If you enjoyed the story, please like it, leave a comment or reblog. Your feedback keeps me going🤎
Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Pooja Sharma)
Word Count: around 1.8K
Rating: General
Category: Angst
Warnings: (Very Brief) Mentions of blood, fainting and drinking
Title Inspo: Priyotomo Hai - Rabindra Sangeet (Rabindranath Tagore's composition)
OTHER WORKS
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Pooja
16 years.
The date was displayed with vivid eloquence by the woody beige cubes that adorned the desk, posing a match with the minimalism of the room.
It was a preposterous fact.
Glassy ambers switched perspective in a progressive motion, and they interpreted the solitary shine of the table lamp on the transparent surface.
Four glowing smiles, two tiny toddlers sat on their parents' lap.
It does not feel surreal. Neither a tale of a bygone era.
It was not her past. It was her present, her life's gears were turned by this very photograph.
Her bracelet adorned hand held it close to her heart, which beat in a meteoric rhythm.
The cacophonous tunes from the fiesta painfully pierced through her reverie, cajoling her to close the mahogany doors that lead to her cocoon.
The flamboyant kantha stitched lehenga proved to be burdensome to carry.
With ponderous steps, Pooja settled down on the couch, pulling her feet to herself.
She wanted to be ten again. Not eleven.
Terminate the time when she could be that blithe girl, rolling dices with her mother.
But there was a specific reason why the reminisces came back stronger than any usual day.
Somewhere in the remote land, in a cholera-stricken district, a summery blue-eyed man spent his days in seclusion.
And occupied the chambers of her cerebral hemispheres.
What was the pain of being left alone with only emotions as a companion without as much as a message?
She wiped her cheek, only to discover the black of her eyeliner now adorning her fingers.
She had been crying.
When? She could not feel the tears that left smokey meanders on the map of her face.
The heartbreak and the circumstances had numbed her feelings. All she wanted was an embrace.
Why did his peach lips mark her as his if this was the end in sight?
She refused to accept it. The end.
She placed her foot down, not feeling the pierce of a pin fallen down against her skin.
Drops of scarlet marked her track as she retouched the smear of her face.
Time to go and socialize.
Ethan
Of everything to look at in the shiny cellular, his eyes now traced the pristine form of the lady who now inhabited every one of his senses.
The comely picture made her look ravishing and the adamant neurons started pulling out manila folders with her memories kept in them.
No. He cannot.
The fiery golden liquid disappeared faster than it had been poured.
He had found himself on the crossroad of whether to type out the words that played in a loop in his mind or not.
I miss you!
He always chose the latter.
He had already given her a false hope.
Of a future of them.
He did not want to do it again.
Only now he realizes that it was a hope he had given himself as well when he first took that sacred form of hers into his arms.
And that he ran away. Like a coward.
Ethan Ramsey the coward.
Who could not fight for them.
Who could not fight for her.
Who could not fight for Lo-
No.
He did not let the word complete. The very thought was dangerous.
Throwing the classy cylinder he had been holding with a deathly grip, he poured the last bit of that glass bottle in him.
And walked over hurriedly, the tiny glass pieces stabbing him, to again begin the reset.
One which would never complete.
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Next Day
Pooja
The ethereal moon spread out the beams of serenity all over the ceremonious night.
It was a lively affair. Merrymaking and cultural programs went on, as she stood amidst the cheery atmosphere with a sombre expression.
In front of Pooja, was the masterfully sculpted idol of the Mother Goddess, standing majestically as the centrepiece of the celebration. She was the epitome of power, the Mahisasura Mardini.
The recollections of an unforgettable past come as paper-planes drifting in a gentle air, carrying the playfulness, a child's happy smiles. A time when her mother would take Pooja to the mythological lands through her words, and they would get lost like flying butterflies in fairytale land.
The tunes of Bengali music float in the gentle air, and she hums along. The first song her mom had taught her, also for a Durga Puja function. Her mom was deeply rooted in all of them, the culture of Bengal kept alive by her. She was the reason why Pooja could become a part of a community she takes pride in.
Even now, so many years later, things don't change. They hold on to these roots like they are holding onto their life, not letting them disappear.
It feels like holding onto her, keeping her alive.
Recreating a small piece of her favourite Kolkata in Bhopal.
But the aura of calm hid like the clouds covering the sun's shine. The piercing pain of heartbreak came back, the wound untreated.
The soft sand of her life's hourglass prickles, solitary grains floating to join their siblings. The wish of them defying gravity and going back to bring the 10th year of her life had never been so strong as it was now.
The heavy jewellery tugged at her ears, letting her know their presence and the styled hair gave her a throbbing headache.
Her tiredness and exhaustion, now fuelling back in her veins refusing to let her bring back that sense of peace she experienced moments ago.
Around her people wore phoney smiles. All they cared about was unimportant Tommy rot. Not a single one of them stepped back from criticizing the others behind their backs.
It was a saga of inflated egos, of constant competition, to make the next person look inferior.
She was tired.
Of people running away, Of abandonment, Of hopes getting dashed.
Why did his thoughts keep coming back? After all, he did make it clear, didn't he?
But did he really succeed? Did his efforts head? Did his heart finally give in to his relentless demand?
Did he really forget her?
All the messages that lay not replied, unheard voicemails, she was sure he had.
But that colour of his he left on her?
The piece of his heart that was protected by her?
Would he be able to forget them?
An earthen lamp flickered in front of her, bud she did no rush to save it.
If it goes out, then let it.
Just like the never-ending load shedding of her life.
But it didn't.
It was a wish, a hope that kept it alive.
The sweet nothings he had whispered to her, the gentle kisses he lined on her forehead.
They had promised her forever.
His being enveloped her, she doubted if it would ever break.
The hope of him & her flickers every now and then, just like the earthen lamp.
But did it go off?
It couldn't.
Because there was no wind strong enough to extinguish it.
The possibility of him and her.
The realization and a blackness hit her at the same time.
And as she fell, her mind held on to only it.
The possibility of him and her.
Ethan
If the Great Thinkers from BCs before were asked if going to a beer garden after spending 2 months in another continent and a 13hr long flight was a sensible thing to do, they would have watched the questioner in bewilderment.
And he agreed. He was not being sensible, not even 1%.
The urge to see her, to gaze at her moonly face, to know that she okay.
It had never been so strong. He felt his mind would give up on him if he could not locate her today.
Not that he had stopped the forgetting process, absolutely not.
It was just a solace, a bandage to the scars he had given himself.
That she would be okay even if he was not there with her.
Focus fixed on keeping his gaze as unhurried as possible, he looked around, putting the well-trained ears and eyes to work.
And then he saw them.
All her friends clustered at a table, merrily clinking beer bottles and sharing happy glances. His eyes pierced into the scene, but he could not locate her.
A step or two brought him close, the desperateness making his heart go crazy.
But the conclusion shattered every bit of sense and calm, dissipated the hope of getting to see here.
She was not here.
His face fell like someone who had lost the thing they hold the closest to their heart.
She, really, was not here.
He really wanted to ask the residents sitting at the table in question, to get some, any, news on her.
But his rational mind still existed, and it was the only thing that stopped him from going haywire.
She was not here.
He took out the notorious cuboid chiming in his pocket, full of satirical typed phrases his cerebrum refused to decrypt.
But it was adamant to get his attention.
A scoff escaped like a habit.
As if anyone could be powerful enough to take his attention away from her.
He was caught in a maze of her memories, his time in the continent thousands of kilometres away and the ghoul of feelings chasing him deeper into it, making him yearn for her solace, the moistness of a forlorn kiss on his forehead, the gentle swipe of a thumb to take his tears away.
His way was lost in there, every turn making him end up more challenged. But even if he did not want to, he had to find the way out.
His soul was like a thorn who could only hurt the tender flower that she was.
What he did not realize was that she was a rose, her being was amidst thorns.
She had the power to beautify them.
The click of the turn-on sound, brought him back to the piece of work his fingers were creating on the light emanating screen.
And in seconds that passed too fast, he saw his heart's treasure,
She was here.
Not in footsteps & whispers.
She was here.
Not in touches and kisses.
She was here.
Not in muscle and bone.
But in labyrinths of his heart, in filmstrips of his memory, in sensations that made him go wild,
She was here.
(With him forever, she was not the one to leave his side)
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PS: I HC the end of 1st year of their residency being in Sept-Oct, which is the time of Durga Puja in India. And since Poo is half Bengali, and she never misses any tradition involving her mom's side of the fam, so she would not have been at Boston then. (Or take it as an excuse to increase angst potential) Anyway, Thank you so much for reading and I hope you have a great day ahead! Love, Manamee🧡.
Tags (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed or if I forgot you I feel like my brain has short-circuited and I forgot someone):
Perma: @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @udishaman @aestheticartsx @twinkleallnight @schnitzelbutterfingers @sophxwithers @sweatyrysconnoisseur @nikki-2406 @choicesfanaf @trrfanaddict @starrystarrytrouble @gardeningourmet @parkbarks @mvalentine @lovablegranny @mercury84choices @helloayz
Open Heart (All fics and edit): @lucy-268 @maurine07 @bellcat2010
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@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics
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ukcyo · 4 years ago
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sehnsucht.
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❦ summary ; as all of you wait to reach your destination, reiner and you are entangled in each other’s arms. there isn't any other place you'd feel at home than here, lying next to him.
➳ pairing ; reiner braun x reader
➳ genre ; angst, hurt/comfort, tinge of fluff
➳ warnings ; spoilers for chapter 129 and beyond, mentions of death
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Slumber was meant for serenity and comfort, a brief escape from the disappointing (in your case—devastating) fact that was reality. Yet, this world remains as cruel and sadistic as ever, placing you into the realm of nightmares in order to prohibit you from even enjoying an ounce of rest.
Seeing the sea painted red, millions of lifeless bodies floating aimlessly, was enough to blast you awake.
Cold sweat overtakes you as your chest heaves rapidly, the horror of what you saw still vividly fresh in your mind. It makes you reel, eyes moving frantically as you remain unaware if this was reality or not, your heart pounding so hard it was as if it was going to explode.
But as soon as your eyes land on the man lying next to you, arm protectively wrapped around your waist, your body immediately relaxes.
Reiner’s eyes are shut close, his lips slightly parted as small huffs of breath consistently escape from between them. His expression was peaceful, which was something that greatly contrasted the sorrow and desolation that was frequent on his features from the moment you finally saw him after four years. You can’t help but feel a bit of joy and relief at noticing this, for it had been a while since you’ve seen him so serene and calm, as if the arduousness of life had failed to penetrate him. Seeing him like this was enough to tell you that what you saw was just a nightmare.
Seconds later, however, he begins to stir, eyes slowly opening to reveal their gleaming hazel color. You must have woken him up due to your rustling.
Reiner’s eyes immediately fall onto you, haziness still deeply laced into them due to the fact that he was still half-asleep. Your heart leaps when you feel his hand softly rub circles into your waist, the gesture bringing great comfort to you. Instinctively, you turn your body towards him, wanting to feel this as long as possible. His warmth and affection was the only thing keeping you together at the moment. It was the only thing preventing you from thinking just how plausible your nightmare was.
Yet, as soon as you do this, Reiner’s hands gently clutch your cheeks, tilting your head upwards. His eyebrows are furrowed in immense concern, the sleepiness present in his eyes now all gone.
“What’s wrong? You’re shaking...”
Curse his perceptiveness. 
And curse you for not noticing that you were still deeply bothered.
“I...It’s nothing,” you reassure quietly, hoping to everything that your voice doesn’t betray you. You close your eyes as you rest the weight of your face on the hands that continued to caress your cheeks, focusing on completely calming yourself by the utter warmth and care emitted by them. Reiner’s hands were calloused and rigid, most likely stemming from all the strain and battles they were subjugated to. But despite that, they managed to make you feel like you are right where you belong.
“I’m sorry for waking you up,” you followed up, guilty over your actions. He was probably really tired and that brief sleep would have helped him a lot, “I know how exhausted and worn out you are.”
He feels a pang of shame from your apology. Even back then, during your training days and well into joining the Survey Corps, you had always managed to look through him like transparent glass. Despite how well Reiner acted as an older brother, carefully crafting his persona, you knew it was all an act. You knew how tired he got, how much he often wanted to break down and cry from both the hidden guilt and stress that came from the crimes in pursuit of completing their mission. And each time you noticed, you were there to comfort him. You always looked out for him, for his wellbeing, and always put his needs above yourself. Before he knew it, he was always crying to you about how tired he was, how he didn’t realize how difficult this all really was. Even if you didn’t know what he was really talking about, you never failed to listen, giving him the advice that allowed him to continue moving forward.
You were a savior, someone who always managed to give him a brief taste of solace. He grew intoxicated and soon, he wasn’t only falling in love with the way you gave him brief peace. He fell in love with your voice, the way your cheeks would rise when you threw a solid, ecstatic grin towards his way, how your eyes twinkled under the moonlight--he fell in love with you and the way you made him feel. It blinded and cursed him, because his love for you further tore him in half. And through this all, through all the conflict and inner turmoil, he never even thought of what you were going through.
And yet, four years later, during the end of the world, as both of you lay on this bed, entangled in each other’s arms, your cheeks snuggly resting against the palm of his hand, you never changed. Even after feeling the rapid rate of your heartbeat, your body shaking in fright, you still put him first. You thought about his wellbeing instead of your own.
How selfish and undeserving he was.
“[y/n] please... Please don't do that, I want you to tell me what's wrong," he pleads, tears already accumulating in his eyes, "You always think about how I feel, but you never think about your own."
You stiffen as you open your eyes to stare at Reiner in shock. Your heart sinks as you once more see guilt and self-loathe painted across his features, his staple expressions. The past four years that you shared away from each other has truly scarred and battered him in such a ghastly manner.
You clasp his hands that continue to tenderly encage your cheeks.
"I'm alright, I promise. It was just some stupid nightmare," you reassure with a tranquilizing tone. Yet, even after saying so, you can still clearly see the despondency in his expression. You can see the poison of diffidence littered all over his eyes, the tears that were still crumpled around their rims only further magnifying it.
He was suffering so much.
"You still don't believe me," you admit sadly, eyes downcast to prevent yourself from also tearing up, "Reiner, I know I already told you this but I'm much more selfish than you give me credit for. Even back then, I... A major reason onto why I was always there to comfort you was because it made me feel important, that my life was more than just constant danger. I wanted to keep that to myself, to keep you to myself. I never even once suggested you try telling the others about what you were feeling, because I wanted you to continue to look at me like I was the only light of your life. Because everytime you looked at me like that... I feel like the future is brighter than it seems to be."
His eyes widen as you bite your lip in pure, utter shame. Admitting this part of yourself burned you much more than you thought it would.
"I love you, Reiner, and I always will. That's why I always prioritize you and your feelings. That's why I could never completely hate you after you betrayed us all those years ago, no matter how much I should've," you confess breathlessly, "But to say that I do so selflessly is a lie in itself. I'm not that good of a person, and I honestly think none of us are. This cruel world makes sure of that."
You finally have the courage to look at him again, telling yourself that you'll accept the hurt and betrayed expression that will be present on his face. After all, you just shattered the idealized perception he had of you.
To your surprise, you were met with a genuinely delighted smile instead.
It was as if something heavy was lifted off of Reiner's chest after hearing you tell him all of those hidden thoughts. He feels extremely light, the exquisite taste of euphoria that he hasn't felt in such a while being so vividly present on his tongue.
You didn't love him out of pity. You love him because his presence gives you joy and satisfaction.
"Thank you. I'm... I'm so happy."
You're speechless, completely caught off guard from this unexpected reaction.
"Wh- I don't understand," you stammer, thoughts in disarray, "I just admitted to you that I-"
"You love me," Reiner reiterates with a much more cheerful tone than usual, "You love me because of who I am and how I make you feel. You don't love me because you think I need it."
You realize the reason behind his ecstatic reaction with your confession. Seeing Reiner so undeniably happy also made you feel similar sentiments, but the fact that he thought of your love in such a completely different way also planted a small seed of disappointment.
Your hand leaves his hand to caress his cheek instead, the small hairs that formed his goatee slightly tickling your palm.
"I never thought of you as a charity case," you whispered with a tone that sounded more pained than you intended, "I didn't fall in love with you because of your pain. I would hate myself if I did."
His tears finally spills over, its path down his cheeks being cut short by your hand.
If only things were different. If only they didn't turn out this way. He would've--
"I wish I married you beforehand," Reiner admits, "That way, when I end up dying from trying to save the world now, I wouldn't have any regrets. Because half of me would have continued living in you."
There it was. The toxic substance of lamentation. You felt the same, having the same thoughts over and over again for the time after learning of the truth behind the walls and what Reiner and the others had to go through. What if, if only, if only you didn't do this, what if you did that. It was a never ending cycle of pain, grief, and hurt that damaged you beyond mention. But as time passed, so did those emotions, and you found yourself accepting that the damage had been done. All you can do now is move on with the present and do better.
Reiner had never broken out of that cycle and you'd be damn to let him continue being in it.
"How do you know you will die," you question, "It's not like it's set in stone. We can still do it, we can still get married after all of this is over. All you have to do is survive. You have to fight to live as much as you can. I know I will, for you."
He gasps in surprise before his expression softens after internalizing your words. The Warrior was finding himself getting lost and intoxicated in the look of hope and adoration in your eyes, just like he did back then. You are a drug that attaches to him like glue and he will always embrace it full-heartedly.
"So let's survive for each other. Let's survive for a future we both deserve."
Reiner couldn't even bear to fathom what kind of emotions surged through him when the most heavenly smile etched across your lips after saying those words of promise. He felt like he was basking in the presence of a goddess, because it was almost impossible someone like you are real. Someone as ethereal and lovely as you can't possibly exist on this Earth. Yet here you are, hand wrapped around his cheek, saying you'll survive so you can still marry him.
"Can I kiss you," he timidly requests, voice barely above a whisper. He wanted more of your touch, your essence to envelop him whole, but a part of him still feels so unworthy of it.
A small, disbelieving chuckle escapes from you. You thought he would never ask.
"Please."
In an instant, Reiner guides your head closer to his until his lips finally meets yours. His lips were still as soft as they were four years ago, the sweetness and elation they provided you filled up the crevices of your soul. There was nothing on this earth that can defeat the way Reiner's lips felt against yours. There was no force that can match the passion and fervor that was present in the way his lips moved against yours, the action itself telling you just how vast his love for you was.
As exhilarating kissing Reiner was, you were more ecstatic over what this kiss meant to both of you. It was his promise, his promise to you that he will do his best to survive. The way that both of you are in a current liplock, joined as one, demonstrated his vow to make it out of this alive in order to join both of your lives together in marriage.
You wish this would never end.
You wish time wasn't so inevitable.
Reiner slowly parts from you after a while, his eyes looking at each and every feature on your face. He engraves the way you look right now in his mind, the memory of it already being one of his most treasured.
His thumb gently scrapes away at your cheekbones, as if to take something away. You didn't realize that you were crying.
"I will love you even after death. But you're right, I don't have to die so soon," Reiner confesses with sincerity, before returning to wrap his arms around your form once more. He flushes you against his chest as he places a loving kiss on the top of your head.
"I promise you. We'll both survive."
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hellooo !! this is my very fic/ one-shot made on this site :'^ i hope you enjoy it as much as it was both fun and hurt to write lol
i'm still trying to navigate through tumblr and how to use it so i hope you bear with me !! thank you once again <33
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sunnydeviant · 4 years ago
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Yearning (Reed900)
This fic is on AO3!
There was one thing in the Zen Garden he had created on his own, started from scratch with each line of code carefully written by the android himself. It was the thing that made him look forward to stasis.
(Inspired by the song "I Wanna Be Yours" by the Arctic Monkeys and the Detroit: Evolution Reed900 edit with the same song by Octopunk Media. In addition, I took Zenvin from DE but this isn't a DE fic)
Nines, nowadays, is almost always eager to enter stasis.
As an android of the RK line, it was seen as necessary to do. Connor, an RK800 and his predecessor, had to do it. Markus, an RK200, had to as well. As advanced prototypes, they used stasis to process information the way humans used dreams. However, in stasis, androids were fully aware of their actions and environment.
Nines, an RK900, had a Zen Garden waiting for him in stasis. For the other RKs, they had created their own environments. However, Nines stuck with the setting given to him by CyberLife. It was familiar and comforting.
Although, there was one thing in the Zen Garden he had created on his own, started from scratch with each line of code carefully written by the android himself. It was the thing that made him look forward to rest.
It was a version of Gavin, his work partner. He was a detective and human who worked with the android at the Detroit Police Department.
Initially, the Zen Garden version of Gavin, or Zenvin, as Nines liked to call him, was created as a way to cope with the real Gavin’s vile behavior when they were first partnered. Gavin was a cantankerous man when they first met. He was almost always raising his voice at the android and belittling him when they had met. Nines, in his frustration, created Zenvin. He was kinder, for the most part. Although, he served the purpose of teaching Nines how to interact with his partner. The AI had helped him greatly.
Now, Gavin and Nines were as close as an android detective and his human partner could get, considering their rough start. They were close friends now, after having taken the time to attempt to understand each other after their endless amount of misunderstandings. They were on good terms.
Although, something in Nines itched for more. He wasn’t sure when it had started. Like a flower, the feeling bloomed a while ago, and had continued to grow. At first, the feeling was painful and emotionally burdening. After, he began to come to terms with the fact that he had fallen in love with someone for the first time. Someone he had a work and platonic relationship with. The acceptance helped, but the pain was still there regardless.
It was only during stasis he could ease away the pain and disregard the unrealistic aspects of the pre-constructions he had made, all involving the detective.
It was only during stasis he could satisfy his own feelings.
Zenvin was made to help Nines learn how to deal with his human, but he eventually was used to help play out the scenarios he had only imagined involving the actual Gavin Reed.
Only in his Zen Garden could he hold, kiss, and hug Gavin without the fear of rejection or distrust. Nines knew the human would never return his feelings, let alone touch him, even in a platonic sense.
The AI he had created looked, talked, walked, and sounded exactly like Gavin. It possessed his emerald eyes and playful tone.
The thing was, Nines was fully aware of the fact that the AI was only a simulation; he could satisfy all his wants and needs in this world he possessed, but Gavin would never truly love him back. Although, pretending in his Zen Garden hurt less than having to face rejection by his partner.
The android opened his eyes slowly. His LED spun calmly, glowing pastel yellow.
He looked ahead, confused as he saw no one in sight.
Taking a deep breath, the android began to stroll around his Zen Garden, looking for the AI man he sought out every time in this world.
Zenvin stood at the opposite end of the garden, looking up at the pink of the cherry blossoms blooming on a tree.
“Nines,” He greeted with a pleasant tone, smiling gently.
“Hello, Gavin.”
Admiring the human's serene expression, Nines smiled back at him. He looked lovely.
Zenvin turned to the RK900.
The AI looked calm and rested, rather than disheveled and tired, unlike the human he was based on. He wore a clean white shirt and kept his hair naturally curly. His skin looked bright and clean. Although he kept his stubble and scars, he still looked angelic.
He took the android’s hand in his, interlaced their fingers, and kissed the back of Nines’s hand, making him blush blue.
They began their typical stroll around the garden with a languid pace. Nines always felt relaxed here, as if a deep calm blanketed his body.
He felt the warm sunlight of his skin, the gentle grip of Gavin’s hand, and heard the soft thud of their footsteps beneath them.
Being here with Zenvin never failed to bring him genuine peace. Here, he could slow down for a few moments before committing himself back to his real life. It was always stressful and confusing out there.
The android may have been a deviant for over a year, but his emotions and their effects always felt new, as if he was only converted days ago. It added to the stress of navigating through work and personal matters. The whirlwind of emotions he was always experiencing usually felt overwhelming, besides in moments like this. Everything felt manageable and distant like this.
Only in his own mind could Nines truly relax.
Zenvin brought them over to a bench placed in the center of the garden, facing the old “emergency exit" in the distance. It had no use, now that Nines was deviant. It was meant to be used if an android had to force exit the control of CyberLife or their program. Although, there was no use now that all androids were deviant. There was no programming to escape.
Now, it was kept there for the sake of comfort: he would never use it, but he wanted to keep it there. He knew he would dislike the empty space it would leave behind and would not know what to use to fill its place.
He looked at it for a second, wondering if he would ever have had to use it if the circumstances were different.
“Eyes on me, tin can.”
The android turned to face the man beside him, who stared at him with a fond smile.
Zenvin brought his hand up to the Nines’s neck, gently caressing it. Rubbing his thumb against his cheek, the program human tilted his head to the side in the quizzical matter the RK900 did at times.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing much. I’m just glad to be here with you.”
Nines placed his hand over Zenvin’s. He couldn’t help the smile that bloomed across his lips as he leaned into the touch.
Suddenly, the human’s expression changed into something serious. The smile on his lips had disappeared and his brows were slightly furrowed in what seemed to be worry.
“Nines, I need you to wake up. Wake up, Nines,” Nines heard.
However, it didn’t come from Zenvin’s lips.
Nines looked at him with sudden confusion. His LED spun a violent red and began to flicker wildly.
“Gavin?”
Nines blinked forcefully a few times, his Zen Garden and the real world replacing each other every time he opened his eyes. After a few more times, he was finally completely out of stasis, displeased to have left his Zen Garden so suddenly.
“I leave for maybe, about 3 minutes and you’re already nodding off on me. You sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fine, Detective.”
“Sheesh, I didn’t mean to interrupt your beauty sleep. No need to pull the ‘Detective’ shit on me.”
Gavin eyed the android suspiciously, who just went back to scanning files on his tablet. He turned to his computer and sipped his coffee.
With no new cases of their concern, the duo didn’t have much to do besides look at old cases or, in the android’s case, upload hard copies of information from the evidence archive to the police department’s online database.
The lack of action was unusual for them, as they could usually be found on active scenes or researching their cases. However, it was excruciating, especially for the human. Everyone in the station knew that he lived for his job, so seeing him so agitated over the lack of work was expected.
“May I suggest ending our work day early? I’ve already updated the department’s database with case files from the 1970s to the 1980s and I’m sure you’re sick of staring over the same closed case for 3 hours.”
Gavin stared at Nines with a cocked eyebrow.
“You’ve read my mind,” he sighed, grabbing his keys and turning off his computer.
“Let’s grab something to eat, yeah?”
“Sure, Gavin.”
Gavin walked toward the back exit of the building as Nines tidied his desk, numerous pre-constructions, which would never be played out, running through his HUD.
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emerald-amidst-gold · 4 years ago
Note
Hello there friend! It is a me once again 😌 Dare I request some fluff?
27. piggy back hugs
MY FRIEND! Of course you can request some fluff since I broke your heart with my last drabble! >:D
BEHOLD, Fane, the chivalrous dragon! >:3
***
The Emerald Graves bore a duality that Solas found was a persistent theme in his life. Blissfully serene, but beautifully chaotic. Laden with sorrow, but thriving with joyous life. Awash with scars of the past, but still with the peace of the present. The lush forests with their tombstone trees, the various creatures that frolicked and loped, the babbling streams with old Elvhen monuments or statues lining their banks, and ruins upon ruins of a home that was taken as readily as it had been given. All of these things held the duality of nature, the light and dark, but there was, perhaps, one thing he found himself only seeing the dark side of an otherwise shimmering gold coin.
And that were roots, gigantic and jutting as surely as the wooden bodies that bore them. The trees within the Graves were large, towering, and their sturdy, ancient roots matched that tenacity, tearing through the verdant ground and bursting upwards as if those who had fallen were rising from their hallowed grounds.
However, it had not been the hand of a fallen Emerald Knight that sought Solas now as he walked beside Fane; his dragon's emerald eyes glistening with quiet gold as they stared forward, occasionally darting towards a rustling bush before a nug would scurry from it, eyeful march resuming its forward steps. It was just the two of them, Fane having ordered a split of their party to cover more ground, mark more landmarks for later observation and consideration, and as per usual, he took his place beside his dragon; always beside, never behind. It was an arrangement they both had declared silently, but knowingly, the bond of centuries answering for them.
Sadly, it was proving to be increasingly difficult to keep that arrangement as they proceeded deeper and deeper into the grove they had stumbled upon, the path narrowing, but only bringing them closer together, not apart, even if the alternative would be easier, but truthfully, Solas had no one to blame but himself for their venue, ancient energy making itself known within his mind and along his skin. It was a beautiful area, however, laden with colorful blooms of Embrium interspersed with Prophet's Laurel and Royal Elfroot. He would have to make note of this particular spot, but once they found the Elvhen artifact, it would be no issue relocating the prosperous path they tread.
Or rather, the treacherous path they tread, the ground rife with thick, winding roots that made it difficult to traverse without stumbling or getting caught up for a moment. Fane was having no trouble, long legs easily stepping over or a heavy boot merely crushing the wooden with a crack before its bearer would continue onward. He, on the other hand, was a little less...assured, occasionally catching the tip of his foot along a loop from where his leg would draw up short.
Solas let out a quiet growl of frustration as he, yet again, felt his foot catch, nearly stumbling and tumbling into the taller man beside him. These roots were truly irksome! He had traipsed into many a forest, many a crumbling ruin laden with obstructions all their own, but these specific obstacles were proving to be cunning and infuriating!
"You said it was around here, right?", Fane's voice sounded in his ears, deep and mildly flat as usual. The shifting of metal and leather telling Solas arms had been crossed. "Usually I can sense them, too, but I don't this time. Huh."
Solas glanced up from where he was glaring at the ground to see one pale, freckled cheek jutting out slightly as his dragon did his normal habit of pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek, but unfortunately, he was unable to wax poetic over it as he was trying to traverse the maze of roots they had wandered into. Why were there so many?!
"It is...", Solas began, halting his words as he carefully side stepped and tiptoed over a rather pesky bunch of gnarled wooden arms. He kept his eyes glued to the ground as he continued, "..deeper in. The Veil has various abnormalities in these forests, so perhaps it is affecting your--", he tried to finish, but was cut off as another thick root had one of his feet twisting like it was twisted, looping and aggravatingly elegant. "Fenehdis lasa!" The curse spilling out unbidden as sudden pain had him grimacing and stumbling forward a bit.
Solas nearly tumbled forward due to having to take the majority of his weight off his foot, but, as quick as vipers, Fane's hands shot out to grab a hold of his shoulders, digging into fur and cloth to pull him back from meeting the earth. He winced a bit, pinching pain radiating through his foot and up to his ankle as he leaned towards Fane. Curse it all! How he managed to walk through life at times was a mystery! If this were the Fade he could disperse these blasted roots without growing tired!
"You okay?", Fane asked, voice dropping deeper with worry as his face came into view, eyes sparkling like iridescent runes and pale visage holding a sunlight glow from the sunlight filtering from down from above. Those all encompassing eyes held concern and typical protectiveness, the hands gripping Solas' shoulders tightening a bit.
"I..am fine..", Solas managed to get out, but winced in the next moment when he tried to ease his foot onto the cool ground, sharp, searing pain shooting up through his ankle. "I..merely twisted my ankle a bit." It felt more than a bit, scorching and throbbing, but the last thing he wanted was to induce more worry onto Fane, but with the way emerald eyes seemed to narrow with exasperation told Solas that that was but a dream.
"Describe the pain.", Fane said, practically demanding, inherent growl working its way forward from concern and Solas' attempts to divert.
Solas sighed, turning his head up a bit more to connect their gazes more completely. Emerald and gold flowed and shone as emotions began to run high within his dragon, snowy eyebrow twitching, lips down turned into a displeased scowl. He should know better than to hide from a dragon, but still he tried. Foolish.
"It is...uncomfortable.", Solas finally said, reaching up to give one of Fane's clawing hands a pat and a soothing stroke of a thumb. He smiled a bit, reassuring and calm despite the pain he felt in his foot. "That is all, ma'isenatha. A simple healing spell later on will suffice in soothing it." He hoped that would ease a draconic mind, but with the same emerald and gold sharpened told Solas otherwise, letting out a tiny sigh. And he was the worrywart of the two of them?
"You can't walk.", Fane growled, no question in it, only fact.
"I can walk perf--"
"Try it, then."
Solas gaped a bit, fumbling for another deflection, but came up short as another sharp surge of pain had him hissing, squeezing his eyes shut to the point where he saw static. Okay, so it would appear he would not be chancing strides any time soon. He sighed again as the fiery pain slowly ebbed again, cracking his eyes open to stare up into firm, but deeply worried orbs that reflected the mightiest of jewels. Fane was frowning with concern rather than scowling with irritation, inked vines of Sylaise seeming to wilt along with otherwise youthful muscles. Solas felt himself smile a bit despite not finding pleasure in such a sight. For his dragon to always be so concerned for his welling being, for everyone's well being, was truly touching, even if it was unnecessary at times.
"It would appear you are right in that I cannot walk.", Solas admitted, letting out a tiny chuckle as he shook his head. "But, there is a task yet, and I can endure." The Elvhen artifact was the priority at the moment, and it would be wasteful to them both if they had to abandon the grove now because of his gracelessness.
Fane scoffed, rolling his eyes. "On one foot? Yeah, okay. I'll just let you hop around until you bite it again.", he said with an exasperated growl before continuing, voice softer, but no less annoyed. "Don't be a fool.", he admonished before a large frame gingerly let go of him, but staying close as it descended onto a knee, turning from him. Solas tilted his head, blinking a bit and bracing himself on broad shoulders to keep himself steady.
"Fane? What are you doing?", he asked, brows knitting together in confusion as emerald and gold met him again from over a shoulder. It was unusual to be the 'tall' one in the relationship, Fane about a foot taller than he was.
It was...quite interesting, truth be told, warmth not born of bruised muscle making itself known across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Solas swallowed a bit as a knowing smirk turned up one corner of Fane's mouth, the heat rising, the interest spreading it. Oh, yes. This was...this was very interesting. So interesting, that he almost tuned out his dragon's next words.
"Get on.", Fane commanded flatly, motioning to his back with a jerk of his chin. "You point the way towards the artifact, and I'll take us to it." Snowy hair swayed as he turned his head forward again, but glimmering eyes continued to watch from the side, observing his reaction oh so typically, but not unwelcome.
"You wish to...carry me?", Solas questioned, the heat upon his face rising evermore when his inquiry was met with silence and a tiny smirk upon tender lips. "You..do." His voice eking up slowly, somewhat sheepishly. Again, this was interesting, interesting, interesting. This deciduous forest suddenly felt like a rain forest, hot and sweltering, his collar feeling tighter than usual, the layers upon him feeling like there were far too many, that they were far too heavy.
Fane chuckled, dutifully waiting on bent knee. "This is your chance to ride a dragon, my sky. Best take it.", he joked, smirk growing ever wider.
Solas let out a shaky chuckle of his own, hands upon sturdy shoulders gliding forward to find a niche before he carefully, so as not to aggravate his ankle, as well as the scars he knew laid beneath metal and leather, hopped forward a bit to straddle a wall of a back. He lowered himself gingerly, leaning in to press their bodies together before shifting his arms to wrap around Fane's neck. Hands appeared to pull and grip his thighs gently so that they hugged a toned waist before Solas felt himself rise along with Fane, the endeavor effortless, the motion fluid without a grimace of pain or a grunt of exertion.
In. Ter. Est. Ting.
Solas felt his face go deadpan, mind whirling, thoughts bordering on impure as large hands squeezed flesh and their bodies seemed to meld and mold together perfectly, his arms tightening around Fane's neck to where he was practically hugging the man of his intense, intense, interest. He felt oddly weak all of a sudden, and almost unbearably hot.
"Comfortable?", Fane's voice pierced his scorching thoughts, timbre and baritone making Solas shudder lightly before he sighed, actively burying his face into the black leather of the dragon's jacket. It smelled of the forest, oddly, snow, and familiarly of chamomile. He could die smelling those scents and be happy. Yes, he could.
"You are..", Solas mumbled into Fane's coat, taking a deep breath as he tightened his hug around his neck, but careful to not choke the man. It would not do for them both to be out of commission. "...strong.", he finished, internally berating himself for his lack of eloquence. It would appear his ankle wasn't the only thing beginning to numb with heat.
Fane chuckled deeply. "Like that, do you?", a tease slipping out, its cadence holding a, no doubt, intoxicating smirk, but Solas couldn't will himself to look up, to bask in its snowy disposition for his face was burning, a blush spreading all along the expanse of his face and down to his neck, he knew, but Fane didn't have to.
"I..", Solas paused, shifting a bit as strong hands squeezed at his thighs, movement beginning as Fane effortlessly strode forward, boots crunching through treacherous roots with far more force than was necessary. "..merely believed you enjoyed the benefit." He was fumbling, falling, and frazzled beyond belief, his only stabilizing influence the sturdy shoulder, that was flexing on occasion from gentle shifts and general movement, that his face was now practically burrowed into.
"Mm.", Fane hummed, knowing and pleased. The arms holding Solas' legs jerked a bit, repositioning him deftly without breaking strides. That action nearly had Solas growling before he took in a deep breath, chamomile and nature cooling him a bit, but not by much. He couldn't even feel the heat of his ankle anymore, the inferno now coursing throughout his entire body, his blood.
And that had him acting bold as he shifted his head a bit, peeping out from his hiding spot to immediately see a sidelong glance of glittering emerald and delicate gold watching him, observing him, their depths holding wells upon wells of unbridled emotion. Concern, love, devotion, and most of all, acceptance. Solas smiled a tiny smile, eyes going hooded as Fane's did in turn. How foolish of him to act the damsel when he understood the knight holding him would never look at him adversely for his softer habits. No, if anything, they were both on equal footing; walking beside, never behind.
"But, since you asked..", Solas whispered, leaning up a bit to nuzzle at a pointed ear, smirking a bit as it twitched and hands clawed into his thighs, goosebumps rising even underneath leather to where he let out a quiet, but heated sigh. "..I do like such undiluted power, ma'isenatha. Do you wish to show me more of it?"
The Elvhen artifact was but an afterthought as roots snapped along with a draconic leash and Solas, too, felt his shackles break as surely as waves against a rocky shore, chaotic, but wholly beautiful.
***
Did it get away from me a bit? Is it slightly spicy? Did I twist Solas' flirting dialogue to adhere to him and Fane's dynamic?! *gasp* I DIIIIIID! AHAHAHAH! *coughs harshly* E...Enjoyyyy! <3
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laurore-stormwitch · 4 years ago
Text
It’s almost impossible to write anything that it’s not angs for these two. but i had this funny triumvirate interaction in my head for a while so here it is, i put it directly after my previous fic “we will fight for you”. hope you like this soft/funny take too! 
blissful mornings - AO3
___________________________________________________________
Nikolai opened his eyes slowly, catching back his consciousness with each blink; he took a breath as things went into focus, dimly aware of his surroundings. Blue walls painted like waves of a storm-swept sea, lit up by the first rays of sun casting away the night. It was almost dawn, by the reddish and golden light outside the windows. He made to turn on his side, but realized he was curled around someone. The scent of wildflowers clouded him.
Zoya. He was in Zoya’s room. In Zoya’s rumpled sheets, to be precise.  
It took a moment for the events of the previous night to crowd his mind, scrambling his thoughts. Another itching breath made his way out of his lungs as he tried to steady the frantic beating of his heart, shaken by the sheer enormity of what happened. His arm was resting on Zoya’s waist, still asleep at his side, warm and peaceful. She was laying with her back to him: he watched her chest slowly go up and down with each breath, the curve of her neck still so close to his lips, black hair grazing his cheeks. He pulled her tighter in an instinct, burying his nose on her skin lightly, feeling as if he wanted to drown in her, that this dream would vanish if he let her go. She trembled at his touch, stirring in the covers, slowly awakening. Zoya turned on her back with a sigh, leaning her head slightly towards him. Her eyelids fluttered open as she drifted out of sleep.
“You move too much in your sleep, Nikolai.”
She mumbled, slightly annoyed, closing her eyes again. Nikolai smiled against her neck, brushing his lips on her ear, skimming on her arm with his fingers. He felt her all over him, inside him, everywhere. Nikolai knew he was never going to have enough of this, of her. Never was he going to have enough of his name escaping her slightly parted lips with that lethal softness.
“I thought you were an early riser. All the pre-dawn trek to the Grand Palace ought to have given you some routine.”
Zoya huffed, moving on her side and prompting herself up on one arm, stretching her back. She tossed her hair over one shoulder. Nikolai looked at her in awe; he felt the air being snatched out of his lungs. The only coherent thought he managed to grasp was that this was most definitely going to be his undoing.
He had grown used to see Zoya in her blue kefta uniform. They spent so much time together in the past years that she had become a familiar gaze, something that sounded like home. Even when he met her, her beauty was not the first thing he noticed. Not that he was going to deny being struck by her appearance, but not in the way every other man seemed to be. Nikolai had been way more fascinated about the persona she built around herself, the way she gracefully conducted herself with other people, walking through the palace as if she owned every single wall of it, always ready, always sharp. So her beauty kind of went in the background. And he made a point not be distracted by it, to get adjusted to the sight of her in the silk kefta.
The first time he saw her in a gown, well, that had been challenging, to say the least. It wasn’t a common sight: Zoya liked to always play the general, even at official events. Which meant she usually kept her kefta, maybe more elaborate ones, with precious embroidery and jewels. The first time she resorted to a gown was the winter fete they threw on the first year of Nikolai’s reign. He had to admit that when she walked inside the ballroom it took him a while more than usual to regain himself. She looked every inch like a queen, in a floor-length dress that hugged every curve of her body, her neck bare and her hair tied up in an elaborate updo. That had been a tiring night, forcing himself not to stare. And that was something he definitely didn’t get used to: he just learned to hide his reactions and manage to act like he wasn’t struck by her un-earthly attire every time they threw a ball.
But this moment. This what was bound to take him to his knees.
Because Zoya now didn’t look like a queen, like a general, or even like a saint. She looked like a girl; granted, the dreamiest girl he could ever lay eyes, but still a girl, and that almost brought him to tears. She could’ve been taken from a painting: as she brought herself up, the waves of her hair moved like a waterfall on her shoulders, delicately brushing the scars on her back as she tilted her head up towards the sunrise. Her bare skin was glowing, scarcely covered by the sleeveless nightgown she wore, wrinkled around her body, silver like the moonlight and the beads he picked up every now and then and kept in his pockets. And when she opened her eyes and turned to him, Nikolai swore his heart stopped in its track. Zoya cast him a look that was utterly unguarded, in a disarming way he thought he was never going to see her. In a way he never knew her. Her eyes were pools of a deep ocean, calm and serene. They were alive with a light both tender and passionate; he could see the steel that forged her in that light, the fire inside her. A faint smile tugged her lips as she locked those impossibly clear eyes with his. She is happy, he realized with a bolt of crushing desire and warmth. He had seen her laugh before, he had seen her smile, but not like this. This was pure, untouched, sincere.  
Nikolai knew with an unwavering certainty that he could have spent a thousand lifetimes fighting just to see this look on her again. That this was the Zoya that loved fiercely and moved mountains and let her soul be seen. Love is the only thing worth waging a war for, Ehri told him. She wasn’t that far from the truth. This, this was the thing for which he would face the Fjerdans, the Shu, whoever came their way. This was the thing he searched for all his troubled life, all the times he had wanted more. More life, more love, more adventure, more excitement, more safety and trust. He found it in her.
It lasted for a moment, not more. In a slip instant, Zoya seemed to catch herself back again, her look hardening just what was necessary. But for Nikolai, it was enough. Enough to know he was lost, that Zoya was not only the tether he gripped to relinquish the demon, but the very thread that tied him to reality.
“Why are you staring at me?”
He smiled, catching her wrist and pulling her down on the pillows. She made no move to protest as he circled his arms around her, combing her tangled hair through his fingers.
“You’re less ruthless in the morning, Nazyalensky.”
She rolled her eyes and brought her hand at the base of his neck, releasing a breath. Her voice was a bit shaky. Everything about this was so completely overwhelming, he realized, for the both of them. Her eyes darkened as she delicately brushed the back of his head.
“Did I hurt you last night?” He gave a brief shook and held her closer.
“Not at all. Besides, I kind of deserved it. I’m awfully obnoxious when I put my mind to it.”
“Did Nikolai Lantsov just admit he’s insufferable?”
“I can be at times. But I’d take a small concussion for a night with you all over again.”
She flinched a little. He knew it was soon to joke about this, but he also knew he needed to be the one to make her believe in him, and in them. He needed to deserve her, and he had an unshakable resolve to do it. As good as he was with words, declarations seemed to only bring her uneasiness. So instead of talking her out of her mind, he did the next best thing he could think of and drew her in a for a kiss. It was soft and delicate, nothing like the hunger and the despair with which they explored each other the first time. Zoya leaned in without resistance and he felt her tension decrease. When he sensed her relax, he drew away an inch, both breathless.  
“That’s not playing fair.”
“Never said I would.” She exhaled, placing another kiss on his lips and giving him a firm look.
“You should go back, Nikolai, the sun is almost up. Tolya and Tamar are going to kill you, if they don’t already believe someone kidnapped you.”
There was no sharpness in her voice; Zoya was matter of factly, ever the general with a care on the fact that besides being Nikolai, he was the King too. He relished in her speaking to him so gently; still, he didn’t have the slightest will to get up from this bed and leave her. The thought of his guards didn’t cross his mind, but she was right. Nikolai didn’t tell them where he was going last night when he stormed out of his room, and he never got back. The twins probably spent hours looking for him. He groaned.
“They are going to kill me.”
She smiled, shaking her head. It was an insecure smile, almost as if she was trying to get used to down her walls a bit around him. He had half a mind to find a practical way to make her give up on her resolve, but as if they could read their thoughts, someone knocked lightly on the door in that instant. They heard Tamar clear her throat, much to Nikolai’s disappointment.
“Zoya? Are you awake?”
Zoya widened her eyes pulling herself up abruptly. Nikolai tried to hold her back by her waist, but she shot him an intimidating glare, keeping her voice steady.
“Yes, Tamar. Is everything alright?”
“We can’t find Nikolai. Is he…uhm, have you seen him by chance?”
This time, it was Zoya who groaned, untangling herself from Nikolai’s arms. She got up quickly, searching frantically for her kefta while tumbling towards the door. She stilled in front of it, turning to Nikolai, still lazily spread on her sheets perfectly at ease, dropping her voice to a worried whisper.
“What do we do?”
Nikolai smirked. She was going to hate this. And he was about to have an even more delightful morning than it had already been. He pulled himself up, cleared his throat too and raised his tone.
“I’m here, Tamar. We’ll be out in a second.” He answered to his guard. Zoya glared at him.
“Seems I am the one who’s going to commit regicide after all.” Hissed Zoya, casting him a look that clearly conveyed how serious her threat was. She tossed him his shirt, buttoning her rumpled kefta. “Put something on before I struck you with a lightning.”
They didn’t look remotely presentable, and Zoya was in a panic. A delightful morning indeed. She smoothed her clothes and tried to fix her hair in a desperate attempt before opening the door to her sitting room where the twins were waiting for them. They were nowhere near preoccupied, which left Nikolai with the suspicion they had known exactly where he had been the whole time. Tolya was sitting in a chair skimming through a poetry book, while Tamar was perched on the table flexing her axes. When they emerged, she waved a mischievous grin at them.
“Oh, there you are. We brought you some tea.”
Nikolai leaned on the wall, glancing briefly at Zoya at his side. She crossed her arms with an unnerved look. Where her cheeks turning a different shade of pink? Was Zoya Nazyalensky blushing? His mood improved even more.
“I’m sorry if I worried you. I didn’t mean to have you search the whole palace for me.”
“It’s our duty, Your Highness. What matters is that you’re safe.” Replied Tolya respectfully, giving Nikolai a nod. Tamar, on the other hand, didn’t have her brother gift for propriety.
“Oh, please.” She outright laughed in their faces, jumping down from the table and pinning her weapons on her side. “Like we’ve actually run all night to find you. We came straight here. And the guards said you dismissed them, so it was not that hard to put two and two together.”
“Well, I guess that’s why you’re the head of my intelligence.”
Nikolai couldn’t stop himself and winked at her. He heard Zoya made an exasperate sound beside him. At this rate, she was going to unleash a storm on their friends too. While he was caught up with the fact that they knew about the two of them, she was still fortified in her conviction that she had been perfectly subtle. He leaned closer, discreetly brushing a hand on her back to keep her calm, giving her a reassuring look. As she caught his eyes, he saw her shoulders beginning to ease, and everything would have gone smoothly if at that precise moment the door wouldn’t have slammed open again. Genya stomped in the room with David trotting absentmindedly behind her, head buried in some documents.
“Zoya! I hope you are up we have so…”
As her gaze turned upward, she fell silent and stopped in the middle of the room, shooting them a confused look. David almost stumbled on her, blinked twice and then immediately gave up on understanding what was happening. He slumped in a chair, while Genya’s attention travelled from the twins and lingered on Nikolai and Zoya, on their messy appearance and Nikolai’s hand still gently laid on Zoya’s lower back. She widened her amber eye, and Nikolai saw how she hardly contained herself from giggling. Nikolai grinned; Zoya seemed to realize how much they were giving away and batted his hand.
“So, are we having a party here that I didn’t know about this early in the morning?”
Genya was digging for her own grave, apparently. Nikolai was about to try and salvage the situation, but Tamar was quicker.
“Well, if there’s a party those two are the only ones having fun.”
This time, Nikolai shot her a warning look. He heard the air crackle lightly; Zoya was not inclined to mockery as much as him, and the flashes of last night breakdown were still nitid.  But their friends were not going to let the occasion slip after all these months. And to be honest, he was indeed having a lot of fun. Worst comes worst it was their turn for being swept by a gust of wind. Genya had a smug look on her face, clearly immensely satisfied by how things were turning out. She turned to Tamar, opening her hand towards her.
“Pay up. It seems I have won.”
“Did you bet on me?”
Zoya’s high-pitched voice interrupted them. Nikolai was extremely amused. If he knew there was a bet going around, he would’ve probably weighed in too.
“Not just us!” Protested Genya, equally outraged, as if this was bound to make it sound better. “Don’t get angry at me. Nadia was on this too. And Tolya didn’t want to bet but he still pitched in his support!” She accused, pointing her finger at the giant.
“I don’t play money on other people’s lives. That doesn’t mean I’m not a keen observer and I can’t help others win.” The twin excused himself, prompting his hands up.
David emerged from his papers looking at Nikolai with resignation. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but you know I don’t interfere with these things.”
“That means I lost to Nadia too!” Tamar whined.
A thunder rolled over the room, making them startle and effectively silencing all of them. They turned to Zoya, who stood with her palms open upside, electricity sparking from her skin, and a threatening smile on her face.
“So, that shut you up.” She said with a delighted tone. She put her hands together behind her back, straightening her spine and drawing the power away. “Now, if Genya is done ridiculing my personal life, can we go on with the business of the day?”
“You’re so prickly, Zoya. Always killing the entertainment.” Genya scoffed at her after a moment of surprise. She glanced and Nikolai: she was practically beaming with contentment. They all took a sit; Genya poured tea from the samovar while Tolya peered in David’s work and Tamar opened some maps. They purposefully turned their backs on Nikolai and Zoya, leaving them a moment to collect themselves. Nikolai chuckled and tried to stiffen a laughter with a poorly executed cough. Zoya’s gaze snapped to him so fast he thought he heard the bone crack.
“If you let out so much as a whisper about how you are enjoying this, I’m going to burn you alive.”
Despite the snarky words, her eyes were lit up with affection. The image of her half-dressed and unguarded flooded his mind. Nikolai waved a glowing smile at her and curled a hand on her cheek. She exhaled a long breath, leaning to his touch and closing her eyes. Having Zoya so trusting in his hands was intoxicating; every time she did this, it was like coming back to life, and it made his breath itch and his heart ache with joy. Knowing she would break his arm if he’d done a more prominent sign of affection, he only grazed his thumb on her lips, already yearning to be alone with her. Would this pull towards her he felt ever diminish? His skin was on fire where he touched her, and he barely kept himself restrained.
“What do you say we leave our friends alive for now? And keep the rest for later?”
She cast her eyes heavenward but returned the smile and squeezed his hand briefly.
“Fine. Let’s drive this saint forsaken country out of the mud.”
The determined looks of the general and the ruler slipped back into their places, the fire and the steel rumbling in her eyes. He gestured her to take her seat beside him, looking at a room full of the people he cared for the most; he knew how fragile this peace was. That the Fjerdans were waiting for them with an army, that they had their worst nightmare chained up in a cell in the palace. That he still needed to figure things out with Zoya, be sure of his alliance with Ehri. But all those things seemed like nothing, right now. Because he also knew that with them at his side, they could survive. That the memory of the first morning sun grazing Zoya’s bare back would give him the strength to defy each and every one of his enemies. He put his hands on the table and turned to his friends with a cocky grin on his face.
“So, who do we get to fight today?”
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hazbbyhaz · 4 years ago
Text
sleepless || harry styles
twenty four
pairing: Harry Styles x OC
synopsis: the party cleanup
disclaimer: mentions of selfharm, mentions of scars
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just remember that sometimes, the way you think about a person isn’t the way they actually are - John Green
At 3am the party had finally started to die down, people slowly funneling their way out. And by 3:30, All the guests were gone, leaving Avery, Harry, and Francis. Avery was on her fourth cup of coffee, the caffeine keeping her awake enough to not pass out on the couch. Everyone was sitting in the living room, strewn around the space. All of them winding down from the energy that the party created. It was silent. Serene. Comforting, in a way.
Harry was the first to move, starting to pick up the mess that swept the entire flat. Avery and Francis joined him soon after. They collected all the cups and plates that were scattered about, bringing all of them to the kitchen. Francis washed the dishes, Avery dried and put them away, and Harry made several trips around the apartment to collect all the trash.
Avery was lost in her own world, taking her time in drying the dishes and figuring out where they were kept. A tap on her shoulder had broken her from her trance. When she looked back, she saw Francis with a big soapy beard on his face. His jaw was completely covered in bubbles.
“How do I look, Avery?”
“Absolutely fabulous, if I do say so myself.” They were giggling like children, the sound echoing through the kitchen.
The laughter had Harry making his way to the source, and the sight in front of him had him laughing too. It was nice seeing Avery and Francis smiling and laughing. It was something that he hadn’t seen in a while, mainly from his friend. Maybe this party really was what he needed. Maybe this was a fresh start.
“Alright Old Saint Nick, let's get the kitchen cleaned up, after that we are finished till the morning.”
Harry chuckled, throwing a towel to Francis, and after he wiped his face clean, they continued. The rest of the dishes were washed and put away, the counters were wiped down, and the floors were swept. Avery had the cake she made in her hands, about to put it in the fridge, before she heard someone protest.
“Nope. You're not putting that masterpiece away until you try a piece.”
Francis hastily took it out of her hands, grabbed a paper plate, and cut a small slice out of the cake. He just about shoved it into her hands, not taking his eyes off of her until she took a bite. "It's very sugary," She said, grimacing as she swallows her first bite. "I think I need to cut down on that the next time"
"I think it’s great," Francis shrugs, getting a new fork to take a bite from her piece. "I mean, considering this is one of your first cakes, this is amazing."
"Thank you." After tasting the cake herself, Avery doubted that he was telling the truth. It was awful. "Harry, you try a bite" She holds the fork out to Harry and he doesn't even take the utensil from her, but eats it straight from the fork. The silly action instantly made her blush, All the heat rushing to her face and making it beet red. But the redness of her cheeks quickly vanishes as Harry loudly coughs, and nearly downs a whole glass of water after swallowing the small bite of cake.
"I'm sorry, Ave, but..." He takes a breath. "that is revolting. Francis, how are you just eating that?" Avery giggles, looking over at Francis, who has almost finished her piece.
"I can feel the cavities forming in my teeth..." He takes another sip off his water.
"I like it." Francis concludes with a shrug. "Anyways, Avery, are you staying here or should we take you home? I can play my charm and convince Mrs Sheffield to give us her car keys."
"It's 4am," Harry frowns.
“Trust me, she loves me!"
They keep bantering back and forth while Avery contemplates if she should stay or go. She had been with Harry for a majority of the weekend, rarely leaving his side. She didn’t want to overwhelm him. Didn’t want him to get tired of her presence or feel like she was clinging to him. "You can stay, Ave. It's no problem." Harry says, bringing her back into reality with his green eyes looking into her own.
"I don't want to bother you guys"
"You're not bothering anyone. Stay. I can walk you home after breakfast"
Her gaze moves over to Francis, who was putting the cake back into its container. She was looking for him to protest, for him to say that he didn’t want her there. But he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest, so she nods. "Alright, just til after breakfast."
Harry breaks into a smile and Francis puts the dessert in the fridge, slowly closing the door. "Great, now that this has been discussed, I am going to bed." Francis said goodnight to the two before vanishing in his bedroom. Avery noticed how Harry's eyes stayed fixed on his friends door for a moment.
"He likes you." Harry then says, turning back to her with a gleaming smile.
"I'm glad"
He walks over to her, leaning against the kitchen counter. "When do you go back to work?"
"Tomorrow."
"You're going to be tired."
"I'll be fine." She murmurs. In the dim kitchen light, Harry can see the three freckles on her nose, and the different shades of blue in her eyes. There had been numerous times where he’d thought about kissing Avery. More than he would like to admit. So many times where he wanted to sweep the loose strand of hair behind her ear, cup her cheek, and put his lips onto her own. He believed that, maybe, her pain would leave after he kissed her. He knew that it was stupid. That it was impossible. That something that mundane could ever fix the pain that she had felt.
So, out of all these times, he picked this one. He picked this time because he was tired. He picked this time because he still had some liquid courage coursing through his veins. He picked this time because she looked just… so unbearably sad. Even though he knew she had a great time that night, there was this underlying look to her. Even at her happiest, she always looked to be sad. Like she was in a great world of pain. Always.
He slowly leaned closer, his gaze fixed on hers. She didn't move away from him as their eyes met. "I don't think we should do that," Her breath is warm against his lips. "You'd regret it."
"I doubt that." His words are hushed, and if he leaned a bit closer, just the smallest bit, their lips would touch. Averys gaze switched between his eyes and his lips. She wants to be brave enough to close the gap. She does. But there is a small voice in her head telling her that it's wrong. That she will destroy everything that she has created if she moves forward with what's happening.
"You're so soft nobody knows how to take care of you".. "You know what you are? An ungrateful brat. That's all that you are, and that’s all you’ll ever be".
"You're pathetic, I can't deal with you anymore. No one can."
"I'm sorry but... I can't." She whispers and she doesn't have to tell him that's it because of her mind, her past, and everything that she continues to hide from him. He knows.
"I get it." Harry reassures her and instead of kissing her lips, he kisses her forehead.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” He leaned in again, pressing his lips to her forehead once more. This time letting them linger.
“It’s okay, Ave. It’s alright. You don't need to be sorry.”
So, instead of kissing, they watch Lost In Translation. Harry had fallen asleep shortly after, his head resting on her thigh, and Avery’s fingers gently carted through his soft, honey brown curls. Somewhen, the morning sun illuminated the living room. The early morning rays casting a golden shadow over the room. Bathing everything in what could only be described as eternal light.
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Francis emerged from his bedroom soon after the sun rose, stopping for a short second to look at his friend. Harry was asleep on Avery's lap, his face cuddled into her stomach with her hand resting on his head. He looked so at peace, even youthful in his sleep. He was getting the rest that Francis knew he deserved. That he needed.
Seeing him and Avery together made Francis happy. He saw the way that they had interacted during the party. They were always together, never spending much time apart.
Francis made his way to the kitchen, getting himself a glass of water. He got a cup out of a cabinet, one that had been washed only hours ago, and filled it at the kitchen sink. not bothering with ice, it was too early for ice cold water. Once the cup was full, he turned off the tap and turned around. He jumped and nearly dropped his cup, startled to see Avery stood at the entrance of the small space.
“Jesus! You scared me.” Francis leaned against the counter, holding a hand up to his chest in an effort to slow his racing heart.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
They stood there in silence for a while. Avery eventually made her way into the kitchen, sitting atop of the counter closest to the entrance. Francis was looking out the small window they had in the kitchen, and Avery watched. He didn’t seem to be actively in the room. His mind was elsewhere. This was a different kind of silence. Not like the atmosphere that they had experienced after everyone had left hours ago. This one was darker, in a way.
Somehow, Avery knew. She just knew. She knew that he was troubled. Maybe it was the worry that Harry always had in his eyes when looking at his friend. Maybe it was the dread that showed in Harry’s face whenever he called. Or maybe it was her own personal experience. But, either way, she knew. She could see the scars that littered his arms, the ones he had tried so desperately to cover, and it made her angry. Did she have a real right to be angry? No. She didn’t truly know the boy that was standing in front of her, but she knew enough. She knew enough to know that he shouldn’t feel that kind of pain. From what she had seen, he was funny, caring, and he stood by his friends. He cared for his friends. She didn’t want anyone to know half of what she had been through, what she had felt. And she knew that he had.
“Francis?”
“Yes?”
“Just… thank you.”
He looked bewildered by her words, not knowing what they were for. “For what, Avery?”
“For earlier. Eric. You saw that he was bothering me and you told him off. I never got to thank you for it.”
“Oh… it was no problem. He was being a prick. He kept on advancing towards you when you told him no, and I won't stand by to see that.” He made his way to the kitchen sink, Avery not too far from him, and started to rinse out his empty glass. Avery watched as he did so, closing her eyes shortly after to let them rest for a minute.
“Avery?”
“Yes, Francis?”
“Can you promise me something?” He looked into her eyes, a serious glint inside of them.
“I guess so… what is it?”
“This probably isn’t my place, and I apologize if I offend you in any way. But, just… please stand up for yourself. Okay? There are loads of blokes like Eric, people who will take advantage of you because you are too nice, people who will disregard your rejection of their actions. You have to stand up for yourself. I would hate to see you get hurt because of something like that.”
She was taken aback by what he was saying. She didn’t know how to respond, at least not right now. So she simply nodded her head, casting her eyes downward.
“And thank you for the cake, I really appreciate it.”
“Of course. I'm glad.”
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Avery’s apartment was a wreck. Various papers and notebooks littered every surface as she tried to find a good sample she could send over to Hughes Magazine. This was a real opportunity, one that needed to be taken seriously. She has the chance to be a published writer, to have something that she had written somewhere in the world for people to see. To say that this was nerve wracking was a major understatement. Avery was sitting in the middle of her living room looking like a mad woman, frantically flipping through notebooks in hopes of finding something that she deemed good enough.
After going through every piece of writing she had, she decided to submit two short stories and a handful of poems. She chose pieces that, she hopes, shows her diversity as a writer. Avery wanted this to be something, just once. She added her CV and all the other required information before attaching the poems and stories at the end of the e-mail, sending it off to their office in London before closing her laptop, pushing every bad thought aside.
As she began to pick up the mess she had made in the process, Avery's phone lit up showing her a message from Tom.
Tom: Hey, is there any chance you could come in early tomorrow? I've found a potential new employee and I would like you to show her around a bit.
Avery: Sure. How much earlier?
Tom: Thirty minutes early will be fine, just need a second opinion on her. She would be starting work soon, if she is decent at everything.
Avery: I'll be there.
Tom: Thank you, Avery :)
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"What do you think about the editing?" Harry questions Francis, showing his laptop with the edited photo on the screen. He spent the whole Sunday in front of the computer, trying to finish editing the set his boss needed for an upcoming ad. His eyes were exhausted and his head ached from the hours he spent looking at the monitor screen.
"I like it," Francis says with a shrug, continuing to eat his Ben and Jerry's out of the paper container.
"I need constructive criticism, Frany. Saying you like it is not cutting it anymore." Harry groans, putting his head back to regain composure and stretch his sore neck.
"You know I'm devoted to the numbers.'" Francis replies with a sigh. "I can't give you constructive criticism when I don't understand it."
"It's art. Most of the time you don't have to understand it."
"Why are you not doing your black and white photography? I love it and I know you do too, I'm sure there are some people who would buy it."
"Those “some people” aren't going to pay rent," Harry closes the laptop, realizing Francis really wouldn't be much help here, and layed down on the sofa, his head atop the arm rest. "I wish I could just do that."
"I’d say do it. Do what makes you happy. That's what you always tell me, anyway."
"Yes, but you're different," Harry murmurs, his eyes closed and his forearm shielding them from the sunlight. "And what would I photograph? I don't go out anymore, I barely see James or Emily or Anais anymore. And God, I have a million photographs of you already."
"First of all, you make that sound like a bad thing." Francis replies, before eating another spoon of his ice cream. "Why don't you do a series on Avery?"
"She doesn't like being photographed."
“May I remind you that that's what you do? Take photographs without people noticing, so it's not staged."
"Yes I know, but-" Before Harry can finish his sentence Francis makes his way to Harry's room only to come out a minute later with a large black and white print. Harry remembered that day as if it were yesterday. It was Anais’s birthday party. Francis wasn't well that day so Harry had to take him to the party, he didn’t trust him enough to leave him home alone. He had spent the whole evening making rounds around the house, camera in tow, capturing every guest he could.
The photo in front of him showed Francis in an armchair in Anais’s living room. There was a half empty glass of champagne in his hand and a red balloon tied to his pinky, and at the first glance it almost looked comical. This sad boy with all the balloons, presents, and dancing people around him.
That same night, Harry had gotten absolutely wasted. So, when Francis told him that he wanted to go home, he didn't hold him back. He didn't look at him, not really, not like he should have. Once he had finally made his way back to their flat, he found Francis cutting himself on the bathroom floor and immediately sobered up. They didn't talk while Harry gently patched his friend up, doing so with so much care that it made Francis cry. And they didn't talk while Harry sent Francis to bed before he cleaned the bathroom, blaming himself for everything that had happened in the process.
Despite everything that came after, this was still one of his favorite photographs he had ever taken. The black and white didn't seem dramatic, but natural. He caught Francis without a mask, just Francis. It was safe to say that his best friend despised the whole thing, he didn't like it one bit and Harry was sure that if he hadn't stopped him, Francis would have ripped the print to shreds immediately.
"I really like that print..." Harry mumbles, eyeing the photograph that feels like it was taken so long ago. When he was still so naive and inexperienced, thinking he could just do this his whole life. "But I can't do it. I have to think about earning money, this dream won't take me anywhere."
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