#i mean ig it would be whump any other way but | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lovelessdagger · 2 years ago

Text

Starlight - Chapter Thirty-Three: The Fruits of Sin

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC, Din Djarin x OFC

Rating: Mature

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Smut

Warnings: Explicit Language. Graphic Violence. Torture/Whump. Imperialism. Drugs and Alcohol

Words: 7.7k

Summary : “Mayfeld at least, finds the humor. “I guess that’s how you know it’s real love, huh? Neither of you know who the fuck the other is and you still care bout each other. Secrets be damned.”

Starlight Masterlist Here

Read Chapter Thirty-Two Here

Read on AO3 Here

The anger comes the easiest, therefore it is also the most difficult. It infects Din Djarin like a slow moving parasite, crawling up his nerves and spinal cord before settling in the back of his head. It makes camp inside his psyche, a heavyweight champion of grief.

The dark lost all its comfort. Shadows which were once an escape are filled with void.

Things don’t improve with the helmet on, orange data displays induce headaches. His beskar, reflective, repellant. It has nothing to shine for here, in whatever remains of the Mandalorian covert on Nevarro. Din confines himself to its cut stone in the early morning and late nights. He avoids what he can of stars, the vision an insult.

“I would have never looked at her if I knew this would come from it.”

In making the statement, Din believed it. How could he not? No one in their right minds would actively choose this path, this way. But with the passage of six days and the growing infection, somehow he’s always known this would happen. From the very beginning she did nothing but warn him against her. The results were always going to be devastating, they knew no other way to exist.

Din willingly gave himself from that very moment in the hangar. He wanted to, so he did. And he liked it. He wanted more than the Creed would ever allow, so he took it, accepting any excuse from himself.

He can’t think of it for too long without the on-surge of a migraine paired with sickness in his gut. He gets spacey when asked of it, any of it. He becomes irrational, on the edge of a tantrum like a spoiled child.

They all notice he’s different. Stalking Nevarro half dead and possessed. They give him attempts of disguised altruism to mask pity.

Greef Karga tried, approaching Din by the town’s square in front of the IG-11 statue. “Dune told me about your kid. Sorry to hear it. We’ve got a spare room for you and your girl at the inn… where is she?”

Fennec offered him the floor of the Slave I. Boba retracted it.

Cara has food prepared and ready for him to grab from the cantina whenever he wants. After the third day she started including a bottle of liquor. Din never considered himself a drinker, but he always takes until the last drop.

He and Fett can’t talk without an argument starting. Over nothing. Everything. So they don’t.

The Child’s absence, Grogu, is the worst. It is without debate and only experience that Din claims the loss of a child is far worse than a parent. He can’t remember the last time he’s cried the way he has.

Din’s helmet sits across from him now, the unwelcomed guest to dinner. Taking a swig of cheap beer, his hand runs over his face. He needs to shave, a hair cut, a shower.

He needs to get away from himself.

“Su’cuy gar.” The voice echos from behind, Boba Fett. “I was told I would find you here.”

“Nar’sheb.” Din scoffs, tension rising in his shoulders. With his back turned, he makes no move for his helmet. “What do you want?”

“Your friend, Marshal Dune. She says her clearance was approved to pick up your contact.”

“You’re talking to Dune now?”

“Fennec is.” His footsteps sound closer, two behind Din. “You know, I’ve never seen it last this long. I hate to say I’m impressed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Boba shrugs. “You’ll learn. Are you still against bringing her back?”

“I told you. She won’t come back. She’s on their side, deal with it.” Din scoffs, shaking his head. “I know you aren’t here for small talk. So why don’t you say whatever it is you want and get out.”

He waits for Boba’s punch or other threat of violence. Instead there’s a reach over his shoulder, a holoframe set by Din’s food. It powers on, edges are old and worn from frequent handling.

Din leans forward, grabbing the metal. There’s a teenager, dark hair, curled at the end, and skin overly tanned. He’s annoyed in the way all children are at the delicate age. Din recognizes the second from the photo on the ship. Now matured into a young woman, hair dyed dark with blonde roots. To the third he frowns, blinking away emotion. “Who is that?”

“Who do you think?”

“Not Lumina.”

“No?”

Din’s head shakes again, jaw clenched. “No.” His tongue clicks the roof of his mouth. “Looks nothing like her.”

Boba snorts. “I think you’re the first person to ever say that.”

“So who is it?”

“Photo’s almost fifteen years old,” Boba says. Din doesn’t think when he turns, and Boba doesn’t comment. “Take a guess.”

“Fett—“

“When my sister discovered I worked for the Empire, she cut off all communications with me. She was scared my involvement would hurt the boy.” He chuckles. “He’s the same as yours. She dedicated her whole life protecting him, just as I did with Adi.”

“He’s the same?” Din repeats, slow.

“So is she.”

“Your sister?”

His head bobs. “Her too.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Din asks. Quiet, fearful of the cave’s echo.

“When I said she was back to how she was, my meaning wasn’t of her morality. That has always been strong. If she wanted to steal your child she would have done so a long time ago. That girl has no regard for her own safety, but she cares for her own. She’ll do whatever it takes to protect the Child, you must know that.”

“That’s what I did. Sometimes, the best place to hide is in plain sight.”

“What if her intentions with them are true? What if you’re wrong, and this is just who she is? She admitted to conspiring with the Empire, with Gideon.”

“If you believe that, then your child is already dead.” Boba retrieves the frame, slapping its back to his palm. “We leave for your contact first thing. I recommend you pull yourself together before then.” He turns on his heel, walking away from Din. “K’atini.”

“Fett!” Din shouts after, Boba already down the hall. “Who was that?”

“You wanted to know what I know,” Boba calls. “That’s what you get. Put your helmet on before the rats see you as well.”

Snapping to the beskar, Din imagines it laughs at him.

---

Lumina finds herself to be seventeen again. She lands crouched, one hand pressed on the ground. Her eyes squeeze shut to ignore the pounding in her head and the ringing in her ears. Everything is suffocating, the air, the voices, the electricity.

“Again,” she hears the Machine say.

Sweat beads across her forehead, wiped with the back of her hand holding a training blaster. Deactivated droids double her size stand scattered, metal heads dropped to chests. Except one, a foot taller and—debatably—more human than the rest.

In the months since Yavin, her training increased tenfold. She grew new muscles, eating more only to make up for the extra calories burned. She preferred her hair then in these situations, shaved sides and longer at the top. Now her bun breaks and front pieces create a horrific halo. She’s lost all control.

Standing on wobbly knees, she stumbles to the only table in the room. She grabs a canteen, chugging room temperature water until the mechanical breathing fades away with the rest of the hallucination.

“Impressive,” Moff Gideon says, replacing the vision of the Machine.

Lumina bends until her head rests against the cool surface. “What was my time?”

“Twenty-three,” Ghost says. She stands beside the Moff, opposite Lumina. Her arms cross over her chest. “Fastest time yet, right Doctor?”

Pershing nods. He sits behind some computer, attachments on Lumina’s arms and chest sending her vitals. “Her performance improved by one second exactly.”

“I can do better,” Lumina says. She stands, tapping the barrel of the gun to her head. “Reset the simulation.”

As a teenager, she would have thrown her blaster to the ground; march to the Machine with the ferocity of a dragon. In his armor she would see only herself in her fight.

“You’ve gone six time already,” Ghost says.

“I have failed six times,” Lumina says, echoing him. “I’ll go until I get it right. Reset the simulation.”

“You’ll injure yourself.”

“I’m too slow.”

“Because you’re tired.”

“War, does not care for your weakness,” the Machine said to her. “You are not allowed to be tired.”

“I’m fine. Reset it.”

“Using your lightsaber would lead to faster success,” Gideon says. Its on the table, by the now empty canteen. “The dark troopers are built to withstand assault from regular men and weaponry. Not magic.”

“He’s right,” Ghost agrees. “This training does nothing substantial for you, or us. If they were fully activated you’d be dead with that gun.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t think that’s something you want to test,” she laughs. “You proved your point. You’re fast and you know how to shoot. Are we done here?”

“I don’t recall inviting you to this,” Lumina snaps. “If you’re so bored you’re welcomed to leave. You can make yourself useful for once, clean the mess hall.”

“Don’t be a bitch.”

Lumina’s lightsaber flies into her hand, marched steps stopping two feet from the Inquisitor. “Don’t test me,” she challenges.

“Stand down,” Gideon says.

“Bite me,” she answers, then and now. A patch on the back of her neck shocks, bending her to her knees. She glares upwards, Ghost stifles a laugh with the back of her hand.

“Control yourself, 318.”

Lumina’s face pinches, head twitching. “Yes sir,” she mutters. When it stops, she stands again.

“Drop your weapon.”

She does, lightsaber falling in Gideon’s hand.

Gideon nods to Pershing. “We’re done for the day,” he says. “Remove her wires.”

“I’m not—“ Lumina argues.

“You are when I say you are. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir.”

“Return her to her quarters,” he instructs Ghosts.

“Actually, Moff Gideon,” Ghost says. She places her hand over his bicep, turning inwards to face. Her fingers lightly massage, she almost looks sweet. “I was hoping you could clear her for a little mission I have planned.”

“A mission?”

“Yes,” she answers. “I believe it would help her acclimate to her position if she could leave the ship for once.”

“Out of the question.”

“Don’t be so dull, Gideon,” Ghost drags, taking the lightsaber. “I’ll have her on my leash like a dog. Besides, where would she run? Home?”

As if it were an option at all.

---

Bass rattles the inside of Club Kasakar, footsteps stick to the floor coated in spilt liquor. Humidity comes from sweat and sex, over a hundred bodies half naked and high.

A head of spiked auburn hair bobs through the crowd. Three Trandoshans follow her, one in front, two in back. The crowds don’t part the way they should, crashing waves of rejection and lust all around. Strobe lights make vision impossible.

Coming to the back, the elevated platform holding a stained leather couch is occupied. Realistically, Relena O’Menfe should have expected the guest. Sat on the edge, legs spread. Smoke clouds her face, falling from her lips and the roll of origin between her gloved fingers.

The Trandoshans leave, taking position on the perimeter. A guard for her instead. Relena scoffs. “Who the fuck let you in here?”

The girl smiles. “Surprised?” She sounds sweet, like honey. “I was in the area, figured I’d stop by.” She takes a drag of her cigarette, dropping her head back to blow. “This place smells like shit.”

“Cleaners got sloppy.”

She looks down. “Sure.”

“You’re not welcomed here anymore,” Relena says. “So I suggest you go back to the hole you crawled out of before I make you.”

She laughs. “You don’t scare me. We both know I could turn you inside out if I wanted to, and it’s tempting.”

Relena steps forward, her hand falling to the blaster on her hip. “Last warning.”

“Or what?”

“I tell your little Imperial family where you are. They’ll be here in no time.”

“Cute. You thinking that scares me.”

“You shouldn’t have come here alone. Your boyfriend can’t protect you now.”

“Actually, it’s more a shame for you that he can’t be here.” She stands, walking until she drops off the platform. Smoke blows in Relena’s face. “Now I have nothing stopping me.”

“Back away,” Relena warns. Her blaster lifts, pointed to the girl’s chest. “You don’t want to do this in public.”

“Oh yes I do.”

“That lightsaber goes off and there’s New Republic up your ass in minutes.”

“I don’t need a saber to deal with you. We both know that.”

“Atikya, this is your last warning.”

“You know what’s funny?” Suddenly, she sounds from behind Relena. Her figure, a duplicate, steps into view from the left. She wears a uniform, Imperial, and her eyes are brown. She swirls a glass of liquor, taking a sip. “That’s not my name.”

Relena double takes. The girl in front, to the left, in front, and to the left again. Eyes widen, she steps back. “What’s going on?”

“Never has been,” Lumina continues. She steps through the one in front, its image fades into the air like it never existed. “When I introduced myself to Sully, I said my name was Adi’ka.” She hops onto the platform, sitting like the phantom had. “There’s a difference in the accent when you pronounce it,” she waves, “It’s a cultural thing, I don’t expect you to understand.”

“How did you do that?”

“It was actually Neri who said it was Atikya, but he thought it was ugly so… Ayy’Numa. Really I should have just stuck with Tracker, or Echo—that’s what my dad called me. It would easier for everyone, good branding too.” She looks at Relena, head tilted. Challenging. “Keep pointing that blaster at me and I’ll break your hand.”

It returns to Relena’s holster, wordless.

Satisfied, Lumina grabs a loose cigarette on the table, lighting it. She stares at the burning end. “I quit years ago,” she says, killing it in the tray. “Bad for the senses, smell gave me headaches.” She takes a sip. “Not opposed to a drink though. ” She looks at Relena, eyes rolling. “It’s an illusion trick, takes years to master.”

“That’s new.”

Humming, Lumina waves mid drink. “Mm, no not me.” She points across to the bar, to a figure in similar costume. Black and red. White as a ghost, staring at them. “Her. So, what was that about calling the Empire? Again, right? I mean, there’s no other way they’d end up on Daro.” She sets down the glass, leaning forward. “Or gain access to my confidential reports.”

Pink lips purse. “You went back to them.”

“Not like I had much of a fucking choice, did I?” Lumina pats down her kama, tapping the armorweave. “Got a killer upgrade out of it though. I’d take this over cargo pants any day, they never fit right.”

“Why did you come here?” Relena asks. She stands straighter. Less proud.

“I had to take a trip to the compound,” Lumina says. “My friend over there said she’d keep you busy while I checked on things. It’s nice of you to keep my room intact. Glad I got these boots back too.” She kicks out her foot, showing off the worn leather. “Imperial grade ones are uncomfortable and I don’t have time to break them in.”

“Atikya if you’re going to threaten to kill me just do it. I don’t have time for you.”

Lumina beckons towards herself, dragging Relena forward through the Force. “I should,” she says. She doesn’t stop until shins hit the platform. “Hell, I should do a lot worse than kill you. As far as I’m concerned, death is mercy.”

Lumina stands, she walks until they’re inches apart. She cups Relena’s chin and bends so their eyes meet. “You should’ve seen what I did when they found me,” she whispers over the music. “What I did to the Mandalorian. He—” She laughs. “He really got the shit end of it.”

The statement grabs attention, tangible fear making home inside. The Mandalorian? The same she herself committed danger to whomever harmed him? Surely not.

“I turned his brain to mush,” Lumina goes on to say. Though her vision stays locked on her companion. “I saw his pretty little face and took everything away from him. He has no idea who he is anymore. I ruined his life.” She tracks back to Relena, leaning in. “All because he got in my way.” Her eyes flicker back and forth, she sniffs. “All because… you got in my way.” She lets go. “Do you know where he is right now?” Lumina shrugs to her own question. “If he’s not dead, I assume… he’s back on Nevarro. Getting a sorry little team of misfits together to save his kid, from me. Except…” She chuckles, eyes meeting Relena’s again. “I have no fucking clue where he is. And the bitch at the bar thinks I’m an idiot and won’t tell me.”

“Ati, I don’t know what happened to your kid,” Relena whispers.

“I know,” Lumina coos. “But the issue with that is—well without him or his dad… I really don’t have anything to lose. Which means I could do anything to you and, I won’t care. And then it’s no longer fun for me. You’re not an accomplishment on my list.” She jumps off the platform. “In fact, you’re at the bottom.”

“So you won’t kill me?”

“No,” Lumina says. “I won’t kill you. I need you.” She walks away, towards a door in the corner and disappears inside. One of the guards shoves Relena’s back so she follows.

Stairs lead to the upper level, the business end of Kasakar. It’s a long decrypt hallway, wood rotten under feet. One door stands opened, across the office. It’s hers—Lumina’s.

Walls are lined with various blasters, rifles and pistols, the whole lot. Open drawers hold knives of various lengths, ropes, grapples, detonators. On one end, a small holoscreen on a dresser. Heels lined on its bottom. Across from that, a lounge chair sits by a boarded window, street lights peaking through.

This is where she sits, looking outside to the muddied streets. Her hand reaches behind, she flicks her wrist and a chair resting by the workbench covered in tools moves to the rooms center. Relena sits.

“I should kill you,” Lumina says, closing the door. It locks. “I killed Neri, blacked out when it happened though. I could do the same for you, it’d be easier.” She looks back, stands. “I was talking to the boys earlier. They say you’re nicer than he was. Better payment. Pensions. You actually give a fuck.”

“They were my friends before they were yours,” Relena says. “I’m not in the business to screw them over.”

“Aren’t I special then? Do you know what I love about Trandoshans?” Lumina asks. “You can cut off a limb and in a weeks time it’ll be like it never left. It’s a shame that’s not the case for humans. My father was a torso on stilts. Maybe if he grew back his legs he wouldn’t have done what he did.”

“Atikya—”

“I think we got off on the wrong foot Lena.” Lumina’s lightsaber ignites, red filling the room. “Why don’t we try an arm?”

“Ati, think about this.”

“I have. I’ve spent the past week as an Imperial hostage thinking about this.” Her saber swings out, inches away from Relena’s left. The heat and buzz warms her skin so she recoils. “Don’t worry. It’ll cauterize.”

“I’ll give it to you,” Relena says, a sheer layer of panic. “Anything you want. Name it. It’s yours.”

Lumina pulls back. She spins her hilt, pacing the room. “Anything?”

“Anything. What do you want? Money? A ship? One of the guys?” Her thumb juts behind to the door. “You wanna take Sully? Take ‘em. He’s yours.”

Her lightsaber powers off. “I don’t want Sully,” she says. “What I want, is for you to work that magic you have with N.R.”

“What does the Empire want with the New Republic?”

“Not the Empire. Me. Now I need you to listen very carefully. If I’m keeping you alive, you’re going to do exactly as I say. Understood?”

“Yes.” Relena nods.

“You’re going to contact that little journalist who discovered Corellia. Tell her, Red Axe has a new scoop. There’s a newly discovered base of operation on Arkanis. Underneath the old school. Tell her that you have evidence of children being held captive. Tortured. Whatever. Make it sound like hell. She thinks she’s a savior, she won’t be able to help herself. She’ll do all the investigating. After her story drops, you’re sending a message to Mon Mothma. I don’t care how. Point is, you let her know the Inquisitors aren’t dead. You give her this file.” Lumina throws a data stick to her lap.

“What is it?”

“A log of every surviving Inquisitor, save a few I have personal use for. It has everything anyone would need to know, including identification photos.”

“Including you?”

“I’m not an Inquisitor, don’t insult me.”

“You hate the New Republic,” Relena says. “Why give them this?”

“Because I don’t have enough time or resource to take care of it myself. I don’t know where they’re currently hiding, I don’t know if I will. What I do know is what they’ve done in the past, and what they will continue to do if they aren’t stopped. Inquisitors are the Empire’s first line of defense. Take them down, I only have have to deal with uninteresting, unassuming, and frankly below average men. That, I can handle alone.”

Relena spins the stick in her hand, passing it from one to another. “What do I get out of this?”

“Your arm. I didn’t come here to negotiate, I came here to tell you what to do.” Lumina takes a breath. “I know what you’re thinking. Ati, I can just go right back to the Empire. Tell them you’re doing this, I don’t have to listen to you. Wrong. You do. Because if you don’t, Sully calls the New Republic and they raid the compound, shut down the club. You get thrown in prison for the rest of your life, they get immunity for giving you up for Imperial conspiracy. They all have several copies of your dealings. You’ll be a forgotten embarrassment. The second leader to fail in less than a year. The choice is yours, what’s your legacy?”

“And when it’s done?”

“I leave you alone. We go our separate ways.”

Relena scoffs. “Don’t have much of a fucking choice, do I?”

Lumina pouts, bottom lip jutted out. “Did I? You were happy being Gideon’s lap dog, be happy you’re mine.”

Relena frowns, her head shakes. “Gideon? As in Moff Gideon?”

“Obviously.”

“Why are you working for Gideon? I thought he was dead.”

“Lena don’t act stupid. Not now.”

“I’m not,” she defends.

“You have files on files of contracts and communications about me with the client,” Lumina snaps, hands turning to fists. “Do not sit there and tell me you thought Gideon was dead when he is the one receiving every goddamn piece of information about me. When he has been the one to steal and keep my child. Do not.”

“Atikya, I never spoke to Gideon,” Relena says. “He’s an obsessive cloner who nearly got fired from the ISB. Everyone knows that. Why would I hand you over to him?”

“That’s a great question. Why don’t you answer it?”

“I didn’t. I did what I did for you. Because you told me when we met that all you wanted was to go home to the Empire. When I was contacted by them, I took the shot. They knew you were here. They knew everything.”

“Like what?”

“They knew shit about you that no one else did.” Their eyes meet. “Your numbers. They wanted to know a million more things about you, and I told them you like clones to get them off your back. Then they send over a hundred thousand credits for you to go to a run down clone bar in Ord Mantell to have fun. Corellia happens, your work is all over the news. They call again. They say you can come back, they need you. A million credits. I say deal, they say it’ll be tripled if you can do something for them first. Prove your loyalty. Sure. I get a recording of your pretty ass in a ballgown, dancing with a Mandalorian in Canto Bight. The same Mando you bitched about for months. He has a kid, they need it. And what do you know, right when I’m about to say you have no contact with that rust bucket, you actually cry over him like he meant something. I get a ping. He’s in Trask, with your card. I tell them, and they say all you have to do is go to Arkanis, keep me updated. They’ll handle the rest. And they did. Gideon was not once a part of anything.”

“Then who was?” Lumina asks. “If Gideon didn’t ask for me, who?”

There’s a stupid smirk on Relena’s freckled face, she shrugs. “You don’t even know who the fuck you’re fighting. You’re a little kid playing dress up in a grown up world.”

Lumina’s lightsaber ignites again. Without thought it presses against Relena’s arm. Screams don’t phase. It turns off. “Who?”

“I only met her once,” Relena gasps, skin charred. “You’re a fucking psycho—“

“Want more? Talk.”

“Shit,” Relena mutters. “I don’t know. It was dark, we were in the club. She was tall, my height. Thin. Whitest bitch I’ve ever seen. Looked like a goddamn ghost.“

Lumina laughs, actually laughs deep in her chest. She looks at the ceiling, her hands clap around her hilt. “We’re done here,” she says. “Get that stick to the N.R.”

“You fucked up my arm,” Relena says. “Do you know how much bacta it’s gonna take to heal this?”

Lumina quirks a brow, her saber turns on again. It spins. “Don’t worry,” she says. “Bacta won’t help you.”

---

Din can’t understand how she spent every day on the Slave I. It’s uncomfortable, empty. Decidedly not the Razor Crest. Back where it began, he’s trapped inside the ship, watching Boba and Fennec speak amongst themselves. Only now with company. Cara—Marshal Dune, and Migs Mayfeld. The joy he is. Travel to Morak was simple enough, if not for the incessant need for Din to bash his own head in.

“I figured you didn’t want to talk about it, all things considered,” Cara whispers, leaning over. She’s been good about leaving him alone, but all good things must come to an end. ”But why isn’t your girlfriend here? If anyone can get us Imperial coordinates it should be her. Would’ve saved me the trouble too.”

Din’s sigh is exasperated, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Doesn’t matter.”

Cara turns to him, her arms cross and her face etches in a concern he’s never seen. “Did she not make it? After what happened, Karga and I— we didn’t think that it was that serious.”

“No. Just… went back to work.” His weight shifts. “They needed her.”

“Red Axe?”

“Yeah.”

“Does she know what happened to you?”

“She’s got her hands tied,” Din says. “Don’t wanna worry her.”

“That’s a shame. If she were here, we could’ve left the comedian behind.”

“Are you guys talkin’ bout me?” Mayfeld perks up, lazily slumped across the way. “Cause it feels like you guys are talking about me. And if that’s the case,” he says, standing, “I wanna hear it.”

“Can we at least try to call up your girl?” Cara asks, rolling her eyes. “I don’t think I can stand Sergeant Scrapper much longer.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Mayfeld says on defense, waving his hands. “Did I hear that right?” He laughs, walking towards them. “You got a girl Mando? Boy, what kinda misfortuned broad did you have to trick into lovin’ that metal mug?”

“I don’t have time for this,” Din says.

“I’m only saying. X’ian, now that mess I could picture. You both got that radically insane schtick. But a real girl? She’s gotta be the most horrendous—“

“Hey genius,” Fennec interrupts. “His girl?” She nods to Din, then Boba. “His kid.”

“And I bet she’s beautiful,” Mayfeld says, full of teeth. “Just gorgeous. I’m jealous, I really am. You’ve got a whole Mando family,” he chuckles, hand to heart. “That’s just—that’s great, really it is. Can’t wait to see the little ones runnin’ round. Well, I guess not see.” He waves over his face. ”Am I right?”

“Someone shut it up,” Boba says.

“No, no. I’m happy for you big guy,” he tells Din. “Clearly you and dad get along, good to keep the in-laws happy. I bet she’s a real piece too. Gotta be if she’s keeping you satiated.”

In a second he stares down the barrel of Boba’s blaster, aimed between his eyes. “Last warning.”

“Yes Sir,” Mayfeld coughs. “Shutting up.”

“She’s his kid?” Cara whispers.

“Something like that,” Din mutters.

“They’re refining rhydonium,” Boba says, holstering his gun. He points around a holographic scan of Morak’s facility, speaking more to Fennec than anyone else. “Highly volatile and explosive.”

“They have anti-aircraft cannons protecting it,” she responds.

“And a platoon of security forces.”

“So we go in quiet,” Din says. “In and out.”

“I don’t know how you people wear those things,” Mayfeld says. Uneven terrain shakes them within the transport. Din wants to crawl out of his skin, trooper garb scratching and set-in sweat causing a stench. “And by you people, I do mean Mandalorians.”

It’s a shit plan. Sneaking into the rhydonium facility, disguised as Imperials. But somehow, it’s working. Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight. Boba might have a point. Unfortunately.

“The missus wear her’s all the time?” Mayfeld asks. He snorts. “Sure gotta make things interesting. Me? Never been the type, too much work. More of a one nighter, you know? In ’n out, onto the next. Long term… Girlfriend? Nah… you know, with these guys,” he motions around the vehicle, “they grill into you that it’s a betrayal. Can you believe that? A betrayal.” His head shakes, amused. “Can’t love nothin’ but the Empire. Fuck all you want sure, but love?” He whistles. “Forget about it.”

“Juggernaut Four,” comes through the radio. “You’re running hot. Be sure to watch your cargo heat limits and speed.”

“Copy that, Three. We hit a couple bumps. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Don’t worry about the rhydonium,” Din mutters, hands as fists. “As long as you drive steady, you’ll get us to the refinery.”

The drive through a village, if that. Children run from the open road, their half deflated ball is almost left behind. They all stare at the transport. Din stares back.

“Yeah. Empire, New Republic,” Mayfeld says. “It’s all the same to these people. Invaders on their land is all we are.”

“We’re all lazy slobs to them,” Din hears her say. “They don’t care about people, they care about being right.”

He may need another drink.

“I’m just sayin’,” Mayfeld goes on. “Somewhere someone in this galaxy is ruling and others are being ruled. I mean, look at your race. Do you think all those people that died in wars fought by Mandalorians actually had a choice?” With no answer he asks, “So how are they any different than the Empire?” He scoffs. “If you were born on Mandalore, you believe one thing, if you’re born on Alderaan, you believe somethin’ else. But guess what? Neither one of ’em exist anymore.”

Right.

“Hey, I’m just a realist,” he says. “I’m a survivor, just like you.”

It shouldn’t strike a cord. Not if Din knows who he is. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he says. “You and I are nothing alike.”

“I don’t know. Seems to me like your rules start to change when you get desperate. I mean, look at ya. You said you couldn’t take your helmet off, and now you got a stormtrooper one on, so what’s the rule? Is it that you can’t take off your Mando helmet, or you can’t show your face? ‘Cause there is a difference.” He looks over. “Your girl ever take off her helmet? You ever even see her?”

It’d be easier not to answer. To correct or deny. But he can’t. “No.”

Mayfeld at least, finds the humor. “I guess that’s how you know it’s real love, huh? Neither of you know who the fuck the other is and you still care bout each other. Secrets be damned.” Dirt road shifts them. “So, holier than thou. Seeing as you’re so particular on moral standings. She a good person? I mean, her dad seems like a piece of work, can’t imagine Life Day is any fun with that guy round. But she good?” He looks over again. “With your kid an’ all that?”

Din stares out the window, avoidant. “Kid loves her,” he mutters. Then, he takes a pause. “She’d do anything for him.”

“So how come she ain’t helpin’ out? What the old man could spare his time and not her?”

Knuckles rap against the door. He sighs. “They took her too.”

“What?”

“Gideon. When he grabbed the kid. He grabbed her too.”

Mayfeld looks the most human he has since pickup. “What’s she got that he wants?”

His mouth goes dry. “I don’t know. Pissed him off.”

“Why?”

Din shrugs. “Pissed her off first.”

“Yeah…” Mayfeld says, nodding. “We’re all the same. Everybody’s got their lines they don’t cross until things get messy. As far as I’m concerned, if you can make it through your day and still sleep at night, you’re doin’ better than most.”

Din thinks to ask more.

He resolves against it.

“…Where you from, Brown Eyes?”

It should impress Din that his list of regrets has grown substantially in the past week, yet here he is. In a failed disguised as an Imperial operative, his face shown to everyone within a thirty foot radius. Sat at a table for a drink with a general of the Imperial Army. His foot bounces under the table, looking like a kybuck in headlights.

“How ’bout a toast to Operation Cinder?” Mayfeld interjects. Not that Din would’ve said anything anyways.

They go on about Burnin Konn, some battle he’s never heard of. He thinks he should, though with his track record knowledge of Operation Cinder at all is considered a feat. Ten thousand people dead, killed with no remorse.

Mayfeld is emotional, Din can see it in his jaw. He’s letting things get personal and he shouldn’t. This is a job, a not so simple extraction, they can’t afford emotion.

“All heroes of the Empire,” General Hess says. He wears a bastardized grin, sick with pride. He believes it too. Everything done, everything that is yet to be done, all for the best. For the Empire. For order.

Lumina, he knows, would fair better here. She could talk politics and strategy, every single lie in her deck of cards ready for play. Brainwashing, that’s what she called it. From Mayfeld’s description on the transport, it seems to be universal. He wonders if they’ve met, her and the general. Or if he’s heard of her, from her, at all.

The headaches come back, he wishes to forget it all.

Mayfeld’s starting an argument. He should say something, change topics, leave. He can’t.

“All those people, the ones who died, was it good for them? Hmm? Their families? The guys I served with? Civilians, those poor mud scuffers, died defendin’ their homes, fighting for freedom. Was it good for ’em?”

“But we’ve outlasted them, son. They’re eatin’ themselves alive. The New Republic is in complete disarray, and we grow stronger. Hell, with what Moff Gideon’s got cookin’ up, they won’t stand a fucking chance.”

It wouldn’t be hard, Din decides, to hurt him. He wants to. Hell, he wants to do far worse than that.

“And with the rhydonium you’ve delivered,” he goes on to say. “We can create havoc that’s gonna make Burnin Konn just pale by comparison. And then they’re gonna turn to us once again. You see, boys, everybody thinks they want freedom, but what they really want is order. And when they realize that, they’re gonna welcome us back with open arms.” He raises his glass. “Ah. To the Empire.”

---

“Cheers,” Lumina says. Stolen shot glasses clink together, she downs liquor without so much of a flinch. She drops into the co-pilot chair, releasing her hair from it’s tight up-do. Her head drops back, eyes closing. Hyperspace rumbles around, the smaller ship overtaken in blue.

“You have blood on your foot,” Ghost says.

“It’s not mine,” she mutters.

“Did you kill her?”

“No.” She sighs. “Lena did me a favor. Don’t think I would’ve found a way back without her. I don’t know if I would’ve left that place at all.”

“I can’t believe you used to work there. It’s disgusting.”

She shrugs. “Welcome to Coruscant.” Lumina places the glass on the console, sitting up. “Your skills are impressive. I remember when duplicating rats was a challenge for you.”

“I’ve had time to practice.”

“Can I see her again?” Lumina asks. “The me you created. It looked accurate but—”

“You like looking at yourself,” Ghost teases. “I would too.” Her chair turns, hands waving in the open space. Lumina’s figure appears, two feet away. It stands mindless, dressed how she was found, only clean, tank top without blood. “I like you better with the lenses,” Ghost says. “Brown makes you look normal.”

“Do I not?” Lumina asks, standing. “Look normal, that is.”

“Not according to Pershing.”

Lumina circles her ghost, stolen stares marking it up and down. “Why?”

“He thinks you’re too pretty. He told Gideon that it’s unsettling.”

“I’m unsettling?” Lumina repeats.

“Something tells me Pershing has a lot of lonely nights. You make him nervous.”

“Good.” She looks over. “Do I make you nervous?”

Ghost snorts. “You’re not my type.”

“No, Gideon is,” Lumina says. She recognizes defense mechanisms, the posture, the hands, the jaw. All tightening. “Don’t be coy. I see the way you are with him. The way you touch him, how you speak. How he looks at you.”

Maybe Ghost doesn’t intend to snap, but she does. “And how is that?”

Lumina shrugs. “You mean something to him. By the looks of it, he means something to you too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I don’t know if it’s love. I don’t know if either of you are capable of that.” She turns back to herself, speaking into dull eyes. “But it is something. He’s protective over you. You’re sweet on him. It’s not for nothing.”

Ghost, she realizes, turns to insults when in a corner. “Just because you lost your boyfriend—”

“I didn’t lose him,” Lumina interrupts. She doesn’t sound like herself. More of the her that used to be before him. Like nothing. “I got rid of him. It wasn’t his choice, it was mine. I probed his mind,” she says. “I made him believe he hated me so he would move on. Forget everything that happened. It was the only way he would let me go with Gideon without getting himself killed.”

“And it worked?”

“I’m here aren’t I?”

“Did he actually care about you? I mean, genuinely love you?”

Lumina nods. “I believe so.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Mind probes don’t last forever,” Ghost says. “They only work until the probed mind is met with conflicting beliefs. You tell someone the sky is yellow, they’ll believe it until they see it blue. I only wonder… well, you tell a man who says he loves you, that he doesn’t. If he’s convinced to hate you,” she says. “The belief that he really loves you should be there regardless. The probe shouldn’t take.”

Her chair turns back to the front, adjusting micro mechanics. “If he’s so easily convinced that you mean nothing to him, I wonder if he ever loved you to begin with. You don’t have to worry about me and Gideon, it’s physical, that’s it.”

Lumina nods.

Ghost waves to the phantom. “Did she pass your test?”

Her eyes refocus, a hand passes through it’s core, waved back and forth. “I thought you could make it physical.”

“Takes more energy, but it’s possible.”

“Move her hair to the front,” Lumina instructs, circling again. The image does so, quickly returning to stasis.

Lumina stands behind it, lost. Her eyes burn holes into its skin, its right shoulder. Clean. Perfect, without any scar. She feels a twitch in her own. “It’s perfect. You’d fool anyone.”

“Even your boyfriend?”

“Especially him.”

---

“Moff Gideon. You have something I want,” says the Mandalorian. Hologram flickered in the lightcruiser’s bridge. “You may think you have some idea what you are in possession of, but you do not. Soon, he will be back with me. He means more to me than you will ever know.”

“You should have killed him,” Moff Gideon says.

Ghost responds, “I told you.”

“How long do you give it?”

“Day or two at most. If he got a holo here, he can track us from anywhere. Better to stay put, prepare.”

“She’s not ready.”

“She will be.” Ghost ignores his stare. “You have her kid, she’ll do whatever you want.”

“It’s interesting,” Gideon muses. “The Mandalorian gave no mention of her. Only the Child.”

“At least we know where priorities are.”

“Should she be brought in to see this? The revelation could assist in her attitude.”

“That’s not necessary,” Ghost says. “Something tells me she got the message loud and clear.”

The red fabric from Lumina’s arm ties over her eyes, knot digging into her skull. The ground feels the same as it did on Mustafar, cold, electric. Her palm, faced down grips at the smooth linoleum. A burst of energy fills her, robotic movements incased in the room.

She hears Boba in her ear as she clutches the vibroblade. He tells her he should have known she’d prefer a blade. Of course the use of a blasters wouldn’t come naturally.

“There are parts of you that don’t depend on the Force,” he told her. “Use it, ignore everything else.”

There are ten droids. Three directly in front, four on each side, three behind. Doctor Pershing stands at his computer, manning the timer, without the wires he is only an observer. He argued against her, saying it was too much of a risk. To practice while the dark troopers stood at full activation. In compromise, he holds the kill switch in a shaky grip.

Lumina senses the moment the stopwatch goes off, milliseconds flying by. She should have known what the prototypes she fought against on Mustafar would come to. That the advancements from the trainers on Kamino would have some purpose.

The Machine always said when she was ready she would practice on real men. With hearts and blood and bone.

They were never a greater threat than droids. Men have limitations, they have fear. The droids… they may have been created in Vaders image. As tall as he was, with the same shining black exterior. They don’t require thought and have no qualms of suffering.

They are designed to assassinate and rest until needed again.

This is why she destroys them so easily. They are jumbles of wire and gear and rod.

They are not alive to begin with and she has been told time and time again mechanics are no match to the Force.

They are no match for her.

The vibrations of the knife in her hand send tingles into her muscles, stimulating them. They shoot at her all at once, and she leaps over the nearest, slicing it’s forearms.

She can feel every movement before it’s made. Gears turning inside, metal joints shifting in step, integrated blasters preparing to fire.

The next three are simple. Her speed quickens, dancing on air. Chest. Abdomen. Neck.

Electric bolts have no time to consider singeing her hair or electrifying her shoulder. She kicks the head of one off and uses its body to launch herself to another.

Platforms of their exterior are her catapults into the air. The aid of the Force is minimal but necessary. With it, both now and then, only at seventeen, she is stronger than grown men. Faster.

They are no match for her.

The tenth droids falls to the ground, cut wire sizzling, a light smoke exiting. Just as it had, then and now.

Lumina stands in the middle of the room, she pushes the band up her forehead. She pants, looking at the mess of droids, half expecting to see him. The knife inches from his helmet. The eleventh machine she could never conquer.

He isn’t. And the vibroblade remains in her hand, buzzing. She shakes, filled with a rage she hasn’t felt in years.

Doctor Pershing turns the screen to her, showing the time.

Fifteen seconds.

It shatters.

---

“Mando,” Cara calls for him, waving from her seat in the Slave I. He trudges over, relishing in the missed comfort of beskar. “You might wanna call your girl.”

He should tell her, it isn’t fair for Cara to be the only one operating without the truth. And he would, were it not their competing histories. None of this would work if she knew the truth.

So he swallows his words, takes up his usual arrogance. “What?”

She raises her wrist, New Republic certified communicator stupid and shiny. “Word came in from Coruscant. It’s bad.”

He reminds himself she isn’t there. She can’t be, there’s no reason to be. He can’t worry, he can’t even acknowledge the worry.

Lumina is fine.

Even if she isn’t. He can’t care.

“Show me,” he says.

A hologram of an official, sealed by the New Republic faces him.

“A being identified as Relena O’Menfe, leader of the Coruscant’s underworld Red Axe Syndicate found dead. O’Menfe’s body appeared outside Club Kasakar with several lacerations to both head and body, making her unrecognizable. O’Menfe was only able to be identified through reverse blood print analysis found in the New Republic registry. It is currently unknown who or what could have done such a thing. All surrounding CCTV cameras were mysteriously deactivated during the time of attack…”

---

Next: The Repetition of Poetry

Taglist: @lexloon @jay-bel @xsadderdazeforeverx @spideysimpossiblegirl @sarahjkl82-blog @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @hello-th3r3

#din djarin x original character #din djarin x ofc #Din Djarin x oc #Din Djarin x Original Female Character #mandalorian fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #mando x ofc #Mando x oc #mando x original female character #mando x original character #Din Djarin fanfic #Starlight #LovelessDagger

4 notes · View notes

pythagoreanwhump · 2 years ago

Text

Whumpmas in July Day 3

Lost

This is not exactly whump, but y'know we gotta do that good old Kai backstory development for wij 😂 just a bit of Kai being metaphorically lost, I guess. Warnings for implied government/military violence and alcohol ig lol this one is quite tame.

This was dangerous, they knew. More so now than ever, with the endless background checks and random surveillance to prove their loyalty before they are allowed to join the military. But they were careful, and they hadn't seen most of these friends for three years, had barely even had any contact with them for their safety, and it was only going to get more difficult in the future, with the decision they just made. This was going to be goodbye, with some of those friends. They couldn't understand their decision, and really, if they asked themself, they weren't sure what they were thinking either.

"So..." Someone turned to them, downing a shot of liquor before they continued. They've known her since they started first grade, and back when protests were still legal, they had gone to many together. "Do you... know what you're doing? With this?"

It was an awkward conversation, no one quite knew what to say, and most of the questions anyone thought to ask trailed off, vague whenever it came to asking about the future. Kai sighed. "I don't, man. I'll be honest, I don't." They knocked back the drink in their hand, making a face. "I don't know what the future holds, I'm just gonna have to take it one step at a time. I mean, I'll just be doing... research, right? And I'll help others fight, wherever I can. What else can I even do?"

They weren't going to say it out loud here, but as much as they believed in the necessity of violent resistance sometimes, it seemed hopeless for some young people with guns to go against the military that has had decades to solidify their power even before the coup. Things were getting worse now, and looking around the room, they couldn't help but wonder how many of their friends would be dead within the next year or two if they insisted on fighting. They would be safer if they kept their heads down, didn't start trouble, but they knew that would change. Not fighting back only delays the danger, and when they come for you, it'll be too late to fight. They just had to figure out what fighting meant for themself.

They all sat on the floor in silence until the bottles of alcohol everyone brought ran empty. Kai could feel the judgement hanging heavily in the air even if everyone tried to hide it, and they couldn't argue that they didn't deserve it. When they walked out of the safe house into the cold night air, someone put a hand on their shoulder, and after all these years, they couldn't remember who it was. "Find your way home safe," They said. They were back in their country now after years of trying to run, but that night and for many more after it, they weren't sure how to find the home they left behind again.

#whumpmasinjuly #Whumpmas in July #wij #wij2022 #Whumpmas in July No. 3 #Lost #it's like the early afternoon I hate writing during the day #anyway #a bit of advice for you kids #if you're not sure what to do with your life after graduating #joining a military that kills anyone that criticizes them is uh #maybe #not the best move #but hey what do I know I've obviously never done that #I know exactly what I wanna do after graduating #trust me bro trust me #t r u s t m e

6 notes · View notes

lollybliz · 5 years ago

Text

bout to make a Monster of a fic rec post here we go

heyo @jinx108! We’ll start with the complete ones because sometimes you’re just not in the mood to wait for the last chapter, you know? I don't remember details of all of these so i’m just going to copy the author’s summary rather than write my own. I am literally just going through my bookmarks, I got 400 of these to sort through. if ive talked to or am familiar with the author im gonna mention them, but if I mention you and you don't want me to have Please tell me and i’ll remove it.

If you’re not into spoilers Please Tread Carefully, I don't watch out for that stuff so I wont know to label it

1>Crushing Truth by Bunzuku: Tododeku. “Romance is hard enough for a teenager to understand when they have a good relationship role model. For Shoto, it takes two excited meddlers for him to even realize what his feelings really are.“

2>Disowned by b00mgh: tododeku + others. Unrated, some traumatic elements. “Shouto freaks out under a bridge and I use the word "grass" a lot more than I really should. Izuku does his stupid martyr thing and everyone makes continuous references to his propensity to break his bones. Aizawa goes "oh FUCK my kids are dying again" and his students use him as emotional (and physical) support. A friend requests angst, I say what kind, she say idk make someone get disowned and i say oh this I can absolutely provide my good buddy.”

3>cotton candy hands by @chonideno: Kiribaku. I will take Any excuse to rec this fic, its the most fluffy pile of feels Good Lord. also the first fic I ever bound into a physical book. “Studying to become a hero requires knowing how to take care of yourself. Sometimes you might need help on the way so if your crush offers to do your hair for you or to give you a well-deserved back rub, it'd be stupid to say no. A series of soft vignettes in which a love-struck Kirishima and a touch-starved Bakugou care for each other and it's definitely not making their hearts jump through hoops, they’re never this close to kissing, no, they're totally best friends bro“

4>Catching Sight of the Storm by neo7v: Kiribaku, tododeku. A considerable amount of Whump and related angst, and kinda sad tbh. “Blind. Quirkless. Useless.The first two things were stated clearly by the doctor that sat about five feet in front of Izuku. The third was a word that Kacchan called him everytime he failed to make the jump on whatever forest excursion they were on or when he ran into a tree because he hadn’t seen it. “I’m so, so sorry, Izuku.” Was his mom giving up on him already? But he could still be a hero if he tried hard enough, right? Quirkless or not. Blind or not. Just because Izuku was useless now didn’t mean he would stay that way forever, right? *** A Blind!Izuku AU”

5>Yell Heah by fakecharliebrown: Chatfic. M a n y pairings. technically complete, but part of an ongoing series. “Iida creates a group-chat for Class 1-A. It doesn't go as planned.“

6>Sunshine by Rosey_Note: BIG SAD. tw- failed suicide attempt. KiriKamiBaku. “They didn't deserve to put up with his crappy mood. Because Denki Kaminari did not feel like Sunshine right now. And they deserved sunshine. In fact, Denki didn't feel much of anything right now.“

7>Electric Connection by Onlymostydead: ShinKami. “Kaminari's quirk has always had... Weird side affects. Like his ADHD. And his constant energy. And his insomnia, which wouldn't leave him be right now, when he really needed to just get some sleep. But, thankfully, he has good friends.“

8>The Best (The Worst) by Onlymostydead: no romantic pairing. tw- rampant transphobia, both outside and internalized. “Bakugou Katsuki has known who he was since he was four years old. He was a boy, it was as simple as that. Around his friends, at school... But things couldn't just be that simple, could they?“

9>Lichtenberg Figures by Q_loves_you: no definite romantic pairing. “Kaminari Denki has a very powerful force of nature running through his body. Kaminari Denki doesn't want to hurt anybody. He doesn't always get what he wants, and "anybody" does generally include himself.“

10>Eventuality by KikaTouka: ill be honest I don't remember this one at all, I maaaay not have read it yet :/. anyway. ShinKami. “Shinsou learns more than just hero lessons after being transferred to 1-A.“

11>Pickup Lines for the Soul by MustardSoup: ShinKami. “Denki is twelve when he is flicking through the TV channels and lands on an old RomCom movie about soulmate marks – specifically the same type that he has. “I can’t believe I’ve had to walk around with a cheap pickup line written on my ankle my entire life because of you!” The leading lady yells at the leading man as he stares at her in awe. Denki laughs. “Oh no.” His mother says, watching him. “Oh no, indeed.” His sister repeats quietly.“

12>caught in my own web by @anxioussailorsoldier: ShinKami. “Shinsou needs some help after getting caught up in his capture weapon. Kaminari enters from stage left.“

13>not so summer love by nataliya: ShinKami. “Class 2-B’s common room, although typically quiet, was currently filled with five students—three slowly giving up on homework, one bitching about noise and another that rushes through the front door. “We’ve been waiting for you—” Mina starts, but Kaminari’s vaulting over the back of the couch, eyes wide as he practically buzzes out of his skin, emitting light like crazy as currents dazzle across strands of hair. “I have a big ugly crush,” He steps off the couch and onto the coffee table, much to Bakugou’s chagrin, “On big ugly Shinsou.””

14>Blamed by coldandhotsoba: ShinKami. Tw- they fuckin kill a guy and its a lil nasty. “This was not how the day was supposed to end. They were supposed to end the day like they do most nights. Kaminari clutching onto him like a koala as he slept, wrapped in the millions of tacky blankets Kaminari had bought. Warm and safe in their bed. It was not supposed to end with both of them tied up in some cold metal room.“

15>Lightning Scars by Present-Mics-Scream (write_your_way_out): Shinkami. “It's hard to be confident in your abilities when you're surrounded by people with incredible quirks. Shinsou Hitoshi would know better than anyone. Sure, he was admitted to the hero course in his second year, but being admitted to the hero course, and keeping up with the rest of the class are two different things. Lucky for him, Kaminari is there to prove that the flashiest quirks come with the largest drawbacks.“

16>See No Evil, Hear No Evil by randomfan188: no romantic pairing. “Kaminari Denki is legally blind. When he forgets to wear his contacts and breaks down during math class, comfort appears in the strangest of ways.“

17>how not to enjoy the weather, an article by kaminari denki by dreamtowns: no defined romantic pairing. “If there was one thing Kaminari hated the most in a world wth villains, it would have to be thunderstorms.“

18>”Studying” by emmyrox22: ShinKami, EraserMic. “Shinsou and Kaminari have been “studying” together for a while (but not for school). Shinsou gets stopped by his dads on the way to another “study” session and mistakes are made“

19>Weaknesses by sunflowerstorm: ShinKami. “Kaminari's quirk and storms compliment each other in the worst way, but he's convinced he can deal with it on his own... until he really can't any longer. When Shinsou accidentally overhears Aizawa confronting Kaminari about recent changes in behaviour and hears about the hell his quirks been putting him through, he can't just pretend he never heard. He wants to help.“

20>it’s hurt denki hours by memeingfultrash: ShinKami + others. ““Certain members of our class are...under the impression that...you’re the traitor.” Denki’s body went cold and felt like he was going to short circuit. ~some of class 1a believes that denki is the traitor and avoid him”

21>Petition to replace Mineta with Shinsou- (signed by Kaminari Denki) by CharaTheQuartz: ShinKami + others. This is one of my favorites, I go back to reread it from time to time. It SAYS 41/42, but that's just a glitch cus chapter 36 doesn't exist for some reason, I talked to the author about it and its fine. “Mineta brings shame to the color purple. You know who does not bring shame to the rich color, but pride and sexual tension to one infatuated Kaminari Denki instead? Shinsou Hitoshi, aka sexy zombie man, aka the most perfect hunk of a man to walk planet earth, aka future husband. Shinsou has finally gotten his chance to prove himself to the hero course, and he did more than prove himself. The only question left unanswered is whether he will start in A or B, and how Kaminari can manipulate the end result.“

22>How to Get a Boyfriend (in Four Easy Steps!) by e1ana: ShinKami, EraserMic, + others. “Step 1: Get kicked out of the house by your homophobic parents. Step 2: Run headfirst into your brooding, mysterious crush. Step 3: Sleep in his dad’s (see: your homeroom teacher) house Step 4: Watch everything you thought you knew go to shit. This isn’t exactly the sweet, romantic plan that Kaminari Denki longed for. Will everything be ok, or will step 5 be to crash and burn?“

23>Bakugou and Todoroki’s Foolproof 5-Step Plan to Fuck with Mineta Minoru by Anubis_2701: Kiribaku, TodoDeku, + others. This is another one of my favorites, and the one I am currently folding and sewing into a physical book. you learn how to do funny things when bored and quarantined ig. “It was a simple enough idea; screw around with the resident bastard of Class 1-A to let him know that his medieval ways and perverted behaviour weren't going to be tolerated by even the most career-focused of UA's students. To say that things had snowballed was an understatement. Todoroki had no idea how he had ended up sitting on Bakugou's floor at 1 am, holding a dossier of incriminating material that would make the FBI slobber, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know. The long and short of it was, fuck Mineta.”

24>Colour Theory by chancellorxofxtrash: TodoBakuDeku. this one’s a series. “Midoriya/Bakugo/Todoroki slow burn soulmate AU. All three of them are nerds with their own emotional issues, trying to navigate their way through becoming heroes, and their own relationship with each other.“

25>Summer Sunshine by Mara97: TodoDeku. Ever want a Barbie in a mermaid tale/Bnha crossover? No? well here you go anyway! “Instead of worrying about college, Izuku spends his summer vacation finding out his father is, supposedly, a dead merman king and going on a quest to dethrone the current king, Endeavor. Along the way, Izuku becomes close to the three journeying with him, makes friends with strangers, starts crushing on an unattainable prince, and, in the end, learns to love himself. Oh, and he saves a kingdom, too.“

26>The snowflakes on our skin and the flames in our soul are one (and the same), my love by missunderstuffyou: TodoDeku, Kiribaku. this is one of the ones I keep a running reread comment going on. its at,,, 6, atm. “Before your quirk begins to present itself, the soulmate link comes through, and suddenly whatever you write upon your own skin appears on the body of your soulmate. As your soulmate writes to you, the emotions they feel follow through the ink.Izuku Midoriya is four years and a few months old when he first feels the slight ebbing in his arms. It doesn’t hurt… he can just feel something, and it’s enough to make him sprint into his mother’s arms screaming that his quirk is coming. She had been washing in the kitchen, and the sudden screech as her son rockets into her side is enough to make her jump with panic, immediately grabbing at him and looking for cuts and bumps before she understands his words and the stupidly bright, alight smile on his face with large, watery, hopeful eyes. Shoto Todoroki doesn’t feel his soulmate connection open up. It is drowned in the aches of a small body worked far too hard.“

27>It was dark inside the closet by Chad_Champion69420: Pre-ShinDeku? maybe? its tagged shindeku but like. it’ll make sense if you read it. “Midoriya is invited to a party. He and Shinsou decide to play a little trick on the rest of the party during Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

28>how to woo your local trash gremlin: a comprehensive guide by Todoroki shouto by wonhaebunny: TodoBaku. this is the fic that dragged me into todobaku, fun fact. “five times shouto tries to confess to bakugou, and one time he doesn't bother tryingaka: wikihow is a scam and bakugou is a terrible, terrible boy“

29>top ten photos taken right before disaster by Shookspeare: ShinDeku. “Izuku participates in a harmless prank, only to end up ruining it and running for dear life.“

30>Secrets to Share by pechebaie: no definite romantic pairing. “Kirishima comes out first, and nothing changes. Kirishima and Kaminari still hang out to complain about class and talk about boys - and sometimes girls, too, in Kaminari’s case; he still plans stupid pranks with Sero that get them sent to the principal’s or nurse’s office every time; Ashido still kicks his ass at Mario Kart without hesitation; and Bakugou doesn’t get angry at him any more than he usually does.“

31>What One Hides by Pinalinet: TodoDeku. “All Might gives class 1-A an unusual assignment that results in Midoriya Izuku and Todoroki Shouto attending a weekly acting class. But with a mysterious villain targeting individuals without Quirks, and a developing issue of Todoroki's own, an after-school assignment is the least of their worries.“

32>whether or not we’re fated, we’re meant to be by juurensha: KINDA SPOILERY. TodoDeku + others. “Todoroki didn’t have a soulmark for most of his life.His siblings all did, but up until the day of the U.A. entrance exam, he had shoved the idea aside. It’s not like they could help him anyway. And then a 9 appears on his chest, and a green-haired boy barrels into his life with a fire and ice soulmark on his arms, and suddenly Todoroki cares very much about all this could mean.”

33>The Midnight Shift by meiishu @meiishu @totallytodoroki (idk which you’d rather I attach so I went with both): ShinKami. ““Hey Toshi,” Denki says, and he laughs, clearly embarrassed. He’s got on a jean jacket that did him absolutely no help and a white tee shirt that is currently stuck to his torso. It’s got a pikachu design in the center. “By any chance, do you sell umbrellas?” “You really went out in this weather.” Hitoshi deadpans, instead of dignifying that with an answer. or hitoshi works the midnight shift at the gas station, which also doubles as a pokestop for pokemon go. of course, denki is a regular.”

34>Rock the House by AkabaneKayo: ShinKami. “It wasn’t just his bed. It was his entire fucking room shaking. Only one thought crossed his mind at that moment: “Holy shit. My room is haunted.”“

35>Technically, they’re morning kisses by CharaTheQuartz: ShinKami. “Most nights, Shinsou cannot fall sleep. Neither can Kaminari. It seems counterproductive to have a sleepover then, but they try to make it work. And they fail, but that is okay.“

36>someone to call mine by nearly_theyre: ShinKami, EraserMic “From: Me wish you were here, denks From: kitten 💛💘💛 what if i was tho? OR Four times Denki snuck into Hitoshi's room and one time he walked through the front door.“

37>Pretty by Onlymostydead (noticing some repeat authors? me too): no definite romantic pairing. “(Or, Kaminari still can't figure out bra clasps.) Kaminari has never really felt good about himself. Herself? Whichever way, not knowing doesn't make anything easier. Especially when he (she?) and Mina have their bodies swapped during training, and everything seems too right.“

38>If I offer you my hand, will you take it? by bleukitsune: Kiribaku. SPOILERY. ““Why?” Kirishima leaned back on his hands, trying to create some space between them. Too close. The ash-blond looked really nervous, his usually arrogant and cunning demeanor gone. “What do you see when you look at me? Kirishima is worried. Bakugou is hurting. After his confrontation with Midoriya, he finally reaches out to him. “

Theres way more but I haven't tagged them properly yet so that m a y come later if I can ever finish going through and adding my sorting tags.

and then a last few that Are Not Complete but im really very fond of them. not as many as id like to add, but my hands are getting tired tbh.

39>State of Mind by GuardianOfTheLoaf: no relationship YET but its looking like it’ll be either tododeku or shindeku, probably the former. EraserMic. tw- childhood neglect and severe depression. Izuku’s not a happy kid. “Izuku was a late bloomer, his quirk lying dormant until his tenth birthday when in a fit of emotion he grabs his mother and she disappears. With All Might slowly restoring his confidence Izuku begins the difficult journey into becoming a hero.“ 18/? chapters.

40>Izuku Eats His Problems by CosmicAce: ShinDeku. Izuku’s a flerkin, what more could you want? “His whole life, Izuku Midoriya was taught to keep his powers, his Quirk, hidden from the world. His kind were feared, hunted to near extinction because of it. He just wants to show people he’s different. That he can be a HERO. And nothing is going to stop him. Even if his Quirk IS like an eldritch abomination.“ 43/? chapters

and then probably my current favorite bnha fic- although it fights with Apertum Mortem for that spot but that ones d a r k and not here-

41>family of the year by periiwren: EraserMic. “Hitoshi is done. Done with moving around every few months to a couple that will scrutinize him and eventually dump him right back where he started. Good thing he’s well past his strike limit now- at least he can stay in one place, be content to age out of the system and finish out his training with Aizawa. Maybe transfer into the hero course, maybe be a hero- but none of that was guaranteed. The only thing for sure was that he was going to stay in that center for the rest of his childhood. Or so he thought- because Aizawa Shouta and Yamada Hizashi have other plans.“ 24/? chapters. we’ve been informed that this one’s gonne be l o n g and im Very Grateful.

42>Here There Be Dragons by here_and_there: pre-ShinDeku. “Izuku looked at the small circle Aizawa had motioned to in front of them. "I won't fit," he whispered, thinking. He raised his hand, tentatively. Sighing, Aizawa grumbled, "What?" "I-I have a question. Actually, two." His teacher just stared at him, unimpressed. Izuku continued. "Can we activate our quirks before we step into the ring?" Aizawa looked up into the sky, muttering something Izuku didn't hear. "If you must." "O-Okay. Uh, second question. You said we have to stay inside the circle, right?" "Yes." The man looked disappointed, not only in Izuku but in himself for letting the kid speak. "Great. Uh... does that include tails?"“ 6/? chapters.

43>Another Option by sandersonsister: TodoBakuDeku, Touya/Hawks, Dabi/Hawks. Potentially Spoilery, depends on whether horikoshi has the guts to confirm Touya. this one is waiting around the corner with a baseball bat, its really cute, and then r e a l l y painful. it might be getting better though. maybe. it might be getting worse. “When Touya stops his mother from hurting Shouto, he decides enough is enough. He needs to get out of this house and he's taking his baby brother with him.“ 33/? chapters.

That's it i’m done for now, oof. maybe ill edit more onto this post later, maybe i’ll just make another one. hope some of these work!

#fic rec #bnha #mha #tododeku #todobakudeku #kiribaku #shinkami #shindeku #erasermic #To Be Continued

306 notes · View notes

normal-thoughts-official · 4 years ago

Note

i'm not trans but i want to write trans magnus, what are ig the dos and don'ts? (only if you dont mind <3)

i don't mind! happy to reply to those. altho i'll be real, there's a lot of stuff, so it's a bit hard, which is why i'd say that my first tip is to have a sensitivity reader (even better if it's multiple). i even offer to do that, more trans magnus content is what i want! so i'd tell you to consider that

i'm going to make a list, but i ask you that first of all, you try to understand the reasons why i'm saying what i'm saying (i'm trying to outline them as clearly as possible) instead of just taking it as a checklist of what you're supposed to write or not. the most important thing is that you understand why certain things are/can be harmful, and approach them accordingly. there is rarely ever going to be a rule like "EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU DO THIS THAT'S TRANSPHOBIC". it depends a lot on the story and how you do it

(sidenote: of course there are things that ARE always transphobic, like using men in dresses as the butt of a joke. but that's not the case for most things, and I hope this kind of very obviously transphobic trope is already understood to not be a good thing doiajdsoija)

other than that, i think the first things that come to mind are the following (i'll try to have more do's than don't's cuz i feel like giving you a path to follow is more helpful than paths NOT to):

DO research about transphobic tropes in media and make sure you understand why they are harmful. that's a great way to avoid the most glaringly obvious Bad Takes™

DO try to understand your character's identity as much as you can. are they a trans man/woman? are they nonbinary? if they are nonbinary, what do they identify with? you don't have to have a fully fleshed out identity, but at least know whether they lean more towards neutral, fluid, multiple gendered, outside of the gender binary, etc. if you want a culturally specific gender, KNOW WHICH ONE. have details. and do your research on that. i don't recommend doing that if you don't know exactly what you're talking about

DO try to incorporate the character being trans into your understanding of their backstory. did they have help from their community? what was that like? how did that influence other parts of their story? when did they realize and when did they come out? being trans is going to have an impact on a person's story, so the more you know about that, the more you can build a character that feels real, not a cis person with "trans" slapped on their forehead

however, DON'T have their entire backstory and life be about them being trans. that's not how it works with anyone. you want to understand how being trans intersects with their life, not reduce everything about them to being trans. your goal here should be to incorporate the aspects that are related to that person being trans and the ones that are not into one thing that feels cohesive, because that how it works

DO wait until it's pertinent to mention the fact that your character is trans. it's kind of *sigh* when the fic starts like "Magnus Bane (who is trans) was buying groceries". that feels like what i just mentioned in the last don't: everything revolves around him being trans. you don't want that. if it only comes up halfway through the fic, then it only comes up halfway through the fic. i actually think that's kinda rad because it really normalizes a character being trans, but it all depends on what the rest of the story is like

DO approach their transness like any other element in the story. if it's a light-hearted story, you don't have to approach their transness from an angsty perspective. that doesn't even necessarily mean u can't approach transphobia as a topic, but it's just weird when the whole fic is happy and upbeat and then suddenly there's an on-screen transphobic microaggression and the person is very sad, and then back to upbeat. if you really want to broach this topic on your light-hearted fic, you can do it in ways such as "*flops down on the couch* god, i'm exhausted. some asshat tried to pick up a fight with me today" you know? again, i'm not saying "don't talk about X or Y subject", you just don't want the tone to be completely different from the rest of your story. it feels not only like his transness is out of place (which alienates the reader) but also like just... bad writing, i guess you don't have to take that as an absolute rule, just... as with anything else you're writing, make sure that it fits the story you're telling. if it's gonna have a different tone when u mention something, know why and how you want to do it

DON'T feel obligated to approach every aspect of their identity/backstory/everything they face as a trans person. it's good that you, the author, know it, so you can even know what is or isn't important to mention. but you don't have to give the reader a whole exposé on his transness. approach what's relevant

DO include them making jokes, puns about being trans, having other trans friends, etc. it just feels more real and we do all that all the time. it's just unrealistic for a trans person to hear the word "transparent" and not crack a joke (with people they feel safe with, of course)

when you do mention them being trans, please DON'T treat it like a big deal. when the whole narrative stops so you can mention that a character is trans, it just feels like their transness is a spectacle for a cis reader. similarly, if the reader can tell that their reaction is supposed to be like "*gasp!*" it just feels like trans people aren't supposed to be seen as normal. i'm talking specifically about how the narrative treats it here, not necessarily what happens in the story. you could have a scene where the character comes out, for example, and then of course this is going to be a big deal for them. but there's that, and then there is "magnus bane put on his binder. that's right, hE IS TRANS!". a trope i wouldn't call harmful but that i particularly hate and turns me immediatelly off any story, particularly, is the thing where the character is like "I put on my binder, getting ready for school. I am trans, and anyone who has a problem with it can fight me". no one thinks about how they are trans every time they do anything that's related to their transition. that'd be exhausting. you don't brush your teeth and are like "that's right. MY TEETH NEED CLEANING! i want to avoid caries, because i am human and that might happen"

DO try to think of every element of how they express their transness in relation to that character. you don't have to outline the reasons in the story (that'd be exhausting) but don't just go "well, magnus is trans, therefore he wears a binder and a packer, wants surgery, and [list of Transmasculine Traits™]". WOULD magnus want a binder? WOULD he want a packer? remember that those things are all choices, not a checklist that determine whether or not you're trans. each trans person is an individual, and thus each trans person's relationship with their transness and how they express it is different. so treat your character as such

DON'T make him being trans something that is only used for sad things!!!!!! again, i'm not saying "you can't approach transphobia", but if him being trans only comes up when it's to bring Bad Things His Way, it just feels like being trans = bad for you. know what i mean? try to mention it in neutral or positive ways more than you do in negative ways. a few things that i think are positive: you get to choose your own name, you get to rethink every bit of how you want to express yourself instead of just following a script, you get a lot of friends who Get It, you have the jokes about all the guys named Skylar, the flag is cute, transitioning feels so good! every new thing is a discovery. coming out as trans and transitioning is very liberating, it feels like you are so much more real. sex feels a lot less like a scripted ordeal when you have a completely different relationship with your body, i feel like trans ppl naturally communicate a lot more about sex and explore a lot more of different ways to touch their bodies even when they don't necessarily have genital dysphoria. the puns and jokes are also a nice bonus. the slang is so fucking funny. you learn a lot about your body and hormones and the such just from having friends who hormonize and looked up every detail. as for neutral things, just being like "magnus put on his binder" is a neutral thing. it's just a part of his life! when you only remember that a character is trans because they are going through violence, it just makes people scared of being trans

and i guess those are the most important pointers? just, don't make trans identity a whump thing and remember that not every trans person is the same, build that character just like you do any other. if anyone wants to add more stuff, feel free to! i have a tendency to forget to mention or explain certain things (like "don't make trans ppl the butt of a joke") because to me they are obvious and i forget that they aren't obvious outside of trans circles. i have very few cis friends (that's something that makes a difference too) so ya know. diajsda

another tip i think can be helpful is, if you're uncertain whether or not something sounds natural, try to imagine that instead of talking about a trans character, you're talking about a person who wants to be a mechanic. when you're building a character who wants to be a mechanic, that can be part of a super angsty backstory about how they lost their parents in a car crash due to a car malfuction... or not. it can have relevance to a certain point of the story, or not. it can fit naturally into this part, or it can feel like you just really want the reader to know that the person wants to be a mechanic. it can be integral to the plot, or it can be just another thing about that character. you know? that sounds kinda lame, but i think it's a good way to try to think about what you're writing without all the pre-conceptions and pressure not to Fuck Up Your Representation. idk, something to try out and consider whether or not works for you

if you have any questions, let me know! and ask other trans ppl about their perspectives too, i'm just one person. if you want a sensitivity reader, i'd really be super happy to help :) just DM me, or whatever you feel more comfortable with

#ask #anonymous #societal issues #idk how to tag this lol #sh #trans magnus bane #long post

14 notes · View notes

tonyglowheart · 4 years ago

Text

Trying to semi-organize my thoughts on what exactly I am wanting out of spn fic and hm let's see. If I remember this post in the future, I may update it as I think of/on things and use this for reference so I, also, don't forget lol

Okay so, wants/likes:

Cas prominent. He is my, as I believe the kpop kids say, bias, so he is kind of non-negotiable. Sorry I am just not interested in fics where he is not prominent

Destiel not required but a good plus. Slight preference for intricate courtship rituals over ones where they figure things out ridiculously easy, unless it is established relationship. If the revelation comes too quick and easy then I get taken out of the moment :')

Optional: Angels treating Cas like their baby brother :3 Cas can be somewhat put out by it or not. Actually maybe bonus if he IS, bc they are all angels of the lord and relative by rank and experience, And Yet [whoever] just cannot help but be *points* Baby

canonverse is plus. canon divergence is okay but idk how close to canon I'm looking for, if it's too close to an episode rewrite I may not be into that either

casefics are cool. If it's got that canon-typical vaguely racist sht then pls warn me going in 😔

Found family. Family don't end in blood!!! Spn may forget this but I never will!!!

Any exploration of the whole fucky destiel thematic dichotomies, the whole free will vs destiny shit, stuff like words of prophets are written on subway walls, like.. idk, something that is intricate-rituals-gay and also makes me think of the philosophy of thehuman condition

corollary: slow burns ig?? or like mutual pining? canon typical thinking they are not worthy or that it is something they cannot have? canon typical did not realize until later but even then they have their individual canon-typical reasons for not acting on it, until they do bc it's fic so they can get together for realsies?

trope: Cas and/or Destiel being parents. I read one recently where it was like single dad Cas (to Claire and Jack) and then Dean came (back) into his life recently and I rly liked it

AUs are fine but highly subject to mood so we'll see. I did read a Star Trek-y AU I liked

I'm down for a lot of various other kinds of plot tropes and stuff, tho I want stuff that's more character and plot and less, like, pwp or fuck or die or that kinda thing

trope: curses maybe? I've found a couple curse-focused fics which were interesting

trope: Hurt/Comfort of the Cas whump kind but not necessarily have to be just Cas. But like.. u know when Uriel is beating him up and he looks all bloody and beautiful, or when he flexes his sexy angel powers and transports the Winchesters to the past but then collapses bc he overtaxed himself, or when he had that blanket on when he was suffering from the attack dog spell.... yeah,,,

trope: Anything with like the Winchesters caring about and caring for Cas. I just rly like Cas being taken care of :') pls wrap him in a blanket and pat his shoulder brusque-softly in ur emotionally repressed way Dean

bottom line my emphasis tends to be more on character and plot. I can't do plot without character, the relationships - whether ship or gen - are important to my enjoyment of a fic. I can sit thru a lot if the characters/character dynamics are good and chewy lmao like u can rly sink ur teeth into it

Bonus features:

eldritch horror angels are a bonus. Give me unfathomable trueform angels, I feel like I don't see that enough

wings* but.... caveat I like my spn wings more metaphysical than literal unless they're literal for a point, but this isn't set in stone either. I'm just... slightly tired of the physicality of the wings I guess. Like it's not the physicality that's the issue, ig, but when it's not treated as metaphysical (as well)

wouldn't mind some good endverse fics to chew on altho that might also make me sad

Cas being cute, a la crazy!Cas (who is.... so soft.... his innocence.. *clutches chest*) or like when Cas and Dean went to talk to that police guy and Cas was like you tell them it's angels and demons warring and he will tell you what he knows, or when Cas was like I'm gonna become a hunter :3, or interrogating the cat, or this is his serious face, yes

Powerful af Cas?? I miss season 4/5 Cas, when he was powerful and self-assured and wasn't "mentally deficient puppy" as Metatron meanly put it Cas. I feel like we get less of that as the seasons go on... I miss Cas being powerful and exuding energy that I'm sure is what had ppl assigning him as top energy. Like yes flex ur sexy sexy angel powers pls. There's one ep where my notes just say "ANGEL SMITE ANGEL SMITE / HEAAALING." Season 6 Cas where he is more out of touch with humanity and more brusque was also intriguing even tho he was like that bc of extenuating circumstances. But him flexing his sexy angel powers sure was sexy

Do not wants :(

Endgame human!Cas. Sorry I like short-lived Cassidy am more into feathered Cas than human!Cas. endgame human!Cas just isn't a good solution/happy ending to me, I don't think Cas needs to change to be able to live happily, and also I like to chew on the like philosophical underpinnings of an immortal/mortal pairing if that does get called into question lol

Human AU* but like asterisk bc I will take human AU if the plot is compelling and/or the characterization still manages to capture that je nais se quoi of canonverse. If they are, like, middle age dads being domestic, as an example, tho, then I can probs do that, I just like.. have limited capacity for career-based AUs for the sake of it, if that makes sense... But character/character dynamics trumps all, like I said lmao.. I've sat thru scenarios/setups that lowkey dealt me psychic damage bc of the nature of the set dressing, bc I checked it out out of morbid curiosity but the way they did the characterization ended up working for me

A/B/O - I am not seeking A/B/O at the moment

Hurt no Comfort - it would make me too sad :(

fics that treat angels like literal physical feathered beings. Idk I just like... want the whole angel thing to be treated more metaphysically. They are multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent in holy corporate/business attire visages but they are still very much multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent the ballpark size of our Chrysler building. If the wings are treated too literally I find I start getting bored, ironically. This is ironic bc I'm a slut for wingfic. But with spn I find that a conventional kind of wingfic/angel conception where the wings are just limbs with maybe some slight handwaved dimension-shifting stowing is.. slightly passe for my tastes. Unless it's like a forced manifestation or sth. Just like.. get the metaphysics involved, tie it to angelic grace. Something. Make is racy. But not too racy, the whole wings-as-erogenous-zones thing I'm a bit over too, xenobiology to humans would just be biology to these beings, it doesn't make sense to me to be like "oh they have a tail and it's EXTRA sensitive," like are you suggesting your arm/armpit is an extra special species-typical erogenous zone too?

deaging unless it ties to some other kinda plotty deal somehow ig? Like... I got invested in this fandom for them as they are now I'm not too interesting in unseasoned nibling vers

this maybe goes with the human aus tho that's a slight asterisk but hard line no high school aus. pls I cannot take the psychic damage that would deal to me personal

I have no conclusion even tho I feel like I need one. here's wonderwall? ig I can stumble around looking for reclists and see if anything sticks out, trawling thru tags so far has been a mixed bag

Anyway haha lol, stand-up-style-tone I mean I'm not asking for a lot amirite. Just a nebulously specific set of intricate rituals wrapped around a plot and also found family or something, like you know, just a trifling

#supernatural cw #I had a tag for things like this before maybe #idk what #personal reference #hope I remember that in the future lmao...#long post

11 notes · View notes

endless-whump · 4 years ago

Text

Simon/Oliver: Anchored

CW: none? This is..kinda fluff? (idk what counts as fluff lol) Vague descriptions of scars ig?

Masterlist

---

“Come on- there, just lean on me. Go slow if you need to.”

Oliver held onto Simon's arm with a desperately tight grip to stay upright, teeth clenched as he tried putting weight on his leg. It felt odd, without the cast now. His skin felt sensitive, every touch feeling strange after going so long without it. Taking a shower for the first time without it had startled him, the water running over his leg feeling...oddly nice. He’d spent almost an hour idly tracing lines with his finger on his shin, skin tingly with the sensation.

His leg was sensitive when putting weight on it now, but it was a different kind. This hurt. It felt like pins were being shoved into the bottom of his foot, pain shooting all the way up his calf as he tried to set it to the floor. His knuckles were almost white as he gripped Simons forearm for support, leaning against him as he tried to balance.

“There you go, you’re doing great. A little more, see if you can stand on it.”

Oliver bit back a cry of pain as he obeyed, squeezing his eyes shut. His leg was agony, and he wanted nothing more than to leave it alone, to stop, to try again another day. He knew he had to do this, though. He’d seen the look Sandy gave him when he tried to reason with her, tried to put it off to another time. She wasn’t buying it, telling him that he needed to do this eventually if he wanted to get back on his feet soon. There simply wasn’t any way to get around this.

So he obeyed, trying to put his weight on the limb even as it burned in pain, breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. A whimper escaped the back of his throat as Simon pulled away from him slightly, trying to get him to stand on his own. He didn’t want to.

His leg shook as he stood warily on it, fire lacing all the way up as he let his evened weight rest on it, arm still gripping onto Simon’s but not leaning on him anymore. He shuddered with the effort it took, tears filling his eyes.

“Simon, Simon I can’t-” He was ready to bail out, he needed to stop.

“You can, Ollie.” Simon reassured firmly. “You’ve got this, just a little longer.”

The only sound that filled the room was Oliver’s small gasps for air, the struggle to keep panic from taking over getting harder and harder as his resolve thinned. He fought the urge to lift his leg up, or to just let himself collapse if it would just make the pain stop. He felt dizzy, swallowing thickly as he swayed slightly.

“Call it.” He heard Sandy murmur from behind them. “He’s done well enough for now, and he looks like he’s about to pass out.”

Strong arms wrapped around him, letting Oliver lean his weight against them. He let out a sob of relief as the pressure was relieved, knee bent slightly to hold his foot off the ground. He didn’t dare open his eyes, fearing he’d find his vision swimming how his head was.

“You did really, really good, Ollie.” A warm hand settled on the back of his back as he was lifted, the other settling them on the couch they had been right next to. “I mean it. You hit your limit and got past it.”

Oliver shuddered and turned to bury his face against Simon’s chest, focusing on the reassuring touch. His leg was propped up, a hand running up and down his leg gently.

“I can’t do it,” Oliver sobbed miserably. “I, I can’t, it hurts, I can’t do it.”

Simon pushed Oliver away slightly to look at him, hands on either side of his face.

“Oliver.” He said firmly, thumb running over his cheekbone. “You can. You’re doing really well, and you’re just going to keep getting better. I believe in you.” Simon pressed a small kiss to his forehead, hands coming up the back of his head to ruffle his hair. “We’ll be right beside you the whole way.”

Oliver nodded, falling forward into the arms that wrapped tightly around him. He felt exhausted, like the session had taken every bit of energy he had left that day. He let go of everything, letting himself relax and go pliant as he was maneuvered to lay down, tucked securely against Simon’s chest. A heavy blanket was pulled over them, tucked around Oliver securely as he was sandwiched between Simon and the couch, feeling surrounded and perfectly safe.

He felt anchored, allowed to let his mind unfocus, go somewhere it didn’t hurt so much, go somewhere he didn’t have to think. It wasn’t a bad unfocused, it was just..the ability to let his guard down.

He could let himself drift, focusing only on the feeling of fingers tracing the scars on the back of his neck, running up his scalp to scratch softly. It was his favorite thing that Simon did, tracing those scars. It made them burn a little less, made them feel a normal part of him that was loved and kept safe, rather than something shoved upon him to make his body feel like something that didn’t belong to him anymore.

His scars were his. That's what Simon reassured him every time he traced them absentmindedly, and instinct to comfort in a way he knew worked.

“Simon?” He murmured, hugging him tightly and nuzzling close. He could feel the vibrations of Simon’s voice in his chest when he hummed in acknowledgement, fingers running up his scalp. Oliver sighed at the feeling, feeling himself sink further into tiredness.

“Love you,” He hummed tiredly, not missing the way Simon faltered for a moment before continuing the comforting motion. There was a beat of silence before he felt a kiss pressed to the top of his head, the arms around him squeezing tightly. It never felt constricting to Oliver, though.

“Love you too, Ollie.”

There was a time Oliver might have doubted that statement, doubted the ability to be truly loved by someone, or to deserve it. He’d doubted he’d ever be able to be worthy of being loved instead of used and hurt, but Simon said he loved him, and that he deserved it. That he deserved to be cared for.

Simon never lied, and so that was enough for him

---

taglist

@insanitywishes @18-toe-beans @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @simplygrimly @cinnamonflavoredhugs @finder-of-rings @deluxewhump @ashintheairlikesnow @briars7 @albino-whumpee @thatsthewhump

#whump #hurt/comfort #angst #recovery #comfort fic #simon/oliver #my oc's #my writing #broken leg recovery #healing #self doubt #scars #ptsd #Oliver havin a rough time #Simon being a buff comf boi #'props chin on hands' look at my bby's being all cute

40 notes · View notes

tellmewhatyouc · 4 years ago

Note

any combo of Law/Cora/Doffy for both/either ship asks

ship ask memes: 1 | 2

gonna throw all this under a cut bc 1. spoilers and 2. people who do not vibe with these can just scroll on by easily

first off yes i ship all combinations oh my god

What made you ship it?

as soon as i knew there was some Fuckery going on between law and mingo, i was 👀 because i just. love whump esp law whump and god that dynamic is full of it

doflacora for similar reasons, like. it’s just plain fucked up and i knew i was gonna be into it before i even met roci. regardless of the label on their relationship, their whole dynamic is just So Terrible and Tragic and i am here for it. we love angst in this house

i had a feeling i’d ship coralaw before i even met roci, a couple of my friends were like “UR GONNA LOVE CORALAW” before i’d even read the flashbacks and they were CORRECT

and all three of them started JUST A TAD BIT out of spite bc people being like “this is Bad” or complaining about a ship just makes me curious (tho i actually really genuinely enjoy them aside from the spite and am trying to channel it into positive things instead of just getting upset over people being mean)

What are your favorite things about the ship?

doflaw: the HISTORY they have, it makes for such an interesting and fucky dynamic and i feel like a lot can be done with that

doflacora: just the terrible mess of mingo being this irredeemable villain yet his little brother still believes he can change and still cares about him and then he just fuckign kills him in cold blood and goD

coralaw: LAW GETTING THE HAPPINESS HE DESERVES

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

that they are all good and valid ships and i love them dearly <3

i’m gonna do the rest of the asks for coralaw bc that’s the only one that i could write in a remotely functional or healthy way here we goooo

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

How did they first meet?

oh there’s so many possibilities. i can Definitely fuck w an idea closer to canon where roci met law in the context of the family, maybe they left together and everything actually worked out okay, and once law got older they came to terms with their Feelings.

but i also like modern aus where they meet when law’s already an adult, like maybe roci works somewhere and law keeps coming back or he’s a teacher or (like i enjoy with every law ship) they meet because roci is injured or smth and law has to do his Doctorly Duties

What was their first impression of each other?

god u know it was not great in canon

i like friends to lovers with them. or like. at least friendly acquaintances to lovers. they get along well (once law gets over,, maybe his initial impression that roci is just a clumsy dumbass) and the other Emotions come later

Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

gjfkdg mingo is Not happy with the arrangement, though i’ve read a couple fics where the family dynamic is a little nicer and he encourages it and i’m into that too

Who felt romantic feelings first?

law definitely, maybe he didn’t realize what it was at first because he was just a little kid but it makes more sense as he grows up

Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

YES <3 i am so here for the “oh god i’m old enough to be this persons father i Cannot be attracted to them” trope and that has so much potential with this ship (tho their age gap isn’t actually that big??? what is it like 13 years idk roci can still suffer)

If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

i feel like law would be very >:( about the concept of soulmates and maybe roci would have a crisis but they’d work it out eventually

What would their lives be like if they had never met?

well uhhhh if u really think about it law would probably be dead and roci might be alive so. hm.

but i do think roci really like,,, Fixed law. like he showed him that there are in fact things worth living for, and even if they didn’t spend a Ton of time together, he still had a huge impact.

GENERAL

Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

i feel like law would have to do it bc roci would be too concerned about overstepping boundaries

Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

i don’t think it’s anything Official like they hang out anyway and then one day it just clicks

What was their first kiss like?

law initiating it in the heat of the moment

Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

oh i love the idea of roci being law’s first Everything

What’s their height difference? Age difference?

ROCI’S SO FUCKING TALL but even i a modern au i’d probably put him at like 6′5″ or taller

and i think they’re 13 years apart yeah

What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

sweats next question

Who takes the lead in social situations?

i think roci is def more friendly and extroverted so probably him

Who gets jealous easier?

i feel like both of them are pretty laid back?

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear?

law,,,he likes to egg him on

LOVE

Who said “I love you” first?

roci for sure

What are their primary love languages?

in most law ships i like the idea that law shows love thru gifts, i think roci is just very affectionate but maybe also does the same

Who uses cheesy pick-up lines?

roci and law HATES IT

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

law isn’t big on pda but sometimes he tolerates it

Who initiates kisses?

roci mostly

Who’s the big and little spoon?

law is the little spoon but sometimes roci is too

What are their favorite things to do together?

fuckin they like to cuddle and watch movies :’)

Who’s better at comforting the other?

roci is better at comforting law naturally

Who’s more protective?

roci,

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

law’s more verbal, roci is more physical

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

heart-shaped hologram gives me A LOT OF FEELINGS

also. for some reason i’m feelin in the best case scenario we’d die at the same time

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

not rlly a nickname but i like the idea that law is short for lawrence and roci calls him that sometimes and he HATES IT

also cora in itself is a nickname ig

Who remembers the little things?

hmmm i’d say they’re both pretty observant but maybe roci moreso

DOMESTIC LIFE

(taking out questions about marriage/kids bc i do not think so)

Do they have any pets?

i just wanna give everyone a cat

Who worries the most?

law probably, but roci worries about law so it all evens out

Who kills the bugs in the house?

law

How do they celebrate holidays?

mostly quiet celebrations at home

Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

law,

Who’s the better cook?

law, roci isn’t allowed in the kitchen after one too many burns and fires

Who likes to dance?

ROCI, law does not care for it

#thank u i'm cryin #ask

4 notes · View notes

dyker-farmer · 5 years ago

Text

Ok this was supposed to be a quick draw and a description to go with, that blew into a full chapter and now it's also on Ao3 SO happy reading ig idk

I never see Shane works that don't go all in for romance nor explore the more realistic ugly parts of recovery, and I kind of crave That TM. So let me have at it too with the self-insert whump mumbo jumbo; no romo version.

Set post-8 hearts event, Farmer Uidelsib is two years or so in, full house built and married to Emily. They/them pronouns, same as me.

Diverges from then on, Shane-centric from an outside POV for the most part.

[[MORE]]

Take that can away if you can.

Gulp it down. Chapter 1/2/3/4

There's a few to-know to survive life in society, in the valley; there's no good way to comment on the age nor weight of both resident housewives, you can't say no to Evelyn's homemade cookies- and why would you, you fool-, you do not fight at the Saloon or you'll get no cheese anymore on your pizza and only sparkling water for drinks, and-

And you don't mess with Shane's alcohol related ritual.

Except I did, that night, because you do that, when your two-years long friendship with the guy taught you better than letting his impulses overcome yours, when your buddy is trying to recover from teenage long-lasting into early adulthood, trauma-enhanced heavy addiction, and you know, you know tomorrow he'll feel like absolute shit and question his right to therapy the moment he'll stop his pounding skull from splitting. Wonders what a three-dosage paracetamol can do.

At least he doesn't drink it out anymore.

So yeah, when you're in my shoes, you get that Joja store-bought crap out of Shane's hand, and you brace yourself for the incoming lash out.

The first fractions of seconds are always those to look closely into most. It's only a glimpse, but before the scowl slips on like a well-worn boxing glove ready to strike, there is always this open page I learned I needed to decipher as quick as I could.

Tonight, it's heartbreaking. When I peck his forehead- doting big sibling habits die hard, even when you're actually the youngest of the pair- the eyes I catch looking at me are so confused and bare of any emotion, except for the sorrow that goes beer-soaked tears, it pangs. I get used to the breakdowns, working in the fields I do when I'm off the farm's, but it's not the same when it's a friend.

When I straighten back, offensive beverage in hand, it's already gone in a flinch, away from the empty space behind the chair and onto the table, as he snarls.

"Wha- giv'me back- 's mine!" I don't know how much he drunk before he met up with me, but from the slurring, it's a Lot. A season and a half into sobriety. That's harsh.

I ignore him and walk behind him, pondering where to put the beer for now.

"Y-you can't just do that! It's my booze I got with m'money, not some- who d'you think you are?-" He sputters indignantly, angry tears fewer than the sad ones but still there. He tries to turn around and grab behind his back, but the wild movement is way off and only gets the chair to nearly topples down. I rush in time to stabilize it, and profit off the moment to set a strong hand on his shoulder.

"I can just do that, 'cus it's my house I got with my money, and I think I'm your pal who knows when you've had enough. Dude, I trust you to be an adult, but minutes before, you were already so torched I had to keep your neck upright so you didn't faceplant into the table, and you nearly just kissed my floor good evening. Not to mention you clung to my arms the whole way from the little entry stairs to the kitchen because, quoting, 'If I don't I'll fall in the hole and won't get up'."

I turn to the fridge again, going to open it, before I think better of it. Likely enough, we'll both forget it was there in the first place, it'll stink up my fridge- it's Joja's- and it'll be money out of Shane's pocket for nothing. I set it on the counter, with the rest of the pack. He'll put it to cool down when he's back to Marnie's. Or he won't, probably.

That's not a worry for now.

When I caught up with him, it was a few feet below my doorstep; he'd probably slipped up trying to climb the three steps up to it, and settled for it. He was nursing that same can, muttering to himself, head down, curled up on himself. Except for that leg sticked out, he probably hurt it when he fell, I'll have to look at that and work on it if it's too swollen. Hopefully that'll spare us from a visit to Harvey's.

Bad memories. Not mine, and it's warm and not raining outside, but. Déjà-vu.

Anyways, he looked the picture of "help I've fallen and I can't get up- and even if I can I won't because Fuck You", and it's been a hassle to have him cooperate. But when I asked if he wanted to leave, he shook his head with a fervor no somnolent drunk should have. That resulted in a lovely streak of vomit down the wall right next to the door. That's also for later. If Eryza doesn't lap it up. Ew. This cat's never predictable.

Now, he's staring at his hands, sitting at my table, contemplating something too far down for me to see- or maybe just zoning out with a sleeping brain. Then he mumbles. "Sorry."

I get back to the table and sit at arm's length across of him. "Nah, 's okay. I don't mind being a helping hand or touchy-feely, must be the frog-eater in me. Not for the helping part." I'd chuckle but my quip falls on deaf ears.

I go to put my hand over his. When he doesn't blink at it, I try and shake a reply out of him, gently. He startles and hawkeyes our joined fingers. When he's finally looking at me, I raise a single eyebrow. He doesn't say anything, but when he pulls back his arm, I let him. We both straighten up, and it's hard to keep up the eye contact.

"So…" There's a heavy air on us. Suddenly, like the last year didn't happen, we're sitting a stride away of each other, and yet it feels like he's all the way back to the forest, looking down at waves.

"Do you want me to do something?" I bend myself a little closer to him, not moving otherwise.

He puts his head in his hands, shivering. Can't tell if it's the AC or his system kicking the alcohol out, or itself, in stress. I think I hear something, but it might as just be his shuddering breath.

"Shane" I insist, voice level, not pressing. "I need words. I want to help, I truly don't mind, but I need words to know what to do." He's never shown signs of going nonverbal before. If he does, I'll improvise. Until then… I need words.

Time ticks slowly as we wait. Then, with great effort and deep fatigue, he drags his palms up from under his nose to his temple, spreading some snot and wet tears across his face from his scrunched shut eyes. Lips trembling but finally showing, that attempt to let out a sound that's not too garbled. He coughs, sniffles a bit, breathe in again, sounding like a sick dog, and blows through gritted teeth before his jaws go slack. Eyes still closed, he whispers, and I have to lower myself some more toward his crouched form to catch it.

"Can I get something to drink…?" His voice is hoarse.

The demand could be comical, if we were into sour humor. And we usually are. But right now, we're not finding the joke in the lines. I stand silently, and as I walk to the fridge again, I let my hand brush his shoulder- same spot as before.

I take a minute to choose, look into the pantry. When I'm back at the table with my items of choice, he's still sitting there, his cheek is cushioned on his arms, face hidden from view. His shoulder, except for the occasional tremor, rise and fall in rythm with his snores. Breaks my heart to interrupt that, but not really. Hangovers are mean bitches with the sharpest nail art on the blackest of boards.

"Psst, dude. C'mon." I rustle his hair backward. He hates when I do that, says it tickles, and it makes him sneeze. So I obligatory do it once a day if I can. Let's say today's my late quota for the last four days I haven't seen him.

He gruffly tells me to kindly refrain from such pleasantries, and raise bleary eyes back up at the table. I can also guess he tried to bat a hand at me, but his coordination is off and he slaps himself lightly on the ear. Then he glares bewildered at his hand for a few seconds, obviously insulted. I profit of this moment to grab a small basin from under the sink, on second thought.

When he brings his attention back to me, I'm sitting again. Between us, a jug of fresh milk from this morning, a small sack of peppers, and a juice carafe sit aside a green glass bottle. There's also some bread, mostly for me to munch on. Because, hmmm dough. He squints at it all, especially at the bottle. Probably trying to read the label.

"Yeah no, didn't get you one of my best wine, not sorry."

"Hot pepper… juice?" He looks at the actual peppers next to it. "With actual peppers?" And then I get the squint too.

"Hmph, I know you like your elongated hell tomatoes, man, what can i say."

At that, a feeble snort.

I decide that it is the highlight victory of my soirée.

"Welp, have at it." I gesture to the half-liter liquor glass right by his left.

He fumbles with the drinks and some splashes around, but I lay back on my chair, arms crossed, letting him do his thing. While I don't hold back from growing downright doting on him when I got to- or even when I don't- I don't see how more devotion right now would be not smothering. He can break my fancy glass cups if he wants and spill my milk, so long he doesn't cut himself or cry over it.

Now, you could be thinking that plain water would have done the trick just fine, if not better, in rehydrating him. Here's the thing, though; going from booze to tasteless liquid, for Shane, that's a sure way to puking his heart out. And I'd rather not have us deal with an acid bile throat burn on top of near alcohol poisoning. Sorry to not spare you the squeamish details, but his oesophagus is pretty sensitive ever since that stomach pumping back at the clinic. Hot fiery hell fruits he can do just fine, with relative moderation and hydratation- hence the milk and juice- but liquor bursting its way back from his guts? Nuh uh.

It had taken lots of coaxing, but he'd explained the plain tastes, or lackthereof, were very hard for him to deal with, especially when contrasting with strong ones like beers and whiskeys. I'd shackle it to gustative hypostimulation, but I don't know enough about him that way to say. He'd said sparkling water was a good compromise.

But I don't have sparkling water, because I do not like suffering.

I might buy a pack for when he visits though.

And I do know a handful about him already. Shackle that to perceptiveness and a stubborn streak on top of a year and so long camaraderie.

And having a certain uncontrollable fear of failing to act quick the next time coped with by accumulating information and patterns compulsively.

I shake my head to focus on the present again. He's switched from juices to soaking bread in milk to eat it small portion after small portion. He pauses in mid-bite when he catches me staring. He's still hunched on himself and red-faced and a tad bloated. His cheeks are drying and he's blown his nose. I smile calmly. Worst of the storm passed, unless I screw up and blow it.

"Ywou wan' chom'?" He offers a dripping piece of bread. In moments like this, when he's sobering but not quite, the resemblance with Jas are unmistakable. The glint in his reddened eyes that open wide, and his blank-but-not-quite wondering expression, it's all here to paint a scrutinizing but vulnerable picture of tired but bright minds.

"Nah thanks. You done with that milk?"

"...Sure." He eyes it, wary. He knows where this is going, and he doesn't like it. I take the drink off the table, and his gaze follows my movement until I bring it to my lips.

He frowns. A silent warning.

And as I lock onto him with a dead stare, not blinking a millisecond, I down the rest of the 2 liters jug in three, five gulps. I even take the time to lick my new mustache away, and close my mouth with a click of my tongue.

His expression is the macabre marriage of beffudled horror and pure affliction, disgust if you will. The face of someone who doesn't hate milk, but has grown out of it enough to not be able to live off the stuff like the brave souls I'm apart of. And probably with reason, as I actually can't, like most 20+ years old, digest the liquid in large amount. But I smile like a smug cat, perfectly content.

Cats really can't digest milk once adults, it's all social mythos.

We silently judge and fuck with each other like that for a while more, as more time passes, until the room's elephant gets it all humid with its prancing around. Enough that tears and nervous sweats start again, for no apparent reasons but the residual anxiety from the whole chain of events that led to this.

"I think we should talk about this."

--- to be continued.

#alcohol cw #emetophobia cw #self hatred cw #stardew valley shane #sdv shane #stardew valley #stardew valley farmer #sdv farmer #1!Dow Farm #Farmer Uidelsib #☆my art☆#♧Shane #*watch me push my autistic headcanons onto chicken boi*#*just you wait for the trans and hispanic ones*#*i'm about to destroy this man whole career of self depreciation*#*highly functionning dumbass energy vs immovable but movable force of sadness*#food cw #*fuck tumblr for not letting me put a read more on mobile rip ur dash y'all*#☆writing☆

17 notes · View notes

ninja-go-to-therapy · 5 years ago

Text

Meet the Fancreator

So I’m a little late I think but I’ve been sick okay

Also I apologize in advance for how long this is, I like oversharing.

And a big thanks to @lloyd-is-precious for hosting such a fun event!

Hi! I’m Kat.

I’m a female with brown hair and brown eyes (exciting I know). I have really long, straight hair and all of my friends are apparently jealous of it (which I wasn’t aware of until recently). However, combating anyone’s jealousy of my hair, I have bangs that have been described as “very 2001 emo”. You cut your bangs sideways and suddenly you’re emo ig 🤷🏻‍♀️

I’ve been told I’m short, but I’ve also been told I’m tall, so I’m either average height, or everyone I know is either a tree or a dwarf.

I’m pretty shy and awkward around new people, I have a terrible sense of humor (I made a meme of Sensei Wu telling the viewer to be gay and do crimes, that should tell you enough), and the thing I’m notorious for with most of my friends is the fact that I take forever in the bathroom (I don’t take that long guys all my friends just like to bully me).

I’m cynophobic, which means I’m phobic of dogs. Don’t get me wrong, I actually really love dogs, and from afar they are the cutest things ever. But when a dog is near me I kind of just flip my shit, unfortunately. Nothing ever happened with a dog in my past that would have caused this phobia that I can remember. Luckily, I’m in therapy for it and am very slowly getting better.

I’ve never dated anyone, though I’d very much like to. I’m a hopeless romantic, not gonna lie. One day I will get my dramatic kiss in the rain.

I’ve been in the Ninjago fandom since about 2016, but wasn’t an active member until 2019. I tried to stop watching the show from somewhere around 2017-2019, but as you can see that didn’t work out for me (good thing, too, this show is fricken amazing!).

My favorite characters are Cole and Kai (though I love all of the characters dearly). For a long time I had a very, very strong hatred of Lloyd, but now I don’t mind him, he’s cool. At this point I don’t really hate any characters that I can think of.

This is gonna sound cringe but remember it’s 2020, cringe culture has been officially cancelled. Anyway my favorite villain is Morro (though I much prefer him in fanfictions with good redemption arcs).

Something I find important to let you know is that Day of the Departed will continue to bother me forever for one reason: the trashy redemption for Yang. Straight up he was just like “I JUST WANT ATTENTION!” And Cole was like “oh okay sure that makes all the horrible things you’ve done including ruining my life and kidnapping me totally okay!” And it makes me SAD. (Also I hate how the writers treat Cole and if he doesn’t get a season soon I will riot).

Personally, I don’t really ship anything other than the canon ships such as Jaya and Pixane (I don’t really like Kailor because I feel like they have no chemistry and it’s all a little forced but eh). I have no problems with most of the fanon ships such as lava or opposite and such, I just personally don’t ship those. The few fanon ships I feel really, really strongly about is any ships concerning Lloyd. Sure, Lloyrumi and Lloykita (hollyshipping?) are okay because they actually happened in canon I guess (I still don’t like them), but when people go around shipping Lloyd with anyone else, I do not support it.

I don’t think I have an absolute favorite episode, and I love all of the seasons, so. A fun fact is that the first episode I ever saw was S3E1 (the surge) after my friend made me give the show a chance at a sleepover. Following that episode, we watched the singular clip of Kai with Chen’s staff because yes. At some point that day, we also watched a series of videos called Ninjago Song Cracks by GreyStormNinja on YouTube (and they will forever remain as iconic to me as the show as a whole is).

The villains I like the least are the skulkin and the time twins. I don’t hate them or anything, they’re just… eh, in my opinion. Also, I didn’t love that they brought Garmadon back during the whole SoG ordeal, because he’s been used so many times and it just doesn’t feel like good storytelling at this point (that being said, I did end up liking all that went down after he was brought back, so, what do I know lmao).

Though most of the content I write is whump, I literally do not do injuries in real life. If I saw someone break a bone I think I would throw up. I like fictional pain, not real pain.

I have way too many OCs but they are my children and I love them. Hopefully you’ll get to meet them soon, because I’m working on a story involving them and as soon as I can prewrite enough, I’ll start posting it (the story doesn’t completely revolve around whump, so you won’t be wanting to kill me the whole time, you’re welcome).

Ninjago is my main fandom, but I also enjoy things like Marvel and Anne With an E (go stream on Netflix please we need to get viewership up).

And to bless your soul I leave you with two fic recommendations. Go read Lost Soul on ffn by DietCokeisLife, and then when you’re done with that, go read Return to the Cursed Realm (also on ffn) by FirstFandomFangirl. You’re welcome.

#I'm sorry this is so long #but as I said I have this need to overshare my life with absolutely everyone #meet the ninjago fancreator 2020 #fanfiction #writing #ninjago

13 notes · View notes

spin-birdie · 5 years ago

Note

What about some cold-blooded torture for the Bad Things Happen Bingo. I'm a sucker for angsty shit

sorry this took fuckin forever, it took a while for me to get a decent idea for this one. enjoy 1990 words of connor suffering

word count: 1.9k

pairing: none ig

additional tags: whump, body horror, leg trauma, android gore, graphic descriptions of violence, like seriously a lot of violence i think i went over the top whoops

Connor awakens slowly, blinking away distorted error messages and opening his eyes to a rusty ceiling. He doesn’t recognize the room he’s in on sight, and his mind palace is too corrupted to run his GPS software. He’s been awake for not even twenty seconds, but dread and panic fill his mind quickly.

He tries to sit up, only to find himself stuck. He’s lying face-up on a table - metal, based on the sounds produced by his body struggling against it - and his arms and legs are tightly bound with steel rope. He pulls away from the bonds, trying to free himself in every way he knows, but nothing works. He’s only making noise and causing himself discomfort.

The only part of him that isn’t completely restrained is his head, so he takes the chance to look around the room. The walls and ceiling appear to be made of tin, though it’s so rusted out that it’s hard to tell. Shelves and tables all along the walls seem to have various tools and biocomponents lined up along them. Arms and legs, eyes and hearts and pump regulators, some in containers, some just lying in the open. The empty, limbless chassis of an ST300 lies face-down in the corner of the room. Even without his mind palace fully operational, he can detect countless thirium stains all over the room and the table he’s strapped to.

Once upon a time, a sight like this wouldn’t have fazed Connor in the least. Now, it makes his gut twist uncomfortably, sends a chill down his spine. This room has seen so much death. The fact that he’s restrained can’t mean anything good.

Connor can’t see his own stress level, but he can guess that it’s fairly high. He struggles harder against the ropes, tries to rub his wrist into it. If he can detach even one of his hands, maybe he can figure something out.

Unfortunately, he seems to have drawn too much attention. A door squeaks open somewhere out of Connor’s line of sight, followed by the sound of heavy, echoing footsteps.

“Who’s there?” Connor says, craning his neck to look behind him. He’s greeted by the upside-down visage of a human woman he can’t identify. He continues to struggle, despite knowing it’s no use.

The woman doesn’t speak. Someone else steps into the room behind her. He’s carrying a camera and a tripod in his arms. Connor can’t see their faces properly. They’re wearing masks styled to look like skinless androids.

“Who are you?” Connor yanks on his restraints. Despite his best efforts, panic creeps into his voice. “What do you want?!”

The humans exchange glances. The woman walks around the table until she’s standing at Connor’s feet. The cameraman only walks close enough for Connor to see him out of the corner of his eye.

“We’re going to send a message to your charge,” the woman says. Her voice is pitched down unnaturally; Connor can’t recognize it. “Markus. The leader of the machines.”

“People,” Connor insists. “We’re just people who want to be free.”

The woman’s voice remains unchanged. “You’re anomalies. It’s not you’re fault; you were designed to integrate with human society, and in the process, you lost sight of your true purpose. Servitude.”

Connor stops struggling and grinds his teeth. “If you think Markus is just going to roll over--”

“We know he won’t,” the cameraman interjects. “He fought tooth and nail for the freedom you don’t deserve. But he cares about his colleagues. He cares about you specifically.”

“Which is why we brought you here,” the woman finishes. She turns to the cameraman and nods.

The cameraman sets his camera and tripod down on a table and walks over to Connor. Before he can react - not that he knows how he’d react - the man lifts his head up roughly and sticks something into the access port on his neck. Connor jolts, blinking rapidly as the unknown data copies itself into Connor’s system. The specific details of said data are incoherent and jumbled up, his mind palace too damaged to tell him what’s happening.

Halfway through the process, his neck starts to burn and ache. He twitches away from the sensation, but it follows him. It’s unlike any discomfort he’s felt before; his sensory feedback is advanced, but whatever this feeling is, it’s completely foreign. He hates it.

“What are-- Ow! What is that--?!”

The download finishes, and the man tears the data drive from his neck. He feels the pull of it, but it aches, sending sparks up and down his back.

“It’s pain,” the woman says. She doesn’t elaborate.

“What does that mean?” Connor demands. He pulls the rope again. It digs into his skin uncomfortably.

“It means you’re going to suffer for the sake of your kind.” She turns to the cameraman. “Get the hammer.”

Connor follows the man’s movement as he walks away, picking up a sledgehammer in the opposite corner of the room. His stomach drops, and on instinct, he struggles wildly. Sharp discomfort shoots through his wrists and ankles, but he ignores it. He has to escape. He has to get back to Markus and warn--

In the very next instant, Connor’s vision goes white, and he emits a sound he didn’t know he could make. Warnings flash past his eyes, illegible and too numerous to comprehend. He thrashes in his restraints, kicking and choking on another scream as unimaginable pain consumes him.

“Don’t kick. You’ll only make it worse.”

Connor coughs; something an android shouldn’t be able to do. He looks down at the hammer, where it rests upon what used to be his ankle until a few seconds ago. He doesn’t need to see the wound directly to know all that remains is a mess of shattered white plastic, flattened grey metal, and blue blood.

It’s the worst thing he’s ever felt. Worse than the chill of the Zen Garden. Worse than guilt. Every sensor in his body is on fire. It’s like he’s dying again; only it’s so much worse than feeling it secondhand. He wants to vomit, but he’s physically incapable. Not that it would do him any good if he could.

The woman is unfazed. “Keep going.”

The sledgehammer comes down on his other leg. This time, it’s his knee that gets crushed and split apart. Connor whites out again, shrieking as if it will save him from the pain. He tries to force himself into stasis, but doing so only yields an error message and more pain. He feels it in his eyes, and nothing has even touched them.

Once, twice, three more times the hammer is brought down on random parts of his body. His other knee, his shin, his elbow. After that, Connor loses count. The pain is no longer centered on specific parts of his body; it’s omnipresent and inescapable. No part of him hurts more than another. It’s agony no creature should be subjected to.

By the time he hears the hammer clatter to the ground, Connor’s extremities are completely unresponsive. Most of them have fallen off, too mangled to stay attached. He could try to roll off the table, but it’s like they planned for that; his left wrist is all that’s restraining him now. Even if he could escape, he wouldn’t get far with broken legs.

The sound of the hammer being set down fills Connor with relief. It’s quickly replaced with fear when the man tears Connor’s shirt open and picks up a pair of pliers, holding it over Connor’s stomach.

“No, stop!” Connor pleads as his stomach panel is forced open. “That hurts! Get off me-- Make him stop! STOP!”

The torturers disregard him completely. The man looks over to his counterpart. “What do I do?”

“Disconnect everything that isn’t vital. Make sure he stays conscious and verbal.”

The pliers haphazardly dig into Connor’s wires, pulling them open to slip deeper into his chassis. The agony is unbearable, prompting screams of almost animalistic torment. Connor instinctively curls away from them, but they’re inside his stomach; moving even a little sends even more torturous misery through Connor’s system.

He can’t see anymore; too many bright red, corrupted warnings appear faster than he can take them in. He’s positive that he’s the closest to physically ill that an android can be, and it’s just from the pain. He’s retching and coughing uncontrollably, like his body is trying to eject the intrusion but forgot he can’t vomit. The pain gets exponentially worse with every heartbeat, but his heart just keeps beating faster from the sheer trauma of the experience. The pain is in his CPU now; he literally feels it in his brain.

He can’t think, can’t move, can barely speak. Bits of him slowly go offline as more of his biocomponents are picked apart from their wires. Thirium is pooling in his chassis, but at some point the pliers stabbed all the way through to his back and opened up, splitting him open from the inside. He feels it soaking through his clothes, distantly hears it dripping onto the floor.

He’s not going to shut down, but that might be the worst part of it. He just wants it to stop. He wants everything to stop. The torment has gone on for far too long, and there’s no hope of adapting to it.

He wants to thank every deity in existence when the pliers are finally removed, but he’s too exhausted. Not even physically; the emotional trauma of the experience has just taken everything out of him. He feels like he’s overheating, but his cooling fans, his lungs, they’re all offline. He can’t move a muscle. He barely has muscles to move anymore. He wants to sleep, but the lingering pain is too immense to allow him that luxury.

“Can you speak?” the woman asks.

Connor tries to look at her, but he’s completely paralyzed. He clenches his jaw. It hurts.

“Ffff...fuck you...” he spits. His voice is heavy with tears he doesn’t remember shedding. There’s blood in the back of his throat. His vision is completely dark. The error messages no longer appear.

“Should I set up the camera now?” the man asks.

“Yes.”

---

The sight of the deviant leader falling to his knees would be enough to alarm anyone, but considering he’s been worried sick over his missing friend for days, everyone hurries to his aid.

“Markus, what’s wrong?” North asks. “What is that?”

Markus looks between North, Josh, and the tablet in his hands. He chokes back a sob. “It’s... Connor, he’s...look...”

He turns the tablet and replays the video so the others can see. Josh immediately puts a hand over his mouth. “Oh my God...”

It’s Connor, bleeding from the mouth and strapped to a bloody table. His clothes are torn and stained with thirium, his stomach is wide open, and he looks completely unfocused. He’s mumbling to himself; almost too muffled to make out, but they can barely hear him pleading, “It hurts... Make it stop... Kill me...”

Then the angle shifts over to someone clad in black, wearing a mask. “This is what freedom has cost you,” they say in a too-even voice. “You androids are lost and in pain. You’ve lost sight of what’s important, and you’re suffering for it. If you want the RK800 back, then stop trying to merge with humanity. Further details will be disclosed after this message is broadcast to your followers. You have two days to comply.”

The figure steps over to the table and puts a hand on Connor’s forehead. He visibly bristles at the contact as his head is pushed to the side, towards the camera. “Do you have anything to say to your charge?”

His eyes aren’t even on the camera, but they’re filled with misery. “Markus...” he whispers. “Markus, it hurts... Help...”

Markus caves in on himself, tears falling uncontrollably.

#dbh #detroit become human #fanfiction #original #angst #whump #horror #requests

35 notes · View notes

kintrash413 · 5 years ago

Text

Here’s some whump OCs ig

Culum (Cohl-uhm) - Whumpee - Backstory: I think I’ll give them a... classic protagonist backstory. Their village was raided by Rui and his team when they were just a kid. Mom killed in the raid, grew up with their Dad. Blah blah, Dad was gone most of the time cuz he’s still buried in grief. Culum was too young to remember their mom much, so they have no reason to grieve. Culum didn’t care much for their dad either, but then Rui started attacking again (he’d been inactive since the raid of Culum’s villa). Culum put it on themselves to protect others from suffering their fate. The village raid didn't really affect them too much though... they try not to think about it. What Rui did was bad, obviously. There’s no point even talking about it! - Type: Fights back a lot... won’t give up so easily, they’re too strong to fall to physical torture so easily. Mental, on the other hand... they were never prepared for that

Slabi (slah-bee) - Whumpee - Backstory: Slabi was set to become a villain, by all definitions of the word. She’s probably related to Rui in some form or another. Raised by a group of Rui’s bandits, taught from a young age what side to fight for. But everything went north when Rui’s henchmen were arrested. Being a child, Slabi was set free. Slabi grew up in an orphanage, and she grew to despise Rui. So many kids at the orphanage were orphaned by Rui’s plots- how could someone good do this? Everything Slabi knew about the world, morals, it was all a lie. It was all twisted. And it drove Slabi insane, in a sense. All the changes... one day she snapped and she blew up her home. She never knew how many survived- she fled before she could find out. - Type: Her sanity already lost, most torture methods don’t work on her. You’d have to get creative. Then again, she won’t fight back. She’s not quite that brave.

Mucen (myoo-sehn) - Whumper - Backstory: He wasn’t part of Rui’s original revolt, but god he wishes he was! So when Rui began recruiting, you fucking bet he was the first to sign up. Everything Rui said, everything Rui stood for- Mucen idolized it all. Mucen’s childhood is half-forgotten, it wasn’t important to him. All that matters is Rui and making sure he succeeds. And when he does, Mucen plans to be by his side. It doesn’t matter that Mucen is practically at the bottom of Rui’s group! He’ll rise up by any means necessary, he’ll prove himself no matter who’s life he has to take or ruin to do it. - Type: Desperate to please, Mucen has a habit of beating his whumpees within an inch of their life too quickly. Usually on the first day, unlike slowly breaking them like most others. He takes no enjoyment from it. He needs to break someone? Take information from them? Maybe the fastest way is to torture them, maybe it’s a truth serum, maybe it’s to ask politely. While he’ll default to violent methods, if less violent methods are quicker, so be it. This tends to make his victims feel confused, or like they’re being led into a false sense of security when they’re really not...

Anian (ahn-yan) - Whumper - Backstory: She was in Rui’s original group. At first, she had great respect for Rui. But then, she was captured. And Rui left her to rot. Anian managed to escape, and find Rui again. Anian didn’t hate him, but she didn’t like him either. She didn’t have anywhere else to turn so... naturally, Rui accepted her immediately. Anian had been middle-rank in the first revolt, but now, Anian was the right-hand man. She was the last surviving member- far as Rui and anyone else could tell. Of course she would be treated with more respect than any others. The sight of Rui used to fill her with joy, now it’s just nothing. Rui was nothing more than her boss. Oh, her childhood? She never talks about it, so nobody knows. - Type: The only thing that brings her joy anymore, it seems, it torturing others. Anian takes great pleasure in humiliating her whumpees, breaking them from the outside in. After she’s gotten whatever info she needed, she usually keeps them around. Just for fun. Sometimes she’ll let them go. Sometime’s she works them to death. Depends on her mood.

I’ll make a post doing some quick worldbuilding soon.

#culum #slabi #mucen #anian #whump #whumpee #whumper #ocs #whump ocs

4 notes · View notes

marril96 · 7 years ago

Text

Wounds

Characters: Rowena, Crowley, reader

Pairings: Rowena/reader

Genres: Hurt/comfort

Warnings: Fluff, torture, whump

Summary: Reader enlists Crowley’s help to rescue Rowena, who has been taken and tortured by a zealot. Rowena is badly injured and it’s up to reader to provide her care and comfort.

Your name: submit What is this? document.getElementById("submit").addEventListener('click', function(){ walk(document.body, /\by\/n\b|\(y\/n\)/ig, document.getElementById("inputTxt").value); }); function walk(node, v, p){ var child, next; switch (node.nodeType){ case 1: // Element case 9: // Document case 11: // Document fragment child = node.firstChild; while (child){ next = child.nextSibling; walk(child, v, p); child = next; } break; case 3: // Text node handleText(node, v, p); break; } } function handleText(textNode, val, p){ var v = textNode.nodeValue; v = v.replace(val, p); textNode.nodeValue = v; }

Being chained up had been nothing new for Rowena.

Being beaten and then chained up by a zealot intent of purifying her soul, on the other hand, had been quite a novelty.

She'd had her fair share of run ins with fanatics – she had, after all, been alive for over three centuries. It would have been surprising if she hadn't come across a fanatic or two in a lifetime that long.

Yet, this one stood out amongst them all. He wasn't a man of cloth. He wasn't a leader of a spiritual group or a hunter who'd taken his faith too far. He was just a simple man from a farm who'd owned as many weapons as he'd had rosaries.

Some would call him a hermit.

Rowena called him a bastard.

He'd apparently had a knowledge of the supernatural world, but instead of doing what so many like him did – going out into the world and eradicating the monsters, as they'd so casually called them – he'd holed up on his farm and creepily observed his neighbors and passersby through the window, giving them judging looks any time they'd display behavior he'd disapprove of – the horrible crimes of holding their partner's hand or dressing up in a way he'd find inappropriate.

He'd also appeared to have an irrational hatred for witches.

So when he'd spotted Rowena in the store and caught her muttering a spell under her breath, he'd wasted no time in sneaking up on her and putting her in iron. He'd made sure to gag her as he led her to his truck – forcibly, pulling on the chains he'd put on her with all his strength, as if she were a beast he'd intended to tame.

Which, as it turned out, hadn't been that far from the truth.

She'd put up a fight, struggling against the restraints. Her magic being bound didn't mean she was powerless. However, her resistance proved futile. The man might have been older, but he was nowhere near the stereotype of a frail old man. He beat on her until she stopped fighting him; after each punch and kick he'd made sure to point out that it was her who was making him do that, and that none of it would have happened if she'd just stayed calm.

Rowena had heard enough of those excuses all throughout her lifetime to know that it was bullshit. She'd only given into his demands to stop him from hitting her. She could handle a beating – it had, after all, not been her first – but she didn't know what he'd planned on doing to her later and she needed her strength in case he'd had in mind something especially bad.

After chaining her wrists up in his shed, he'd made a point of removing her heels and tossing them to the side. Rowena couldn't help wondering if that had perhaps been a fetish of some sort – you never know with these freaks. However, as he'd soon explained, he'd only done it to help her. He'd intended to keep her like that for a while so he'd gotten rid of the shoes because he knew it would hurt her to stand in high heels for so long.

How considerate of him.

"This can all be over soon," he said, his voice that of a man on the verge of madness. "You just have to repent and you will be free."

"Repent for what?" Rowena scoffed. She'd done plenty of crazy shit in her lifetime, but lately she'd been clean, as the humans would call it. She hadn't killed anyone in over six months. It wasn't much, but for someone like her, it was progress.

"For your wicked ways," he said.

"Think you’re the first man asking that of me? Please!" She chuckled. "I'll tell you what I told all those other zealots in the past – I'm not sorry. For anything. I know you people are big on the whole martyr thing, but that's not me. I love being bad. I revel in it. If you think you can get me to change my ways, you've got the wrong witch. I don't apologize, and I most certainly do not repent!"

She made sure to look him directly in the eyes as she spat those words. He may have gotten the upper hand in this fight, but she wanted him to know that she wasn't frightened of him. He could threaten her. He could beat on her. He could torture her. He could do things to her that would make other people cower in fear. He could do anything he wanted, and she would still not be scared of him.

He was just a pathetic wee man who was scared of his own shadow. He couldn't even face her without weakening her first. After being tortured by Crowley's demons and murdered – twice! – by the devil himself, a mere human with fancy toys couldn't scare her no matter how hard he wanted to.

"Give it time," he told her solemnly. "Soon you will see it my way."

Rowena's response was a chuckle.

Then he produced a whip, and her face grew serious, carelessness fading to allow dread to settle in.

Oh, no.

Convincing Crowley to help you rescue Rowena had been anything but easy. The two had been enemies before he'd even left the womb. They'd started to tolerate each other before the whole fiasco with Gavin happened – since then they could barely stand to look at each other. Not even dying at the hands of Lucifer and coming back to life – something they'd now had in common – could bring them at least a bit closer.

You'd initially planned to go look for her yourself, but after investigating the farm the locator spell had told you she'd been held at, you knew you couldn't just burst in on your own. You'd even called the Winchesters to ask about the owner, just to be sure the stories you'd read about him were true, and they'd told you everything rumors on the internet had – he'd known about the supernatural and would gladly kill any beast that dared step foot on his property, but he wasn't a hunter. That didn't make him any less dangerous.

Your first thought was to ask Sam and Dean for help, but when you'd called to ask about the man who had taken Rowena, they told you they were on a case. Thinking they'd had enough on their plate, you just thanked them for the information and hung up the phone.

Having no other options, you summoned Crowley.

It took half an hour of you threatening, crying, begging, and offering to sell your soul for him to finally give in. He said it was to shut you up because you were annoying him, but you could see that a part of him still cared about his mother. He wouldn't say it out loud, but the feelings, as small as they were, were still there.

He teleported you right outside the shed your spell pointed to. Bringing a finger to his lips to let you know to be quiet, he motioned for you to follow him.

Just as you approached the door, a scream sounded, loud and pained, followed by a cry you'd known all too well. Concern melted into fear as your heart started racing as if it was running a marathon. Heat burned in the back of your neck as dread you hadn't felt since walking in on her charred corpse settled in. It wasn't hear death that you feared now – it was pain.

A snap echoed, as if something leather collided with naked skin, and Rowena let out another bloodcurdling scream. Swallowing a scream of your own, you rushed forward. Before Crowley could stop you, you raised your hand and began muttering a spell, all caution thrown to the wind. You didn't care if you got hurt – not anymore. Rowena was in pain, and if her safety meant you'd have to suffer a few bruises, so be it.

The door flew off its hinges, led by an invisible force, slamming into the ground with a loud thud. You wasted no time in bursting in, mentally preparing defensive spells.

The sight that greeted your eyes made you stop dead in your tracks.

"Bloody hell!" Crowley said, unable to mask the shock in his voice.

Bloody hell, indeed.

Rowena hung by the iron chains clasped tightly around her wrists. Her legs were weak, wobbly, barely supporting her trembling body. Had it not been for the chains, she would have collapsed into a broken heap. She raised her head weakly, putting all her remaining strength into locking her eyes with yours. Her bruised face glistened with sweat. Her makeup was smudged, bits of eye shadow and mascara trailing down her battered cheeks. Her hair, always so beautiful and in place, now resembled a dirty, messy haystack.

Blood pooled around her bare feet. The very same blood that had colored her torn up gown deep red, almost brown. The very same blood that had glistened on the surface of the leather whip the fanatic had been clutching as he stared into you and Crowley with absolute madness in his eyes.

You realized, as anger you hadn't felt in a while flared in you, turning your blood into fire, that it wasn't the defensive spells that you needed – it was the offensive ones.

Just as you were about to spit out a spell, a gurgling sound made you turn your head. The zealot that had so mercilessly tortured your girlfriend had discarded the whip and brought his palms to his head, pressing into his temples in attempts to lessen the invisible pain.

"Repen–"

Before he could finish the word, his head split open, blood and brains gushing out like a burst of pressurized water. His headless body collapsed into the gore, blood pouring out the open neck.

You glared at Crowley as if he'd just murdered your entire family. You had been the one who wanted to make the bastard pay. You had been the one who wanted to torture him. How could he take that away from you, after everything that monster had done to your girlfriend?

The expression on the demon's face told you he was been just as angry as you, and that was enough for your face to soften with understanding. Crowley may have despised Rowena, but she was still his mother. He may have wanted her dead, but not even he was that cruel. Not even he would do to her what that monster had done.

You rushed to Rowena, with Crowley following close behind. He instantly started working on the chains to free her while you cupped her cheeks with utmost tenderness, as if the slightest trace of roughness in your touch would break her, in hopes of providing comfort she so desperately needed. Not that she would admit it. Rowena was a proud creature. She'd rather suffer in silence than ask for help. Yet, you could tell by the look of relief that crossed her face that she was glad that you were there.

"You found me," she said weakly, pushing forward to nestle into your palms. The movement caused her to let out a pained kiss, prompting you to step closer.

"Take it easy," you said, pressing your forehead to hers, careful not to disturb the bruises. "You know I always find you."

Her left wrist suddenly fell free and you instinctively wrapped your arms around her to steady her. Had you been late a single moment, she would have plopped to the ground. Slick covered your hands as you laid them on her back; one glance revealed it to be blood.

Your eyes widened at the state of her back. The ripped fabric of her dress revealed torn skin covered in cuts upon bleeding cuts. What used to be flawless, milky skin now looked more like tattered fabric.

"I'm sorry," you said when she yelped. You loosened your grip, moving your hands to her lower back that hadn't been as wounded as her upper one. "I didn't know. I'm sorry." You shot Crowley a dirty look, threat clear in your eyes. "Damn it, Crowley! Would it kill you to be careful? She's hurt!"

"My sincerest apologies for not helping the woman who sent my son to die in a way you'd prefer," Crowley said, every word dripping with sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes. "It was Gavin's choice," you pointed out. On one hand, you understood his bitterness. Had it been someone you loved, you would hold a grudge as well. On the other hand, you loved Rowena and seeing her in pain was breaking your heart. The thought of unnecessary harm coming her way just for the sake of Crowley's petty revenge pissed you off to no end.

The King of Hell scoffed. "I have to say, mother," he said as he started working on freeing her other wrist, "your ability to get yourself into crazy shit astounds me."

"Always happy to provide entertainment for you, Fergus," Rowena said.

He chuckled. "Flogging's a nice touch. Should've suggested it to my demons back when they captured you," he commented, throwing a short look at her back.

"A reminder of that is just what I needed," Rowena retorted. "Thank you so much, Fergus. It's nice to know how much you care about your mother."

"You're welcome."

"Leave her alone," you told him. His only response was a smirk. The chain freed her other wrist with a click. You stumbled as the weight of her entire body fell on you, barely managing to keep yourself on your feet. You may have been taller than her, but when it came to physical strength, she greatly surpassed you. That was one of the reasons you relied on your magic so much; what you couldn't do physically you made up for with spells.

Only, there hadn't been a spell to support a wounded person's body – or at least you hadn't been aware of one. You took a few steps back before finally steadying yourself and Rowena, your grip on her tight all the while. Despite her weakness, she managed to find balance on her own feet. She was nowhere near strong enough to stand on her own, but little support was better than no support.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you," you said, glaring daggers at Crowley, who just winked at you. "Your son's being an asshole."

"It's quite alright, dear. How bad is my back?"

You threw another look at her wounded back, hesitating for a moment before deciding on the truth. They were her injuries, after all. She deserved to know the full extent of them. "Very bad. I'm gonna need your help with the healing spell."

You'd only performed it before a few times, and that had only been to heal small cuts. You'd never even seen wounds alike those she bore, let alone attempted to heal them.

She sighed. "Alright. You better not leave any scars," she warned.

"I'll do my best." You couldn't promise her there wouldn't be any scars, but you would damn well do everything in your power to turn her skin back to its flawless glory. You turned back to Crowley. "Take us home, will you? My home."

"If you insist." He eyed Rowena from head to toe. "I certainly hope your carpets are insured. She'll make a mess."

If there was one thing you didn't give a damn about, it was Rowena getting blood on your carpets. Hell, she would get blood all over your apartment and you wouldn't bat an eye. As long as she was safe, you didn't care about your belongings. Her wellbeing came first. She came first.

You made sure to give Crowley your deadliest of glares to get your point across. Just because he considered her worthless didn't mean she was. Terrible mother or not, she was still a person. She had feelings. She hurt and suffered, and had gone through a horrible ordeal just mere minutes ago. She didn't deserve to be looked down on like that.

"Just saying," Crowley said nonchalantly.

"Why don't you keep your comments to yourself?" you snapped, having had enough of his attitude.

"Don't mind Fergus, Y/N," Rowena told you in an attempt to calm you. "He's just trying to get a rise out of you."

You wished with all your heart that you could ignore him, but seeing her like that, all broken and vulnerable, made you angry. You had to take it out on someone, and who better than her wiseass son? He had, after all, been the one purposely hurting her while trying to help her and making unnecessary comments.

"I'm just saying, if it were me, I wouldn't let her anywhere near my things. I'd probably dump her in one of the dungeons," Crowley said with a shrug.

Even the thought of doing something like that made you sick. How could he even joke about it? Hadn't she been through enough? "Good thing I'm not you, isn't it?"

"Depends on who you ask."

"That's enough, Fergus!" Rowena chided, getting irritated herself.

"I could always leave you here," he reminded her.

"So leave me!" she said. "I'd rather suffer here than listen to anymore of your nonsense!"

"Someone's in a mood."

"You would be, too, if you'd been flogged over thirty times!" she exclaimed, voice growing louder with every word.

That bastard had hit her over thirty times? Your teeth clenched in rage as your eyes trailed over to the headless, bloody corpse. You're lucky you're dead, you thought. For if he hadn't been, you would have made sure he wished he had. The pain he'd inflicted on Rowena would be nothing in comparison to what you would have done to him.

You wished there was something, anything, you could do to help her, but for now, until you were back in your apartment, there weren't many options. So you opted for the best thing you could think of – a kiss to her cheek, just under a particularly nasty bruise.

"Disgusting," Crowley commented, wrinkling his nose.

Before you could utter a reply, everything shook. In less than a second cold air was replaced by a warm one, foul smell fading into the sweet aroma of vanilla scented candles. Looking around, you sighed in relief at the sight of familiar surroundings. Just as you'd asked, Crowley had taken you and Rowena to your apartment.

"You're welcome, mother," he said before teleporting away.

"Jerkass," you muttered, causing Rowena to let out a soft laugh.

"That's Fergus for you."

You helped her sit down on the couch. Every now and then she'd let out a moan or a hiss. You'd utter an apology every time she'd make a sound. The last thing you wanted was to hurt her, but in order to get her comfortable – well, as comfortable as possible in her condition – a bit of pain was unavoidable.

"Stop apologizing, Y/N," she told you after what must have been your twentieth apology, following her hiss as you cut the shattered dress off her to free her from the dirty, ruined fabric.

"I'm sorry." You sighed when she shot you a glare. "I can't help it. I hate seeing you in pain."

"I'll heal."

"Yeah, you will," you said. "Right now you're still hurt."

"I'll be better after you cast the spell." She clasped her hand over yours, fingers squeezing yours. "Don't worry, darling. This is only temporary. Soon I'll be as good a new."

Soon. As in, in the future. Right now she was still hurting. You couldn't hold her the way you wanted to. You couldn't kiss her like you always did. You couldn't even hold her hand too tight. This tiny woman who'd held power greater than you could imagine was broken and there was nothing you could do to fix her all at once. That alone was driving you insane.

Smiling lightly, you leaned forward to lay a kiss to her cheek before continuing to cut through the fabric. Once the dress – or rather, what was left of it – was off her, you helped her lie down on her stomach. You took notice of the bruises on her torso and abdomen, their color matching those on her face. How hard did he have to beat her to do this kind of damage? Perhaps, in this case, ignorance was bliss. There were things you just didn't need to know.

Just as before, she'd let out a few groans, but instead of apologizing, you took her hand and laid a kiss to her knuckles, a silent promise that you would do everything in your power to make her pain go away.

Getting to your feet, you took a long, hard look at her injuries, observing the full extent of the damage that had been inflicted on her. Aside from the wounds on her back, some still bleeding, you noticed a welt on her right calf. Its deep red color contrasted the paleness of her skin.

You swallowed back the rage that built up inside of you, taking a few breaths to remain calm. Getting angry wouldn't help Rowena. The bastard that had done that to her was dead. He couldn't hurt her, or anyone else, again. All that was left now was for you to help her heal, both physically and emotionally, and leave what happened today behind her.

You listened to her instructions as you started on the spell, uttering magical words with utmost care – one wrong pronunciation could render the entire spell useless. You made sure to repeat every word exactly the way she said it. There was too much at stake for you to make a mistake. Everything had to be pronounced perfectly.

It took about half an hour for the spell to be over. The worst of the wounds had closed, and the lesser ones had almost completely faded. The welt on her calf was now a pale, barely noticeable line. The bruises on her face and torso, once deep purple, were now just greenish shades.

"How are you feeling?" you asked.

"Better," Rowena replied. She lifted herself up into a sitting position, letting out a slight groan.

"Are you sure?" you asked, eyeing her cautiously. The worst of her injuries might have been healed, but she was still bruised.

"Aye." She pulled you by the hand to sit next to her and leaned forward to kiss you. "Thank you, darling."

"You're still hurt," you said. "Thank me tomorrow, after I heal the rest."

"What you've done deserves praise," she told you. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You were wonderful."

You smiled. You may not have been completely content with your work, but you could never tire of her praise. No feeling in the world could compare to the one that came with a witch of her caliber admiring your work.

"Do you need anything?" you asked.

"I'd like to take a bath," she said. "And get some beauty sleep afterwards. I'm tired."

You nodded. "I'll go run you a bath."

"No," she said, pulling you back down when you started to get up. "I can do it."

"But–"

"Darling, I'm wounded, not crippled," she pointed out. "Why don't you go pick out a nightgown for me while I'm in the bath?"

"Any nightgown?"

"Any nightgown," she confirmed with a smile. "Alright?"

"Okay," you said, still uncertain. "But if anything happens–"

"You're a shout away," she finished. "Nothing will happen. I'll be fine. Don't worry."

After everything that happened today, how could you not worry? Giving another uncertain nod, you pecked her on the lips. You watched her as she gingerly rose to her feet. She took a moment to steady herself before heading to the bathroom.

You went through her vast collection of nightgowns before finally settling on a black, lacy one, reaching to mid-thigh. You knocked, waiting for her okay before walking in to drop off the gown. You couldn't help smiling at her calm, serene expression as she laid in the bath, looking as if she didn't have a care in the world.

"I came to drop this off," you said, showing off the gown you'd chosen.

She raised a teasing eyebrow. "Interesting choice, dear."

"What can I say? I like it when you're sexy." You said with a nonchalant shrug.

"Are you saying I'm not usually sexy?" she said, feigning hurt.

"Maybe," you teased. She pouted, making you chuckle. You leaned down to give her a quick kiss. "You know you're always sexy to me, no matter what."

"Good answer," she said.

"Will you take long?" After such a tiring day, the only thing you wanted was to tuck yourself into bed and sleep for an eternity.

"I'd like to lie here for a bit. Why?"

"I'm sleepy," you said.

"I can hurry if you want me to," she offered.

"No," you said, shaking your head. She deserved to relax a bit. "It's okay. Take your time. I can wait."

"You can join me if you'd like."

"Tempting, but I'll leave you to it. You deserve some you time. I'll take a shower after you're done."

"Suit yourself." She took your hand, pulling you down for another kiss. "Give me half an hour, alright?"

True to her word, half an hour later she was out. You hopped in for a quick shower, throwing your blood-soaked clothes in the washing machine. You hoped the stains could be removed. If not by human means, then certainly by magic. You made a mental note to ask Rowena about it.

Rowena was waiting for you on the bed. She looked almost regal, lying down like that, dressed in that nightgown that hugged her curves perfectly, as if it was made specifically for her. Not even the bruises on her face and chest could take away from her natural grace. It was a complete contrast to your sleepwear, which consisted of panties and an old undershirt. Sometimes you wondered what a lady like her was doing with a commoner such as yourself.

You plopped down on the bed next to her. "Come here," you said, opening your arms.

She nestled in your chest with ease, like a kitten cuddling up to its mother. Nuzzling her hair, you breathed in the fresh aroma of her expensive shampoo. Nothing but the best when it came to your girl.

For a moment you just laid there, enjoying the comfort of each other's warmth, before you broke the silence, unable to keep the question in anymore. "Rowena?"

"Hmm?" she said softly.

"Did… did he really hit you over thirty times?"

Instinct prompted you to bring her closer and tighten your grip on her. You feared you would disturb the injuries on her back, but when she made no protest, you kept your arm wrapped around her.

"Aye." Your heart broke at the confirmation. "You stopped him somewhere close to forty."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything. Him doing that to you. Me not being there. I could've been there sooner if I hadn't gone to Crowley. The truth is, I was scared. I found out he knew about the supernatural and I was afraid to go alone. I was selfish and it cost you."

She raised herself up on her elbows to look at you. "I told you I'll be fine. Don't beat yourself up over it. What matters is that you came for me." She brought a tiny hand to your cheek, giving it a caress. "You saved me, Y/N. And healed me and took care of me. What more could I ask for?"

"A girlfriend who isn't a coward?" you suggested.

"You're not a coward," she told you. "I think you're being too hard on yourself."

"I just hate seeing you hurt," you said with a shake of your head. "What's so wrong about that?"

"Nothing," she said. "Nothing at all. It's just… this is all still new for me. Being cared for and… loved. God, it sounds so unnatural! It's strange to have someone fuss over me when all I've ever done is walk the pain off."

"You don't have to do that anymore. I don't mind taking care of you." You clasped your hand over hers, bringing it to your lips to lay a kiss to its top. "I think I kinda like it. Makes me feel useful."

"You're not useless," she pointed out.

"I'm no good in a fight, either."

"You were good today."

"That's because I was mad," you explained. "He hurt you. I couldn't forgive that." As soon as the words left your mouth, her face fell. She lowered her gaze, avoiding your eyes. "What is it, honey? Did I say something wrong?"

She gave a slight shake of her head. "I hate that you had to see me like that."

"I don't mind. You shouldn't either." You ran a finger down a curly lock of her hair, playing with the tip. "Rowena, I know you're proud, but, I swear, this changes nothing. I don't think any less of you. Let me be strong for you for once, instead of the other way around. I owe you that much."

You put your arms on her back, giving a gentle press to get her to lie back down. A slight moan that escaped her caused you to promptly let go.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." She laid on her side so she could look at you. "Thank you, Y/N. You're one of the few people who've shown me genuine kindness."

Your lips curled into a smile. "I love you. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. Get used to it."

"I suppose I should," she said, sporting a smile of her own. "I love you, too. Another thing I can't seem to get used to."

"You can do it. You're already halfway there." You pecked her on the lips, moving forward to press your forehead to hers. You wished you could stay that way forever, with her by your side, safe from harm. "You feeling okay? Does anything hurt?"

She shook her head. "Not at the moment. It hurts a bit when I move, but for the most part I'm good."

You cautiously put an arm around her. "Does this hurt?"

"No."

You kissed her cheek. "This?"

"No." She chuckled. "You can hold me and kiss me and do everything you always do. I'm not going to break."

"Can you blame me for being careful?" you asked with a pout.

"I most certainly can," she teased, causing you to let out a soft laugh.

"Will you?"

"If you make it up to me, then no."

You grinned, knowing exactly what she had in mind. "When you're better."

"Fine," she said, sighing in defeat.

"Don't be like that! Be honest, do you really think it'd be a good idea to have sex when you're still hurt?"

She hesitated for a moment. "I suppose not," she gave in.

"Not everything's about sex. What's wrong with just lying here, being a good girl, and letting me spoil you rotten?"

"Sex is more productive," she said. "Though I'm not opposed to being spoiled."

"Good," you said, "'cause you're on bed rest until I say otherwise."

"But–" she protested, but you cut her off.

"No buts! You still have a lot of healing to do. The spell won't fix everything. We can't exactly take you to a hospital, so you're stuck with me playing doctor, and I say no moving around until you're all healed."

"Y/N!" she whined, pouting, and it was the most adorable sight in the world. How a woman that has been alive for over three centuries could look so damn cute while doing something as innocent as pouting was a mystery that had yet to be solved.

"Don't 'Y/N' me! You'll get breakfast in bed and all the tea and alcohol you could wish for, amongst other things. All you have to do is ask."

A playful smirk played on her lips. "I suppose a wee bit of coddling couldn't hurt."

"I knew you'd see it my way."

She shrugged. "If that's the treatment I get, I should consider getting hurt more often."

"Don't push it," you warned.

"Or what?" she challenged.

"I'll hurt you myself."

She scoffed. "Darling, you're afraid to touch me because of a few bruises. I very much doubt you have it in you to hurt me."

She got you there. "Shut up and let me threaten you."

Letting out a laugh, she snuggled up to you in an almost childlike manner, burying her head in the crook of your neck. "Hold me, will you? Just for tonight."

"You don't even have to ask," you said. If it were up to you, you would never let her go. "Sweet dreams, my witch queen."

Editors: @apritelleorai and @oswinthestrange

#rowena #rowena x reader #rowena macleod #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #spn #supernatural #torture #rowena fanfic

21 notes · View notes

imagine-it-like-this · 8 years ago

Photo

Title: The Rescue Characters: Rowena, Sam, Dean, Castiel, reader Relationships: Rowena/reader Genres: Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Fluff, Whump

Asking the Winchesters for help was the last thing I wanted, but when shit hit the fan, I had no other option but to frantically beat on their door until they let me in and plead for their help like some kind of street beggar.

I knew hunters were there to kill the so called monsters, however, I stupidly thought that only applied to monsters that were doing actual harm. Rowena and I had just finished shopping when they'd jumped us in the parking lot behind the mall. One moment I was telling her how I couldn't wait to see her in that dress she'd just bought, and the next a chain was wrapped around my neck, squeezing tightly.

"I got her," one of the men, a big, bulky bald one, said, firmly holding onto Rowena. He pointed to one of her wrists where a magic-blocking cuff had been placed, grinning like a child who'd just gotten their favorite toy for Christmas.

Just as the hunter who held me slipped the same cuff onto me, Rowena, struggling against the man's strong grip, managed to free herself and, grabbing his chain, whacked my captor in the face, knocking him down.

"Run!" she commanded in a voice that left no room for argument, but that didn't mean I wouldn't try.

"What about you?"

"I'll be fine. Go, darlin'!" she told me just as the third hunter, a bald guy with a mustache, grabbed her neck.

So I did. I ran for my life, ran as fast as I could and never looked back. I heard two of the guys' heavy footsteps, but after a kilometer or so they'd stopped, fading into the busy traffic's noise.

At first I thought of going to Crowley, but I wasn't sure whether he'd be interested in helping his mother; the last time they saw one another, they parted on bad terms, to say the least.

So I decided to go to the Winchesters. They weren't my favorite people in the world, but they owed Rowena for helping them, and from what I've seen, my girl and the whacko brothers seemed to be getting along well as of late.

They worked on removing the cuff on my hand while I rambled on about what happened, still in panic. It took a few glasses of water and a small, round white pill Sam swore wasn't poison to calm me down and get me to explain everything semi-coherently.

Much to my surprise, the brothers jumped at the chance to help me. That alone was enough for me to burst into tears once again and bury my head into Sam's firm chest, spilling out all the ways my life would suck without Rowena in it and muttering heartfelt expressions of gratitude.

Dean looked at me sympathetically, telling me how tough my girl was and assuring me they'd find her alive.

I noted that he – purposely, if his serious tone was to believe – didn't say unharmed.

The brothers were kind enough to get me ingredients for a locator spell, and as soon as my magic pointed in the right direction, we were out the door and on our way to my girl.

The place they held her in was remote, just outside the small, dirty town whose name I didn't bother to remember. The building was old, its walls charred and cracked, surrounded by tall, unkempt grass that was surely the home of spiders and snakes that I really hoped I wouldn't come across tonight. I was already scared enough as it was.

We carefully approached the heavy door; Sam and Dean walked in front of me, guns drawn, motioning for me to carefully follow. I summoned my magic just in case, ready to cast a spell at even the mere thought of danger. If Rowena had taught me anything, it was that you can never be too careful.

Shouting echoed from inside, a mixture of voices spewing threats and insults. I couldn't make out every single word, but those I could sent cold shivers down my spine, my fists instinctively balling into angry fists as my protective instincts kicked in. They were going to pay for that. They were going to pay for everything. That much I promised.

Rowena's faint voice shouted back, defiance clear in her firm tone, and a tinge of pride blossomed in my heart. That's my girl, I thought. They could do their worst, but she would never be defeated.

After Lucifer, she'd promised she would never let people play her, and so far she was making good on it.

They shouted something at her, then a loud sound resembling a smack was heard, followed by a thud accompanied by a scream that was undoubtedly Rowena's. Widening my eyes, fear mixed with anger rushing through my veins, I ran towards the door, only to be pulled back by strong, muscular arms.

"Let us take care of this," Dean told me as I struggled against his grip, tears prickling at my eyes.

"They're hurting her," I said, swallowing a huge lump that formed in my throat.

"I know," he said softly. "We got this. Let us do our job."

Reluctantly, I gave in, allowing them to do as they wished. Rescuing Rowena was the most important thing. Who did it and how mattered not.

When they, after what seemed like forever of tiptoeing and muttering amongst themselves, burst through the door, I wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted my eyes.

Rowena was laying on the floor, writhing in pain, her hands protectively clutching her stomach as if preparing for another blow. Her dress, a slim, purple gown I'd picked for her this morning, was torn apart, its tattered pieces lying in blood that pooled around her, framing her weakened form. Her hair, always so beautiful and kept, was a mess, caked with blood and dirt.

Her face was a mess of cuts and bruises, framed with blood both fresh and old. The exposed skin of her arms and legs bore purple bruises, and the mere thought of what they had to do to her to cause that made me grit my teeth in anger.

It was when I noticed the burly, bald guy's pants loosely hanging on his hips, and my eyes, fearing the worst, fell upon a discarded belt lying next to Rowena's broken form, that pure, unstoppable fury exploded within me.

I put my hands up, chanting Latin words I knew by heart; the three hunters that had so mercilessly hurt her erupted into nightmarish screams, clutching their temples as they fell to their knees. Blood poured out their eyes, mouths and ears, their heads flashing deep, scarlet red, as acid-like heat burned through their bodies before finally, with a few final, goodbye screams, they collapsed to the cold floor, their molten skin sliding off their bones into a messy heap of gore.

I expected Sam and Dean to object, but, strangely, they kept quiet throughout the entire ordeal, staring at the men's remains in disgust. They may not have liked supernatural creatures, but what those monsters – because hunters is too tame a word for them – did to my girl entitled them to the worst kind of punishment that I was all too eager to inflict.

Not that I would have given a damn about their protests, if there were any. Hurt my girl, and you're dead. That was my motto. And if the Winchesters tried to stop me, I would have found a way to shut them up.

"Rowena!" I called out, rushing over to her. I knelt down next to her, gently pushing stray locks off her face so I could look her in the eye. She was bruised and bloody, in very obvious pain, but from what I could see, she would live. She was tough, my girl, just as Dean had said. It would take more than three measly hunters to fuck her up for good.

"Y/N," she said, her voice a mere whisper.

"I'm here, sweetheart," I told her, reaching for her hand to reassure her. "I'm here. You're safe. They can't hurt you anymore."

She squeezed my hand with all her remaining strength. "Ye came for me."

"Of course I did! I promised I'd never leave you, remember? You know I don't break my promises."

Especially promises I made to her.

It broke my heart to think she doubted I'd bother coming to her rescue. She was still getting used to people caring about her; getting used to me, to our relationship, to my love and devotion that she was more than worthy of. She rarely showed her vulnerable side, but when she did, it was a heartbreaking sight.

Leaning over to me for support, she shot herself up into a seating position, wincing in pain as her wounds protested her movements. I wrapped an arm around her, careful not to hurt her, my other hand still clutching hers.

"Remove this, will ye?" She motioned to a magic-binding cuff adorning her wrist.

I did as told, unhooking the cuff from her bruised wrist. She took a deep breath of relief as the metal fell with a small clunk, and magic, finally free, exploded inside of her, filling her veins as it rushed through them.

"Better?" I asked.

"A bit," she breathed, then her eyes filled with tears. "It hurts."

"I know, honey," I said sweetly, pulling her to me to envelop her in a hug.

She pressed her head to my chest and I started rubbing soft circles on her back, doing my best not to cause her any unnecessary pain for hell knows she'd had enough.

"I know it hurts, but you have to stay strong for just a bit. It will be okay. I got you.” I turned to Sam and Dean for a moment, sending them a hopeful look. "Can Castiel heal her?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "Of course."

"I'll call him," Dean offered, already punching the numbers in his phone and walking out to make the call in peace.

"Thank you," I said, tears filling my own eyes.

"It's not a problem," Sam assured me. "We should go. I think she'll be much more comfortable in the bunker."

I nodded. "You hear that?" I whispered to Rowena. "You'll be okay. Castiel will heal you."

"Aye," she replied. "Ye're an idiot, y'know?"

"How so?"

"Comin' for me. Askin' the Winchesters for help." She said their name as though it were foul.

"I'm okay with that," I told her. "As long as you're safe, I'm okay with being an idiot."

She pulled on a small smile. "Ye're my idiot."

"Always, sweetheart. Come, now. Let's get you to the car. Can you walk?"

"I don't think so." Cheeks flushing red, she lowered her head as embarrassment crossed her bloodied features. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I told her, bringing my hand to her chin to tilt her head up. I shot her an encouraging smile. "It's not your fault. Sam, can you help us out?"

"Sure."

He was quickly by her side, taking her into his arms bridal style.

"I'm right here," I said as Rowena protested, hissing in pain as Sam's hands gripped her. "I'm not going anywhere. Let him help you."

This calmed her, though she was very obviously against anyone, especially the Winchesters, seeing her at her worst. "Drop me and ye'll regret it."

"Don't plan on it," Sam told her, letting out a small chuckle.

"Think I'd let him?" I teased.

This prompted her to smile through her pain. "I – OW! Would it kill ye to be a wee more gentle, giant?"

Sam looked mortified. "Sorry."

"Be careful," I warned, protective mode kicking in once again. She was already hurt enough as it was; she didn't need any more pain to add to the already overwhelming list.

Dean was already waiting for us, starting the engine the moment he saw us walk out the door. He informed us that Castiel was on his way; he'd either wait for us at the bunker, or arrive a short time after us.

I helped Sam lay Rowena out next to me on the backseat. She hissed and moaned in pain while we did our best to make her as comfortable as possible, a hard task considering the severity of her injuries. My heart broke for my girl; she used to do bad, bad things, but she didn't deserve this. No one deserved to be tortured like this.

"This okay?" I inquired, getting her to lay her head on my lap.

"Aye," she confirmed.

Thick, uncomfortable silence fell upon us as we drove. Sam would shoot us a look of concern here and there, but for the most part he kept his eyes glued to the window, observing the gloomy surroundings.

Every now and then I'd ask Rowena how she was doing, each time getting a small nod in response. My fingers played with her hair, curling the messy locks; I was uncertain at first, but calmed down soon enough, noticing it relaxed her, gave her a sense of normalcy in this situation that was everything but normal.

"It's okay, baby girl," I whispered softly, calming her pained gasps after the car passed a rather nasty bump. Were it not for my arms that grabbed a firm hold on her, she would have rolled off my lap. I took her hand into mine, giving it a light caress. "Did I hurt you?"

"It's fine," she murmured.

I leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her head. "I wish I could make it better."

She almost chuckled. "This is nothin'."

I sincerely doubted that. "Doesn't look like nothing"

"I can handle it."

Now that I believed. "I know you can. Why do you think I wanted you, out of all witches, to teach me? There's no one quite like you. You're my strong, beautiful girl. And soon you'll be as good as new. I promise."

"Ye really know how to cheer a girl up," she teased.

"Want me to keep going?"

"Please, do. A wee bit of praise can't hurt."

So I did. I told her how much of an inspiration she was to me and how strong I considered her to be. I told her how much I loved her, how being with her had changed my life for the better. How the first thing that attracted me to her was her infectious smile that always, without exception, prompted my own to surface. How I admired her courage and envied her power.

My rambling helped pass the time and soon enough we were at the bunker. Once again, Sam scooped Rowena up into his arms and carried her inside with Dean and me in tow. She looked so tiny in his arms, like a kitten being carried by its mother. It if weren't for her injuries, I would have found the sight adorable.

Much to my (and more than likely Rowena's) relief, Castiel was already there.

"How is she?" he inquired while Sam carefully lowered her onto the couch. I took a seat next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and gently pulling her close to allow her to rest her head on my shoulder.

She shot the angel a sardonic look. "What do ye think, ye bloody bampot?"

"As you can see, she's still Rowena," Dean commented, prompting her to glare at him. He threw his hands up in surrender. "Just telling it like it is."

"Can you just heal her? She's hurt!" I said. "We can toss banter later."

Castiel blinked, swallowed, and then nodded. "Of course. I apologize."

He brought his forefinger to her forehead, closing his eyes in concentration for a short moment.

Rowena breathed out a sigh of relief; looking her over, I did the same. All the bruises faded, the gloomy purple replaced by the vibrant peach. Cuts and gashes disappeared as though they were never there, trails of dry blood the only remainder of their existence.

She was dirty, covered in blood and filth from head to toe; her dress was ripped, and her hair resembled a messy bird nest, but the most important thing was that she was in pain no more.

"How are you feeling?" I asked just to make sure.

"Good," she replied, smiling widely.

"Does anything hurt?"

"No."

Happy tears fell from my eyes as I pulled Rowena into a bone-crushing hug. "I'm so glad," I whispered. "Don't you ever get hurt like that again."

"It's alright, darlin'. Everythin's alright," she cooed.

"It better stay that way."

"Believe me, I don't plan on gettin' into trouble anytime soon."

"You better be telling me the truth."

She withdrew from the hug, looking me straight in the eye. "Have I ever lied to ye?"

"Lucifer," I fired.

She sighed. "Have I ever lied to ye since we got together?"

"I guess not."

"I haven't," she said firmly. "I'll be alright." She pecked me on the lips. "I promise."

"Okay, I've had enough of all the mushy stuff," Dean said, walking away. "I'm hungry."

Sam smiled at us before trailing after him. "Dude, you can't eat pie for dinner!" I heard him protest.

"Watch me!"

"I will leave you to your… mushy stuff," Castiel said.

"Wait!" Rowena called out, stopping him in his tracks. She took a few deep, steady breaths; what she was about to say took a lot of courage for a proud person such as her. "Thank ye."

"Yeah, thanks," I added. "We appreciate what you've done."

He smiled at us. "You're welcome." And soon enough, he joined Sam and Dean's argument over proper dinner choices.

I reached into my bag, pulling out a pack of wet wipes. I pulled one out, bringing it to Rowena's cheek to wipe away the caked blood adorning her flawless skin.

"Ye don't have to do this," she told me.

"It's fine. Let me," I insisted. "I let them take you. Taking care of you is the least I can do."

She shook her head defiantly. "It wasn't yer fault. I told ye to run."

"I shouldn't have listened to you."

Turning my back on her and running far, far away would haunt me for the rest of my life. Yes, she told me to go, and yes, she took on all three hunters, simultaneously, without the aid of magic, to allow me to leave, but still, I should have stayed. I should have fought harder. I should have protected her from them.

After her temporary death at Lucifer's hands, I swore to myself to never let anything happen to her. No matter how many times she rolled her eyes at me and called my insistence to always be by her side ridiculous, I stood by my promise.

Until today.

I was close to losing her again, close to never seeing that beautiful smile and never meeting those wonderful eyes. Close to never feeling her hands on mine or listening to her calming heartbeat after a devastating nightmare.

Close to being all alone again.

"What they did to you… I could've prevented it."

"Or they could've done the same to ye. Worse, maybe," she pointed out.

"I don't care. If they had us both, they wouldn't have hurt you as much as they did."

She sighed exasperatedly. "Ye're overthinkin' it. It's over now. Let it go."

"I can't." Tears spilled down my cheeks once more. "I almost lost you. Again. How am I supposed to just get over that?"

"Did ye forget? I still have the Seal."

"They put that anti-magic cuff on you."

"And once it was removed, the Seal would've resurrected me. I wouldn't've been gone for good."

"But you'd still be gone," I wept. "It was hard enough the first time, to see you lying there. Dead. Cold. Motionless. Seeing you like that again would kill me."

"Oh, darlin'." Sympathy filled her eyes, spreading across her still bloodied face. She pressed her forehead to mine, bringing a hand to my cheek to give it a light caress. "Why didn't ye tell me?"

"How could I tell you when you always say I worry too much?"

"If I'd known ye felt like this, I never would have told ye that. I'm sorry."

I knew she genuinely meant it. Rowena never said sorry. Never. Not when she did something bad, and certainly not when she was wrong.

And now she did, and the feelings it awoke within me couldn't be put into simple words.

"I promise ye will never have to see me like that again."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

I nodded, wiping away my tears. "Okay." A smile broke through my sadness. "Sorry about this. Sometimes I get so emotional."

"Don't apologize. It's fine," she told me, shooting me a smile of her own.

"Dean was right. We are mushy," I chuckled, prompting her to do the same.

"Even a broken clock is right twice a day."

"True that." I took a breath to compose myself. "You're sure you're okay?"

"Aye," she assured me. "Never better."

My face grew serious as the terrifying sight from earlier flashed through my mind once more. "Rowena, did… did they do anything else?"

She frowned in confusion. "What do ye mean?"

I gulped, unsure how to approach the subject the right way. How do you properly ask someone if they've been raped? "One of them… His belt…"

She understood what I was trying to say and firmly shook her head. "He beat me with it."

I breathed out a sigh of relief that the worst hasn't happened.

"Nothin' of the sort happened. I told ye I'm alright."

"You did," I confirmed. "I just…"

"Don't think about it," she told me. "It's over now." She smiled. "Does this dump have a bathroom? I need to wash this filth off me. Ye're welcome to join, if ye want."

I laughed. "I think I'm gonna take you up on that offer."

"Thought so."

"You know I can't resist you. One way," my forefinger traced the blood on her face, all the way to her lower lip, "or the other."

I kissed her, slowly, tenderly; she deepened the kiss, and I let her take charge, let her lead like I always did. She was hungry, that much I could tell; hungry for me, for my body against hers, for my hands around her waist to hold her in place. She may have been a witch, yet as a lover, she was a real hunter, experienced and precise. She knew exactly what I wanted and was all too eager to give it to me for the sake of us both.

Just as I pulled her onto my lap, my hands sliding down the remains of her torn dress, an angry voice said: "Oh, hell, no!"

Rowena rolled her eyes, sending Dean her deadliest glare. If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead right that instant.

"You are not having sex on my couch," he said, his face wrinkled in disgust. "You already got blood on it. That's more than enough of your bodily fluids."

"Have you ever heard of knocking?" I said, huffing in annoyance.

"This is my house," he pointed out.

"Dean, what's going on?" Sam inquired, walking up to his brother.

I noticed he had changed into a clean shirt, another bland, plaid one, and my thoughts instantly went to my own clothes. I hoped I could get the blood stains out. Maybe I could get Rowena to do a spell. If there were spells for turning people into rabid beasts, there had to have been one for cleaning.

"They wanted to have sex on my couch."

The younger Winchester gave us his signature bitchface. "Really? Now?"

I shrugged. "Comfort sex. It's a thing."

"Not on my couch, it's not," Dean said.

I gave my imitation of Rowena's dramatic eye roll, which could never be as perfect as the original, but it served its purpose.

It was then that Castiel walked in, confused by the commotion. One look at Rowena and me, with my arms still around her and her in my lap, prompted his cheeks to flush deep, embarrassed red.

"What?" Rowena said, shooting him a pointed look. "Never seen two women getting' it on?"

The angel shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "I…"

"Did you need anything?" I snapped, looking back and forth between the three of them.

"I, um, made dinner," Sam said with a gulp. "We wanted to ask you if you'd like to join us."

"That's awfully kind of ye," Rowena commented, smiling brightly.

"Yeah, and how do you repay us? By getting blood on my couch," Dean complained.

"I apologize for almost dyin', If I'd known my blood'd ruin yer couch, I never would have gotten myself tortured," she said sarcastically.

"Yes or no?" Sam said before Dean could come up with a retort.

"Sure," I said.

"But only if we can have a shower first," Rowena added.

Dean narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"Don't look at me like that. Want me to get blood over yer kitchen, too?"

"Fine," he growled. "You'll take turns."

"Nope," I said, popping the p. "Together."

"Not happening."

"I held her." I motioned to my bloodied clothes. "Your furniture's really… clean. It'd be a real shame if something was to happen to it. Like, say, blood."

"You wouldn't dare," he said sternly, locking eyes with mine in an intense stare.

"Try me," I retorted.

"Okay," Sam said, interrupting out starring contest. "You can take a shower." He smiled tightly. "Together. We'll leave clean clothes for you outside."

"Sammy," Dean growled.

"Shut up, Dean," Sam told him.

The older Winchester rolled his eyes, then raised his forefinger and pointed it at us. "No sex."

"Oh, there will be sex," Rowena told him. "I will see to it that I make her scream loud enough for ye to hear."

She ended up making good on that promise.

Huge thanks to my friend @apritelleorai for helping me with grammar!

#rowena #rowena x reader #rowena imagine #spn imagine #supernatural imagine

33 notes · View notes